Better Late than Never

I don’t see Cam for the rest of the weekend, which turns out to be a blessing.  Our date went much better than expected but I still need time to think, and I’m sure the same is true for him.  Nevertheless, we texted back and forth, and I’d be lying if I said that my heart didn't beat a little faster when I saw his name pop up on my screen. 

            Unfortunately, we didn't get a chance to see each other for much of the following week, either.  It’s New York Fashion Week, and even though I live in Columbus, I was swamped the entire week with clients calling in and asking where to get the newest fur stole or floral midi skirt.  I’d also been writing blog posts and gathering NYFW info almost nonstop, especially after the Kendall Jenner/Marc Jacobs nipplegate.  I was so busy that I hardly had the chance to check my phone at home, let alone at work.  Even Emma was getting sick of me since I passed out every night at eight PM.  I was hardly the exciting, fun roommate. 

            By the time Friday rolls around, I’m ready for a night out.  Emma’s working, and I asked Abby to grab happy hour drinks with me, but duh—it’s Valentine’s Day.  She has plans with her man, and from what she tells me, they sound extravagant.  He’s cooking her dinner, and a gigantic bouquet of lilacs and lilies—her favorite, and totally out of season—arrived at noon.  I don’t even have to fake my excitement for her. It’s so obvious that they’re in love that I just want to bathe in her happy glow. 

            Of course, that does mean that I’m alone on a Friday night.  I could go visit Emma at work, but I’m sure it’ll be packed and I’ll be alone there as well.  I could text Cam and ask him out, but despite my firm feminist stance on most things, there’s something decidedly sad about asking out your sort-of boyfriend on Valentine’s Day.  We’d texted somewhat during the week, but neither of us had mentioned anything about V Day.  I wonder now if he had been put off by my slow responses. 

            That’s ridiculous, I chided myself.  I’d told him I was swamped, and it’s not like we’re officially together.  Cam getting mad over my slow response times would be absolutely insane. 

           

            Still, I was out any plans tonight.   I do have other friends, but like Abby, they’re coupled up and will probably be holding hands over a candlelit filet dinner at some point tonight.  Maybe I would just order pizza and enjoy a romantic snuggle with my fleece blanket and laptop. 

            After work I’d pretty much given up on any Valentine’s Day plans.  Cursing myself for being such a procrastinator, I flop down on my couch, still in my work top and statement necklace.  Emma is already at work, so it looks like I’m all alone.  Not that being alone bothers me—I’m slowly learning how to love my own company. 

            I pick up my phone to order Chinese and see a recent text from Cam.  For a second my heart flips but I try to keep my cool as I read.  Drinks tonight? it says.  I can’t help feeling a mixture of relieved and disappointed.  So last-minute!  So casual!  But then again, I had been the standoffish one.  I’ve been the one still pushing back at his attempts at a relationship.  Everything seems to be moving so fast, and honestly, I don’t even know why I’m being so stubborn.  I was impossibly busy all week, but I should have made a little more time for him. 

            I text him back and suggest a bar near my house, and he immediately responds with a time.  Leaping off my couch with a speed I didn’t know I possessed, I skip to my room and pick out an outfit.  This is no easy task; what does one wear to casual drinks with a potential boyfriend on Valentine’s Day?  No red or pink—too cheesy.  No dress—too cold still.  Black work pants are too severe, and I can’t wear the same jeans I did to our date last week.  Finally, I settle on white jeans (who says white is only for summer?), a burgundy cable-knit sweater, and, of course, black heels.  I decide to leave my makeup on from work today, only touching up my eyeliner and adding some bronzer, and am out the door in a record forty minutes. 

            By the time I get there the nerves start to kick in.  Cam had suggested drinks, again, and I worry about him when he drinks.  We’re both grown adults, but what if I walk in and he’s huddled up in a corner with some girl in a shirt that shows more cleavage than mine?  Maybe this is why I’ve been sort-of ignoring him all week: I still don’t trust him. 

            The Pint House, a huge bar with killer deals, is packed, as expected.  I order a vodka tonic to sip on while I look around.  All around me are recently-graduated kids, like me, most in flannel shirts and vests.  In college, I never wore heels out, because it wasn’t the thing to do at OSU.  Now I wear them everywhere, making up for lost time.  It seems like most of the girls here are either in six-inch platform pumps or flat riding boots, and I can guess who is out of college based solely (get it?  Solely?) on that fact. 

            I’m admiring some girl’s gorgeous leopard ankle booties when I feel a tap on my shoulder.  Smiling, I turn around, expecting it to be Cam—but it’s some random guy in a crew neck.  My smile’s frozen on my face as I try to place him, but no, I definitely do not know him. 

            “Hi,” he says, mirroring my smile.  Like most of the people here, he’s holding a huge glass of beer.  “You here alone?” 

            “Actually, I’m waiting for someone,” I say politely. 

            “Too bad,” the mystery man says, taking a gulp of his beer.  “How about I buy you a drink in the meantime?” 

            Are they always this forward?  I wonder.  I don’t even know his name yet.  But then again, it’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m assuming everyone wants to get laid. 

            “Actually, I’m okay for now,” I tell him.  “Thank you though.”

            He narrows his eyes at me, and I notice they’re a strange combination of blue and green.  Almost too pale for my liking.  “Can’t a guy be nice to a girl?”  He seems exasperated and I’m already getting annoyed.  Yes, being rejected sucks, but there’s no need to act like a child about it!  There are dozens of other girls at this bar, waiting to be swept away at a bar on Valentine’s Day.  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t one of them.  Just not with him. 

            “Sorry,” I apologize with no conviction.  Suddenly I see him.  “There’s my date,” I say, more to myself than the creepy-eyed guy still standing in front of me.  I wave, and Cam spots me immediately. 

