New York, My New Ex

Chapter I: A Shade I Never Caught

Saturday, June 29, 2025—the last night in New York.

Collin ditched me to celebrate his birthday with his friend Devin. I wasn’t exactly mad, just disappointed. Or maybe a lot more than I wanted to admit.

I still cared about him. Still felt pulled toward him in ways I couldn’t understand. No matter how many strange silences or missed signals we’d had, something about being alone with him felt electric. Amazing, but also terrifying. He was kind. Sometimes more attentive than I expected. And then he’d do something like text:

“Sorry, we went to dinner without you. The table can only fit two people.”

I stared at the message, picturing his face—those cloud-colored eyes. Always so hard to read, yet just mesmerizing enough to lose myself in every time he spoke. One of my favorite things to do when we met was simply stare into them, trying to decode what wasn’t being said. And honestly, the softness of his blonde hair made everything he did feel more forgivable than it should’ve been. So I called an Uber and waited five extra minutes before replying to his message: No problem.

I’d already decided to go to Minetta Tavern in case Collin ditched me, so I was prepared.

Legendary French bistro in Greenwich Village, home of the infamous Black Label Burger. I showed up alone. Waited ten, maybe twenty minutes before the bartender waved me in.

Before I could order, the guy next to me—super handsome, with short hair, a clean-shaven face, and deep-set soft eyes—leaned in and whispered in my ear, “You should definitely get the bone marrow.” He looked like the living embodiment of my dream type: clean-cut, a boyish voice that made even a food recommendation sound flirtatious. The kind of guy who’d never unbutton more than two buttons, but still somehow made it work.

I looked at the price. Thirty-one dollars. Jesus. But then again, what was there to complain about? It was my last night in New York. And besides, I’ve always had a soft spot for bone marrow. There’s something uncanny about the texture: rich, silky, slightly alien. Probably the same reason I’m obsessed with beef tendon.

I glanced back at the guy again. White dress shirt, untucked. Just the right mix of casual and formal. I caught him scrolling through Instagram stories and pausing a little too long on a shirtless photo with some hairy chest. Ah, I thought, he’s probably gay. Still, I couldn’t believe someone this attractive and clean cut would be attracted to the big hairy bear chest (for real lol). I never really understood gay taste in this country. Unpredictable at best.

I ordered two cocktails the bartender recommended and downed them like I’d just crawled out of the Sahara. Alcohol, as always, gave me just enough courage to speak. I glanced over a few times while he picked apart the Black Label Burger—carefully eating only the patty in the middle, occasionally dipping into the fries. Honestly, I would’ve done the exact same thing. I never liked too many carbs in my belly anyway.

“Their fries are absolutely divine,” said the woman on my other side, dressed for a dinner party. She leaned in with fries in her mouth. I was a little startled, but also weirdly flattered. She was with a handsome man too, they seemed like a couple.

“Oh yeah, totally,” I said. “I’m so ready to try the burger. I read online it was the best in New York.”

Still, my focus stayed on the guy to my left. He barely acknowledged the conversation around him—just fries, burger, Snapchats. He took a quick snap, scrolled through his friends list, and sent it off. The sacred ritual of the divine Snapchat. Everyone’s still using it, apparently.

“So, where do you guys live?” I asked, careful not to sound invasive.

“New Jersey,” he said. “Still expensive. You know—it’s New York.”

“I want to live here so badly,” I said. “I’ve only been here four days and I’m obsessed. Dallas is so freaking boring.” I rolled my eyes for dramatic effect. I knew I was being performative. I loved that version of myself with strangers: more dramatic, more free.

“How often do you come?”

“Every month.”

“Damn. That sounds expensive,” I said, pretending to be shocked—though honestly, I’d fly in weekly if it meant seeing someone that handsome again. He laughed with such charm and ease. I probably prayed too hard, once, for God to send me an emotionally available, clean-cut, cute boyfriend. Still waiting. It’s been a while. My coworker used to joke that I should just order a pizza instead, at least that way, someone might actually show up at my door.

