We always hope to make good decisions. We hope that we are the kind
of people that can process new information, assess potential impact,
and make a decision informed by our knowledge as well as our hearts.
Sometimes, in an effort to lead us in the right direction, the advice of
those closest to us is fairly conservative. It’s important when seeking
outside counsel to recognize that nobody wants to be the one who advised
you to take a big risk, because they don’t want to be in a position
for there to be resentment or blame if the risk doesn’t pan out. However,
when we speak to women who are in their mid to late thirties, often
they talk about regrets. These women will point to the things they
didn’t do, the places they didn’t go, the risks they didn’t take in love
and business and life. When you come to a crossroads in any of these
areas, and a choice has to be made for one path or the other, don’t dismiss
the riskier path out of hand. While taking risks may ultimately
not pan out, there are always things to be learned on those journeys.
—From
The Thirty Commandments
by Jill and Jodi Spingold
I realized when I was younger, and dating a lot of different guys (particularly guys who were far less into me than I was into them), I found myself falling prey to some pretty common traps. I was big on compliments, and no matter what the man I was with looked like or said or did, I always managed to praise him. I very rarely voiced a negative opinion, because usually, I was afraid that they would leave me. I think one of the things that drew me to Brant, way back when, was how at ease I was in his company. How much I felt that I could be honest with him. Even about things that came off as negative, I never felt like I had to placate or flatter. Of course, my comfort with sharing with Brant all of the things that I didn’t particularly like about him eventually turned into my dictating many things about our life together. And I’m still feeling somewhat guilty that one reason Brant is going to marry a woman who is a manipulative shrew is due in no small part to all of the years that I didn’t let him fully participate in major decision making.
By the time I got divorced, one of the things I had to recognize about myself was that I could never again be in a relationship where I felt the need to be obsequious. In the time since I’ve been single, and with all the men that I have dated, I have never felt less than free to express a differing opinion, to make a gentle recommendation on anything from hairstyle to lifestyle.
But it is amazing to me how quickly bad habits can return to one. Earlier tonight I was so excited that Connor had actually planned an evening out (as opposed to another night on a couch) that I completely went overboard in a festival of flattery. He took me to Heaven on Seven, which is a great place if you like Cajun and Creole food. Which I do not. In fact, I can barely eat anything with the least amount of spice in it. With any other man, I would simply have said, “I’m so sorry. Thank you for making a reservation, but unfortunately I can’t really eat spicy food. Would it be all right with you if we made another choice?” But did I do this last night? Nope. Last night I went to Heaven on Seven, attempted to order the least spicy thing on the menu, and drank exactly four enormous glasses of sweet iced tea to compensate. The result was not just that I had to pee every twenty minutes for the rest of the evening but also that I had the very embarrassing situation of having to go number two at Connor’s house for the first time.
It is amazing, even to myself, that as a woman who advises other women on how to be themselves, on how to embrace everything that is natural and beautiful about them, on how to engage in honest, open relationships with other people, I would be nervous about such a thing. I, nevertheless, fall prey to some of the same insecurities as any other woman. And while I know intellectually that Connor Duncan is fully aware of the fact that I shit, I was entirely embarrassed to have to do it anywhere near his presence, let alone in his bathroom.
When my lower intestine made its need known to me, I engaged in a quick plot to create subterfuge. I suggested to Connor that he turn on
SportsCenter
. I waited just a couple of moments until he was engrossed and then offered to fetch him a beverage. He thanked me and requested a beer. I told him I was going to powder my nose and then get his beer and that I would be back in a moment. I headed off to his bathroom, ran the water on high in the sink, and attended to the unavoidable dirty business that I was there to do, grateful for the can of Febreze air freshener next to the toilet. I washed up, got his beer, and returned to the couch. The whole thing took less than two minutes and thirty seconds. I was very pleased with myself, as if I had somehow pulled off a
Mission Impossible
-level heist. My smugness didn’t last long. As soon as I was settled on the couch next to him, Connor turned to me and said, “Is it terribly toxic in there, or dare I go take a leak?” I looked at him in utter amazement.
