Chapter Six; Is it Thursday yet?

The next day, Sunday, my blackberry dings so many times with Nick’s text messages I am worried its speaker might wear out.

The level of attention Nick showers upon me over the next four days is completely foreign. Never have I had a guy show this much interest in me so soon. Never.

From:

Good morning, what are your plans today?

To:

How is your day going? What are you up to?

A couple dozen times a day.

I uncharacteristically follow with reckless abandon the momentum that he establishes and reciprocate at every turn.

My morning is lovely, just got done with a run. How is your morning?

And so forth. And so on.

Naomi, as my bestest bud, is obligated to suffer through every detail of this sudden devotion development in my dating life. (I believe it is in the gal pal contract, section 3, paragraph 2.)

And after listening intently to my retelling of this attention tornado she quickly brands him “Hurricane Nick.” She justifies, “If you weren’t so into him this is bordering on a stalker storm. You do realize.”

She doesn’t apologize for her concern and just reminds me to stay alert, as we all know, weather conditions are always subject to change. “Nick sounds great but he is a level one squall right now. And yeah, this mutual infatuation could culminate in my wearing a fuchsia bridesmaid dress this time next year, you never know, but just be cautious. A guy who comes on this strong may have only one windy thought running through his jet stream.”

The “Proceed with Caution, Girlfriend,” warning is in the same contract. Its right up there with never let a girlfriend drink Red Bull and vodka/wear skinny jeans/or drunk dial ex-boyfriends. (An addendum that was added after an unfortunate September outing last fall.)

I thank her. And tell her I will try to remain cognizant of her cautionary counsel.

But not before I remind her.

That I can’t stand the color fuchsia.

As the week wears on, hurricane boy and I banter back and forth, Nick continuing to incessantly quiz me on my day and how it is unfolding.

I do finally have to set a boundary and remind him that I DO have a job. And as much as I wish I could get paid just to talk to him that is not the case. He is respectful, but every day precisely one minute after my work day ends, his words are back on my blackberry screen asking me all about it.

And I keep waiting for it to get irritating.

It never does.

Our dialogue flows naturally beyond texting as we begin an email exchange, quickly flowing into personal topics about our families. He tells me about his grandpa, how having a Harley means a lot to him because his grandfather used to restore motorcycles. He openly confesses how much he has missed him since he died, and points him out in one of his Facebook pictures. A sweet little spectacle-clad old man stands next to Nick on a summer day in the photo, and I well up with empathy. I shared a similar bond with my great grandmother. I know exactly how he feels.

She’s been gone for twelve years and I miss that feisty and funny red-headed old lady.

Every day.

Nick deepens the dialogue and shares the love story of his grandparents that unfolded against the backdrop of World War II, the saving grace of serendipity that ultimately spared his grandpa’s life and how his grandmother, a young bride, stoically survived three years of solitude awaiting her groom’s return. He lets it slip that he hopes to find a love like that some day. His vulnerability catching me off guard but I trust it, and subsequently, I begin.

To trust him.

And I do not question it. For it is rare in this life that we stumble upon someone so willing to show you their hopes and dreams, for in that honesty, I believe, is where the soul resides.

I am getting a glimpse of Nick’s soul.

And I like what I see.

Very much.

He tells me again and again how much he enjoyed meeting my friends, my daughters, and that he can’t wait until Thursday. He asks me if he can take me to dinner for our date and if afterward I would like to attend a fundraiser downtown for fallen firefighters and meet all of his co-workers?

He’ll email me the information about it.

I am simultaneously impressed and floored that he is suggesting I meet his friends for our first official “drive to my house and pick me up” date.

And yes, I did just say friends not colleagues. Because isn’t a profession like this akin to the civilian version of Band of Brothers? My impression of that career is there is a big sense of camaraderie. And even though this town doesn’t exactly have a towering inferno every other week, it’s still a dangerous, and gruesome, job. (They are first responders after all. In this part of the country, who’s pulling frozen homeless men out of snow banks in December? Exactly. It’s these guys.)

