So I'm in the process of writing a book - no, I'm not finished but yes, I have a really awesomely popular author (and her assistant) coaching me through the process which makes writing all the more FUN. Since I've always been better at treating than tricking I thought I'd be one with the Halloween spirit and treat you to the first chapter - no high-calorie candy intake or completely skeezy nurse costume required. And really, what's spookier than complicated relationships? BOO. Oh, and I haven't yet named two of the key players but for the sake of this, eh, poetic justice, so we'll call them John and June, respectfully.
Chapter One
It happened
exactly two hundred days after I started dating John. I am sure of this fact
not because I am one of those girls,
or good with numbers, a slight in character that he has deemed endearing. The
heart of the matter is that I keep track of the significant little things, like
the number of times I hit snooze on my alarm before actually waking up on any
given weekday (three); the comically high occurrence of the admittance “I
haven’t felt like this in a long time” in any given episode of The Bachelor (always in the double
digits); the guys I’ve kissed in my twenty-five years (sixteen-ish). Or, as it
is on this lazy night in August, the fact that six days ago I was crying on my
back porch as he held my hand, explaining to me that while he cares for me
deeply, he cannot completely abandon her. Them. It’s not fair to you, June. You deserve more than I can give you right
now, June. This is hard for me too, June. This time one hundred days ago
we were kissing without abandon and scheming about how adorable we would be at
50 and 44, respectively. I should have listened to him months ago when he told
me we should wait, that the timing wasn’t right just yet.
But that night,
the things he said and all the things I was too hurt to say are the farthest
from my mind as we are walking back to his car after a lingering dinner of pad Thai
from his new favorite place. Summer is starting to wind down but it’s still
steamy out, a warmth intensified by the two bottles of hot sake we downed at
dinner, only after he convinced me to branch out and try something other than
Coors. That’s one of the many things I
adore about John – his uncanny ability to convince me I will love what he
loves. Truth is I usually do.
“You are fun,” he
says as we mosey to the car, in no hurry to go much of anywhere. His honesty
always catches me off guard in the best way. I smile and bury my cheek against
his broad shoulder as he plants a kiss on the top of my head and says,
"Where to now, Chief?"
“Dessert?” I
suggest as we turn the corner to find the car. No need to contemplate, we want a pint of ice cream. Ten minutes later we’re strolling through the frozen foods, laughing and carrying
on entirely too loud like a real couple as we locate the goods.
“This is nice,” I
hear myself say as we stand in line behind an older couple, waiting patiently
to check out.
“You’re nice,” he
says with a smirk as he takes my hand and then says, “I’ve got an idea for our
next adventure.” We take the ice cream and our one spoon and start driving, all
the while singing along to J. Roddy. The windows are down and his hand is on my
knee – I close my eyes and I’m taken back to the summer, all those nights we
stayed out too late and sang “Brave Man’s Death” all the way home. Then, moved by the sake and the weather and a
whiff of his cologne, I find myself blurting out, "So. Do you love me?”
The second the words leave my mouth I start to feel every muscle in my body
tense up as I curse myself for the momentary lapse of discipline. The mood
becomes perceptibly heavier, and he must feel it too because he squeezes my
hand and looks straight ahead.
“Oh,
wow, I don’t know, um that came out way more serious than in my head!” I say,
with a strained, high-pitched voice that is typically reserved for forced
conversations with my school principal. I feel myself attempting a smile, which
I know looks forced, only adding to the awkwardness of the moment. I playfully
pull on his arm as I look up at him, bracing myself for his response.
“You
are so pretty, do you know that?” he says genuinely but clearly in lieu of
saying something else. He looks me in the eyes and then quickly looks away, a
behavior only displayed when nervous. “June,” he continues, then pauses for a
few beats, staring straight ahead again. “We have so much fun together.”
The
sentiment is promising but not at all an answer. My brain frantically starts
working on ways to take back what I said, not because I particularly want to
but because I fear the rest of the conversation. How do you take back “I love
you?” At the same time, this no answer prompts a whole new realm of additional
questions. Do you think you could ever
love me? Do you somehow love us both? Do you ever see yourself getting married again? I make the decision to take our usual
route of topic-avoidance – humor - and ask, “Why not make an honest woman out
of me and marry me tonight?” I say the words dramatically with such a playfulness
that he gives a big laugh, both of us feeling relief, then seizes the
opportunity to also make light of the last twenty seconds.
“How
did you know?” He quickly drops to one knee and grabs my hand as he bats his
eyes at me, pretending to tear up. “These past few months have been the best of
my life, and while I wanted to wait until I had a ring and enough saved to pay
your dowry, I couldn’t help myself once I saw how stunning you look tonight.”
He kisses my hand and I feel myself blush as I laugh at his faux proposal of dramatic proportions. He pulls me into him as he stands just in front of
me. His eyes turn serious as he takes a deep breath and says, “June, you know
how I feel about you….”
I
feel a but coming on. Sure enough, he
finishes with, “But it’s too soon for me to be in a serious relationship, and
not completely fair to you, what with me still spending time with them and helping
her.”
“You’re
right,” I say flatly, trying not to feel defeated. After all, we’ve had this
discussion before. “But it’s been over,” I say.
“And you’re right, I do know how you feel about me. This is different – you and
me, it’s different.”
I
make this point from time to time, when needed – he ended that relationship
months ago, and from what he expressed to me, wasn't happy. I reserve this valid point for the times when we’re out with his friends
or mine and it somehow comes up. It’s strange, feeling like the culprit in your own relationship – the younger
model who swooped in and stole the guy. I have never stolen a taken man,
not even for pure sport, unlike some girlfriends of mine. I pride myself on
checking the left hand for any sign of holy matrimony, and I listen carefully
for important details such as “I have a girlfriend.” Before John I had zero
tolerance for any form of shadiness or commitment phobia, both of which are
quite the epidemic in my circle. If you seemed to be the least bit unavailable
or fickle in your decision making skills I was taking my boots and walking, no
running far away. I just couldn’t see the benefit of taking a risk when it came
to love, which is slightly hilarious since I have always promoted myself as a
hopeless romantic.
The plan was to be married with two adorable kids of my own
by thirty-two, so I could not afford to waste time with a man who wasn’t 100%
available. I always shook my head in disappointment at girls who got involved
with the mysterious type, or even worse, the unavailable one, thinking what’s
the point? If you know there can be no future from the get-go, why put your
heart into it? I spent most of high school and college dating green bean types
instead, a term coined by my best girlfriend. “A green bean is a guy who
is ridiculously bland, the one you never crave but he’s there, it’s convenient,
and he’s American.” I would date the green beans and then break it off once
they started to really care, and then congratulate myself on not settling. The
right man would come along. I just needed patience and self-discipline. This is
how I approached pretty much everything – my undergraduate years at the
University, every crappy internship, years of graduate school, and all
of my romantic endeavors. If I made the plans things would fall into place. Aim
for the best and don’t settle for anyone who isn’t setting your hair on fire.
My reward, I thought, was him.
XOXO-B
