part 1

As women, we usually name the men we date by where they’re from or where we met them. Men? They’ll name women by something physical. But me? Sometimes I name a man based on the situation he puts me in. And this one… this one takes the cake.

Let me introduce you to Habitual Houdini.

Back when I worked at a restaurant that doubled as the neighborhood’s “club,” I’d stop by once a year even after I left. Just to see who was around, check the vibes, and — let’s be real — because it was always the best place to pick up men.

That’s where I met him. He seemed older — not by much, maybe five years, but at 27, thirty-plus with a little grey hair felt grown. (Side note: grey hair on men is starting to be attractive to me now.)

He was an operations manager for a chain restaurant, which basically meant free food for me. We hit it off casually, hung around the bar, talked golf, and I even exchanged numbers with one of the servers he worked with. That’s how laid back the vibe was — I had no problem giving her my number, because at the time it didn’t mean anything.

Soon he was spending the night at my place twice a week, always late after work. But we never had sex. He never even tried. Which, honestly, I thought was interesting.

And then, out of nowhere, he just stopped talking to me. No calls, no texts, no nothing. I shrugged it off. “It’s not like I lost anything. It’s not like I fucked him, so…”

One day, I went to the golf range on a bad day, just trying to hit some balls. In between swapping out my clubs, I checked my phone. Missed calls. Texts. All from the server I’d given my number to.

When I called her back, she didn’t waste time. She asked me straight up, “Are you his girlfriend?”

I froze for a second. My first instinct was to say no, but instead I just went with “yeah” — because I needed to know why she was really calling me.

She took a breath, then said, “I just had to ask, because he hasn’t shown up for work in days. No calls, no nothing. And people are worried.”

Now here I am, standing on the golf range, holding my phone in one hand and a club in the other, trying to piece together why this man — who’d been spending nights at my place twice a week — had vanished into thin air. No goodbye. No explanation. And now even his coworkers couldn’t find him?

I thought back to all the little things: how he’d never tried to sleep with me, how he’d just… been there, then disappeared like smoke. Habitual Houdini.

Over the next few days, the server and I talked more. She and I actually built this weird little relationship out of mutual confusion — two women connected by one man who couldn’t seem to keep himself together. She wanted answers just like I did. And every time we compared notes, it was like unraveling a mystery I didn’t even realize I’d signed up for.

The truth was, no one really knew where he went. He’d pop in, then vanish. Resurface, then disappear all over again. And every time, it left a trail of confusion behind him.

It was the kind of story that made me laugh and shake my head at the same time. Because only me — only I would end up in a situation where the man disappears, and I end up befriending the server from his bar.

And that’s how Habitual Houdini earned his name.

But here’s the thing: the real trick wasn’t his disappearing act. It was what I found out later — that while I was sitting there wondering if he was dead in a ditch, he was bouncing between two whole other women, living double lives like it was a full-time job. And the wildest part? Both of them thought they were his girlfriend.

So yeah. Houdini didn’t just disappear. He reappeared exactly where he wanted to — just never where he said he’d be.