“So what brought you here tonight? Texas is far.”

“I’m here for a friend’s birthday,” I said. “Although—fun fact—he ditched me. Listen to this—” I pulled out my phone and read him Collin’s text: “We went to dinner without you because the table can only fit two people.”

He blinked. “What the fuck? That sucks. Can’t they just pick a better restaurant? You deserve better. You should ditch your friends. They sound like assholes.”

Then he leaned in again with a half-smile and asked, “What are you drinking right now?”

I glanced down at the glass, suddenly aware I had no idea. “Umm... I’m not sure. I just know it has lemon in it,” I said with a small laugh, swirling the melting ice.

He giggled. “Aw, don’t worry.”

Then, without missing a beat, he leaned toward the bar and waved to the bartender. His untucked white shirt lifted slightly as he half-stood from the stool, the unbuttoned sleeves swinging as he raised his arm.

And somehow, he looked even cuter than when I first sat down. There was something about him—handsome, yes, but also disarmingly out of place in a white dress shirt that tried a little too hard for a place that didn’t ask it to. The sleeves hung just long enough to half-hide his hands, which somehow made him look both more masculine and more boyish. It was that in-between energy—half dressed-up, half couldn’t-care-less—that made him quietly irresistible.

“Hey, could you get me two more of this drink, please?” he called, pointing at the citrusy cocktail neither of us could name.

Something about the way he said it sent a little current through me. I laughed, caught off guard, my cheeks warming. And in that moment, a spark twisted quietly in my chest.

I didn’t know if I was falling in love with New York, or just caught in the gravity of this stranger with kind eyes and a half-tucked shirt—but I felt it. That unmistakable, quiet pull.

“That’s so sweet of you,” I said, my voice a bit softer. “What’s your name?”

“Tyler,” he replied.

“And I’m Rufus,” I said, shouting a little over the growing din of the tavern, reaching out to shake his hand.

His grip was steady. Warm. He held it for a second longer than necessary, and something about the noise and dim golden light around us made the whole moment feel like it wasn’t real. Like it had been written for me. Like I’d just stumbled into a scene already unfolding.

Just then, one of his friends wandered off toward the back, clearly drunk. Tyler looked after him with mild concern. The tavern glowed with dark amber light. People in crisp shirts and cocktail dresses murmured about skies, oceans, and things in between.

A few minutes later, his friend returned and slumped against the bar, half-asleep.

“Your friend looks super drunk,” I said, grinning.

“Yeah, he does that. We’re used to it,” Tyler replied with a sheepish laugh.

Ah, New York, I thought again. What a place: handsome guy, messy friends. I loved every bit of it.

Our conversation started to quiet down. I didn’t want to bother him while he tried to finish his food—especially once his friends began tapping his shoulder, signaling they were ready to leave.

He stood up, grabbed his jacket, and landed a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, Rufus. It was really nice meeting you.

Don’t let your friends get you down.

You should check out the comedy club next door—Comedy Cellar. They’ve got a show in about an hour.”

He pointed at me with finger guns and held my gaze a second longer than necessary.

I tried to read the color of his eyes, just once more, but the light was too dim now. Maybe hazel. Or maybe just brown, lit up by the noise and gold of the bar. Or maybe they were cloud-colored, holding enough thought and warmth to make any shade seem darker.

For the first time, oddly, I couldn’t tell the color of someone’s eyes. And for the first time, it felt okay.

Maybe because with Tyler, there was nothing to decode. He didn’t hide behind silence or cleverness. He was just there, almost too easy to read. And maybe that’s why I didn’t need to know the exact shade.

“Okay, Tyler!” I called after him with a wide, ridiculous smile.

And just like that, he was gone.

Damn it. Didn’t get his number. Not that it mattered. Guys like him don’t usually circle back. Still... for a second, I let myself pretend he might.

So I stopped thinking about it. Some things are better left uncolored.