Couture

I love this city. I love the pace and the way it changes, I love that there are buildings that are a hundred years old and still the most beautiful things on the block. But most of the time I am rushing from place to place, weaving between cabs, and running across redlit crossways in 4 inch stilettos, hoping to make my next appointment, get to a store before it closes, or running to catch a train.

There is the rare occasion when I give the stilettos a break and don more comfortable shoes and stroll down Fifth Avenue or the small boutiques on the East and West Side. In those quieter areas, the shops have some of the world's finest items. They are beautiful. The shops are quiet, there are few patrons. Walking in, the sales associates are willing to do anything to gain a commission, but stalwartly in the window or up on a pedestal is the most amazing dress; hand crafted, one of a kind, unlike anything else in the world. There are many who admire it from the window, some who will even dare to come in to get a closer look, some who are brazen enough to ask if it will go on sale, but there are few who have the means to call it their own. And far less of those who know of its worth. But there it stands, exquisite, confident. It knows that the one who it fits perfectly, the one who appreciates the handstitching, the quality of the fabric, and all of its color, will come and take it home.

Until the right buyer comes along, there are those who will have the means to buy. They'll stop by every week, admire the dress, maybe even try it on. The sales clerk will try endlessly to find the right words, the one phrase that will make the sale, all in vain. The fact of the matter is that these pretenders won't make the investment. They will never buy. Just visit, waste time. Wear the dress down a bit.

For days I keep rehashing the evening with Jake on that Monday. I guess really just rehashing the whole weekend, but mostly Monday.

I sent a text to him on Sunday while I was on the train back home to cook dinner for Mom for Mothers Day. I had forgotten to pick up a book and I debated texting him or texting my roommate. I had left without talking to him. Talked to plenty of others, so yes, I was capable of speaking, but I don’t know what it is. … No, actually I do. He does what I do. He pretends he doesn't see me, while peripherally he's watching me. But I'm too stubborn to make the first move, and too impatient to wait any longer for him to, so I move on and become chatty with everyone and anyone in his eyeline. I don't really want to be that way. I want to be bubbly and cute and run up to him and throw my arms around him and kiss him on the cheek and tell him about how excited I was to come and see him, and how I wore that particular dress to drive him crazy, but he hasn't done ANYTHING to warrant such attention.

And confidently I leave. Then remorse sets in, and regret, and heartache, and hopelessness and then a thought - if only I could change it somehow … and then the text was written: "could you pick up a copy of the book for me? Totally forgot in my rush to catch a train, I'll pick it up from you either tonight or tomorrow." Send: JAKE.

Time moves so slowly, the train somehow slower, and I once again mourn the loss of my iPhone and try to find something else to distract, to amuse. Twenty minutes later a simple answer "sure". What I really planned to do when I saw him, I don't know. But I had to somehow mend this chasm between us.

I loved going home. Mom's garden, the property with all its greenery, took my breath away. I love the city, I really do, but there is just something magical about the spring in the suburbs. Dinner went well, and I fear I wasn't my usual fantastical daughterly self (I was still sore from the 4 hour workout the day before afterall), but I knew it was more than that. I don't know what's driving this. I try to blame Rick, my ex turned bff. Afterall, without his pushing over the last few months, I wouldn't have taken a second look at Jake. I had seen the girls around him all the time, and him eating up all the attention; the kisses on the forehead, the patting, the overly generous hugs. I had written him off months ago. But Rick insisted that I needed to look deeper. That he was a good guy. So I took a chance on Jake. And now I'm only hoping he'll take a chance on me, too.

When I returned from my parents place I was wiped out. I called him, he didn't pick up, so I left a message. Five minutes later he called back and we just talked. I love our talks. It's like we're just sharing thoughts. There's no real objective. Just checking in. I told him that I would meet him after work and get the book so that he wouldn't have a delay in getting home. He asked me to send him reminders throughout the day as it would be hectic with a new client. Any other guy, and I would have said "forget it" but I thought, I know him, and he's true.

I sent him one little "have a good day" type of note in the morning. I got home around 7, changed, put on sweats, expecting that he would call somewhere around 10 or so, because he's always telling me how late he works. At 8:30 the phone rings. He was already out of the building and heading uptown. Eeekk! I quickly got dressed, put on make-up, threw some cupcakes in a bag (my incessant compulsion not to show up empty handed) and headed out. He beat me to Columbus Circle where we were going to meet and ride uptown.

I came around the southwest side and he was on the northeast side, leaning against a street lamp, his tie slightly loosened. The light fell on him perfectly. He looked fantastic. I was grinning from ear to ear. I was so embarrassed at how happy I was to see him. I turned away, and pretended to walk passed him, to turn, give him the once over and say "Jake? Is that you?". I think he was upset that I walked right passed him. But perhaps I'll have a chance to explain someday.

My perma-grin was still etched on my face and he barely looked at me - so concerned perhaps of what seemed to be a plan as the evening unfolded. I thought we would just ride uptown, but instead, he decided that we would do some shopping - where I got to see the side of Jake I love. He danced, he was goofy and cute.

We walked and talked, up a few blocks … to McDonalds, his restaurant of choice, the location of the end of our first (and only) real date. We didn't really talk about it much. Actually, not at all. But walking out we talked about how he spent Sunday reading his journals, contemplating the past, and the future and with a cute smile in my direction "the present". But that conversation was cut short due to the subway, which I felt weird getting on, since I wasn't far from home. I didn't know if he wanted me to stay with him, or what … but he hadn't given me my book yet and I was so confused. I hadn't planned on taking up all that time.

He ran into some friends on the train. I didn't know them, and he didn’t try to include me in the conversation. I felt so awkward, more so than before.

We got off at his stop. And walked and talked about nothing in particular. Grocery stores. And he said that he has a hard time shopping for things that he can't take with him. That he likes to look and search, but that once he knows what he wants, he wants it right then. My thought: He doesn't feel that way about me.

I still felt awkward, like I was walking along uninvited. So when we got to his apartment building, I asked if he had my book, and he just chuckled and said, "it's upstairs".

His roommate was home when we got there, which I don’t think he was expecting. He just left me and went to get the book - didn't offer to give me a tour or anything, which I thought was strange. We chatted a bit and then I left.

I felt so foolish walking home by myself that night. Like I had done the chasing. That I was the only one pathetically interested. Like I was pushing too hard. I know I CAN be aggressive when I want something, but nothing in me ever wants to be that girl. I just want to be adored, and to give the adoration back. I resolved that day that I was done.

And I was for about three weeks. But now, I hate him just as much for making me feel that way over and over again. He says he needs me. He shows affection, calls for hours on end, and then the moment I need him, he makes me feel so foolish, so ridiculous - two things I am not.

I've sat on the back burner before and promised myself that I wouldn't do it again. I've often tried to rationalize why those men waste our time like that, but there is no good answer. So it's best to walk away, not buy into the pity pleas for attention, and know that there is someone out there who knows that couture doesn't go on sale, can't be found anywhere else, and must be treasured. Leave the bargain shoppers to the overstocks and knockoffs. This dress is going to the highest bidder.