Hmmmm….! ?!?!

Yep, that about summarizes how I am feeling about Alex. It’s now just 3 days after our first date. We have another hangout set for Sunday, and for once, I am actually excited about it.

First a small rewind. While living in Colombia (the second time, 2021), I was good friends with a 69-year-old American named Matt. We met for coffee thanks to a mutual friend, both knew about nickel mining and processing, loved cycling, & got on well. He generously lent me his Trek Madone for 4 months of trekking around Medellin. I eventually went to his 70th birthday party hosted by his sister and brother-in-law in Mallorca, Spain.

All along, Matt kept saying I had to meet his brother-in-law’s younger brother, Alex, who lives in London. No expectation, given Alex is a little older, but Matt knew we’d be an incredible intellectual and musical match.

He was right. I would soon learn how many similarities we have. Alex lives in London & I’m often in London. Alex plays trumpet, I played trumpet. Alex sings in classical music groups; I do too, and am currently taking opera lessons. Alex is well traveled and has worked in a variety of interesting things across his career. I’m going to stop there.

The catch? Of course, there’s always a catch. Alex is maybe 58 years old. I’m 41. I know, I know, I had the mad crush on ‘older man’ Henry for a long time. Deep down, I always knew that that was somewhat of a fairy tale. Whereas here in front of me was a real person, actually available, no hiding behind fantasy.

We were meeting for drinks at the Nightjar, a place famous for its live music. We made reservations too late to be able to hear the live music – a point that Alex apologized for, even though it had been my tardiness that led to it – a hint, as I would soon learn, at the great kindness that is quintessentially Alex. Going in though, I knew very little about him, other than Matt’s very strong seal of approval. But I had already met his older brother in Mallorca – a tall, handsome, intelligent, versatile, interesting, musical, welcoming guy. So I go with it, not knowing at all what to expect but open to whatever happens. I didn’t think we were meeting for a date. But I must have realized I was nervous.

I am 2 minutes late. Alex has already gone inside to take the table. I go downstairs and first spot him, and he stands up quite tall. His demeanor triggers in me a sense that this may indeed be a date. I suddenly behold a person much different than I had imagined. Younger looking, half friendly half reserved, did I mention tall?

He greets me with a very nice hug. ‘It’s so nice to finally meet you!’ we both say at the same time. We sit directly in front of the piano and stage where live music will begin in 2 hours. And, we start to talk. Mostly at random, much of which I don’t remember due to nerves. Alex is half American, half British. He may have Irish citizenship through an ancient ancestor from Belfast and a loop law (but it’s possible that was someone else I met this week, argh the troubles of dating so much!). He was born and raised near Darien, Connecticut, with a lawyer father and a polyglot British mother. He tells me some stories about that stereotype, and about his times in college, but alcohol and nerves may have slipped them temporarily out of my memory. He’s lived in London for 7 years, and now re-upped for another 7. He is attracted to the kindness of British culture, and their knack for speaking in ad hoc artful paragraphs.

There is certainly 30 or so minutes of talking before we manage to open the drink menu – which he then comically cannot read because he has forgotten his glasses. The originality of drinks is another great thing about this bar, and we spend some time parsing the cartoonish painted illustrations of each drink. We order a first round, and then a second. One drink (the tropical skull one, which I kept misnaming ‘pirate’) arrives fuming with dry ice.

He talks most of the time, and I surprisingly don’t mind it. We both have a bit of ADD, but I bring him back to mainline when it’s important, and he is very non-resistant to my interrupting him to add a comment or bring us back to point (which he later thanks me for, to my surprise). We keep touching on topics and finding things in common. Travel, places we’ve lived, Boston, DC, Geneva, London, weird experiences in random places.

I definitely am blown away by how comfortable his presence feels–like he is part and parcel to my own being.

1.5 hours and 2 drinks in, we have to give up our seats for the next reservation. We find ourselves outside, 10 minutes’ walking distance to our homes. But we both hesitate, look the other way, and start talking about the next bar we should go to.

… And I keep thinking … so, is this a date???

Normally by this point of a first date, I am bored and ready to go home. And normally, I get annoyed by a guy who spends most of the time talking and doesn’t ask me many questions. But not with this guy. I am eager for more. We realize that in his 7+ years in London he has never been to Bounce, the ping pong bar, a mere 5 minutes’ walk away. So we spend the next 1.5 hours at Bounce, having a blast. He’s clearly far better than me, but holds back just so we both have fun – playing while holding a drink, helping me with tips (80% of your power! wait for the good one!), and only showing his true prowess at the very end when I beg him for just one real game (I do sneak 8 points away from him). By the end of the night, I’ve had so much fun. I catch myself laughing out loud so many times. I am really digging him, and I give him extra points for the kindness – quality #1 for me, and apparently for him too.

I am also a bit freaking out. Maybe my infatuation with his musicality is making me ignore other aspects that are less than perfect. Or maybe I am just freaking out about the age – what if he’s the one, and we only have 20 good years together? What if he doesn’t want kids? So I can’t tell if there’s a spark, because I hold myself back every time I feel on the verge of it. And I can’t tell what he feels – he may be enjoying my presence, or he may be a perfect example of British politeness. It’s so hard to tell.

He walks me home, just a few blocks from his. He says things that indicate we will meet again, like ‘maybe we’ll kayak there sometime,’ or when he darts his eyes away and invites me for a drink at his sometime “because why not, you’re so close by.”

Aaaaaand I do my classical pull-back friend-zone maneuver.

Because we got too close too fast. I don’t know if I’m ok with the age difference, and I suddenly don’t want him to try anything. I hear myself use words like “feel close to you like family.” I awkwardly do not give him an opening for a kiss — after all, was this a date or not, and what were his expectations and feelings? Is he just being kind to help introduce me to the city, as a family friend of his brother? I feel like there’s no play book for my situation, and I become like a statue not knowing what to do or say.

I know in real time that I am screwing this up. Because in reality, I have never enjoyed a first date more than this one. Somebody who is as musical as he is simply touches my soul in a way I cannot describe. But I feel I may be confusing this with spark?

After our hug goodbye, at least I do shout to him gleefully “I had a really nice time!”

To be continued.