This Could Be Something
the day I met Brendan at Black Market Flea
Last year, right around the time I met Bubs, I’d just started talking to someone else.
After a few weeks of dating Brendan (a pseudonym), I thought I’d finally landed the romantic relationship I’d been hoping to find. Almost everything about this connection made me feel like it was right, starting with our introduction through a mutual friend. Burned out from years of swiping on apps, I was beginning to see the value and excitement in meeting potential prospects offline, out in the “real world.”
It was late February when Trent (a pseudonym) — with whom I’d gone on one date a couple of years prior and stayed friends — introduced us at Black Market Flea. At the time, I’d been recovering from my split with Cooper, which left me a few pounds lighter and a lot more bitter.
My first thought when I laid eyes on Brendan was that he had a striking face. He didn’t look like anyone I’d ever seen before. He had locked hair, light eyes, and other notable features like his shapely lips and pronounced nose. He struck up a brief conversation with me and a friend I was with, asking about items we’d purchased from the vendors. It was a positive exchange, but it didn’t lead to anything in that moment.
I didn’t interact with him again until a couple of months later. Trent had taken some photos at a party where we all were and posted them on social media. Although Brendan and I hadn’t crossed paths that night, we were both tagged in the carousel, so I started following him on Instagram. He followed me back, and our connection grew from there.
I almost never make the first move, but that night I was in rare form as my going out streak raged on
The next week, at that same regularly scheduled party, I spotted him across the bar. With us having a rapport from the ‘gram & the flea, I decided to approach him. I almost never make the first move, but that night I was in rare form as my going out streak raged on. Brendan returned my flirtiness, signaling to me that we were on the same page.
We started messaging on Instagram and he invited me to his place for mimosas. We exchanged numbers and our little romance was born. I showed up with my contribution — a bottle of peach juice — and we had a wholesome hangout.
Trent — who’s also his roommate — was there, so we didn’t have a moment alone. That was a good thing. It felt more casual that way and helped ease any nervousness I might’ve felt otherwise.
I brought along my laptop because I had to work that afternoon, and as I typed away on my device Brendan busied himself with whatever work he had. Being productive together had a natural ease to it — we were with each other but had our own space, which is a dynamic I value in relationships.
Things continued this way over the next weeks, but shifted to us spending most of our time at my apartment, where I live alone and there’s no interference from a roommate (sorry Trent!).
Between hanging out at mine we’d go out here and there, going to bars on Melrose or downtown to that party we liked to frequent. We bonded over our love of music, being creatives, and our ties to Philadelphia. We settled into a rhythm of keeping each other informed about our day-to-day plans and whereabouts, and I gradually stopped seeing other people.
It felt healthy, and like I was finally doing something right in my dating life. When I questioned my lack of jitters and excitement, I reminded myself of something I’ve heard people say — that feeling butterflies in your stomach is not a sign you’re with the right person. The right person, the advice notes, makes you feel calm and grounded.
Brendan did not give me butterflies. He gave me time, consistency, and loyalty. He was available and didn’t play games. I needed that after my past year of dating frauds and con artists. I was excited to see how far we could take it.
Four months later I gave him a key to my apartment.
