The Rom-Com First Date

Then, just two weeks ago, I went out with a man during a brief return to my dating apps. I’d clocked him as a dud after the first five minutes, and decided I’d leave after one drink. But the conversation shifted, and before I knew it, I was on drink three. We were laughing about growing up in Italian-American neighborhoods and how we’d both gone to Warped Tour as teenagers. He mentioned that “we” should take a trip upstate in the fall. I had stars in my eyes.

When his hand crept under the bar to gently brush against my thigh, it hit me: I’m on a rom-com first date. How had I let this guy slip between the cracks? Had my picker gone haywire?! Wait, did he just say something about grabbing burgers and singing karaoke?! He was my soulmate!

I excused myself to the bathroom to catch my breath. In the logical part of my brain, the part that I rarely access on a first date, I knew that this situation was going to end the same way all of these ended — with us never speaking again.

As I tried to figure out a way to slow things down, I remembered a time when I was little, and it was pouring rain. It was one of those summer storms that came on suddenly, and I was terrified — I couldn’t believe how hard the rain was coming down. But my mother assured me that it was going to be okay. “It’s impossible for it to rain this hard for a long time,” she told me. “It will eventually stop.”

These dates were exactly like a sudden burst of pouring rain. They were loud, intense, and they shook you to your core. But just as quickly as they came on, they tapered off, and life returned to normal. Things that start out quickly and passionately can’t maintain that energy forever. So they fizzle. This was the nature of the rom-com first date.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t have a little fun with it. So I left the bathroom, went back to the bar, and told my date that we should grab burgers. We made out in the street. We ate our burgers and split a basket of french fries. He walked 10 blocks out of his way to get me to the subway, pulling me into doorways to kiss me the entire way there. My head was swimming, but I leaned into the experience, knowing that none of this really mattered anyway. He’d soon be a memory.

He dropped me off at the Q train in Union Square and told me I was an unexpected treat. When I got home, I already had a text message telling me he had a hell of a night. Can’t wait to see you again, he wrote. I told him I couldn’t either, and that I was free the following week. He told me he’d call me.

Of course, he never did. But instead of feeling sad, I felt good. Sometimes it’s fun to get a little lost in the moment. Sometimes it’s fun to make out with boys on street corners on balmy summer nights. And sometimes, it’s good to enjoy those sudden rainstorms. They help you appreciate the calm sunshine when it comes back around.