The Spinster Sisters (35 page)

“Jodi,” Jill says quietly, “I love you very much. And I want for you to be happy. And I know that what happened last night with Connor hurt your feelings. I know that you wanted him to jump up and down and say, ‘Of course I will take you to the wedding. I’m so thrilled that you have asked me, and by the way, don’t you think it would be a good time for us to talk about being exclusive with one another?’ And I am so sorry that he didn’t do that. But in all our good advice giving, some of that advice is also about not expecting someone to have ESP. It’s two weeks until my wedding. You waited until essentially the last minute to ask him to be your date. You can’t expect him to assume that this is very important to you, and that it will disappoint you if he says no, if you treat it like an offhand, casual offer. There is a reason that we asked people to RSVP like three weeks ago. Because, in general, people need at least six weeks’ notice to commit to an event like a wedding. How do you think it made him feel to know this whole time that the wedding was coming up and for you to casually mention it to him like a throwaway offer? You didn’t give him enough notice, he has other plans, he committed to his brother to help for a weekend with his kids so that his sister-in-law can have a quiet weekend without having to take care of a bunch of people. That sounds to me like the kind of thing that you would normally praise in a guy. His willingness to help out and be a good, dependable guy to his family. And you know that if you had made a commitment to the aunts or me, and then someone asked you to be their date for something, you would have said no. It isn’t like he said, ‘I don’t feel like it; I was thinking of going to a movie that night.’ He’s going to be in the north woods of Wisconsin.”

“But he should’ve—”

“Uh-uh. No.” Jill puts on her stern face. “You should have. You should have looked at him and said, ‘I’m kind of disappointed, because I would really love for you to be there with me.’ You should’ve asked him weeks ago to be your date. You should’ve looked at him and said, ‘I really like you. And I’ve been thinking lately that maybe we ought to discuss taking this relationship to the next level. I would love to know what you think about that.’ But you didn’t do any of those things. And so your misery right now isn’t Connor’s fault. It’s your fault. And I really, really hope that you are not going to give Abbot a false sense of your intentions because you want somebody to make nice to you. I’d rather see you alone at my wedding, standing proud and firm in your decision, than on the arm of somebody who you are using to lick your wounds.”

“Jill, it isn’t like that. When I left Connor’s this morning, it just struck me. He likes me. He just doesn’t like me the same way I like him, and he doesn’t see the same potential that I see, and before I get myself all worked up into a frenzy, I need to take an opportunity to step back and look at what I really want and what I really need. Abbot didn’t ask me to make a big commitment to him. He just asked me to open my mind and try. I’m not moving in with him; we’re not getting married. It’s just taking a next step. And the more I think about it, the more I think that I’ve been too closed off from that possibility, because I was in this fantasy haze with Connor. But there are just as many things about Connor that don’t quite fit as there are with Abbot. And since Abbot is the one who is offering himself forward, I think it would be short-sighted of me to not at least try. It would be different if both of them were making this offer. But they aren’t. And so, all things being equal, I do think I’m ready at this point in my life to at least consider a more serious relationship, and the relationship that is being offered to me is with Abbot.”

“Jodi, if you really think it’s what you want, I will support you. Just please, please promise me that before you make a final decision that you will seriously consider being honest with Connor. I would hate to think that your desire to avoid a potentially awkward conversation would prevent you from having the relationship you want with the man who is your first choice. If you are so certain that he’s not in a place to be more to you than he is right now, at least give him an opportunity to be the one to tell you. Will you promise me that you’ll think about it?”

“I promise.”

Jill cocks her head at me.

“I promise! I will think about it.”

“Okay, I’m done lecturing you for the night.”

“Only two more weeks. Are you ready for this?” I ask.

She laughs. “It’s weird. The closer we get, the more excited I get. And the closer we get, the more nervous Hunter seems to get. You should see him. He’s like a chicken with his head cut off. He’s started talking in his sleep, and everything that he says is related to our wedding details. I swear! I wake up, and he’s mumbling about centerpieces and place cards and hors d’oeuvres.”

