The Duplicate

“Be careful what you ask for because once you get it, you might realize it’s not what you truly wanted.”

- Anjali Singh

As the toxic haze from a recent bad breakup finally began to lift, I found myself grieving the idealized version of the guy I’d dated that I had clung to. While the reality of him left something to be desired, the prospect of finding someone who matched my ex’s height, had an equally fascinating career, and hailed from a city I adored seemed daunting, if not impossible. Yet, the universe must have a sense of humor because just three weeks after my last last conversation with my ex, I returned to the dating apps and, to my amazement, managed to achieve the seemingly impossible—I met another man with the exact same name.

For the sake of this narrative, let's refer to recent ex 2.0 as the Duplicate, because on paper, he initially seemed remarkably similar to the man. Firstly, they both stood well over six feet tall. Secondly, they hailed from that same beloved city that leaves me weak in the knees. Thirdly, they had equally captivating careers—my ex was an activist, while the Duplicate thrived as an executive coach, engaging in fascinating projects. In an odd twist, he was also an Aries, and his last name began with the same letter as my ex.

We made plans to meet for dinner and I approached our first date with great caution—not only because I was still nursing the wounds from months of a turbulent situationship, but also because the uncanny similarities between my ex and the Duplicate unsettled me. To help calm these concerns, I made three promises to myself as I reentered the dating scene: to take things slowly, to respect my boundaries, and to heed any red flags. I felt ready to step back into the world, rediscover myself, and possibly—hopefully—find a meaningful partner along the way.

The Duplicate was a self-professed foodie and eagerly asked if he could choose the restaurant for our first date. I arrived right on time to find him already seated at our table, waiting with an air of casual confidence. He was undeniably handsome: large brown eyes framed by dark lashes, a perfectly coiffed head of salt-and-pepper hair, and a fashion sense that exuded effortless cool. Points for the Duplicate already...

In our banter before meeting, we bonded over our shared love for effortlessly transitioning from dive bars to galas. This camaraderie resurfaced during dinner as we discussed our favorite foods.

“Fancy restaurants aren’t always where it’s at,” I declared. “People don’t give things like Spam or canned cheese enough credit.”

He laughed. “Canned cheese? What a good throwback.”

“It’s delicious!” I reiterated, reminiscing about my childhood days when I would sneak it from the fridge and create cheesy patterns on my fingers before licking them off.

From the start, I noticed that, unlike my recent ex, the Duplicate was genuinely committed to open communication. He shared first-date appropriate details about himself in a manner that was both respectful and forthcoming. Halfway through our date, a wave of relief washed over me as I realized that not every encounter had to feel like an interrogation, where I meticulously crafted questions to avoid my words being twisted into weapons against me. It was incredibly refreshing.

“There’s something I want to be upfront about,” the Duplicate said as we were halfway through dinner. “When I was really young, I had a one-night stand that resulted in my son being born. I was in no way ready to be a dad, but his mom couldn’t be his primary caregiver, so the job was mine.”

“Wow,” I said honestly, trying and failing to imagine myself as a parent in my 20s. “That is a lot to have on your shoulders.”

He smiled, nodding. “It was an adjustment for sure, but he’s amazing, and I am a better person for having him in my life. I actually fucking loved that you mentioned you don’t want to have kids in your profile - I’m not looking to have any more either. Also, I should have mentioned I swear a lot.”

I laughed, finding this all too relatable. “I fucking do, too. I read once that people who swear a lot are often very honest.”

“Speaking of honesty,” he said, still smiling. “Can I ask what you’re looking for in dating right now?”

It was a question so unexpected, so unlike anything the last guy I’d dated would have asked, that I had to stop myself from laughing. I took a moment to consider my response, partly because I hadn’t articulated my thoughts so pointedly before and partly because I was wary of opening up so brazenly again.

“If I’m being honest now,” I began, making him smile wide, “my last relationship was blurry and intentionally vague, which was challenging. But it’s helped me realize that I’m looking for a healthy, communicative, and respectful relationship with someone who can enjoy the life we’ve worked to have. I want a fun partner in crime.”

I watched him, waiting for that smile to fade, but it never did.

“I think we might just be looking for similar things,” he followed up, making me smile.

As our dinner came to an end, the Duplicate reached across the table and touched my hand lightly.

