Written by Rachel Kleinman on August 2, 2011. Originally published in The Cardozo Jurist.
Among the first words out of Michael Halberstam’s mouth were, “I’m not ready to be dating.” Then what are you doing on a dating website? I wondered momentarily before agreeing to meet him for a drink at WXOU Radio Bar where we primarily discussed his emotional state over two pints of Octoberfest, each while intermittently commenting on the stellar soundtrack featuring favorites by Otis Redding and Bruce Springsteen.
Michael was 41 years old, four months out of a four-year relationship, and apparently going through some kind of psychological crisis. His self-awareness and sense of humor tempered the romantic futility of our first date. His bone structure didn’t hurt either. On my cab ride home, Michael showered me with text messages indicating how much he enjoyed meeting me. They compensated for the kiss we didn’t share when we parted ways.
Aware of his ambivalence about dating, and characteristically putting my own concerns about his emotional unavailability aside, I e-mailed Michael to ask him out on a second date. I suggested we go ice-skating in Central Park. His response was ambiguous: something about how the last time he ice-skated his ankles swelled up like water balloons. Was he rejecting me or my winter sport of choice? I demanded clarification. He suggested a slew of alternative activities, and we went out for Japanese food that weekend.
Our second date ended at his Chelsea apartment after a delicious dinner, complete with 16 ounces of sake and two Irish coffees at the bar next door. Michael serenaded me with his guitar, strumming Hawaiian melodies from his native state. I wondered when he would kiss me but he never did. At almost 3 a.m. I announced my decision to go home. He begged me to stay, offering to sleep on the sofa so I could have his bed. Sensing his anxiety about spending the night alone, I understood why Michael joined a dating website despite his emotional upheaval.
Over the next few days, Michael and I exchanged e-mails. His were peppered with comments about his own frailty while mine mostly focused on my impending law school exams. I tried to keep things light, rationalizing my refusal to acknowledge his crimson-colored commitment-phobic flags by silently insisting it was too soon to consider the long term.
We planned to see the movie “Catfish” for our third date. I looked forward to it all week. Then Michael sent me an e-mail copping to the mixed signals he’d been sending and attempting to set the record straight: He liked me a lot but didn’t feel ready for anything too serious; he hoped I wouldn’t cancel our date but would understand if I did; he used the word caveat five times and admitted trying to impress me with his legalese.
I started typing back before I decided what to say. I thanked him for his candor and considered the legal doctrine of caveat emptor: In a contract between a buyer and a seller, the buyer cannot recover money damages from the seller for defects to the property discovered after the sale because the buyer has an obligation to make a reasonable inspection of the property in advance of purchasing it. The only exception to the doctrine of caveat emptor is where the seller deliberately conceals a defect from the buyer or makes any material misrepresentations about the property that would amount to fraud.
No one could accuse Michael Halberstam of fraud, so the burden of caveat emptor properly belonged to me. Was I willing to assume all liability for a romantic investment with such piss poor odds on the unlikely chance that I could shield myself from his tropical charms long enough for him to shed his emotional baggage? I told him how much I wanted to see “Catfish” with him but instinctively agreed it would probably be unwise. My emotional availability rendered me susceptible to attachment, and from what I could tell, Michael Halberstam was not the kind of guy a girl should be getting attached to at that juncture. Besides, I wouldn’t want anyone to accuse me of being the kind of girl who hears what she wants instead of what’s actually said. So, in a completely uncharacteristic twist, I cancelled our third date, and implored Michael Halberstam to call me if he was ever simultaneously single and open to the possibility of something more long-term.
Immediately, I doubted my decision. Michael deserved positive reinforcement for his honesty, not punishment. I allowed my girlfriends to reassure me that I’d made a sound judgment. Rationally, I agreed. Privately, I hoped for the following response:
Dear Rachel,
Your e-mail demonstrates an impressive level of self-respect. You deserve to be with someone who can bring to the table at least as much as you have to offer, and you know it. Your confidence begs the question: what was I thinking? Sure, I’m going through some shit right now, but a guy doesn’t meet a girl like you every day. It would be a huge mistake to walk away now from what we’ve started. I feel like such a fool. Please let me make it up to you by taking you ice skating next weekend. Meanwhile, how about dinner on Monday night to celebrate the completion of your Trusts and Estates exam?
Humbly,
Mike
Of course, I never heard from Michael Halberstam again. Still, my act of self-protection had implicit value. For although he never uttered the sentiment above, I reminded myself it’s true. Also, the next time a guy tells me he’s not ready to be dating, I’ll walk away before he serenades me with a stringed instrument. After all, in love, unlike law, even where material misrepresentations are made, money damages are not awarded for bad investments.
Rachel A. Kleinman 