My First (And Last) Date With A Non-Monogamist

No, Chance.

He lived in LA, and since I was headed there for work, a friend of a friend set us up. We texted a bit before my arrival; he seemed fun and engaging, so we decided to meet for drinks when I got to town.

On the day of the date, I was unusually calm. Typically I would be running around doing my nails and hair in hopes that (maybe, just maybe) he would "like" me. Ugh. How exhausting all that was. But something about this was different; I was different. Instead, I waited until the last minute to shower and text Emma my outfit options: navy blue or hot pink slip dress. 

Emma:

Hot pink. Wear the hot pink.

CC:

You sure?

Emma:

Without a doubt.

I arrived at Hotel Casa del Mar just before sunset, stopped to look in the mirror for one last hair flip, and headed up the stairs to the enormous lobby. The last time I was at that hotel was as a child with my dad (we used to have lunch there or across the street at Shutters). The place was mostly the same; the same lofty ceilings, the same dusty deep sofas, and the same transient people coming and going. I looked for Chance (yes, that was his name. There’s no chance he’s going to read this, and the name is too good to change) and spotted what I thought was him facing the water and the setting sun. He was as described: tall; tan; and golden-haired with eyes as clear as opals. The light filtered in through the windows reflecting off the dust, giving the room a hazy, dreamy quality.

Before joining him on the sofa, two men complemented me on my dress, which provided quite the entrance — thank you, Universe. I ordered a tequila on the rocks with lime, and he asked for the same before launching into a monologue about himself. Turns out he was great at everything (he told me so), "owned" a bank, and splits his time between Bermuda and LA. Then, lucky me, he mansplained (or shall I say Ken-splained) virtual banking. As if I wasn't already over the moon, he reached for my hand, turned it palm-side up, and "read my energy" (it's ok, you can roll your eyes now; I did). After a few "hmms" and "hahhs," he whispered dramatically that I would "have a beautiful life; it was destined." REALLY? That's your big reveal? Then, he leaned in and asked if he could kiss me. (For context, dear reader, the date had started 10 minutes before). I pulled back, "no." Slightly surprised, he cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly in his seat.

Some 20 minutes later, he declared, "I don't believe in monogamy." Again, REALLY? Was this another go for a make-out session? Or was it meant for shock value? Or was he simply being honest? In which case, good for him, but that's not my thing. To convince me otherwise, he followed the declaration with facts and figures and "science" that supported his polyamorous mindset while I defended the merits of monogamy. Suddenly I felt very intimidated and terribly uncool as he belabored the point that having sex with one person FOREVER is the most unnatural thing in the world. That may be true for him, but it was not for me. While sex is hyper-important, it's not the entirety of a relationship - intimacy is, which for me, includes monogamy. Regaining my footing, I challenged him that his desire for a non-monogamous partnership was rooted in trauma and failed relationships and removed emotionality and vulnerability — in some ways, the idea of non-monogamy offered him safety while it offered me insecurity. I was fascinated by how the same philosophy could manifest differently in two people. 

Looking back on the entire scene, "the me of today" would have simply gotten up and left. No disrespect, but that is not what I want, so why waste my time? However, I was not "the me of today." I didn’t know my worth or understand that I didn't owe him a good time. So, instead, I tried to be cool and carry on.

As the sun dropped below the horizon, he tossed back the last of his drink and suggested we go for dinner. Again, I should have said no. I didn't like being there. But, like so much back then, I also didn't want to be rude or impolite. Therefore, rather than listen to my internal voice, the one screaming, "GO HOME!!" I accepted his invitation and headed to a sushi spot in Venice. Upon arrival, he ran into a girl that, if I had to guess given her stand-offish demeanor, he hooked up with.

Dinner was lackluster. The TV was on at the sushi restaurant, so his attention oscillated between sports and me. Our conversation remained shallow until he resurfaced the non-monogamy topic and told me I really "should" open my mind to it, to which I told him that I don’t like sharing. 

After dinner, he suggested we have a drink at his place. Again, against my better judgment, I said ok. 

"I want to play you something," He slurred. "Sit here." 

"Ohh.Kayy." I sat down, as instructed, with my brows furrowed, while he fumbled for his guitar and attempted to tune it.

"I am very taken by you. I wanna play you a song." 

Omg. I can't.  

This was clearly "his move."

Glancing up for my approval, he struck the first few chords to Elton John's "The One," and the guitar responded. The song - one I know and love - was ironic.

"...And all I ever needed was the one

Like freedom fields, where wild horses run

When stars collide like you and I

No shadows block the sun

You're all I've ever needed

Baby, you're the one…"

Turning my face and biting my lip to keep from smirking, I sat dumbstruck, half-heartedly feigning interest and waiting for it to end – it was something straight from the guitar scene in the Barbie Movie, where the Barbies pretend to gaze and swoon over the Kens playing guitar. (Side thought: In a post-Barbie Movie world, is that still his go-to move?)

Finally, I had enough. I wanted to leave. So, that's what I did. I upped and called myself a car with little to no explanation. I was done doting and didn't owe him anything, nor did I have to explain myself or worry about whether or not he liked me because I didn't care. I liked myself, and that's all that mattered.

For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel bad or compelled to apologize. Instead, I just walked out the door. Something seismic had shifted. 

"How did the date go?" Emma called the following day. 

 "Where do I even begin…his polyamorist beliefs, the palm reading, or the guitar playing?" 

"He read your palm? Stop. He couldn't have been serious." Emma asked in disbelief. 

"Oh, he was. And later, he sang "The One" by Elton John. Midway through my serenade, I got up and left... I could still hear him singing as I walked down the driveway and got in the Uber."

That afternoon he texted a sweet note, and I returned the sentiment from the air. 

A couple weeks later, he texted again, asking if we could meet in NY. As lovely as the offer was, I owned my position and power. Rather than make an excuse like "I have plans," I was direct and told him outright that we weren’t suited for one another and don't share the same values.

He responded respectfully:

CC:

I'm in the city, yes, but the truth is, while you seem like a nice guy unless the intention is friendship, our relationship values don't align – no need to meet up 

Chance:

Message received. I like the honesty and clarity. That's all too rare these days. I value you and would love to be your friend :) 💫 More soon, please, sky lady

I didn't respond. Because frankly, I wasn't looking for another friend – I have the most amazing ones already.