“Look,” he said, glancing down at his empty glass for a second. “I hope this isn’t too bold, but I’m really enjoying this date and don’t want it to end yet. Would you be okay if I walked you halfway home and we grabbed a drink somewhere else?”

I was taken aback. I thought the date was going well, but I was by no means feeling as confident as I did in my pre-COVID and last breakup days.

I nodded quickly, trying to hide my surprise, and agreed to the offer.

We stopped at a bar along the way and shared stories about our tattoos over one more drink. He lived on the Lower East Side and was obsessed with a graffiti artist who tagged walls in the area. He managed to track her down and had her give him an original stick-and-poke tattoo in her loft. I was impressed, and the piece itself was striking.

Once our drinks were finished, he walked me to my door and leaned down to kiss me goodnight.

As I stood at my elevator, waiting for the doors to open, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw a message from him.

I don’t normally say this, he’d texted. But I’m extremely attracted to you and am glad we had a chance to meet up. I hope I can see you again soon.

Soon, it turned out, was well on it’s way when the next morning he reached out to schedule a second date before his upcoming three-week vacation to Brazil and Peru. His dedication to communication and planning was refreshing—he believed in setting up the next date right away to avoid any uncertainty or wondering.

Our second date fell right around Valentine’s Day, and to keep things lighthearted given the romantic timing, we decided to meet at a dive bar. He insisted on sending an Uber to pick me up and surprise me with the location, a gesture I found both sweet and charming. To be safe, I shared my location with a friend.

When I arrived, he was already seated at a table, wearing a pair of Comme Des Garçons Chuck Taylors adorned with red hearts. I appreciated his attention to detail. As soon as he saw me, he jumped up with a smile and greeted me with a lingering, slow kiss.

“I know it’s just a second date,” the Duplicate said once I had sat down, “but I got you something for Valentine’s.”

I frowned playfully, realizing I hadn’t thought to get him anything.

“Don’t worry!” he laughed. “It’s small, but I suspect you’ll appreciate it.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a can of canned cheese and crackers, adorably wrapped in a heart-patterned bag.

I gasped in delight, shocked by the thoughtful gesture. It had been ages since I’d had that cheese, and throughout our date, he kept pausing to add cheese to crackers and pass them over to me.

We spent the evening discussing our taste in music and why our previous relationships didn’t work out…you know, standard second date fodder. Encouraged by our open exchanges, I felt comfortable sharing more about my last relationship.

“It sounds like he wanted to date whoever he could but didn’t want you to have the freedom to do the same,” the Duplicate reflected. “It sounds like he was manipulating you.”

When you’re caught in someone else’s mind games, you start to feel as crazy as they’re making you out to be, constantly questioning if everything that happened was your fault. Hearing the Duplicate call out my ex’s behavior so clearly made me feel truly seen for the first time in months. 

Later that night, as he stood outside waiting for my Uber, he wrapped his arms around me, shielding me from the cold February air.

“I know it’s a long way out,” he said from above me, “but can we set a date for when I’m back to see each other again?”

I could hardly believe my luck—here was a communicative, well-dressed man in his 40s who genuinely wanted to see me again. Still, I reminded myself to stay grounded and keep things at a steady pace since we barely knew each other.

I leaned back to look up at him. “Yes, I’d love that.”

The next morning, from the airport, the Duplicate reached out. I felt a rush of excitement, relieved by the absence of the stressful stomach drop I used to feel when seeing the name of the person I was dating on my notification screen.

I’m a texter, the message read. And I just wanted to check in and see what your communication style and preference is around texting. Would you be overwhelmed by my texting while I am away?

I laughed out loud. Had this man read the “How to Not Be My Ex” handbook?

I’m a texter, too, so I welcome it! I responded. I appreciate your communication style, by the way.

Thanks, he replied. I know how important it is to any relationship—romantic or not—so I really prioritize it.

Unlike my recent experience on an emotional rollercoaster, I felt at ease and safe with the Duplicate in a way that was comfortably steady, rather than intense. It was a nice, slow burn, and that felt good. We chatted daily, him sending pictures of his trip and me sharing snapshots of random moments from my day. He described the people he met and the experiences he had in vivid detail, making me feel like I was right there with him. I found myself eagerly anticipating his return to the city.

