Page 68 of Your Pace Or Mine

I haven’t been paying attention to street names, but I know this neighborhood well—if I keep running up one street and down the next, I can make my way home whenever I need to. It’s a warm night, and people are out walking their dogs and heading on foot to restaurants and cafés, so stick to the street, listening to the world as I pass by.

Snippets of conversation float by me. Teenage girls complaining about school; a man holding a poodle’s leash, asking someone over the phone about a tech issue; an elderly couple strolling in silence but holding hands. I turn a corner and head onto the street that leads back to my building, disappointed that I haven’t made a decision. At least I let off some steam. After I’ve run a block, I hear a car stereo blasting Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” at full volume with the windows down, so loud that I can hear it all the way down the road. The lyrics remind the listener to take a chance and say yes.

I stop dead in my tracks. Is this a sign? Do these things happen in real life? My rational mind tells me I’m hearing what I wanted to hear. A car one street over is probably playing Flo Rida, and I missed it because jeans and boots aren’t the message I’m attuned to. Still … I could say yes to this. I want that love story. I want it so badly it aches.

An older woman pauses from her yard work to look at me. “Honey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good, thanks,” I reply, still distracted by Taylor. “I needed a breather.” I pull away as the music heads into its second chorus.

When I get back home, I spend a long time in the shower trying to figure out what it all means, if anything. It’s silly. The universe doesn’t send messages via 2000s pop music. Or does it? I’ve always gone with my head in most areas, but maybe now it’s time to leap.

After I’m clean and dry, I take a deep breath and pull out my phone and compose a hundred different messages to Sebastian.

Sebastian, I love you, let’s do this thing. Uh, no.

Sebastian, do you love me? That might be a little too much.

Sebastian, you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. Wait, I’ve heard that one before.

Sebastian, please meet me tomorrow to discuss something important. That sounds like I’m pregnant or possibly about to sue him. It’s tempting to make him squirm, but probably not a great start to the conversation.

So many permutations and they all sound stupid. Finally, I land on something simple.

Hey Bash, can we meet up and talk? I have a few things to discuss with you and they’re kind of important. Let me know if you’re free in the next few days. XX Ash

He writes back immediately that he’s free tomorrow. I let myself believe for a moment that he’s been waiting for me to reach out and say the words. I’m so damn delusional.

We set up a time to meet at Yonge and Eglinton and go from there. I want to keep writing, to chat all night with cute emojis, to pretend we’ve already had this conversation and are firmly in couple territory. But I won’t draw it out or confuse my heart any further until we figure out what we are to each other. In the end, I heat up some leftovers and go to bed early with the TV on, but I don’t fall asleep until well into the night.

Miss Midtown Reel (with transcript)

Miss Midtown appears in wig and glasses with a stack of romance novels on her table.

“Hello everyone! I’m Miss Midtown and I’m here to talk about the big L word: Love. That’s right, falling in love.

“I mostly talk about dating on this channel—what to wear, where to go, how we choose who to swipe on, and how to take a date night from good to great. I sound like a women’s magazine article! But now I want to talk about the next steps. You date someone for a while; it might be a few dates, a few weeks, maybe even a few months. How do you know when it’s time to move things forward?

“Some of these books [gestures to the stack in front of her] feature characters who ‘just know’ right away. AKA Instalove. But others have to figure it out, or it sneaks up on them and BOOM, suddenly they realize they’re already there.

“What about you, internet friends? Do you believe in love at first sight? Do you think love comes later, when you know each other? And how do you take things to the next level when you’re dating someone casually and realize it’s no longer casual for you? Let me know in the comments!”

Comments:

Love at first sight is a joke. That ain’t love, sister. That’s lust pure and simple.

I knew I loved my guy right away. People say it’s fake, but I knew the first time we met that he was the One. Just be honest. If you scare a dude away because he doesn’t want feelings, he shouldn’t be dating. If he doesn’t love you back, cut your losses. He’s not worth it.

TWENTY-ONE

SEBASTIAN

Ashley and I are supposed to meet in the square and decide where to go, but it’s pouring when I arrive early. I make an executive decision to head to an English pub. They’ve got appetisers and beer, and I have a sense that whatever Ashley wants to say would be better outside of a romantic atmosphere. I text her that I’m at the bar with a pint.

The reel she posted yesterday had my stomach in knots. It could have nothing to do with the two of us or her request to meet—that’s what I tell myself as I replay it on my phone like a chump. She could have recorded it days or even weeks ago and scheduled it for a busy week.

But on my tenth viewing, I notice that her nails are the same hot pink color as they were the other night, a polish that she mentioned buying on sale that afternoon. Shit.

I stare into my glass, every part of me on edge. It’s been two days since the morning I blew her off, and it feels like my world is off-kilter. I shouldn’t have shoved her out the door or texted her about dating other women only a few hours later. I wasn’t even planning to go out that night. My emotions were all over the place that morning, so it seemed better to go back to the terms of our arrangement right away, to leave less room for feelings and confusion. Turns out feelings don’t just vanish because you stuffed them back in the box. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her, both the wild way she met my needs with hers that night and the look in her eyes the next morning, like I’d slapped her with my words. I immediately wanted to take them back, but it was already done.