For a single gal, the holiday season can bring a bit of the blues. Sure it feels wonderful to be with my semi-dysfunctional familia (I have a crotch grabbing aunt and many drunken uncles), but I find it difficult to enjoy the coquito and turkey wings when everyone around me is coupled off. I wish I had a man to wipe away the grease from my lip! And how about someone to tuck me in for a nap when the turkey and drinks do their job?
Well, that didn’t happen this Thanksgiving. Instead, nostalgia hit. Going through my Rolodex of exes and suitors past, I mentally reviewed a list of men who had treated me well, still had a thing for me and were in my life. I immediately honed in on Alex, the East Harlem born and bred receptionist who lacked ambition but yearned to rekindle our relationship. He had text me “Happy Thanksgiving” when the clock struck midnight, something he even did on my birthday. He also invited me to hang out that very weekend.
So could I be with Alex again? Could he be part of my familia? I questioned. Only one way to find out. I grabbed my cell and typed quickly, replying to his invitation before I lost my nerve. We had something once before and it was good. Maybe this time it could be better. Maybe this time it could be great and this time next year I will be cradled in his arms as he sings me a Turkey Day lullaby.