The meatballs

There was a snowstorm once in late February a few years back and we were snowed in together in Ridgewood Queens. We had just started dating. New enough to still have butterflies but also long enough that we had the talk about being exclusive.

To my friends he was Jason 1. That's because I dated two Jasons once. Not at the same time but back to back. 

Jason 2 made me feel better about Jason 1. Jason 1 made me feel better about my ex. Jason 1 didn't mean that he was better, he wasn't. He was simply #1 because he was the first one after my ex.

No matter how many people I've dated I still only have one ex. That's because he was the first love. And it was the longest love. And the hardest love. But sometimes I still think it was just a mediocre love. Closure is a luxury we don't always get. I think about that a lot.

Jason 1 suggested coming to Queens for the weekend where he lived. We knew the storm was coming. I felt adventurous knowing I may not be able to get back to the city, to work. I also felt a little irresponsible, but also a little romantic. It was nice to feel that way. I had just bought new snow boots.

Shortly after getting there the A train stopped running. All the trains were down but the bars were still open.  We made our way to the neighborhood bar on the corner. We drank a few rounds and he played pool in the back while I tried to win over the bartender. She had been working there for years. She was a tough cookie, I thought I was too. I bought her a shot and as we raised our glasses toasting, she told me I was a lot nicer than the other girls he's brought to the bar before. I thought I misheard her when she said I was nicer than the girl he had with him last weekend. We did another shot. When she gave me my change she slipped in a $2 bill in there and said it was good luck.

The sun had set and the snow had made it up to our knees. We were tipsy with warm cheeks and we giggled as we left the bar and I declared as if the whole neighborhood were listening that I wanted to make meatballs.

So we made our way to the corner market on the way back to his place. I fell down into the snow multiple times as we were crossed 70th avenue, laughing so hard I cried and the tears mixed with snow stung my warm cheeks.

I made snow angels, each time sinking a little bit lower towards the pavement. He didn’t. I really wanted him to make snow angels with me.

By the time we made it to the market I was soaked and we were debating if we should get flat leaf parsley or curly parsley. Flat leaf won. We planned to make meatballs from that trendy place in Chelsea we wanted to try.

We made our way back to the apartment and put our clothes in the dryer, and he lent me a t-shirt. His roommate was out of town for the weekend so we stood in the kitchen without pants on listening to The Smiths and making the meatballs.

The meatballs took longer than the recipe said. Most good things do. I wondered in that moment if that is what it feels like to have better than mediocre. And in that moment I felt like it was.

The meatballs were in the oven and the pasta was cooking. We even used the $8 jar of Rao’s tomato sauce from the top shelf at the store. I’ve only ever splurged on that sauce one other time. I stayed in the kitchen ignoring the old sentiment a watched pot never boils while he was in the other room distracted on his phone. The oven timer went off as I was cutting the garlic bread.

It was time to eat. We drank a bottle of red wine that cost less than the bottle of tomato sauce, and still without pants on as we sat down at the table. The Smiths were still on and the snow was still falling. I immediately declared as if the entire apartment building were listening that these were the best meatballs I had ever had. Ever. I’m Italian and that says something right? But they were so good. Tender, flavorful and would be the perfect lunch a couple days later in a sandwich. A sub. A hoagie. Whatever. I was immediately hoping I could take the leftovers home with me. I was going to regardless. I continued on and on but he was so quiet, and just said they were good but that was it. That was it? Just good? These meatballs were life changing and worth the $23 at that trendy restaurant. I started doing the math in my head and realized our ingredients cost more.

But good. He thought they were just good. I paused. I was disappointed in his reaction. I wanted him to give me more in that moment, maybe not just with the meatballs but with other things too. I made it about the meatballs that night because that’s what I thought it was really about.

I thought about my ex and how he would probably have reacted the same way. Mediocre. These meatballs weren’t mediocre. They were anything but. But this relationship might be.

Ok, I was overthinking.

I cleared the table. We left the dishes in the sink for later and sat close to each other on his sofa while his cat snuggled between us. I was annoyed. Not at the cat but about how Jason 1 has been this whole weekend. Distracted.  He was still on his phone, actually glued to it, texting, typing, smiling to himself as he did. I looked at him, curious about what was making him smile and stretched my neck towards him and I looked at his screen.

And then I saw a new name pop up at the top of the screen.

Serena.

With a kissing face emoji.  He sent a screen full of smooches back to her.

