Crush

This is how we take each other home: on check papers with song recommendations

It was a rough day a few months ago, and it was a Monday. STILL, a Monday. “I will be right back!” I told Amelie as I headed out the door to have a drink. These outings are less about the drinking and more about being on my own for a bit—to feel my feelings while the child enjoys her time, listening to music out loud.

I walked over to one of my favorite spots in town and sat down at the bar, as I usually do whenever I'm on my own. There’s something about the counter and all the possibilities of being there. You never know who will sit next to you. I’ve seen couples fighting, just as I’ve seen couples reading books together. I love getting a glimpse into other people’s worlds.

But on that particular evening, I was consumed by my own sorrows. I took a seat, ordered a hot sake, and continued exchanging audio messages with a friend. I was crying—sobbing at times—talking, listening. I couldn’t hide the tears rolling down my cheeks. My feelings were too much to keep inside. They flooded out.

At some point early in the evening, the person behind the counter leaned in, made eye contact, and gently asked:

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, it’s just one of those days. Sometimes we need to feel it to get through it.”

“I understand,” she replied kindly. “Is there anything I can do? I can make a drink, I can help you order food…”

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you! I appreciate that. But I think this one is on me,” I answered back.

One of the things that Buddhism taught me most is about looking around—bursting your bubble. Noticing how universal suffering, joy, and compassion can be. So, I accepted her offer to connect and started asking her questions. She engaged, and we had a fun chat. I left feeling better.

See, there’s something about me that’s shaped by trauma: I worry that if someone sees me crying, they’ll leave. I doubt, over and over again, that I will ever find someone who will want to stay. To be fair, I had a short-lived relationship in the past where I could be vulnerable, and that was a big win for me. But like the relationship, that trust was also short-lived.
So imagine my surprise when this stranger asks if I’m okay, my face swollen from crying, no makeup, and she’s STILL very nice? Omg, sign me up.

I then started to become a regular on Mondays, just to go say hi and be curious about that person who was so kind.
Her name is Kat.

Kat’s favorite dessert is tiramisu, and she doesn’t like passion fruit or guava. She prefers whiskey over wine and has tons of delightful friends. One of her goals for 2025 is to learn how to dance. Kat is very smart, handy, and dedicated to the ones she cares about. She is thoughtful, curious, willing, hates to fold laundry (can’t blame her on this one!), and has many skills that I don’t have. She has a big smile but is also feisty. A Cancer Sun with an Aries Moon.
She gifted me a bottle of my favorite holiday drink and tries to pick up Portuguese. She’s interested in languages. Kat likes to sleep in and has more energy later in the day. A moon child.

One day we chatted about time. I asked:

“What’s your favorite time on the clock?”

“My favorite time is when I don’t have to think about time,” she said.

We talk about all sorts of random things, and it brings me joy to see her willingness to engage with my curiosity, translated through questions. Do you know when the curiosity is mutually palpable? That’s how it feels, and it’s been very refreshing to talk to someone who is genuinely interested.

I’m the one who asks most of the questions due to the nature of our encounters (she’s working, and it’s easier to move the conversation along when you’re the one talking rather than listening), but even so, we chat quite a bit, and it’s always lovely. It’s as if I’m getting reacquainted with the mutuality of being interested.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to this spot with a friend, and instead of sitting at the counter, we took a booth. Kat was there. My friend and I had such a good time that time flew by, and Kat was finished working. Then she sat down with us. I was pleasantly surprised, thinking, “This person could be going home now, and she’s choosing to stay? Because of me?” - It was so humbling and nice. I’ve learned not to take a lot of things for granted, and this is one of them: choosing to stay. It was a lovely evening, and even though my friend and I mixed in some Portuguese, she didn’t mind. In fact, she found joy in it.

By this point, you must be wondering if we’ve hooked up. I know, me too. HA! We both know there’s something between us. However, Kat is partnered with two wonderful people. And I, on the other hand, am looking for something that’s not available to me through her—at least not at this point, and that’s totally okay. Things can change. We change. For the time being, Kat is my platonic crush.

Even though I gave her my number (for soup recipes, but sure!), we’re choosing to feel this offline. We have to wait until next Monday. We have to wait, just like the old times. In a world that’s so immediate, having to wait is a p r a c t i c e.

Kat has been a lesson for me in many ways. She is a delightful surprise who is challenging my belief system without even knowing. This can only happen because I am allowing myself to be challenged and I also chose to burst out of my bubble in the first place. And that’s the real lesson for me here: If we pay enough attention, we can find love, friendship, affection, and care in all sorts of different places. But we must be open to it.

We all deserve to find people who will love us for who we are, wherever we are in our lives. Kat is helping me restore hope, and I love her dearly for that. Instead of dismissing my sadness, she offered to help. Instead of leaving after work, she chose to stay and talk to me and get to know my friend. And I think the bottom line is: we all want to be, or to feel, chosen. That someone, despite our vulnerabilities, will stay. They won’t just stay, but they’ll also want to know more. Having faith in that again is very precious to me, and for that, I’m so grateful to Kat.

We never know all the possibilities waiting for us at a bar counter on a very bad day—or what could happen just two doors down.

Much love,

H.