An El Centro Date: You Had Me at Guacamole

Err, you came in at the middle of the story. This is awkward. Go back to the beginning here.

He sat at the bar, his back to me, chatting easily with the bartender. I could feel his smile lighting the rooftop, lighting up my face.

I enjoyed the scene for a moment, before taking a deep breath and walking over to him. It was our first completely sober date, our first official date, and we had started this thing with a sleepover sans sex; I had no idea what to expect.

He turned right as I opened my mouth to say hello. His slow smile said, “Hi,” “It’s good to see you,” and “You look great” all at the same time. Instantly, I relaxed. I felt a wave of relief knowing that without a doubt, the attraction was still there – still so apparent it felt tangible between us.

I sat and within a blink, a margarita appeared. The Real T had taken his time picking a restaurant and planning this date. El Centro DF is new enough to be exciting and different; the rooftop bar offers a great view and even better breezes; the margaritas are handmade and top notch; and the basement is a tequileria so romantic, there could be no questions as to his intent: he was interested and wanted me to know it.

We finished our margaritas amidst easy, surface conversation. He grabbed his tab, my drink included, without giving me a chance to protest. I have a tendency to get uncomfortable and awkward when it comes to money, but he handled it so smoothly and confidently, I barely had time to swallow back my insecurity before I thanked him.

“I made reservations for 9:00 in the tequileria. Does that sound okay? Are you hungry?”

“That sounds perfect.”

We made our way to our reserved table. I sat on the plush, high booth, while he took the chair across from me. Our waiter had to stop by three times before we could choose drinks because our eyes kept locking and staying that way until we inevitably broke out in simultaneous smiles. Finally, he ordered one of El Centro’s 200+ tequilas, and I went with a second margarita.

We poured over the generous menu, and he quickly learned another of my date flaws: I’m wildly indecisive when I’m nervous. (Though I hoped he didn’t realize nerves were the culprit.) We agreed quickly on guacamole – spicy, of course. After another long while of talking about our favorite Mexican dishes, we ordered the steak huaraches and tacos al pastor, deciding to share everything.

The guacamole arrived quickly, and I’m not sure if it was the ambiance, our connection or true culinary mastery, but it was the best damn guacamole I’ve ever had. As the other dishes arrived, we realized we had ordered far too much food but ate as much as we possibly could.

 “When do you leave for Thailand?” I asked, taking a bite of taco al pastor. He had been planning his upcoming Thailand trip for the better part of a year.

“Two weeks. We know we want to island hop, but we’re not sure which ones to hit. Any suggestions?” He knew I spent two weeks backpacking in Thailand last year.

“What are you interested in doing – hiking, swimming, climbing…?”

He looked at me almost sheepishly. “We’re actually really into, um, cliff jumping.”

I broke into a huge smile and laughed. “No way! I love cliff jumping! That’s how I chose where I went, too. And if that’s what you want to do, you have to go to Koh Phi-Phi!”

We swapped cliff jumping stories; my maximum jump is 30 feet or so, his is more like 80. He convinced me that Virginia and West Virginia have incredible swimming holes and jumping spots, and I pledged to make it to them.

Our conversation transitioned to general international travel, our goals for the future, which countries we most want to see (“where wouldn’t I go?!”). We talked about hiking, bouldering and our shared love of eating street food.

We have so much in common it startled me. I’ve never dated anyone that shares so many of my passions and, especially, career goals. I’ve never dated someone who understands my desire and ability to build a life in a new place for a year or two just to leave it and do it all over again in a new city or country.

It was rejuvenating, connecting with a kindred spirit. Conversely, I wondered if it wasn’t too friendly. The thing about The Real T, like I’ve mentioned before, is that every time we’re together, it feels like we’re friends who are attracted to each other. It sounds perfect, the goal even, but it seemed to be so friendly it lacked a certain emotional intimacy.

He grabbed the check again, barely giving me a chance to offer. I was uncomfortable, honestly, knowing it was expensive; I felt bad. His confidence about it also felt good, like it wasn’t a question to him that it was worth it.

He had driven and offered me a ride home. We walked to his car purposefully bumping into each other and raving about the restaurant.

He parked outside my house a while later, and while I gathered my stuff, he pulled me to him and kissed me goodnight. One kiss turned into five minutes, and we joked about how we would have chapped lips, yet again, after another evening together.

I still tasted him on my lips as I waved goodbye and shut my door behind me.

He texted me the next morning, “You left your umbrella in my car. Sweet leave behind See you soon.”