Girl Code Rule #1

Shit. 

I can tell he’s attracted to her. I don’t blame him. She’s conventionally pretty with an aura that implies an adventure. Her dark brown hair has golden highlights in it. She’s wearing red lipstick. The makeup enthusiast in me knows it’s MAC’s Ruby Woo.  I’m convinced she knows someone important at all the popular clubs, and could jump the line with her four girlfriends. She probably has six guys that call and text her everyday. They take her out on dates and brag to their friends afterwards. 

She didn’t even bother to dress up. 

She’s confident, perhaps it’s vanity. Maybe it’s something you gain as you age. Experience has a way of repeating lessons that get easier to navigate with time. Kinda like how I learned to stay far, far away from vodka.

I don’t quite understand which lessons she’s had to learn; I’m twelve years her junior. I think. He’s twelve years older than me, so I’m assuming they’re the same age. She probably has a high paying job and a house. Guys probably take her on vacations and she knows all about expensive wines. She’s probably married. Well, I don’t see a ring on her perfectly manicured finger.  Maybe she was married. Obviously, someone must’ve liked her enough to marry her. Whatever it is she walks as though she demands what she wants and gets it.

Do I walk like that?

As he says hello to her, his voice changes. His gaze too. He’s bashful, like the second grader who’s giving a Valentine’s Day present to his crush. I’ve never seen this side of him. He doesn’t look at her lustfully, like how he looked at me when we first met. 

On second thought -  we were drunk on a boat when we met. Liquor has a way of lowering certain defenses, like self-awareness, and putting up others, like confidence. The man I met was sure of himself, almost predatory, approaching me as though he had to win me. Maybe he knew I would be an easy catch. He waited until my cousin left my side to approach me with his friend. I remember how strange it all was, him and his friend talking to me. I couldn’t tell which one liked me. I hoped it was the taller one but he wasn’t interested. In hindsight, that was for the best. That particular friend is married and a habitual cheater. He, however, was not married. And it turned out he had disposable income to take me on dates and liquor me up twice a week. While I enjoyed our outings, I was unsure of where I stood with him. So when he asked me to join him for New Year’s, I assumed it was a natural progression to a more serious arrangement. That’s how I ended up at this party.  

Was I too easy? 

The way he looks at her, elicits a purer intention. She represents something unattainable to him. I hypothesize that if she wanted him, he would drop anyone to be with her - myself included.

She smiles at him. Hi Rob. 

She says it in a matronly tone, almost like she’s talking to her little brother. 

Hi Tina, he replies shyly. 

I notice as his eyes light up.  Her eyes view him as her little brother’s friend. The type of jokester friend that wreaks havoc on girls his age. He’s boyishly charming, full of energy and reckless. This type of guy doesn’t impress her. He will never be refined enough or mature enough to have a chance with her.  Her eyes meet mine. The look is a cocktail of acknowledgement, validation and pity. The two second gaze evokes embarrassment with a hint of jealousy.

Does she know something I don’t?

Rule #1 of Girl Code demands that you don’t say anything to the female about her date unless you know her fairly well. Sub-rule 1.02 of Girl Code says any communication with an unknown female about her date must take place nonverbally. Especially if that guy is - colloquially called - trash.  If I were a lesser woman, I might think she’s the jealous one. She did walk into this restaurant alone. I came with a date. She’s in her upper thirties without a ring. I’m in my mid twenties at my "prime". But her eyes gave me you could do better vibes. I’m very familiar with that look.  I’ve shot my fair share to the unsuspecting victims my guy friends are dating at the time. The look is a micro-expression of a squint and side eye masked with a genuinely warm smile. That look is supposed to say You’re gorgeous, sane and somewhat intelligent. He’s a hot fucking mess. Run. Quick.’ There’s a momentary pause before he introduces me to her. 

Hi, nice to meet you. 

I shake her hand and give her my most convincing smile. She smiles back. He tells me that they went to college together. He asks her about a mutual classmate. She mentions seeing this classmate a couple of months ago. He asks if she’s staying. She says she has another two parties to attend. 

I knew it. She’s popular. 

She has a smudge of lipstick on her teeth. That doesn’t seem to distract him. He’s staring into her eyes. Within a couple of minutes she excuses herself to greet some of their mutual friends. She wishes me a good night and I reciprocate. As she walks away, I look at him. He’s exchanging glances with one of his friends. Clearly I’m missing out on some inside knowledge. 

I spend the rest of the night drinking champagne and cognac. I’m living in the moment and he’s a great diversion. We dance, we drink, we eat. When the clock strikes midnight, he kisses me. In my drunken haze, I kiss him back. He looks at me, eyes twinkling from the lights. Behind him, I see her laughing as she puts on her jacket. Two accompanying women grab their purses and walk outside. I look at him. I’m searching for something. I can’t find it in his eyes. I look outside.

She’s gone.