Around the World in 80 Dates (26 page)

As I said it, I realized how pathetic I sounded. I trailed off.

Garry looked a bit cross. “Jenny, London is where you live—of course I'm going to come and see you there. Why would you imagine I wouldn't?”

I was taken aback by how exasperated he sounded, and also by the logic of what he was saying. Garry was right: I was happy to fly halfway around the world to be with someone I cared for, but didn't imagine for one moment he'd be prepared to do the same for me. And that's not all. I was probably being pretty controlling, too. I was the one who waltzed in and out of the Dates' lives, deciding when and how they got to see me. It was in their territory but always on my terms. And I kept London for me: a barrier behind which I went
off-duty,
to relax and recharge.

Garry, in London, seeing me on my home turf, meeting my friends, experiencing my life, would break down that barrier. But Garry was different. Shouldn't I be giving him the same kind of Access All Areas into my life that he was giving me to his?

God, why was I suddenly in the House of Questions?

It would be good to ask the Date Wranglers their opinion about all of this, but comforting as the thought was, I knew this was something Garry and I had to work out for ourselves. There was a point when new lovers stopped being public property and made their own world in private (and this was especially true of our
cast of thousands
relationship).

“So?” Garry asked, obviously getting used to the long silences that inevitably accompanied me furiously debating sticky issues with myself.

I snapped out of my inner turmoil and answered him immediately. “Yes, come to London,” I replied with complete conviction. “I'd really like you to see my home.”

 

So, over the next week and a half we settled into a comfortable rhythm of going out, eating in, and falling in love. Sharing a space felt easy and natural, uncomplicated and companionable, not like we had to constantly be on our best behavior.

And when Garry went to work, so did I.

I'd relented and had Janelle schedule me into
Ted's (Date #59)
diary for a coffee. He actually was far nicer in real life and, tall with short black hair and deep brown skin that at times seemed to shimmer golden, he was very good-looking. But he was a complete workaholic: His phone rang constantly throughout our coffee date and although Ted never took the call, each time he frowned furiously, checking to see who it was. That was my old life, and I felt a twinge of guilt remembering the many times I'd done exactly the same thing.

Still, date done, at least Ted couldn't sue me now.

Jason (Date #60)
was just as much fun as I had hoped. Both huge music fans, we talked nonstop over margaritas at a little Mexican place in Belltown. I loved the sound of his life: both that he knew and was so involved with the Seattle music scene, also the more niche activities revolving around his love of the ukulele. He wasn't my Soul Mate but he was very entertaining and we had a fun night out.

Relaxed and comfortable as Garry and I were with each other, as the time approached to go to San Francisco I became increasingly preoccupied. Only three more days together, then I'd be flying back to London. And although I missed London and was looking forward to seeing family, friends, and my flat, leaving Garry and going back to my old life filled me with a kind of dread.

Too soon it was time to fly down to San Francisco.

We picked up a rental car at the airport and drove to Andronico's, the upscale supermarket in Walnut Creek, for boat provisions. We browsed among the aisles of soft fruit, glossy like multicolored cricket balls; rich rounds of ripe, pungent cheeses; broad loaves of crusty bread, knotted like muscular arms; cakes as fussy as Easter bonnets. But as we pressed the spongy flesh of the portobello mushrooms and piled feathery fronds of dill and fennel into our baskets, I was jittery and distracted. And this was nothing to do with flying home.

I was about to meet Garry's parents.

I wanted to buy them something but found myself getting increasingly worked up as I dithered between the walls of unfamiliar wines and the banks of endlessly exotic flowers. Of course, I wanted to make a good impression, but never having met them, I didn't know what they liked.

Garry was no use. “You don't have to get them anything.” He shrugged.

I narrowed my eyes and sighed in exasperation. “Garry, your parents are letting us use their boat for three days; there is no way I'm going to turn up empty-handed.”

We left the supermarket and drove to the Bay Area marina where the boat was moored. I was very quiet as we started unloading the provisions, and Garry put the groceries down on the ground, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed me. “Jen, don't be nervous,” he said, stroking my hair reassuringly, “my parents are really easygoing. And after tonight, it'll just be the two of us on the boat. It'll be relaxing, you'll see.”

I knew he meant well, but I couldn't keep it in any longer. Trying to keep the snippiness out of my voice, “Garry,” I said tersely, “I really appreciate you organizing this and I know it's what you find relaxing. But I have a long and well-documented history of seasickness and the thought of spending three days on a boat scares the bejesus out of me. And as for your parents: They're your parents, so I'm sure they're absolutely lovely. In fact, I already know they're lovely because they've given us their boat. But the fact remains any minute now a conversation will take place where you say: ‘Mom, Dad, I'd like you to meet my girlfriend,' and they'll be like, ‘Oh, how nice, how did you two meet?' and I'll have to say, ‘Well, funny you should ask, because I'm going round the world dating eighty complete strangers. Garry was…number fifty-five, wasn't it, darling? But no need to worry: only another twenty dates with men I've never met, then I'll be all done.' ”

Maybe I was being a little melodramatic, but, let's face it, it was the truth and it didn't look good. I was genuinely horrified at what his parents must think. Garry looked at me in astonishment. Okay, maybe I should have said something sooner rather than waiting until, one, I was completely freaked out about it and, two, we were moments from boarding the boat.

