For the month of April, I waited for So-Far-Normal Jon to call. I played our Vegas weekend in my head over and over again, blaming myself for being so blind to Jon’s obvious indifference toward me.
Jon’s dismissal rehashed the boy traumas of my past, flooding my mind with thoughts of self-pity and doubt.
The week after returning from Vegas, I agreed to meet Pete for a drink. Unlike Jon, Pete believed that he and I had a cosmic connection, destined to meet. Perhaps too accustomed to men’s indifference to me, I found over-zealous Pete to be overwhelming and annoying. After only three dates and one kiss, I told Pete it was over.
Soon after releasing Pete, I got over Jon.
From Spring into Summer, Pete relentlessly pursued me, sending me sporadic text messages, none of which I answered. I assumed each of his efforts to be his last until a few weeks later when I received the next.
After five months of “I saw they have a mushroom salad at Chop Chop and I thought of you because you like mushrooms,” and “by the way you are so beautiful,” I began to reevaluate my dismissal of Pete back in April.
Exhausted by Jon, I had not given Pete a fair chance. His persistence made me wonder if there was a cosmic connection that I hadn’t allowed myself to feel. I decided that the next time I heard from Pete, I would respond.
RePete and I dated for the month of September. His zeal had not faded. Neither had the ick it inflicted upon me.
A full year after I met Sam, who took me to the Waldorf, where I met Jon, who took me to Vegas, where I met Pete, I broke up with RePete the week after Yom Kippur.
Pete really was perfect on paper. I bet my parents would have loved him.