Three weeks and many text messages later, the night finally arrived. The Duplicate had been home for less than 24 hours and had planned a surprise date. I wasn’t allowed to look up the restaurant we were meeting at, he told me, or I’d ruin the surprise.

He stood outside the downtown spot, radiant with a smile that matched the sparkle in his eyes as my car pulled up. As soon as he caught sight of me, he enveloped me in a warm, sweeping hug. He had tickets to Drunk Shakespeare, a sweet gesture I couldn’t bring myself to spoil by admitting I’d already seen the show four times before. Post-performance (which, by the way, is a great show for anyone yet to experience it), we walked to a nearby cocktail bar.

Our seats brought us close together, and I was captivated as he animatedly recounted tales from his trip.

As his last story came to a close, he turned to face me directly. “I have something to propose.”

“Pitch away,” I encouraged him.

“Over this past month, I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you” he confessed. “I’m not seeing anyone else, and I wonder if you’d consider being exclusive as we continue to get to know each other?”

The very question I had longed for my last ex to ask me flowed effortlessly from the lips of a man I’d only known for a month. I was struck with astonishment, and it must have shown on my face because his smile momentarily faltered.

“Wow,” I managed to respond, processing the moment. “Is it really that simple?”

He chuckled. “What do you mean?”

“I waited five months with my last partner, hoping for this very question,” I shared. “But it never came. I’m just amazed it’s happening so naturally now.”

We laughed at that before he leaned in. “So?”

I couldn’t contain my grin. “I’d love to be exclusive as we continue this journey.”

And with that, the Duplicate leaned over, planting a kiss that sealed our mutual commitment.

You have a boyfriend! a friend messaged when I told her the story. 

I guess so, I responded, still shocked at the turn of events.

Later that week, I was walking home with a good friend after dinner when my phone rang. I looked down and was surprised to see the Duplicate’s name on the display. I gave my friend a puzzled look.

“Butt dial?” I asked, showing her the screen.

“Only one way to find out…” she shrugged.

I answered with a cautious, “Hello?”

“I went out for happy hour with my best friend,” came his voice on the other end, still clearly at a bar. “And I got drunk.”

I laughed. “As one does.”

“Right,” he continued, his tone cheerful. “And I just wanted to drunk call you and say hello and also tell you I’m excited for Friday.”

“A drunk call!” I exclaimed. “My favorite!” I wasn’t lying—it had been ages since a guy had gotten tipsy and called me because he was thinking of me. It might as well be one of my love languages.

“Unsurprising, as we have lots in common!” he continued. “Anyway, I’m going to get back to our night out, but I just wanted you to know I was thinking of you. Talk soon!”

I ended the call, laughing.

“What was that?” my friend asked.

“A drunk call,” I repeated. “He just wanted to say hi.”

“That’s really cute,” she observed. “I’m liking this guy.”

I was, too.

Our date on Friday was at a trendy little bowling alley on the east side of the city. The Duplicate greeted me at the entrance with a kiss, but I noticed he didn't seem as put together as he had the last few times—he even looked a bit unkempt. He didn’t smell as fresh either, but since he’d been out and about all day, I figured it was because of that.

The lane we were assigned was next to a group of six younger guys, all at varying levels of drunkenness as they attempted to bowl. Their belongings spilled into our seating area, and we had to move some of their stuff just to settle in. I could tell the Duplicate was annoyed.

I’ve never been a huge fan of bowling (my nails always break and it hurts!), but I tried to give it an honest go since it was sweet of the Duplicate to think of it. He’d pause to lean down and kiss me, and more than once wrapped his arms around me from behind as I watched my ball roll into the gutter.

Halfway through our game, one of the nearby guys knocked over a glass of beer onto our table.

“Careful, there,” the Duplicate said, helping to clean the spill.

Once it was wiped up, the Duplicate sat down next to me.

“These guys are fucking shits,” he said quietly.

I nodded in agreement, watching them. “I keep hoping they time out and have to leave.”

“I kind of want to kick their asses,” he continued.

I laughed but went quiet when I noticed he wasn’t laughing with me.

“Seriously,” he said. “Sometimes I just like to get in a big fucking brawl and punch people.”

I frowned at him and laughed nervously. “Can’t say I have the same urges.”

“It’s a testosterone thing, I think,” he offered.

It was a weird and seemingly uncharacteristic thing to say, but it was just one odd comment in a sea of green flags. Maybe he was just in a mood, and besides, the guys were acting in very punchable ways.

