We’re all hushed. Paige breaks the silence. “Did you ever see him again?”
“No, I never did,” Shirley says almost wistfully.
“But I did,” Ruth says.
Three heads whip around. “You saw him when?” I ask.
“A few months later I took a small group to a club to hear some blues, and after the show we got into conversation with the band. One of the musicians talked about how different the shows were when whites came to listen, and teased one of the others about his ‘white damsel in distress.’ And then proceeded to tell a tale of a bar fight that began when some drunk white man put his hands on his date and this musician boy jumped off the stage to her rescue! So I looked at him and said, ‘You’re Junior.’ And he said he was, and I said that I was Shirley’s sister and very grateful to him for his assistance and kindness toward her. And then I came home and smacked Shirley in the head for not paying attention to who exactly had come to her aid,” Ruth says. “I mean, it isn’t every day Junior Wells saves your bacon!”
“Junior Wells!” I yelp.
“Aunt Shirley, why have you never told us this story? That is classic!” Jill says.
“Okay, I’m an idiot,” Paige says. “Who is Junior Wells?”
“A legendary bluesman, dear,” Ruth says. “He played with Muddy Waters.”
“Wow. That’s amazing!” Paige says, realizing the connection.
“He was just a very nice young man who helped me out of a pickle,” Shirley says.
“No vision, my sister,” Ruth teases. “You could have been Mrs. Junior Wells had you played your cards right.”
“Maybe,” Shirley admits. “But then how lonely you would have been all these years,” she finishes with a wicked smile.
“I’d have survived,” Ruth says, pouring another round of wine. “Now, Paige, dear, that just leaves you to share a tale of woe.”
Paige takes a sip of her wine and thinks a moment. “Okay, how about this one. I meet this guy at the gym. Nice, cute, seems normal. One day we’re walking out at the same time, and he asks if I want to run over to Jamba Juice with him to recharge the batteries. I figure, sure, no problem. We have a nice half hour over juice, and he asks me to dinner. I say sure. He takes my number. When he calls me to make plans, I tell him that I had received a gift certificate to Charlie Trotter’s from a raffle at a benefit, and ask if he wants to go there. At which point he launches into a ten-minute tirade about how much he hates stacked food!”
“Stacked food?” Jill asks.
“You know,” Paige says. “Vertical presentations at schmancy restaurants.”
“Like the base of rice with a layer of spinach with the lamb loin fanned on top with a chive sticking out sort of thing?” Shirley asks.
“Exactly. Stacked food. It’s pretentious, he says. He hates having to deconstruct his dinner, he says. Why should putting all the food in one teetering pile warrant charging double for it? Food doesn’t need to be in fanciful shapes, it should just be shaped like food, he says.”
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I said I’d see him at the gym some time, since I couldn’t imagine a world without stacked food, and clearly we weren’t destined to eat together,” Paige says. “And then I took my brother to Trotter’s and had a spectacular meal! Stacked all over the place!”
“Really, where do these men get their strangeness?” Shirley mutters.
“Parents, mostly,” Ruth says with an authority that belies her own lack of experience in this arena.
“Well, I’m grateful I’m not still out there,” Jill says. “No more nightmare dates for me!”
“It isn’t nice to gloat, darling,” I say.
“Says the woman with three attractive men on her dance card!” Paige elbows me in the ribs.
“Want one?” I ask. “I’ll make you a nice deal!”
“Tut, tut,” Ruth clucks at us. “If Shirley and I have learned one thing, it is that there is no one way to be in the world. And no one’s life is any better than anyone else’s, just different, and with their own unique joys and challenges. Time for our Valentine’s resolutions.”
Another Spingold tradition, we do resolutions for each other.
“Me first!” Shirley says. “I resolve that Paige should do at least one thing every week that she couldn’t do if she were in a relationship. I resolve that Ruth should remember not to leave half-filled teacups all over the house. I resolve that Jill should have the wedding she didn’t even know she was wishing for. I resolve that Jodi should sit down for one hour and really ponder the idea of monogamy.” She looks very pleased with herself.