I laugh. “He’s one of a kind, your husband-to-be.”

“Yes he is, thank goodness,” she says.

“You wanna crash in here with me?” I ask.

“Yeah, can I?”

I lift the covers, and she snuggles in beside me.

“Good night, Moose Face,” I say.

“Good night, Butthead,” she says.

I roll over and pull the covers up to my chin, burying my head in the soft, fluffy pillow. Despite what Jill has said, I’m not so sure that talking to Connor is a good idea. It isn’t his fault that I allowed myself to create a fantasy around him. And I close my eyes and imagine the life I could have with Abbot, a life unfettered by familial responsibilities, a life of elegance and luxury and beautiful music and lovely trips. It isn’t a bad life. There is much about it that I like. Jill’s just being overprotective, because I dragged her into my own wild imaginings where Connor was concerned. But I think I’m coming down to earth now. And I believe that my thinking is finally clearheaded for the first time in months.

“Hey, Jodi.”

“Yeah?”

“What are we having for breakfast?”

This makes us both giggle, and soon, sleep.

 
“Hey,” Connor says, answering the phone. “How was the weekend?”

“Okay,” I say, stalling for time. “How about yours?”

“Pretty boring, mostly doing the quarterly taxes for the business. Whassup?”

“Nothing, I, um . . .” Shit. I fucking hate this. “I just have to cancel our date for tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”
That’s it?

“Yeah, okay. No problem.”

He sure is making this easy. “Well, I’m glad it doesn’t inconvenience you.”

“Not at all.”

“Don’t you care?” I ask.

“Hey, I’m sure something came up. It isn’t the end of the world, right?”

“Fine.” I don’t know what else to say.

“Are you mad about something?” he asks.

“No,” I say.

“Don’t pull that shit, Jodi. Talk to me. I hate that passive-aggressive crap. What, is it in the genetic code? It’s fucking manipulative.”

“There is no reason to yell, Connor.”

“Well, there is no reason to not acknowledge your feelings. If you’re mad about something, just tell me.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up now. If you want to call me back and tell me what you’re pissed about, I will be very happy to listen. But I’m not going to stay on the phone listening to your wounded breathing and play guessing games as to what I’ve done wrong.”

And then he’s gone.

Fucking hung up on me.

I call back.

“Yes?” he says, obviously irritated.

“That was extraordinarily rude and juvenile, and I really didn’t appreciate it,” I say, trying to be calm.

“Well, I don’t appreciate being manipulated.”

“I’m not manipulating you.”

“Look, Jodi, you may not think I know you, but I know you enough. You’re upset about something, and Lord knows I probably did something stupid to cause it. If you tell me what it is, I can apologize and try not to do it again. But if you play this silly-ass game of making me guess and drag it out of you, I’m going to be less inclined to apologize and more inclined to be angry myself. And if you don’t want to have an adult conversation with me, then I am going to get back to work.”

“Look, Connor, while I am sure the whole universe does indeed revolve around you, at the moment, you are not the major source of my displeasure. At least you weren’t. However the pompous audacity with which you accuse me of playing some junior high game of ‘guess the problem’ has shot you right to the top of my list. In case you hadn’t noticed, I have a great deal going on right now, which might be reason for me to sound less than chipper, none of which has anything to do with you. I was calling to see how you were, to find out about the rest of your weekend. Instead you hang up on me and accuse me of dishonesty. You know what, Mr. Duncan? Fuck you.”

I hang up, shaking. Not just because I am so furious, but because he was right. He was goddamned
right
. I was mad at him, still wounded about his turning me down for the wedding, still stinging from his hot-and-cold routine, still hating that he could make me feel so unsure of myself and my place in his life. And I was manipulating him, testing him, canceling our date to get him to ask me why so I could admit to a date with Abbot so that he could tell me he wanted me to stop dating other people. Once again, the wisest source of sage advice makes the worst possible personal decision.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I want to call him back and fess up. I want to tell him he was right and that I’m a mess. I want to tell him that I’m broken, but worth sticking with. But I can’t. And when the phone rings, I can’t force myself to answer it.