“What? How did you know?” I sputtered.
He smiled at me. “You are the fastest-peeing woman I have ever met in my life. I’ve never known you to be gone to a bathroom for more than forty-five seconds. Plus you smell like air freshener.”
I dropped my face into my hands, mortified. Connor laughed at me.
“Jodi? I don’t understand. Why are you embarrassed about this?”
I looked up at him. “Because no girl wants to think that the guy she’s about to have sex with is going to be imagining her pinching a loaf in his bathroom.”
“Pinching a loaf?” he said.
“Dropping the kids off at the pool, going to see the Browns play in the Super Bowl . . . Whatever you want to call it, it’s not exactly a sexy image.”
Connor leaned over and kissed me deeply on the mouth. “I think you’re incredibly sexy, even if you did just pollute my bathroom.” I punched him on the arm. He tweaked my nose, kissed me, pulled me against him to finish watching
SportsCenter
. When we finally went to bed, I was feeling comfortable. Very, very comfortable. Comfortable enough that I decided to take a risk.
“Connor?” I asked. “Would you escort me to Jill’s wedding?”
“When is it again?”
“Saturday, May nineteenth,” I said. “Two weeks from tomorrow.”
“Sorry, darlin’, I can’t,” he said, and my heart sank. “Mike and I are going up to his cabin to fish that weekend with the boys to give Peg a little break.
And did I look at my lover and say, “It would really mean a lot to me if you came”? Did I tell him, “You’re the only one I want with me, and do you think maybe you could either schedule another weekend or Mike could take one of the other brothers with him?” Did I look at him and say, “I feel like things are moving in a great direction, and I’d like for us to talk about making this relationship exclusive”? Nope. I reverted 100 percent back to my eighteen-year-old self, who thought that expressing any opinion would make a boy dump her, and said, “Well, I’m sure you guys will have a good time.”
After that brief exchange, Connor rolled over and began kissing me. And I let him, even though the romantic mood I had been in was somewhat deflated. And for the first time in our brief physical history together, despite his skill and honest efforts, I couldn’t come. And so I did what my eighteen-year-old self had always done in that situation. I faked it. It took me a long time to fall asleep. And now a mere six hours later, I’m awake again, watching him sleep and thinking to myself,
How very, very handsome he is, and how very, very much he has disappointed me.
And mostly I’m embarrassed for my own behavior.
I slip out of the bed and down the hall into the bathroom, where I make a very quick morning toilette and then return to the bedroom where I get dressed silently. I lean over the bed and kiss Connor’s forehead. He opens his eyes.
“What the—? Hey, you’re dressed already?”
“I know, sweetie. I didn’t wanna wake you; I just wanted to tell you that I have to go.”
He rubs his eyes. “Wait. What’s going on?”
I touch his cheek. “I have to get ready for Jill’s big bachelorette day. I have a million things to do, and I’ve gotta get home and get myself ready, and it’s Saturday. I didn’t want you to have to get up.”
“Don’t be silly. Give me a second to throw some clothes on, and I’ll drive you home.”
“Don’t you be silly. It’s your day off. Stay in bed, sleep in, do whatever you want to do. I’ll grab a cab.”
“Are you sure? It’s no trouble.”
“I’m positive. Go back to sleep.” I kiss him on the mouth, tuck the blankets around him, and head home.
And in that moment, I’m sure of one thing. Connor Duncan is nowhere near ready to pursue a committed relationship with me. Which suddenly makes Italy a less impossible prospect after all.
Hey, Butthead, you asleep?” Jill whispers outside the door.
“I’m up. Come on in,” I say.
She tiptoes into one of the three bedrooms in our swank Hilton penthouse and climbs on top of my bed.
“Can’t sleep?”
“I can’t shut my head off,” she says. “It was too exciting a day.”
“Have you had fun at your bachelorette party?”
“This was by far the best bachelorette party anyone ever had. Thank you so much for all that you did to make it perfect.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“You seemed a little quiet, though. Is everything okay?” she asks.