Ruth nods thoughtfully. “I resolve that Shirley should get over the damn teacups. I resolve that Jodi should continue to seek her happiness in the way that fits best for her. I resolve that Jill should not ever apologize to her new in-laws for who she is or where she came from, but should bring their family the same joy she brings to ours. I resolve that Paige should not be afraid to throw herself into the dating pool with abandon and be open to men outside her normal comfort zone.”
“Okay, I’ll try,” Paige says. “I resolve that Jill have a wonderful marriage. I resolve that Jodi should dump Ben and Abbot and settle down with Connor. I resolve that Aunt Shirley start going to blues clubs again. I resolve that Aunt Ruth show me some of the Chicago I haven’t seen yet. How’s that?”
“Excellent, dear.” Shirley pats her hand.
“My turn,” I say. “I resolve that Aunt Shirley should bake a batch of poppyseed cookies before the week is out. I resolve that Aunt Ruth should take a one-week sabbatical from sniping at her sister. I resolve that Jill should not make me wear periwinkle as her maid of honor. I resolve that Paige should take us up on our tuition reimbursement plan and get that damn MBA she doesn’t know we know she’s been researching.” Paige’s eyebrows shoot straight up in the air.
“I ditto Jodi’s Paige resolution,” Jill begins. “Just apply already! We’ll figure out the logistics later. I resolve that Aunt Shirley should start doing more things for her own enjoyment and not make such a huge percentage of her life about doing for others. I resolve that Aunt Ruth should be in charge of telling us what we should do for all the ancillary events the weekend of the wedding. I resolve that Jodi should not worry about how things look to the world and just do what is in her heart in all things.”
We toast, clean up, hug and kiss all around. We head upstairs, and once I get Paige settled in my guest room, I head for bed.
Jill resolves for me not to worry about how things look. I can’t tell if she means about the business or my personal life. Or both. And while I love the sound of it, I know I can’t necessarily live up to it. After all, what my heart wants right now is to call Connor and ask him to be my valentine. But I know that what I want more than that is for him to want it. And the fact that he obviously doesn’t bothers me more than I like to admit. Because, despite Hunter’s assertion that I probably only want him because he’s the one I can’t get, nevertheless, I do want him.
Beeep beep beep.
My cell phone. I have a voice mail message. I dial in and enter my code.
Then I hear Chet Baker singing “My Funny Valentine.” The whole song. I listen, letting the perfect words flow over me. As the song fades out, I hear the one voice I have been waiting all day to hear.
“Hey. It’s Connor. I’m generically shitty at Valentine’s Day. I get sort of paralyzed at the very idea of being romantic, and I ignore it for weeks and get swamped in work instead, and the day of, I procrastinate so long trying to think of something cool and not cliché, that all the florists are sold out and the candy stores are closed and all I can think to do is hold the phone up to my hi-fi. I know. Makes me totally lame. I’ll try to make it up to you. I’d say that I hope you’re out having a lovely evening, but frankly I hope you’re not with someone who is better at this stuff than I am, since that will make me an even bigger loser. I’ll call you tomorrow. Good night, sweet girl.”
I didn’t even know that I yelped out loud until Paige came running into my room.
“Are you okay?” she asks, breathless and wild-eyed.
“Listen.” I press the button to repeat the message on my phone and hand it to her. She listens. She smiles. She listens more. Then her eyes well up with tears.
“Fuck you,” she says, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
“Hey, that’s not very nice.” Really.
“I know. I’m just jealous.” She sits on the bed. “Do you think he might be the one?”
“The one what?”
“Don’t be obtuse.” She smacks me on the leg.
“The one.”
“Oh.
That
one.” I think for a minute. “I can’t really say. I mean, I don’t really know. He could be. But he might not be. But he might. I’m not sure.”
“Do you want him to be?”
“Maybe. Then again, maybe I don’t want anyone to be. I like my life. I like my freedom. I’ve been down that road before, and I’m in no hurry to be there again. And there are a lot of things I’d have to give up if Connor Duncan were, as you say,
the one
. I don’t know that I’m ready for that.”
“Do you think you could lose him if you don’t take a step forward soon?” Paige’s eyebrows dance around a minute before settling back down. “I mean, obviously he knows you are dating other people; he referenced it in his message. And I know you aren’t having sex yet, and it has only been two and a half months, but how long is that going to be okay with him?”