I miss the American dream. It used to be that the ideal
in this country was to work hard and attain success on
your own with strength of character, intelligence, and
ambition. It used to be that the ideals upon which this
country was founded, that anyone could achieve the
highest level of success, was connected to their ability
to have a great idea and put it into practice. Somewhere
in the twentieth century, that idea began to get
muddy, and more and more the American dream became
about instant gratification and overnight success.
Suddenly, fame and wealth could be attained in a matter
of moments if one could win a reality television
contest, buy the right lottery ticket, marry the right
person. This concept came into clear relief for me earlier
this week. I received a phone call from an individual
who claimed to have important information about
a local celebrity. The kind of information that sells
newspapers and magazines and tabloids and gets names
mentioned on television. I listened to the information
that was presented to me and was struck by how truly
insidious the person was who was claiming to offer me
an opportunity to share that information with the
world as if it were for the common interest. I will not
use names for the purpose of this column, but I will
present the following scenario: A young couple, after
years of struggle, decide to divorce. Sometime after
the divorce, the wife achieves a level of success that is
staggering. This success comes with a certain amount
of fame and a significant amount of money. When the
business that she has worked very hard to build starts
to really achieve its potential, the ex-husband acquires
a new fiancée. And the life that the two of them can
afford seems paltry in comparison to the life that
his ex-wife now enjoys. Is the response from the exhusband
and his new woman to seek, through their
own labor and intelligence and ambition, to try to
create something on their own? To attain a matching
level of success? No. Their response is to call a member
of the media in an attempt to place a negative article
about the ex-wife in the local newspaper. Now any
journalist who has been working in the business for a
reasonable amount of time knows that when a tip of a
negative nature comes your way, the first thing you are
required to do is to consider the source. What does
the source have to gain by this information going public?
Are they genuinely trying to perform a public service,
or are they potentially attempting to do something
for their own gain? It is amazing to me that the desire
to keep the public face of a company clean frequently
results in an enormous financial payout to people who
threaten public disgrace. When I got off the phone
with my new source, I immediately called the person
whose integrity had been questioned. And was in no
way shocked to find that indeed, the person who had
phoned me had done so in an attempt to shore up a
case for personal financial remuneration. We all want
to believe that there are people in the world who will
reach out to the press when they are in possession of
information that the public genuinely needs to know.
The public needs to know when our politicians are doing
things that are illegal or immoral. The public needs
to know when we are being failed in some way by the
people who are supposed to be serving our common
needs. And the public is going to assume that when we
journalists give them information, it has a level of import.
It is essential for us, in serving the public good,
to maintain our own integrity by not allowing ourselves
to become puppets for those seeking to line
their own pockets out of greed and malice. I spent the
last two days doing something that I felt, as a journalist,
was a genuine public service. I contacted every major
media outlet that I could think of, spoke to every
colleague whose number was in my Rolodex, and gave
them the name of the person who had called me, the
essence of what was going on, and a sense of my pesonal
outrage that this person had attempted to manipulate
me into using my own reputation and good
name to support her own greed. I had more interesting
and meaningful conversations with my fellow journalists
in the last few days surrounding this issue than
I have had in a very long time. And for that, I am actually
grateful to the money-hungry lowlife who called
me originally. And to the woman who was the victim of
the potential attack, I say to you, you are safe, and I
hope that you will continue to do the work that you
do, and continue to stand your own ground, should an
attack like this ever come again. And to anyone who is
reading this column who has a thought about striking
it rich by extorting hush money out of people who
have worked hard to attain their success, I say shame
on you. Shame on all of us for creating an environment
that allows for that possibility to begin with.