NOT THIS SUMMER

I head out in a few days. I bought a new Mini Cooper a month ago and that purchase spawned my summer plans. If I were fiscally responsible, I’d stay home and halt the spending spree of the past year. And I gave that inner voice due consideration before tuning it out. Let winter be the time for belt tightening, generic pasta and over worn socks with holes.

A sporty new car calls for a road trip. It’s a month of travel, more or less. The last part is at the family cottage in Ontario and I can always cut that short if social judgment becomes something the wine can’t ease. It is a tiny cottage after all.

I am lucky to have a job that allows for extended summer vacations. I spent the last two summers in Los Angeles and had a wonderful time. It would have been easy to go back, but Minneapolis won out. Clearly, I am travel-challenged when a vacation comes down to L.A. versus Minneapolis, but I have future summers to become more refined. Omaha awaits!

One of the nice things about this trip is that I don’t have a relationship prospect waiting for me upon my return to Vancouver. It’s not that I plan to have wild sex in a hotel in North Dakota or by a stream in Montana. No, I fully expect to pass through those gay hot beds without even a flirtatious nod. I’m totally okay with that. I’m not exactly the poster child for espousing all the glorious advantages of being single, but I do like looking ahead without having to look back.

Four times in the past I’ve left on long vacations only to have a nascent relationship waiting at home. Twice those links evolved into love upon my return and twice they fizzled faster than a Fourth of July sparkler. A vacation is all about being in the moment and I don’t do so well when my head is wondering what will be or won’t be with the guy who is waiting or is not waiting back home.

Let this vacation be a time when I can linger with my feet in the sand or on a bike. Let me order a double scoop without the guilt…or, at least, not quite so much. Let me rotate through a suitcase of clothes without feeling I need to make a fashion statement. Let summer be summer.

No summer lovin’ just loving summer. I’ve already Googled several ice cream stops.

 

SHOCKINGLY…GOOD

I could have blown it in the final text. As I neared Tim’s place for our second date, I typed, “See you shorty.” Luckily I caught the error and added an essential ‘l’ to amend things to “See you shortly.” Perhaps soon is a safer word.

And, yes, I did get lucky. Oh, not like that, you gutter thinker. I was simply fortunate to have a lovely seven-hour date. Still, got your mind in the gutter? I’ll tell you it ended with some kissing and me getting literally weak in the knees. That’s always the sign that I’m into something good. (Just so you know, there will be no more kissing and telling from me in the future should more dates occur. I’ve never been that kind of guy.)

Heck, there were good signs prior to the shorty-averted text. On the ferry ride over, I texted to see which of my suggestions from earlier in the week seemed appealing: farmers’ market with his dog joining us or a stroll on Granville Island. His response: “How about both?” Plus a smiley face.

Forget the TV show; this is the ultimate glee.

Texts, however, do not compare to face-to-face. There is no opportunity to edit before sending, no chance to pause for thirty seconds to come up with a witty reply. How could I keep this man interested through something so elusive as a second date?

As the date progressed from farmers’ market to long seawall walk to Granville Island to False Creek mini-ferry to lunch, I kept bracing for goodbye. That’s the old lack of confidence bubbling up. Surely, he’s done. Lost interest. Come to his senses. I would go from Happy to Bashful as I anticipated The End. And yet on we’d go. Still the doubt lingered. Maybe he’s feeling guilty that I keep missing the next ferry sailing. Canadians can be incredibly polite.

During our late lunch, things deepened. The conversation went from interesting information sharing to a discussion of values, past mistakes and disappointments along with new hopes. It was an intimate conversation that I sensed even the wait staff picked up on. Something was truly clicking. We were vulnerable and the attraction intensified. Something good could become something great.

There is a catch. Always seems to be. As we finally stood at my car, we talked of the next date. Tim said, “You’re off to Seattle next weekend, right?” Ah, yes. But that was only partially correct. I’d mentioned that I am taking the train there, but hadn’t mentioned that was only the first leg of my trip. From Seattle, I fly to L.A. and then to Ottawa. I am gone for the next six weeks. I’ve been itching to get away for months. When I’d booked my flights, there was nothing for me here. I wanted to spend every moment of my summer vacation somewhere else. It never dawned on me that Tim would become a possibility.

And so another factor of time gets added to the mix. I know the If it’s meant to be line and, really, six weeks is a mere blip in the long run (should there be a long run). Nonetheless, it is unfortunate. No one wants that kind of gap between early dates.

It is what it is.

For now, I have a second date to savor. That’s a glorious thing.