TTYS

“I’ll talk to you soon.”

Sounds innocuous, right? 

That was the last thing Bubs* said to me when he left my apartment after our third time hooking up. He politely paired it with a kiss on my temple as I lay in bed in a sleepy stupor. My hair was a mess — in a topknot bun that was intended to look “effortlessly cute” but in reality looked like I didn’t try. Ugh.

I’d fallen asleep the night before wanting more out of our time together, but accepting it for what it was. The previous time we hung out left me on a natural high, so my hopes and expectations were equally elevated this time around. I wanted it to be exactly the same. 

It’s not that our latest hookup was bad or anything. It just didn’t feel as passionate as the time before. I wanted a deeper connection. And more sex.

In the morning I woke up to find Bubs sitting on my couch rolling a Fronto. I groaned, rolled over, and went back to sleep. The night before he told me he wanted to make it home to watch Morocco play France in the World Cup, so I wasn’t surprised when he dipped out early.

That’s when it happened. The lukewarm goodbye that could’ve meant anything from “I’ll hit you up in a couple days” to “see you never.”

The problem is that phrase — the one we use so often it has an internet abbreviation — is one of the most neutral, noncommittal, inconclusive sentences out. Vague enough to guarantee nothing, yet pointed enough to leave the receiver with hope. I often turn to it to end conversations with my elders. 

Actually, I end conversations with it pretty often in general.

Hmm. Was Bubs just regurgitating my go-to line? Had I said it to him in the past? 🧐

And then there was the placement of the kiss. The top of my head. The side of my head. Not sexy. Not passionate. Not promising.

I compared his exit to when the roles were reversed one month earlier. I’d had an appointment in the morning so I left him cozily tucked in my bed. Before I headed out I cradled his chubby cheeks in my hands and gave him a trio of kisses. Mouth-to-mouth. There was so much packed into them — “I like you.” “I wanna see you again.” “Last night was amazing.”

But Bubs’s lifeless peck left much to be desired. I wondered if he was as into our hookups as I was. I pondered, dissected, and waited.

I could’ve taken the initiative to ask what he was thinking, or tell him how much I was feeling him, but I consciously chose to wait it out and let him take the lead. I don’t think that’s an inherently bad thing. To quote Amy Winehouse: I observe; I don’t chase.

Finally, one week later, confirmation came in the form of a text: “Wyd tn?”

*Name’s been changed