Serena.

My mind raced.

Serena.

He easily explained. A girl he had apparently also been seeing. At the same time. But for longer. She’s the sister of a close friend and they recently met for the first time after months of talking online and they just started dating. We just started dating

Serena.

She lives about an hour outside of the city.

That explains his trip earlier this month to see his friend upstate. He’s taken a couple trips to there by now.

And she’s already visited once.

That explains what the bartender was talking about. I hadn’t misheard. I heard everything clearly. I was nicer than the girl he had there last weekend. For a long time I clung to the fact the random bartender at a random dive bar thought I was a lot nicer than a mean mistress of a woman named Serena. And all the other women before her. I was nicer than all the girls she said. I still feel like it’s a badge of honor I care about. 

My heart sunk. My stomach flopped and my cheeks felt like they were on fire. I stood up. I walked to the dryer to grab my pants. And I left. He didn’t fight to have me stay. My ex didn’t either. My pants were still warm from the dryer that they melted the snowflakes that landed on me outside. I cried and the tears mixed with snow stung my warm cheeks like earlier in the day when I was laughing but I wasn’t laughing now.

I had forgotten the meatballs.

Dammit. If this were a romantic comedy then this would have been the scene where I marched back upstairs (even though he lived in a fourth floor walk up) with a red lip on and effortlessly said something witty yet direct and slighting cutting and dramatically grabbed the Tupperware of meatballs out of the fridge for my leftover sandwiches that week. It would then cut away to me smugly eating meatball subs every day of the week for an entire week to a cute song playing underneath. But this was my real life and I was hurt. It stung like the snow on my cheeks. And my wet pants.

But I was grateful.

That I left.

That I didn’t settle.

It felt like I had just done this before. Left the relationship when I knew I deserved better. After the infidelity after the lack of passion. And I knew when I made that decision the first time I would need to make that decision every time I needed to. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, and that it would often be lonely but I had spent so much time with something I didn’t deserve that I knew I wouldn’t spend time with anything other than what I did deserve again.

The A train was still down. I ordered the most expensive Uber of my life and I went home. I always thought leaving that first time a few months before would be the most important time but this time was important too.

The next day he asked me to meet up for lunch at Google where he worked, to talk. Google is known for the amazing elaborate multiple cafeterias with chefs and gourmet themed menus that changed daily and I had been wanting to go there since the minute he told me he worked there on our first date. I didn’t think it would be under these circumstances. But, I agreed to go. And while closure is a luxury we don’t always get, I didn’t go for the closure this time, I went for the free lunch.

I knew when I left that day as we awkwardly hugged in the gold plated lobby that it was over. I knew before I even agreed to lunch. The thing that upsets me the most about that day is that I can’t even remember what I ate. It was overwhelming enough with all the cafeterias and menu options without the additional fun fact that he was dating two women and we were sitting there discussing it, so I think I’ve blocked this meal out of my mind forever. But I do remember one thing, it wasn’t as good as I thought it would be. It didn’t live up to expectations. It was kinda mediocre. Looking back on it now all of it was mediocre.

I blocked his number shortly after I got home that afternoon instead of responding to the last text from him saying that he really wanted to still be friends.

I matched with Jason 2 on Tinder later that night.

The next day I mailed the $2 bill back to the bar c/o the bartender without a last name because I felt like it was the opposite of good luck. It was returned back to me in the mail a few days later because I didn’t know her last name so I kept it in my wallet for a long time. I  actually collect $2 bills now and always keep one in my wallet, because according to the end of this story they’re good luck after all.

I looked up Jason 1 recently on social media just out of curiosity wondering what he was up to. But I felt like I already knew. He and Serena are married with a baby in upstate New York. Same town she’s always lived in. The same one he visited all those times. I felt relief. Relief that it wasn’t me.

I thought about him a lot in the beginning. Sometimes more than my ex. I think I felt the pain of both at once with this one so initially it felt like it hurt more but it just hurt for both of them all at the same time.

Sometimes when it snowed. Anytime The Smiths came on. I always skipped any Smiths song. I still do. But I recently realized I’ve never really enjoyed The Smiths to begin with and not just because of him. The Cure has always been better.

But then something amazing happened.

It snowed here recently. The biggest snowstorm we’ve had in a while. I wore the same boots I wore then.

The good news is I didn’t even think of him. Not even once. The better news is I thought about the meatballs. And then I pulled up the recipe and decided to make them again.