Here’s a solid ghosting story since it’s the new trend among men in the 25-32 demographic. The narrative isn’t that uncommon.
Darrin and I met at a lake house in Maryland in the fall. After countless trips to the hot tub, ten too many mixed drinks, and a couple Lil’ Wayne rap battles, we kissed. and I was already dreading how painful our break up would be. We went on three dates afterwards: dinner, the movies, and drinks. It was very low-key, super D.C.
He spaced out his texts just long- enough so that I would get a little bit anxious but then relieved, never upset. After the third date I texted my mom:, “Just got home from an amazing date. Now I know why you wanted me to be treated like a princess.” I wrote that. I literally wrote those words. Mind you, Darrin bought me dinner and two glasses of wine– it really wasn’t anything fancy–but if you go back to my inner dialogue, you’ll get to know how my brain works and this will make sense. I got his follow-up text later that night, and then, nothing. When I say nothing, I mean, no response to my response, and no response to my three messages later on that week.
He ghosted, hard.
The next month went as follows: I was upset for about a week. All I talked about was how he’s bad at texting and I need to help him out. I even texted him something along the lines of “I know you’re bad at texting; this is me helping you out” and didn’t get a response (I won’t blame him for not answering this one though.)
The following three weeks consisted of me second-guessing every single moment leading up to me getting out of his car, down to the dress I wore, the way I said hello, my table manners, and of course the way I hugged him goodbye. Had I kissed him on the lips would I be wondering why on earth he wasn’t answering me, or would I be making wine tasting plans for two? Who knows? All I know is that for three weeks all I did was over think it all.
I wish I could say that the story ends with me forgetting about Darrin and then finding myself while on a hike somewhere remote yet Instagram-friendly. I want to say that I deleted all dating apps, joined a kickball league, and met Chad. I’d love to share a picture of Chad and me below this post and caption it “Eventually it all works out” and then another picture of Chad on one knee as we’re both in our workout clothes but he doesn’t care that I’m sweaty in our engagement pictures because “it’s cute” and neither do I because “that’s just so us.”
But none of this is true.
Chad’s probably taking these pictures with someone by the name of Melanie S. and to be honest, the engagement pictures really are just “so them.” As for me, I went ahead and drunk dialed Darrin, four months post-ghosting.
What did I get out of this embarrassing, yet productive conversation? I learned that while Darrin’s texting skills are subpar, Darrin also happens to be an adult capable of expressing his feelings and chose not to for a solid four months.
And yet when he ended the call telling me we should give it another shot, I agreed.
It’s been thirteen days since this conversation. We got drinks once and there are currently no plans for another date. No Outlook invite, no Google calendar, no Facebook messages, DMs nor texts. We’re back to September and Darrin is being Darrin. This post-mortem drink session did nothing. No closure-despite me telling my friends it was “just the closure I needed.” I lied.
I sit here, second-guessing the place we grabbed drinks, wondering why I went with the off-the-shoulder top instead of something a little more covered-up, wanting to yell at myself for not going in for the kiss.
To hell with it. Next time, I’m going in for the kiss.