For Nick to invite me to meet them seemed, well, pretty special. It isn’t like I am dating an attorney who is going to introduce me to his partner and secretary. (I’ve done that, not very exciting.) Nick wants me to meet the men who stand shoulder to shoulder with him through some pretty raw human experiences.

And I am humbled.

Wednesday morning before 7am .

Ding.

“I don’t think I can wait until Thursday.” Nick’s text reads.

I smile.

Because I am thinking the same thing.

But I resist the urge to rearrange my whole world to accommodate seeing him sooner, and stick with the logical circumstances that rule my single mom universe. Although I have a teenager and subsequently the freedom to come and go if I need to, I rarely take advantage of that. I am the mom here, not her. I have a life too, but my first duty is to spend my evenings doing mom things like: cooking dinner (Be quiet and eat that broccoli.), helping with homework (Why are they teaching you algebra in 3rd grade? Are they trying to make you into an electrical engineer by middle school?), doing laundry (What iPod? There was an iPod in the pocket of those pants?), and just spending time with my kids. (Get out of the recliner; I’ve had a long day. Pour your poor mother a glass of Riesling and paint my toenails, will ya?)

The fact is that Nick, as great as he is, is just going to have to wait his turn. There are a couple mini-me’s who have been on this scene long before Nick got here and they are my first priority.

On Wednesday morning (only one day to go!) as I drink my coffee on my patio in the summer sunshine, Nick texts me he wishes he were there with me.

I coyly reply, “Maybe someday you will be.”

At that moment, I hear sirens in the distance and the familiar horn of a fire truck.

Gotta go!

Nick’s text reads.

I text him back,

Stay safe.

About twenty minutes later he replies that it was just burned food; he’s back at the station. I am glad. I’ve heard those sirens a million times and never though too much of it.

Now?

That sound symbolizes the potential for peril I’d never before considered. And it’s a bit unsettling.

I shake the concern out of my head as I wait 36 hours for the clock and calendar to coincide.

And when time finally delivers the moment of my anticipation, Nick is standing on my doorstep with that great big grin of his, an enormous bouquet of flowers in his hand and a bottle of wine under one arm. (There is even a bow on the bottle. And yes, I ask him later if he tied it on himself? And he says yes. Yes he did.)

Forget "You had me at hello." This guy had me at the bow.

He hands me the flowers, “For you,” he smiles.

Daisies.

I am stunned.

Daisies were my wedding bouquet. And last year on my first wedding anniversary after my divorce, I had taken its brittle remnants back to where I’d said my marriage vows.

Closure.

I’ll never forget the peace that had enveloped me as I laid the leftovers of a lost life on the ground.

And now, I am holding the first bouquet of daisies that I have received since that moment. Eternal hunter of metaphors that I am, I just smile into the flowers and breath in this new beginning.

“You ready?” Nick ask, his enthusiasm contagious.

“Yes, I sure am!” I say, mirroring his excitement.

Because.

I am ready.

More ready than I ever thought I’d be.

****************************************************

Great news, readers! Dating Land is hitting the air waves this week. Tune in at 8:30PM on Thursday, September 17th, on KFGO, The Mighty 790AM. I'll be a guest of my host, Jason Spiess.

You can listen online at http://www.kfgo.com/. Just click the "Listen Live" link at the top of the page, or scroll over the "Listen Online!" link I posted in the sidebar of "Dating Land." We'll discuss several topics related to dating that I introduced in Dating Land thus far such as dating with children, social networking sites, infatuation, and dating after divorce.

Thank you for reading. I'll see you back here on Thursday for Chapter 7, which is not yet titled. The working title in the Word doc is lame so I'll try to think of something more fun.

Have a super week, Muah!
~Audra
P.S. Last week I heard from three guys I dated who appeared in my prior blog, Divorce Land. They all want to know why they aren't in Dating Land. One in particular said, "I read all the Dating Land chapters so far and thought to myself, "What? How am I not in here?!?!" Thanks guys, I am glad you enjoyed the spotlight! We'll see if I bring any of you back for a Dating Land cameo.