If I were to condense my side of the weekends conversations into a letter, it wouldn’t fill a post it note. I was unable to deny Fabian’s accusations that I refuse to open up, as he is spot on – I am too afraid of being hurt / rejected / judged and so I’ve kept myself pretty much a closed book as far as he is concerned.
Regarding his confessions for having feelings for me, I wasn’t able to say more than “Ok” and “That’s nice.” with a “How sweet.” thrown in as well as I didn’t feel the same, or if I did, I wasn’t aware of it. And even if I was, there was no way I was going to admit to it. Hardcore all the way.
My only concession was to invite him over for dinner during the week, to prove that I wasn’t purely interested in partying with him and so plans were made for Fabian to come over for din-dins on Wednesday night.
To be honest I spend the entire week convinced he was going to cancel, citing he had to work late or was tired from gym; so I was pleasantly surprised when he messaged me yesterday afternoon confirming that he would come over after gym at 18h30.
At 18h24 the buzzer rang, with security announcing Fabian’s arrival. Punctual – I like!
He found me in the kitchen stirring the pots; dressed in a boob-tube floral Salsa dress, my hair tied in a side-pony with large flower clipped in, with very high gold wedge shoes.
Receiving a warm embrace, I was immediately intoxicated by his scent; freshly showered with a generous dousing of Dolce and Gabbana. I was very tempted to skip dinner and head straight to dessert.
Whilst I continued cooking the Malaysian Chicken Satay with steamed rice, he chatted with the kids and put music on. The man clearly loves music as much as I do – more points.
After dinner and getting the kids into bed, Fabian had to collect something from a colleague in the area, so I went with him for the drive. There was no intercom at the guys entrance and as he’d left his cellphone charging at my place, Fabian asked if he could use BB to call the guy to open up.
I stayed in the car as I hadn’t bothered to put shoes on and he said he’s be quick. Less than a minute he was outside, and as I had the window open, I overheard Fabian chatting to the guy.
“Come to my car, I want you to meet my lady Harmony. Oh and save that number I just called you from, it’s hers; so if you can’t reach me on my phone, I’m often with Harmony.”
Hmmmm. My lady.
On the way home he said he wanted to play different music for me; as opposed to the hip hop or house music we usually listen to, and said that I mustn’t laugh at him. Listen, the guy likes Justin Bieber; no-one besides me [and several billion teenage girls] like Justin Bieber, so I’d hardly ever mock him for his musical selection.
I know just how to whisper,
and I know just how to cry;
I know just where to find the answers;
and I know just how to lie.
I know just how to fake it,
and I know just how to scheme;
I know just when to face the truth,
and then I know just when to dream.
“What the fuck? Air Supply? Air Supply! I fucking LOVE Air Supply!!! I went to their concert! I met them! Did I mention I love love love Air Supply? Who are you Fabian?” I hyperventilated, in need of a supply of air myself.
“Hahahaha babe, so you still think you know me?”