New Life : The Origin of “Come Over”

New Life : The Origin of “Come Over”

I kissed Maddy before I kissed Erica. But I had gone on more dates with Erica and known her longer. We texted frequently and had a familiarity after a while. When I texted, “Come over,” after seeing the red dress selfie, I had just recently recovered from the first time I sent those words to her.

Saturday in November – 8:30pm : Cafe Mocha, East Village

I’m at a dark bar in the East Village. There was a perfect corner seat made just for me. Hooks for my jacket, no chance of a person to my left, and a view of the entire place taking shape in front of me.

I have my Bose headphones, book, journal, and new iPhone 11 that failed on the backup and no longer contains texts or photos documenting the last 7 years of my life.

Erica was hoping her friends would flake tonight and we could hang since I’ll be gone for a couple weeks.

I blew the kiss last night. Meaning, I didn’t do it.

Her friends didn’t flake. So I was left with the feeling of being an incredible loser devoid of ‘game’ who let a great night end in such a mediocre way that we will likely forget about each other in days.

I tend to forget what isn’t in front of me. I’ve never missed my significant other when I’ve been out of town. I transition into the life in front of me and disconnect from what was before that. I assume it’s the same for the people I am talking to.

Erica has been great with the slow texts. I love it now. She doesn’t respond right away. It used to make me anxious. Now it gives me freedom to send a message and move back into what I was doing before. What else could I learn to love that I used to be uncomfortable with?

She often says she is looking for something a little more serious. She asks where I’m at since I just divorced. I tell her all my things – keeping my own apartment, traveling a lot, staying independent, etc. The standard bag for someone coming out of a long relationship. She is okay with all of it. She has her own projects and likes her alone time.

In the past, this would’ve scared me. Someone who wasn’t willing to be obsessed right away. I see how desperate that is now. I’ve spent so much time looking at the wrong things for validation. None of my relationships seem real now.

A few friends told me that A has been seeing a new guy. They were spending a lot of time together. It put a little pressure on my stomach, picturing her with someone else. But mostly what I felt was relief.

What will happen if I like Erica and she likes me? I don’t feel excited about it getting to the point where she wants me to meet her friends. Being close to her would be great if that’s what our connection led to. But once our bubble floats off and tries to merge with the outside world it becomes considerably less exciting.

Here at the bar everyone is working hard to hear each other. They are wanting to hang out but it’s too loud to talk. The drinks help raise the voice but why in the hell would someone ever think of this as a good venue for a date?

As I nursed my own Blue Moon, I debated sending Erica a text. Something to give a little zinger. “You should sneak away from your friends for a sec.” A similar text I’ve sent before. I do it when I feel relatively neutral about someone and need to provide a spark.

Jenny thinks it would be romantic to text her. She likes the big love bombs and always votes in their favor. We spoke about it earlier in the day and she thought the version of sneaking away from friends to see me was best.

I am wondering if I have what it takes to delay instant gratification in order to grow a bit personally.

I want to take control of this situation. To guarantee it will go my way. I have to fight against this urge and trust a bigger plan.

Charlie says you should never want a person to think you’re special.

“What do you mean? Why not?”

“If they start off thinking you are special then you always have to live up to that. You will grow to resent them because that behavior isn’t sustainable or even who you really are.”

He continues to ask me what I want to be liked for. “What are the things that matter to Kirk?”

“I guess I’d like to be appreciated for being thoughtful and sensitive.”

“Those are wonderful things. No one will see those qualities in you if you are constantly pointing to how special you think you are in other ways.”

In this case, I am reminding myself to hold back on sending the zinger texts or making the deeply emotional statements that are really just designed to control other people’s emotions (make them like me no matter what).

I call Ashley and ask what she thinks.

“No way dude, that’s desperate energy. Remember the way of the Sly Guy.”

I knew she was going to say that. I was counting on it. Because I really didn’t want to send her a text. I wanted to keep the even pace. I wanted to feel like I could do something differently even if it seemed like such a small thing.

But part of me did want to send it. The part that was compensating for not kissing her the night before. And the part that was afraid two weeks was going to be too long to keep a connection going without a kiss to bind us.

Essentially, fear wanted me to send the text.

“You just gotta trust it,” Ashley continued.

She was right. What could possibly happen in the span of two weeks? I’d rather let it ride and build some trust and confidence in myself. Every time I release control I grow an inch inside.

Then I had that one night time beer.

I texted Ashley, “You sure? I really want to text her.”

Turns out, Ashley was also having a night time beer.

My phone rings. It’s Ashley.

“Okay. If you’re going to say anything you only have one move.”

She talks to me like we are leaning over a table in a tent looking at a map before bombing a rival country across the river.

“What’s that?”

“Text her, ‘Come over.’ Just say that and really make her feel it.”

Writing this now I see how ill-advised our plan was.

I debated with myself for a moment. Then I typed it out and pressed send.

I wanted to beat myself with a metal pipe for the next 11 minutes while I waited for her to respond.


That’s what she came back with. Nothing else.

I relayed the message to Ashley.

“That’s all she said?”


She shared the situation with our friend Dave.

“She’s thinking about it. We both agree.”

I had my top experts on it.

30 minutes passed and I knew I breached a line I couldn’t come back from.

“Your response is borderline genius,” I said to her.

I was stumped. She completely thwarted all my manufactured mojo with her dots.

“Was this a test or a bootycall?” she finally responded.

“Not a test. Or a bootycall. Just wanted to see you before you left.”


And that’s it.

I had blown it. From a nice date talking about cliffside houses in Ireland to rendering myself a fuckboy. All in a single day.

“Two weeks is a long time to think about wanting to kiss someone,” I concluded.

I sent that final text and put my phone on airplane mode before pulling the covers over my head.

As of the morning, she had not responded.

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