            He knows something is up, and for a split second a panic.  I do not want this to become a crappy rom-com where there’s a bar fight over my affections on Valentine’s Day.  Luckily, my life is not a rom-com, crappy or not, because the guy walks away without another word. 

            “Perfect timing,” I tell Cam.  “What is it about bars that makes guys so persistent?” 

            Cam shakes his head, still not smiling.  I wonder if he’s upset with me for some reason.  It’s silent for a moment, and I notice my drink is almost empty. 

            “Wanna grab something?”  I offer.  “First round’s on me.”  I grab his arm and practically pull him towards the bar.  It’s then that I notice the slight smell—he’s been drinking. 

            I decide not to say anything and instead order myself a double whiskey sour.  Fight fire with fire, or alcohol with alcohol.  Surprisingly, Cam doesn’t get a drink. 

            “So,” I say, uneasy at his silence, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”  I lean in closer to Cam and lower my voice.  “Wanna make bets on who goes home with who?” 

            Finally he cracks a grin.  His eyes skim the bar, and he points out a tall brunette next to an even taller blond guy in shorts, of all things.  “Them.  They’re perfect together.  I can practically see the stars in her eyes from all the way over here.” 

            I laugh and sip my drink.  “Who knew you were such a matchmaker,” I joke. 

            That’s when he wraps his arm around my waist, gingerly at first, and then gives me a little squeeze.  I’m so surprised that I let out an uncharacteristic giggle.  Maybe I will have a Valentine after all. 

            An hour and a half and two more whiskey sours later, I am definitely buzzing.  Cam broke down and ordered a couple of the huge beers, which he has finished in record time.  It’s easy to tell that he’s a recent college grad by the sheer speed of his drinking.  I’m pretty sure I’m more buzzed than he is. 

            “So were you mad at me this week?”  Yep.  Definitely more buzzed than him. 

            He looks at me with a bit of surprise.  “Mad at you?”  he asks. 

            I swat at his shoulder.  “Oh don’t play dumb.  This week was hell for me.  I was crazy busy and we barely talked.  I was wondering if you were mad.” 

            Cam shrugs and takes a swig of his beer.  He seems to consider what I said before answering, but his pause is maddening.  “No, not really.  I know you were busy, and it’s not like we’re officially together or anything.” 

            “Right,” I agree quickly.  “I just didn’t want you to think I was ignoring you.” 

            Cam won’t look at me when he starts laughing.  “Oh, Ryan,” he says, still laughing.  “Queen of Mixed Signals over here.” 

            “What?”   I’m slightly taken aback and almost angry. 

            “Come on.  You know.  We had such a great date and now you’re standoffish.  Yeah, maybe you were busy all week, but give a guy some hope here.” 

            I have no idea what to say, so I just finish my drink.  I’m more than a little buzzed, and this confrontation makes my feelings amplify.  “Cam, I wasn’t ignoring you and I’m not being standoffish!”  I set the glass down on the bar and it makes a loud thud, louder than I expected.  “Let’s just get a few things straight, shall we?”  I clear my throat.  “One, you cheated on me.  I’m trying to get past that, because yeah, it was a while ago, and I want to start over.  I do.  I’m trying.  Two, you can’t expect me to fall right back into your arms out of nowhere!  Three, I have a life, Cam, and a job.  I’m sorry I can’t be as available as you want me to be, but that’s just how it is.” 

I know I took it too far, but I’m too mad to care.  Cam finally looks at me.  “I know all that.  Ryan, I’m trying too.  I want to be with you.  I do.  No messing around this time.  I want you.” 

More words pour out of my mouth.  “Why were you drunk before you got here?”  It sounds accusatory but I have a right to ask. 

Cam laughs.  “Ry, I took a shot with my roommate before I left.  He had a date with this girl, and he was nervous, and I was obviously meeting you.”  He stares me dead in the eyes, and I feel a warmth spread throughout my body.  “If you want this to work, you have to start trusting me.” 

I’m not sure how I feel about that, about trusting him, so instead I leaned in and kissed him.  It’s been a long time since I’ve made out with anyone at a bar—so college—but I don’t care, and after a few minutes I hear a few cheers behind us.  Finally we come up for air, and when I open my eyes again, the room spins a bit.  Uh oh.  Definitely a little more than buzzed.  I lean in close to Cam’s ear again, as though I am about to tell him a secret. 

“Do you want to get pizza?” I ask.  Cam raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, but agrees to go with me. 

“I’ll walk you home,” he offers, taking my arm in his. 

By the time we pass my favorite late-night slice place, I’m not hungry anymore and am definitely wobbling.  The good news is, Cam is now holding my hand and we look like a bona fide couple on Valentine’s Day, albeit a slightly intoxicated couple. 

“Come upstairs,” I tell him, and he doesn't hesitate.  We make out some more in front of my apartment door, and when we get inside I head straight to my bedroom.  When did I get so sleepy? 

“Hold on there, Ryan,” Cam tells me as I sit on the foot of my double bed, struggling with my shoes.  He sees that I’m not paying him any attention and sighs, bending down to get to my level.  Slowly, and with great care, he unbuckles the strap on one heel, and then the other. 

“I feel like Cinderella,” I say sleepily.  Somewhere in my brain I register his laugh.  I lie down on the bed and close my eyes, patting the space next to me.  Cam settles in next to me and grabs my hand again. 

After a few minutes he stands up.  I’m almost asleep, but open my eyes slightly to see him put his jacket on.  “Go to sleep, Ry,” he whispers.  The last thing I remember before I pass out is feeling him kiss me on the cheek, then on the forehead, and I'm fast asleep before my bedroom door closes.