Kiss and Tell: “My date arrived in the middle of the night and refused to leave”

Welcome to Kiss and Tell, a series about the steamy, surprising and frequently absurd world of Toronto dating. Send your most memorable stories from the pursuit of love and lust in the city to submissions@torontolife.com.

—As told to Juliann Garisto

I was working as a vintage clothing seller when I came across Tia on Bumble. I wasn’t looking for anything serious, but her profile stood out. It was edgy and charismatic, with a good mix of selfies and group photos. I liked that she showed different sides of herself—serious in some pictures, silly in others. I found her really attractive.

When we matched, I messaged her immediately. She was easy to talk to and very friendly, using tons of smiley emojis. We had things in common—we liked some of the same emo-rock bands and shared an appreciation for analog technology. She was born and raised in downtown Toronto, which seemed cool to me since I’d grown up in the suburbs and was still living in Brampton with my family. I spent a lot of time in the city, so after a few days of messaging over Bumble, I asked Tia out.

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Our first date was chill and ordinary. I met up with her downtown, and we had dinner at a cheap restaurant. She was even friendlier in person and a little touchy-feely, which I liked. We talked more about our hobbies—I told her I collected VHS tapes and CDs; she told me she made her own clothes. Somehow, we got onto the topic of past relationships. She wanted to know if I’d ever had a girlfriend and how far I’d gone. I told her that this wasn’t my first rodeo; I’d had a few girlfriends and several hook-ups. She, on the other hand, was pretty inexperienced. She blamed her dad and her brothers—according to her, they were super overprotective. She’d never had a boyfriend and was still a virgin.

This made me apprehensive. The thought of being someone’s first was nerve-racking, like being in the spotlight. What if she fell in love with me and I ended up hurting her feelings? I’d had so many expectations wrapped up in my first sexual experience, so I could imagine what it might be like for Tia. But I still found her endearing, which led to a second date. We saw a movie and had our first kiss in the back row of the theatre. It felt very high school. Afterward, I walked her home and kissed her goodnight. I wasn’t smitten, but I liked her. I told her that, for our third date, she should come to Brampton.

Related: “My date started with art and ended with nude modelling”

Around this time, Tia got a new job working evenings at a restaurant. Since I worked weekdays from nine to five selling clothes, we could meet only on Monday or Tuesday evenings—a slim window. We planned to hang one Tuesday night, a few days after our second date, around 5:30. Tia would come over, and we’d order a pizza and settle in to watch VHS tapes on the TV in my room.

That day, however, Tia texted me saying that one of her colleagues was sick and she had to cover for them. I asked if she knew what time she’d get off, but she didn’t. I suggested she text me when she found out, and if it wasn’t too late, we would stick to the original plan. She texted back, “Sounds good,” with a smiley emoji and a heart.

When nine o’clock rolled around and I still hadn’t heard from her, I decided to call it. I texted saying that we should reschedule. She responded an hour later: “I’ll be off in two hours and then quickly shower at mine and head over!!!" I had a little chuckle. “Don’t even bother,” I replied. “I’ll be asleep by then. We can just do it another time.” I fell asleep promptly after sending that message.

I woke up to a knock at my bedroom door. It was my mom, and it was late; she looked like she’d been rudely awoken. She said, “Connor, there’s a girl here for you.” I thought I was dreaming. I was so confused. Who could be here, in Brampton? All my good friends lived in Toronto. My mom went back to bed. I glanced at my phone; it was after midnight. I walked downstairs to the front door, still incredulous, and saw that it was Tia. I opened the door.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “How did you get here?” I looked over her shoulder into the street and noticed a truck parked nearby. It was now pulling out into the road, and the man at the wheel was waving at us. “That’s my dad,” Tia told me. He’d driven her here after her shift. I remembered what she’d told me about having overprotective male relatives. Was he coming back for her? I wondered. If her dad was so overprotective, why was he dropping her off at my house in the middle of the night and driving away? My mom probably expected me to send Tia home, but I couldn’t leave her standing on the doorstep. I decided to let her in, thinking I could send her home in an Uber.