Garry took it all in his stride, though. He was calm (which was good because I clearly wasn't) as he pulled me to him, giving me a long, slow kiss. I don't know which stress-management school taught that particular technique, but they deserved a medal: I immediately felt calmer and more secure. Pulling away, Garry smiled affectionately. “My parents are going to love you as much as I do, Jennifer Cox,” he said.

“Really?” I whispered, crinkling up my face in concern.

“Yes, really,” Garry replied softly.

Hang on. Had Garry just told me he loved me?

Is that what he meant? Or did he mean it in another way? Did he mean he loved—as in was
in love
with—me, or did he mean, he liked me and…you know…
loved
liking me, and his parents would like me and love that, too? Or did it mean something else altogether?

Like a crying child having a stuffed toy thrust in its face, the distraction worked brilliantly. As we walked down the ramp onto the jetty, with armfuls of food, flowers, and wine, I was blissfully preoccupied and not in the least bit nervous.

And, of course, Garry was right: His parents were completely wonderful. And the boat, forty feet of beautiful wood, fantastically restored and outfitted by Garry's dad, was delightful. And most importantly, very still.

Garry's parents seemed to be one of those couples who enjoyed each other's company, so were relaxed and easy to be around. They went out of their way to make me feel welcome and I liked them immediately. In their early sixties, Gerry and Judy complemented each other. Both fit and energetic, they mirrored each other's body language; instinctively reaching from a shelf what the other was looking for or interrupting each other's stories with gentle teasing.

They clearly were Soul Mates, which felt like a good omen for Garry and me.

Garry busied himself preparing salmon for the barbecue and making some kind of complicated marinade for the mushrooms. So Gerry, Judy, and I took our drinks up on deck and sat out in the heat of the early evening sun. We chatted easily about family and work and life in the Bay Area, and life in London.

I didn't know whether to talk about my journey or not, but Judy, perhaps sensing my discomfort, made it easy for me. “So, Jennifer,” she said in a tone so neutral the Swiss would have begged for the recipe, “Garry's told us a lot about you; your journey sounds very interesting.”

And with that the floodgates opened. I told them about London and how, although I'd been happy with my job for years, my priority had become finding the relationship that would make me just as happy. The journey had been to find my Soul Mate but also to understand why I made the choices that had stopped me meeting him sooner.

I told them about the Love Professor and his theories; I told them about the Vegas Bettys and their insights; I told them about Davide and his dead love in Verona; I even told them about Anders and his amazing floating sauna. As the sun set over the bay, I told them about my whole journey and how it had brought me into their son's life.

Judy had lots of questions. She asked as a woman as well as a mother, curious about the lengths I had gone to and the people I had met along the way. “Judy, quit interrogating the poor girl!” Gerry said after a while. But I was glad of Judy's questions: I wanted to tell them my story, but mostly I wanted them to know that Garry was safe with me. And much as it made me hot with embarrassment, I knew the only way was to come right out with it. I checked my glass to make sure I had enough wine for what I was about to say.

But just as I opened my mouth, Garry came up on deck, a beer in one hand, barbecue tongs in the other. Flushed from cooking, he looked relaxed, happy, and extremely sexy. Perching on the back of my chair, he draped his arm across my shoulders. “Hey, what's with all the talking?” he teased. Gerry raised his eyebrows in an
I already tried telling them that
way. Judy and I smiled conspiratorially at each other. “Are you ready to eat? Dinner's a couple of minutes off,” Garry announced, taking a lazy pull on his beer and watching with Gerry as a powerboat cruised slowly by.

I wished Garry had been just three minutes longer in the kitchen. Pausing to take a gulp from my glass, I started nervously. “Look, before we eat, can I please say something really quickly?”

Judy nodded encouragingly.

“Judy, Gerry, it's really nice to meet you. It's very kind of you to invite me onto your boat and I'm having a lovely evening. Thank you,” I told them by way of a preamble. Garry's parents seemed a little nonplussed by my speech and looked over to Garry, whom I felt shrugging behind me as if to say:
What can I say, she's British, they're very formal
…

Judy reached over and patted my arm. “Well, dear, you really are very welcome—”

“No, no…” I interrupted. “Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, what I'm saying is—Garry is an extremely special man and I feel blessed to have met him and have him in my life. And although I have to keep traveling and dating…” Out of breath, I trailed off. “…I just want you to know, I'm in love with your son and I'm not going to do anything to hurt him or mess it up.”

Garry looked self-conscious but touched. Gerry beamed as Judy hugged me and said: “Oh, aren't you, darling. Thank you, Jennifer, and don't you worry. We know how happy you make Garry and that makes us very happy too.”

Garry got to his feet, clearly desperate to change the subject. “So, if everyone's finished
saying what they have to say…”
He gave me a pointed look “…can we eat?” And, picking up his beer, he led the way into the cabin. Judy and Gerry stood up and followed.

Feeling emotional and light-headed, I was a little slower. Today I'd flown to San Francisco. Today Garry had (possibly) told me that he loved me. Today he'd brought me to meet his parents. Today I'd told his parents I was dating eighty men and loved their son.

Yes, sitting down to a nice dinner and a number of very large drinks was probably the best way to cope with days like today. I got up and followed them all into the cabin.