“That’s just the thing, Paige. He hasn’t given me any indication that it isn’t okay with him. Maybe he’s in the same place I am. Maybe he isn’t going to want more than what we have.”
“And is that okay with you?”
“Um, well, no, actually. It isn’t.” Which is the first time I have voiced this out loud.
“Wow. You really like this guy.”
“I know. And it scares the crap out of me.” I can feel everything surging upward. “What do I do if he doesn’t want to take the next step? I mean, the kissing and petting are great, but he isn’t exactly trying to rip my clothes off. I’m starting to think that maybe he isn’t that attracted to me at all and doesn’t really care about sex with me. I’m also thinking maybe he has his own female version of Abbot, which makes me insane with jealousy, even though I know I have no right. I feel trapped. I can’t exactly suggest moving forward myself, not with Ben and Abbot hanging around. I mean, it’s one thing if he asks to be exclusive and I say okay, or if he pressures the physical side and I acquiesce. But if I ask and he says no, then I’m a moron. And I certainly couldn’t ask if I hadn’t already told Ben and Abbot that we were over, and if Connor turned me down, then I’d be all alone, and—”
Paige slaps her hand across my mouth. “Boss Lady, you have lost it. Take a deep breath.” She removes her hand.
I inhale.
“Better?” she asks.
“Better.”
“Now, for someone who is one of the smartest, sanest, most clearheaded women I have ever met, you are an idiot.”
“Paige, you’re fired.”
“Right. You give the best relationship advice of anyone in the world. Why can’t you get your head around this situation?”
“Because I can’t be objective about my own life. And my subjective self is, as you point out, an idiot.”
“What would you tell a caller if she posed this scenario to you?”
I think about this for a moment. “I’d tell her that she is clearly going through a paradigm shift in her wants and needs personally, and that any reward worth having is worth risk. I’d tell her to dump the two placeholders and present herself free and open to the guy she really wants. I’d tell her that she can’t keep a backup plan just because she doesn’t want to be rejected. I’d tell her—”
“Go big, or go home,” Paige says, one of my favorite tag lines.
“Go big, or go home,” I repeat.
“This is what I’m saying,” Paige says. “Jodi, go big. For what it’s worth.”
“Thank you, Paige girl.”
“My pleasure, Boss Lady.”
“Can I ask you something?”
One eyebrow raises as if on hydraulics. “Yes?”
“Are you really so sad about your dating drought?”
“Really, truly?”
“Truly and really.”
Paige pauses and runs her fingers through her hair. “You have to promise not to tell Jill, but I wasn’t feeling so bad until she got engaged. I mean, that whole single woman united thing at work, even when people are dating seriously, it still feels like we all come first. Even Kim, our only married hen, she and Marc have so many problems, she’s practically single herself. But then Jill got engaged, and Benna is on this crazy are-you-the-father-of-my-children-to-be? hunt, and you have your gaggle, and Kim does have Marc, however fucked up they may be, and the marketing girls have their endless adventures, and I’m starting to feel like the last girl picked for dodgeball.”
“Poor Paige. You know you’re just in a rut, right? I mean, you know you are exceptional and gorgeous and smart and sexy and lovable, right?”
“I know. I know. But I can’t seem to make the guy thing happen, and it really didn’t used to bother me, but now it kinda does.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t you sign up for one of those high-end exclusive professional dating services. On the company. We’ll use it to see if they really work, so we can know whether to recommend it to callers. What do you say?”
“You guys would pay for that? It’s like thousands of dollars.”
“I know. You’re worth it. And it’s tax-deductible as a business expense.”
Paige leans forward and gives me a hug. “Thanks, Jodi. You’re the best. And thanks for that whole MBA thing. I’m still thinking about it, but it’s nice to know you guys approve of the idea.”
“Hey, you’re happy, we’re happy, the company’s healthy. Easy decision.”
“Speaking of the company, we have work tomorrow, so I better go to bed. Good night, Boss Lady.”
“Good night, Paige girl.”
“I’m glad he called.”
“Me, too.”
Paige tiptoes out the door, shutting it behind her. I settle into the dark and then reach for my phone. I just want to hear that song one more time before I go to sleep.