300 Warming

Last night, I went to Z's housewarming party at 300 with my co-worker who has been lusting for his 4-bedroom apartment in the building with the rooftop pool. After he gave her the tour and me a glass of wine, she left.

While I am a social Sally, I had a moment of uncertainity because I don't actually KNOW any of his friends and certainly did not want to monopolize his attention at a party of this nature/scale. But before I could panic, he gently moved me over to former co-workers and left me to tend to them as he mingled. They were charming and cheesy and I felt immediately at ease. He came back to check in but I was well on my way to the comfort zone. Before my time with them could come to a halt, one of his friends whom I'd never met but remains a staple of many events he attends approached me, "You must be Mili," she said. I smiled and seamlessly transitioned into another clique for cocktails and conversation.

It never ceases to amaze me that his friends would be people I would be friends with. No I won't friend poach, but these are people who could easily be characterized at the salt of this Earth. Smart, humble, friendly, attractive but not in an intimidating way, and that specific mix of metropolitan that transitions a transplant to a New Yorker. As we talked and drank wine and dusk dimmed into night-time I knew it was important to take my leave. This was not a party I wanted to be the last ex standing at...especially since a more current ex had arrived to duly fulfill the ratio of exes to potential future exes.

He walked me to the door, charming and hospitable as always. I appreciated the ease of his actions. Some people are naturally warm and while I wouldn't say Zayan exudes warmth he is effortless when he is warm. It's all too often that you feel people force warmth, it's ineffectual--you may not be able to put your finger on it, but you will know that something just isn't right. As I stood in his doorway slipping my flip flops back on, his hip shot stance and slight lean in reminded me again of just how many times and in how many ways we had thus parted.

I felt the weight of nostalgia and I was glad. Glad that we have this still--whatever this might actually be because despite being overwhelmingly platonic one mustn't ignore the romanitc underpinnings in whose veil this all began. Glad that we got here, finally. Glad that despite my best efforts to etch him into yesterday; he remains firmly planted in today.

I'm hopeful that tomorrow we will be just as we are today or at least that there will be a tomorrow from which we can look back warmly at today.