Luckily, we made it through the game without the Duplicate getting into any brawls and went to sit at the bar beside the lanes to finish out the night.

As he sat down beside me, I noticed he seemed really hyper and fidgety.

“I’m feeling manic tonight,” he confirmed a few minutes later after a sip of his beer. “Restless.”

“From our bowling neighbors?” I asked. His specific use of the word "manic" gave me pause, and though I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, I couldn't shake the unease growing inside me. Something felt off.

“I don’t think so.” He didn’t elaborate further.

As the evening progressed, we turned to th topic of life and relationship goals. The Duplicate was getting tipsy, but then again, so was I. When I reiterated what I was looking for in a relationship, he raised his arm as if to dismiss my words. I paused, confused.

“That’s not an answer,” he argued, seemingly out of nowhere. “It’s a copout.”

“Me saying I’m looking for a healthy and respectful partnership is a copout?” I asked, curious and slightly wary. “I thought you liked my answer on our first date.”

"Yeah, Stef, but what do you want?” he persisted, tipsy, his tone growing annoyed as if he wanted one specific answer only.

I didn’t like the way this exchange made me feel—it was eerily reminiscent of how my recent ex would condescendingly use terminology he learned from his therapist against me. But the Duplicate was not him, and I consciously separated myself from that reaction, responding to him in the present moment.

“I want to feel safe with someone. I want a partner in crime who adventures through life with me. I want what most people want—to be happy.”

He snorted in a way that didn’t feel entirely kind, and I felt my annoyance growing. His actions were giving me an intense sense of “ick,” and I just wanted to go home.

For the first time in a month, that night I cried, missing the idea of my ex again and I began to second guess if the Duplicate was what I actually wanted in my life or if it had just been appealing because he was giving me respect and communication—basic things that the last man I dated never had.

“You aren’t excited,” my friend commented the next day when I gave her a brief overview of the bowling date.

“I’m definitely not,” I replied, reflecting on how the night had made me feel. “Some cracks showed last night, and my instincts are telling me we probably aren’t a good fit.”

“You can keep getting to know him,” she said. “It takes a while to get to know someone.”

She was right, of course, but I had learned, thanks to my last relationship, that I needed to trust myself and my instincts more.

For the entire week, I felt less excited when the Duplicate messaged. I was less enthusiastic in my responses and wrestled internally with the idea of ending things so soon after agreeing to date exclusively. The ick factor from our last date wasn’t fading, and I wasn’t sure I could be around someone so physically affectionate without shying away.

By Thursday, I knew what I had to do. I couldn’t forget the promises I’d made to myself - that I’d heed the red flags.

That evening, the Duplicate surprised me by calling after a day of silence that I’d welcomed.

His voice was quiet and even. “Do you have a second to talk?”

“Of course. How’s your day?”

“Not bad,” he said. “Busy, I guess. Look, I have to talk to you.”

I prayed he had the same topic on his mind. “I was thinking of calling you tonight, too.”

“Oh?” he asked. “What about?”

“You can go first,” I insisted.

“I’ve been thinking these last few days,” he continued. “I think I might not be in the right spot to continue this.”

I felt a wave of relief—I didn’t have to be the one to end things after all. “I completely understand and appreciate you letting me know.”

“It’s been great getting to know you,” he said.

“I feel the same way.” I did—it had been wonderful to have the hope that came from starting to date someone new. “I wish you all the best and hope you have a great rest of your week.”

I said goodbye and ended the call, relieved.

While not the right match for me, the Duplicate reminded me of two important things I’d forgotten while in a situationship: that I was still desirable in the world of dating and that healthy communication was something I was naturally capable of when the other person was equally committed to honesty and openness. In this case, we both were able to communicate respectfully and part ways kindly, knowing it was for the best.

My time with the Duplicate helped me remember that every encounter, whether fleeting or long-lasting, brings its own set of lessons and insights. While our journey together was brief, it highlighted the importance of maintaining my boundaries, trusting my instincts, and recognizing my worth. It reminded me that dating is as much about discovering what I don’t want as it is about finding what I do. Each experience, no matter how imperfect, is a step toward the relationship I truly seek. The Duplicate may not have been my perfect match, but he played a crucial role in my ongoing journey of self-discovery and growth.

And for that, I am grateful.