She came up to my room, where we could talk at a normal volume without waking up my entire family. I reiterated my confusion about her being there since I had told her not to come. She looked at me like I was crazy and asked how it was possible that I wasn’t happy to see her. She’d just missioned all the way from downtown Toronto to Brampton by begging her father to drive her. Where was my gratitude? “But I told you not to come,” I said.

This only made matters worse. Tia erupted from my bedroom and went downstairs to the living room to call a friend. I followed her down, begging her to be quiet since everyone in my house was asleep. She ignored me and kept talking, insulting me to her friend. I’d never witnessed such a malicious side to her. I was stunned.

My family heard everything: the house was quiet and open concept, so sound travelled. I heard my stepdad noisily exit his room to use the bathroom. I went to catch him in the hall and apologize. Tia was still on the phone. “Who the hell is in my house?” he said. My mom was awake as well, and she wasn’t pleased. I went into her room to try to calm her down a little. She wanted to know who this girl was and why she was over so late. I told her not to worry about it, that I would be sending her home in an Uber shortly. “Deal with it,” my stepdad said.

I convinced Tia to come back upstairs with me to my room. She finally ended her phone call and stomped up the stairs. She must’ve thought I’d decided to let her stay the night, because she was removing her jacket and taking something out of her purse—a plastic bag full of VHS tapes.

“I got you these,” she said, throwing the bag at me almost violently. She’d found them on the side of the road. I thanked her, trying to sound sincere. “I’m so nice to you, and you treat me like crap,” she complained. I checked the time—it was nearly 2 in the morning. “Look,” I said, opening the Uber app on my phone, “I’m ordering you an Uber and then I’m going to sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

She called me an asshole and said she wasn’t leaving. I’d been pretty patient until then, but her calling me an asshole was the last straw. “How dare you?” I said. I told her that she couldn’t speak to me that way in my family home—one she had no right to be in, for that matter. “My friends were right,” she said in response. “You’re too immature. You’re not good for me.” I was livid, but there was no point in arguing. I just wanted her to shut up.

“I’m going to sleep,” I said. I told her she could sleep over if she wanted, and we could talk in the morning, or I could Uber her home. Neither option worked: according to her, we needed to talk now. But when I asked what exactly we needed to talk about, Tia didn’t know. We went back and forth like this for a while. I kept trying to probe her, but she had nothing to say. I’d say I was going to sleep. She would beg me not to. It was exhausting. I soon realized I would never get any sleep if she was there. The reality of the situation dawned on me: I hardly knew her. We’d been on two dates and only kissed twice. She might as well be a stranger.

I began to beg her to go home. She refused multiple times, claiming that she wouldn’t leave until we talked. It was 3 in the morning at this point. She said she would sit on my bedroom floor until the sun came up. Exasperated, I lay in my bed and scrolled aimlessly on my phone, waiting for her to give up. Finally, after what felt like ages, she accepted the Uber ride and left. It was after 4. The Uber was not cheap.

She texted me immediately afterward, as though nothing had happened, “This Uber driver is so nice! Thanks for ordering." Smiley face. I didn’t reply; I was still shaken up by everything and unsure how to deal with it. I also still had to go to work that morning, on basically no sleep. It was overwhelming. In the days that followed, I wavered between wanting to cuss her out and wanting to ghost her. It ended up being the latter. I was fully done with her.

Then she sent more texts. These were long, angry tirades about how wrong I was for leading her on. I didn’t reply to those messages either. A day later, she switched the narrative, apologizing for her behaviour and admitting that I was right, that she’d acted out of line. I still didn’t respond. So she switched gears again, sending long paragraphs that called me out for being dishonest, for being a narcissist and for cheating on her—which was impossible since we weren’t even dating. I never responded to any of it; I just couldn’t bring myself to engage. It was probably for the best.

The next time I saw her in person was at a show a few months later, where I found out she was dating an acquaintance. We didn’t talk, but we saw each other from across the room and nodded. It didn’t bother me one bit. I haven’t seen her since, but last I checked, she still has me blocked on Instagram. And I’m perfectly fine with that.