Technical difficulties prevented me from posting this in a more timely manner. But before I reveal the fateful events of the evening of October 6, 2009, I must be clear about one thing....
It felt freakin' sweet to know that Homey the Chef had the hots for me, majorly! I could tell by his demeanor when he asked for my card when I left Lamu. I mean, it's been a while since a guy was totally into me, but not so long that I've forgotten what that feels like.
But even though there were all these "different world" vibes flowing, I agreed to see Homey this evening primarily to let myself be wooed. To reconnect with that kind of palpable admiration. And, frankly, to be 100 percent convinced that the guy sitting across from you would tear your clothes off if given half the chance. A woman needs to feel that energy every now and then, you dig?
So even when Homey responded to my text message earlier today by calling me "baby Rachel," I wasn't deterred. One part of my brain thought it was creepy and forced, like a line he probably uses on lots of women. And it was clearly inappropriate for use with me, 'cuz he don't know me like that. But you know what? For a moment, it was sweet to be called "baby," even in a cheesebag kinda way.
So I let it slide, and actually started looking forward to seeing him again. When he approached me in front of the building after work, I definitely wasn't shocked or disappointed. Homey has a pleasant face, a nice smile, the mustache I remembered, a bald head I hadn't seen because of the chef's hat, and he was shorter than I'd figured, about my height. (Like I said, I mostly saw him when I was sitting down and chowing down.) But the way he greeted me...WOW! It's like he smiled with his whole head. His eyes lit up. He looked at me and looked down, and then looked back at me, with a mixture of admiration and, well, lust.
Anyway, we walked over to a restaurant near the office and traded small talk and recipes. And he kept pausing, and staring deep into my eyes, and then he'd just bust out laughing with this huge smile and say, "I am so, so happy! My heart is full." I kept asking him why, and he dodged the question for a while. But then he said, "I will not scare you if I tell you what's in my heart?" I said no. Then he said, "I love you. When I first saw you, I thought you were so, so beautiful."
The Rachel of a year ago would have snorted in his face and suggested that he cut the crap. But I just let him talk. Again, it was kinda nice to have a man be so utterly besotted! Homey was about to earn himself a goodnight kiss, maybe even with a little tongue thrown in for good measure, if he kept this up. But then I learned that the Chivalrous Chef had buried the lede somewhat. Even though I give him mad props for honesty, it was at this point that Homey gave it to me straight, no chaser.
He asked me to be his second wife.
His first wife is 39, like him, and they have 3 children, 15, 11 and 6. Homey even told her about me. He explained she'd probably need to meet me before giving her approval, but he didn't think that would be a problem.
Now, the Rachel of a year ago would have responded by asking if he was nuts before storming off in a self-righteous huff. But the me I am now was actually kinda flattered. Dumbstruck nearly speechless, mind you, but also mildly impressed with myself. After all, when Homey pledged his troth, he already knew I had just turned 48. For a Muslim man to ask an "Old Mama" like me for her hand in marriage is actually kinda cool.
But damn, that came so far out of left field, I was utterly gobsmacked. Eventually, I recovered enough to explain to him that in my culture, his request was not only immoral but illegal. And that when I found the man I wanted to marry, I would not want to share him with another woman. At first, it seemed Homey really couldn't comprehend what I was saying. He kept asking, "Are you sure?" Then he asked me to take "some few days" to consider. Then he resorted to outright pleading.
It took about an hour, but I finally made him understand that I would never become Mrs. Homey the Second. And I know it's wrong of me, but I actually relished the genuine disappointment on his face! Homey looked gutted in a way that ran deeper than just regret over not getting laid that evening. It was like he had really been psyching himself up for a new addition to the family, because in his mind, he had a shot.
That's when I realized this improbable, insane, outrageous thing just happened to me for an important reason. As I began the process of Deconstructing Homey after we parted ways, I knew he came into my life to teach me about taking chances, about putting myself out there, about believing in the possibilities instead of automatically closing myself off. From the minute he laid eyes on me, Homey wasn't deterred by the fact that I was American, or beautiful, or older, or from a different social class, or anything else that might have made me "out of his league." It was plain old love/lust at first sight, and Homey went for it.
In a big way, that's what I did by agreeing to meet him, too. And I'm not the least bit disappointed! I'm actually deeply touched by his earnest, heartfelt proposal. It reminds me of what's possible, when I'm not afraid to put myself out there. And just a minute ago, Homey sent me the sweetest text message I've ever received:
"If I'm out of time, and I could pick one day, one moment and keep it new, of all the days I have lived, I would pick the day I met you. My heart is very painful. Rachel, goodnite."
See?? I told you it was going to be a week full of surprises. And hell, it's only Tuesday....
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