Mr. Guy is a man who has been in and out of Mermaid’s life for the past five months. They met when Mermaid was looking for a room to rent, and Mr. Guy had one. From the moment their eyes met through Mr. Guy’s little diamond-shaped door window on the industrial Brooklyn street, Mermaid had a hunch it wouldn’t be the last of him.

Mermaid will never take the trouble to visit an apartment and leave after three minutes, even if the room is not an immediate taker (one reason why she probably has had many encounters with NY weirdos). And Mr. Guy seemed worth more than the peak in the room. So she talked to Mr. Guy over tea that day and found out that he was also an Italian artist. She was attracted.

However, though it was fall, Mr. Guy wore a winter hat and when eventually he took it off, she wondered why he’d cut his hair so short, like a military buzz. And Mr. Guy had an ex, whose name was still on the buzzer.

The next week, just as Mermaid found another apartment down the street, Mr. Guy wrote to her, expressing that since he had found her to be attractive and charming, being roommates might be potentially problematic. That said, it could be fun otherwise. Mermaid knew it wasn’t a coincidence, since she felt the same. So they quickly found it desirable to meet again.

Within a week and a half, he’d put her bed-frame together, she gave him a massage, he got her dinner, she cooked his, he cut her toenail with a filing too, and they “made a little music,” in all senses of the phrase.

And then, he disappeared. She knew it was bound to happen. But why…something was…too much, she sensed. She was confused. And so was he. With a little communication, he came back. He didn’t want to put eggs into baskets, he admitted and so, they were now walking on eggshells. Mr. Guy said he’s lost hope with relationships, that he was expired, and Mermaid was fresh.

Then, as if to sweeten the pot of mystery they were brewing, Mermaid spewed out some things about her slightly dramatic past that were too heavy for Mr. Guy. She knew she’d send him off again. She was sad, but she did it and had to deal with it.

In the meantime, Mermaid went away to do a job that temporarily relocated her to the seashore. She thought about Mr. Guy a lot at the ocean, while collecting shells. And then, he resurfaced, via Internet, with a message in a bottle of apology and reconnection. Mermaid jumped on it. She offered for him to see her at the seashore. And again, too much. He said he would see.

She frowned, convincing herself it didn’t matter, that she had to be alone in this, that was the lesson. Mermaid had a job to do. Why was it so important to hear from Guy? But Mermaid had very much fallen for Mr. Guy. She saw there was still Good in him even though he thought his date had passed.

After all, the other day at the seashore house, Mermaid found a ginger cookie that had hardened and was probably not so fresh. But she put it in the oven for a few minutes, and guess what? It softened and warmed up, and the flavor came out. It tasted wonderful. Can’t Guys be like cookies?

Time had passed, and while in town on a day off, Mermaid managed to see Mr. Guy in person. He wanted to give her things from his apartment. He gave her some leftover clothe, he’d acquired, some peppercorn, and a wrench for protection. He wished her well.

She accepted it all but she saw the metaphor. She wanted him. And he was avoiding her like a dieter would a ginger cookie. Mr. Guy did not return Mermaid’s call the next week. She felt dumb. But the next day, on a sunny yet cold afternoon in their neighborhood, they unintentionally and yet inevitably came face to face in a corner coffee shop. It was there, while eating catfish with him, that Mermaid saw (but did not hear) her answer: Mr. Guy needed to be free. And she accepted that and returned to the seashore to complete her performance before full, fresh audiences.

Perhaps Mermaid and Mr. Guy will meet again, but Memaid knew it wouldn’t require much effort on her part, except internally knowing what she wanted inside and not being afraid of it.