If She Likes You, You Will Know

This is the 21st century, and yes, we all carry our cell phones with us at all times. I am no exception. But the fact that you have my phone number does not obligate me to respond. If I am not interested, I will most definitely choose to continue watching Netflix alone with my favorite blanket over attempting to make small talk with you. The OA is deep and complex, and you are so very surface level.

Trying to initiate a conversation by asking if I “am alive” or if you “said something wrong” or any other implication that you are somehow entitled to my attention is going to be a major turn off. I’m sorry I chose this route over simply refusing to give you my number in the first place, but I assumed hints could be taken.

And it should be obvious because when I am interested, it shows. There is no question. I will respond. I won’t play games and wait an hour before hitting send. I will ask you all kinds of questions, leaning towards the non-obvious and avoiding the mundane at all costs. I will not ask what made you chose your career, but “What scares you most?” or “What’s the last thing that made you cry?” I will wonder how long it would take us to run out of things to talk about.

When one of these interviews lasts late into the night, and you ask me why I am still awake, I will lie and tell you I am a night owl, instead of telling you it’s because I just like talking to you more than sleeping. I will wish you were there next to me and imagine the ways you could keep me up all night long. I will have no regrets while unable to function at work the next day.

I will remember every personal detail you tell me, and use my favorite ones to tease you. If you’re especially lucky I may throw in a nickname, or two – or three. Don’t be offended, I just want to make you laugh.

I will die inside when you offer to do anything nice for me. Even though I won’t accept the lunch you want to send me because I left my wallet at home, or the help cleaning up puke in my elevator at 2 AM after a wild night out, something about you will make me feel comfortable enough to confide in you, and be comforted by your kindness – even during my most embarrassing moments.

I will feel honored if you let me in during any of your vulnerable moments. Know I never know the right thing to say. You may think I’d make a great therapist, but the truth is I fumble when it comes to being there for my closest friends. I will be willing to take a chance and risk saying the wrong thing because I care about you too much to say nothing at all.

I will ask to see you. I will make a second trip to the grocery store to buy you your favorite ice cream because I was too nervous to do it when I first had the idea. I will let you come into my home. Understand that will mean I’ve already decided I won’t hit a point where I’m waiting for you to leave.

I will have no recollection of the movie we watch together, because I will be too busy looking at you. I will want to look away, because a voice in my head will tell me I’m a total creep, but I won’t be able to. Somehow you’ll be looking at me too, and everything will seem completely natural.

I will find any reason to get closer to you, and make up all kinds of excuses to touch you. If this involves the palm reader hand figurine on my book shelf, I will have no shame, because the only thing that could be as exciting as touching you is you anywhere near my bookshelf.

When you finally do leave, I will collapse onto my couch while simultaneously uttering my favorite expletives in disbelief that feelings like this can exist anywhere outside of a T.V. series where 20-somethings play high school students. None of this will make sense to me because I stopped believing in that kind of romance over a decade ago. You will call it unbelievable, and suddenly the only thing stranger than what I am feeling will be the fact you feel it too.

You will be half of the reason I don’t respond to texts from people who fail to impress me. I will think of you every time I drunkenly kiss someone in a bar. I will remember your description of what our first kiss might be like. Standing make-out. Perfect breath, soft lips, subtle tongue. Because they won’t be able to look me in the eyes and tell me there’s a teddy bear deep down inside my asshole exterior. They won’t be able to provide a perfect description of my personality after looking at a picture of me with the people I love most – my family. “Mid-sentence with my loud-mouthed obnoxious self”.

You will ruin all other strangers for me.

And I won’t know where to go from there.