The Date I Never Met
How many times will you let someone stand you up?
The first time Charlie stood me up, I tried not to take it personally. I mean, sure it’s humiliating to be rejected by someone who’s never even had the displeasure of knowing you — but Tinder is made for such moments. We only had tentative plans to meet anyway, and he hadn’t confirmed a place or a time, so I figured something pressing must have come up.
That said, I was expecting a text message with some sort of excuse. But when I messaged him saying I assumed it wasn’t happening, I didn’t hear back –
Until around two weeks later. A text arrived: I’m so sorry for being a dick. Can you give me a second chance?
That was it. No explanation.
I scrolled back through his profile. Charlie was 30, but looked mature for his age. He had scruffy hair and a beaming smile. In one photo he was carrying a young boy on his shoulders — I assumed this to be his nephew, but it turned out to be his son.
In other words, he seemed handsome and caring… and handsome. In the Tinder World, handsome is pretty much all you’ve got to go on.
Why didn’t you show up the other day?
Moments later, a text came back.
I have cancer.
How do you even respond to a message like that?
That’s either the worst joke or the most excuseable excuse ever, I texted.
It wasn’t a joke. He was sick and didn’t know how to tell me. He’d been feeling sorry for himself, then embarrassed, then here we were two weeks later.
You can’t really turn down a second date with the guy who has cancer. I told him if he felt unwell then not to worry if he couldn’t make it. He didn’t make it. This time I got a text message but it arrived after we were supposed to meet.
Don’t worry about it, take care of yourself.
I really want to meet you, he replied.
I had to go to Sydney for a week to finish up a creative project. It was a busy week, packed with meetings, social events and family time. Charlie texted me all throughout — even calling me while I was at brunch.
I didn’t pick up the phone. I’m kinda busy, I assume that was a butt dial?
I thought it would be nice to talk. And then, Can we please talk tonight?
I was babysitting my niece and nephew that night, so a phone call was impossible.
Have fun, love.
Swallowing my instinctive vomit reaction to the use of the word ‘love’, I told him I wasn’t comfortable with Charlie talking to me as though he wasn’t a total stranger.
You’re very special to me, was the response.
Oh crikey.
By now I was having stronger feelings against arranging another date with Charlie, but he kept asking and — well, I looked at his profile pictures again. That smile. When I came back to Melbourne, we organised yet another date. We even managed to arrange a venue. But not a time.
Come six o’clock, I messaged him: Third time’s the charm, eh?
No response, so apparently it wasn’t. I waited until what I felt was probably past any reasonable kind of dating hour. Past 9pm anyway. I called him. He’d been wanting to have a phone call so now was the ideal time.
It went to voicemail. I left a message. I refrained from saying that having cancer wasn’t an excuse for being an asshole. But I did ask him whether he got a kick out of deliberately making me feel like an idiot.
No, this story didn’t end with me finding out he was in hospital — or worse. Inexplicably, it ended with a barrage of text messages around midnight from Charlie.
I’m so sorry. I’m not in a good place right now. Please give me another chance.
I started writing a message about how I didn’t have the energy to deal with someone else’s emotional problems, which ordinarily would be true. But then I remembered he had cancer and how awful that sounded so I deleted it.
Why would I do that? I replied.
Because you’re forgiving.
Reader, I really am not.
Like my writing? Sign up to my newsletter here, check out my website or follow me on Facebook / Twitter / Instagram.