“I’ve just been thinking a lot lately. And I’m thinking that maybe I’ve been too hard on Abbot. You’re always telling me that I am slightly strict when it comes to my demands. Perhaps I used the fact that I am not willing to settle as a way of avoiding the kind of relationships where I might have to compromise. And I know that we are always telling people that there are ways to compromise without giving up what’s important to us. I mean, Abbot is a wonderful man and treats me like gold. Why am I so willing to break it off just because he has a couple of things about him that aren’t a perfect match? I mean, he’s smart, he’s funny, he’s successful, he and I like a lot of the same things, we enjoy each other’s company. We have a good sex life. Why shouldn’t I give it an opportunity to grow and develop? Just because he’s a little OCD about cleanliness, like it would be a bad thing if I learned how to be a little neater and more organized in my own life? He makes me happy in many ways, and I’ve never thought much about taking things to the next level. But he obviously has and is willing to make an effort. Why do I think that he wouldn’t be willing to compromise on some of the things that are giving me hesitation?”
“Is this about Italy?”
“Not about Italy in specific, but about the concept of Italy, in general. I mean, think about it. Here is a man who has put up with all of my rules and restrictions and strange little quirks and foibles and has never asked me to change anything about myself to suit him or his needs. And he’s presenting an opportunity to me, for the two of us to really explore what we could be to one another. Why am I so afraid of doing that?”
“Because you’re in love with Connor?”
“I’m not in love with Connor. I’m in very deep like with Connor. There is a difference. Do I think I could fall in love with Connor? Yes. But why couldn’t I fall in love with Abbot?”
“Because you can’t decide on paper who is an easier choice and force yourself to fall in love with him.”
“It isn’t about an easy choice. It’s about a smart and logical choice. Abbot wants me to give him a chance to prove that he is the right partner for me. I’ve been with him longer. Why shouldn’t I give him that opportunity?”
“What the hell happened last night?”
“Nothing. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. And the more I think about it, the more I think that perhaps it would be a good thing to give Abbot this chance.”
“And then what do you do about Connor?”
“I think I have no choice under the circumstances but to break up with him.”
“Something did happen last night.”
I take a deep breath. “Remember how I used to get with all those guys, the ones I wanted more than they wanted me?” I confess all of the previous evening’s ridiculous behavior, without leaving anything out. From my own retarded overreaction to the natural need to use his bathroom, all the way through to my Meg Ryan performance in the bedroom. She listened intently. “I mean, Jill, he didn’t even hesitate to say that he was too busy to take me to your wedding. There wasn’t a moment of question. There was just ‘I’m going fishing with Mike and his boys.’”
Why am I working so hard for a man who simply doesn’t feel the same way about me that I feel about him? It’s ridiculous. And it’s a wake-up call. I’ve been ignoring everything that’s right and good about Abbot because I have this fantasy about Connor, but ultimately, Connor is no different than any of those guys that I was so wild about in the past who just weren’t that excited about me. I’ve always wanted to win. I’ve always wanted one of those guys to not want to lose me. Connor’s just the latest one. And I’ve worked very, very hard over the years to not turn back into that girl. Jill and I have built an entire business trying to help other women not be that girl. And Connor, through no fault of his own, is turning me back into that girl. But I’m not that girl. And if I hadn’t run into Connor in the grocery store over Thanksgiving, right now, I’d be picking out clothes to go to Italy without a second thought.
Abbot is out of town on business. He gets back on Friday. The plan was to see him next Saturday night and to tell him that I couldn’t take him up on his offer. But I don’t see now that I have any reason to not take him up on his offer. Instead, I’m going to take a risk. I’m going to openly and honestly give Abbot a chance to do exactly what he said he wanted to: prove to me that he is the kind of guy I could fall in love with. Maybe it won’t work; maybe we’ll come back from Italy and realize that we just aren’t meant to be together. But I’m not going to throw away an opportunity to reach for happiness with a good man because I’m insane over not getting the guy I never could get.