I went on one pseudo-date with the middle school boyfriend, who then told me via email a few days later that we probably shouldn't be romantic. Now that he is home, he needs me to be his only indie music listening, philosophizing "adult" friend in a sea of comforting albeit regressive personalities. Fine, the ego is bruised, but I understand.
I went on two actual dates with the guy who picked me up at a cafe, who has made a conscious effort to woo me. He is smart and interesting, and we have great conversation. Alas, he doesn't make me giddy.
And I have spent time with P, my former European bike boy now coworker. I found him the most perfect housewarming gift, and so I asked him if I could invite myself over to give it to him. "Of course. You are always welcome, especially if you come bearing gifts." I presented him with a Velveeta cookbook, and we assembled an IKEA dresser. Towards the end of the evening, he playfully tugged at the bow on my skirt and we kissed. Our first since August. We kissed again a week later, in the dark of his hallway, after an evening of party-hopping. His room now fully furnished, I laughed at him for categorizing and alphabetizing his books. Just a few days ago, he proposed soup for lunch. At a cute little restaurant down the way, sitting with our bowls of lentils in front of us, he traded me a Nepal story for one of my Moroccan ones. The next day he set off to Berlin for 10 days, but before leaving the staff lunch, he found me. We touched each other's arms goodbye.
And that night, I felt it.
I will miss him.