I didn’t always shower at the gym, but when I did, I missed phone calls. It was just the way life worked. My phone could be silent all day long, but as soon as I step in for a five-minute shower, it blows up.
I had four missed calls and three voicemails from Steven’s phone. My first thought was emergency. It wasn’t like Steven to repeatedly call when sent to voicemail. There was nothing about his personality that was anxious or demanding, so my instincts told me there was a problem.
I wanted to dial him back immediately but decided it would be for the best if I listened to the voicemails. There was the possibility that he wasn’t in a position to talk and I needed information.
Still wet and naked except for a towel around my waist, I stood in front of my open locker, intently listening to the first message.
“DKM, I’m going to leave this as a message, which I suppose is really for the best. I mean, if I talk to you, I’m going to say all sorts of weird shit that I didn’t mean to say, so…”
He trailed off, his voice subdued. His tone and his lead-in were a bad sign. This had all the markings of a break-up call. I lowered myself to the metal bench behind me. After a short pause, he continued.
“Oh! I need to say thank you for the macarons. They’re soooo damn delicious, I’m eating one right now. It’s the one with the chocolate ganache in the middle. Those are my favorite.”
The garbled way he said ‘favorite’ indicated that he was, in fact, eating. I smiled in spite of myself.
“So, the thing is, you know how I told you about all the really bad dates I’ve had and how I was worried that the one crazy guy was at the restaurant with us?”
“Sort of,” I said aloud, like an idiot. He’d briefly mentioned a couple of strange men but hadn’t gone into enough detail about them to suit me.
“Yeah, well, he was and I—”
The voicemail beeped and cut him off.
“Shit,” I said softly, playing the second message. My takeaway from his slightly rambling message was that the red-haired, mentally disturbed man was at the restaurant with us, as he’d suspected. I didn’t feel good about that, and clearly Steven didn’t either.
“Shit, sorry! I guess I need to speak faster. IHaveAVeryDangerousStalkerAndYouShouldn’tBeFriendsWithMeAnymoreBecauseHeCouldHurtYou.”
He took a breath and continued.
“He’s batshit crazy, muscular, and mean as hell. Run far! Run fast! You don’t want another Fancy Stalker situation, so shoo! I’m changing my number tomorrow. Have a nice life.”
He clicked off, and I sat in stunned silence as the automated voice prompted me to delete the message or listen to the next. Numbly, I selected the last of his voicemails, my naked skin developing goosebumps despite the oppressively humid air of the locker room.
“Wow, I’m such an asshole, I just realized how panicked you might be. Ugh, fine! I don’t really think you’re in danger. At least not yet. But it’s only a matter of time before he gets the wrong idea about us. God, Ken, I have the wrong idea about us! You need to find other straights to hang out with, because if you think you can hang with gays and not make all of us crazy for you, you’re out of your damn mind. Take your fun jazz nights and chiseled jaw and hit the bricks, mister.”
There was a brief rustling sound, then his voice sounded far away. “There, that oughta do it,” and he disconnected.
“What the hell?!” I boomed, my voice echoing through the room. Several men murmured and cast me annoyed glares, but I was too stunned to care.
Other straights? I have the wrong idea about us?
Everything about those messages was alarming. He wasn’t speaking with his normal ease, he’d been genuinely distressed. That he suspected he had a stalker, was chilling. That he thought he needed to push me away to spare me the danger, was both infuriating and sweet. That he thought I was straight, and we were just friends? That was the screwiest part of all of this.
We were dating.
I made a big, embarrassing, I’m ready for love speech on Sunday.
I sent him fifty macarons for god’s sake!
You should have kissed him, asshole. Youshouldhavekissedhim, youshouldhavekissedhim, youshouldhavekissedhim.
Go! Kiss! Him!
With haste, I put my shoes on, grabbed my bag, and made to leave, intent on going to Steven. At that moment, my loosened towel fell to the floor. I looked at it in astonishment, then huffed out a self-deprecating laugh.
Show up buck naked, Ken, Steven will think he has two crazy stalkers.
Given how I felt in that moment, how unhinged and fixated I was, one could think, maybe he does.
Maybe he does.