Seven Date Me

I woke up alone. The space beside me where Gerard had been was cold. All I could smell were those roses, not a single scent of his.

I got out of bed and wandered to the living room, only stopping long enough to pull my boxers on. I noticed Gerard’s clothes weren’t on the floor, where they’d been abandoned last night.

The apartment was empty. Gerard was long gone.

“What the fuck?” I asked the empty room.

My mind was racing as I shuffled over to the couch and flopped down.

I thought we had an amazing night together. It was the best sex I had ever had, because it actually meant something to me. Gerard told me that he’d “never felt like that before”. He seemed happy, so why the hell hadn’t he stuck around? I wanted to wake to him still asleep. I wanted to stroke him until he became firm in my hand. I wanted to kiss his lips as his eyes fluttered open. Then I would repeat the performance from the previous night, and as we cuddled together afterwards, I was going to tell him that I loved him. Hopefully, he would say it back.

But, no. Instead, I woke up alone.

It was then I noticed my phone sitting on the coffee table, discarded beside the empty platter we had been eating off. I checked my notifications and perked right up when I noticed a text from Gerard. The timestamp said 2am.

Morning Frankie. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay, but I wanted you to know that last night was perfect. I’ll never forget it. And, I promise you, I woke up happy ;)

Of course he woke up happy. It was Sunday, he had to.

I kept thinking about the text as I tidied up the apartment after our date. It stayed with me as I dressed for work and was still front and centre when I arrived for my shift at Starbucks.

As 10.15am approached, I prepared the caramel macchiato Gerard always ordered on Sundays. I even warmed up a chocolate croissant for him. But 10.15am came and went and Gerard never appeared. I told myself he was probably just running late, but as I took off my apron at 4pm I had to accept that he wasn’t coming at all.

I called him when I got home from my shift, but he didn’t answer. He must have just been busy. Right?

He never returned my call, though.

Hours later, I was lying in bed playing back every second of our time together on Saturday. The only thing that could have offended him was the overpowering smell of roses.

“This is all your fault,” I said to the vase still sitting on the nightstand.

Unable to sleep, I decided to try texting Gerard. He was always more of a texter than a talker. And Sunday had faded into Monday by that point, so maybe I would have more luck getting through to adventurous Gerard.

I agonised over what to say. I considered asking why he left, but thought that might make me come across as pathetic. I thought about being romantic and confessing my feelings, but was too nervous to put that into a text message. I didn’t want to risk him having that in writing, something he could whip out for his friends to see and laugh at.

Eventually, I went for a mix of casual, but eager.

So, I have plans for date eight. You’ll love this. When are you free?

I had no plans for date eight, but hoped it would be enough to coax a response out of Gerard.

More than a week went by, and still no reply from Gerard. He also hadn’t been into Starbucks. Each morning I prepared his drink, each afternoon I had to throw the cup in the bin.

One week turned in two, and by the third week I’d had enough. Desperate times called for a desperate and pathetic Frank. I drove around to his house on the third Sunday after our date. I figured happy Gerard would be pleased to see me.

I parked on the driveway and walked up to the door. I stood there for more than ten minutes, knocking on and off, but he never answered.

Assuming he wasn’t home, I went back to the car and scrawled a note on the back of an old phone bill. I could have used a receipt or another scrap of paper, but the bill had my address on it. Perhaps it would encourage him to come visit me. Maybe he hadn’t because he couldn’t remember where I lived. He'd only been there once after all and would have left in the dark.

Once I finished the note, I tucked it under the door and left.





After more than a month passed since I left that note at his house, I had to accept that things between Gerard and I were over. He never visited me, never called, never texted, and never stepped foot inside Starbucks again. It was like he had just disappeared.

One night in May, I and a few other long-term employees were asked to come in for a staff meeting after Starbucks had closed for the day. I’d spent the two months since my last date with Gerard walking around in a bit of a bubble. I worked on autopilot, and really had no idea what was going on at the store. For all I knew, one of us had poisoned a customer and we were being sued.

The boss was the last to arrive. He walked in with a broad smile plastered on his face.

“I have some exciting news,” he said, leaning against the counter.

That ruled out poisoning someone, I thought.

“I’m sure you all remember that I opened a second franchise near the library six weeks ago,” he continued.

My colleagues were all nodding, but the information was news to me.

“Things are going really well there – a lot busier than I expected it to be in the first few weeks.” He smiled even wider than when he had come in, and I could almost picture the dollar signs over his eyes. “And because things are going so well, I’ve decided I need a full-time store manager for the new store; I can't keep splitting my time between the two. As my best workers, I want to put the offer to you first...”

He kept talking, but I didn’t hear anything else he was saying. Instead, my mind replayed him saying the location of the second store – near the library. Gerard worked at the library. That’s why he had stopped coming by where I worked, because he could get his daily Starbucks coffee at the new store near the library.

The world had made it easy for him to avoid me.

“I want it,” I said.

My boss looked at me suspiciously. “What?”

“I want the job at the new store,” I explained. “I’ve been working for you for years and you know how committed I am; I’ve been working here seven days a week for months. Give me a shot.”

“You’re not the only one who wants it, Frank,” he replied, gesturing to the others in the room for emphasis. “I’ll have to think about it. I need the best person for the job.”

It turned out, I wasn’t the best person for the job. Instead, he offered it to another guy who had started working at Starbucks the month before I did. Apparently, he had more experience. My boss was happy to keep me working seven days a week at the original store, though, because he is so accommodating like that.

The morning after I got the news I wouldn’t become store manager, I called in sick and drove over to the new location near the library.

I wasn’t surprised when at 10.14am, Gerard emerged from the library doors and walked over to the new Starbucks store. It was a Tuesday and Gerard was dressed in baggy clothes, looking like he had just crawled out of bed. He still looked beautiful, though.

A few minutes later, I got out of my car and walked over to Starbucks, waiting for him to come out. My stomach was twisted in knots, which only grew tighter with each minute that passed. I hadn’t really thought about what I would do or say if I saw him again, and I was cursing myself for not preparing something before I drove down here like an idiot.

Finally, the door swung open and Gerard stepped out onto the pavement.

“Do they make a better chai latte than me?”

My voice stopped Gerard in his tracks. He paused, his back still to me, and I saw his fingers tighten around his cup. Slowly, he turned to face me. His eyes looked tired and almost, I’d say, a little frightened.

“Frank,” he murmured.

“Frankie,” I reminded him. I hated that he didn’t want to use the nickname anymore. “Did you lose my number?”

He shook his head. The answer was the same when I asked if he’d forgotten where I lived, and again when I asked if he'd forgotten where I worked.

“Then why haven’t you contacted me?” I demanded. “We had such a good time together, right?”

“The best.” He closed his eyes and softly said, “but it’s over now.”

It can’t be over, I thought to myself. As if it needed further emphasis, Gerard started to walk away from me. He was heading back to the library.

I jogged after him.

“Why are you doing this if you’ve enjoyed it so much?” I called out.

He stopped, sighing so heavily that I could hear him from several feet away. When he turned around, I could see his eyes were watery.

“Because there’s never going to be a Thursday where I’m not going to want to hurt you,” he told me. “At times you have to make decisions that hurt others in order to survive. I’m sorry.”

He started walking again, but this time I didn’t follow.

“Don’t you know how I feel about you?” I asked hopelessly.

I didn’t expect Gerard to hear me, let alone respond, but he did.

“I know, Frankie, believe me, I know,” he said, not stopping as he scaled the library steps. “That’s why I have to do this. Goodbye, Frankie.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Goodbye...”