It’s September 8th. It’s supposed to be my day for romance this month according to astrologyzone.com. And it was gonna be perfect. Motorcycle Guy and I are were going sailing on his catamaran. (He’s mobile by land and water.) Picnic from the farmer’s market, day on the water under the sun.
He canceled last minute. He has a cold. It’s a thin excuse, but he sounded sincere when he said he never, ever cancels. Like this is the first time. Ever. I’ll buy it. But it’s been more than a week since our first and only date—long enough where we could bump into each other on the street and not recognize one another. Well I would recognize him. He’s Motorcycle Guy. But if he just walked on by me—devastating.
Roman thinks I should have gone to see him bearing orange juice and the chocolate chip cookies I made. I think I should just be patient and wait for him to make the next move. Roman wondered aloud if Motorcycle Guy sat around in a Speedo in his apartment when he’s sick. I assured him that yes, of course he did.