How to Be Single (10 page)

The waitress came over again and Thomas ordered us a bottle of chardonnay.

“But why should you be so worried about finding love? It will happen. It always does, doesn't it?”

“Ummm, yeah. Actually no. It doesn't feel that way to me and my friends. Back home, the statistics are telling us that it's very hard to find a good man, and that it's only going to get harder. It seems a little bit like a crisis.” The waiter came with our bottle of wine. Thomas approved it and the waiter poured two glasses.

“Yes, but with anything in life, you must ask yourself, Am I a statistical person? Or a mystical person? To me, it seems one must choose to be mystical, no? How could you bear it any other way?”

Mystical versus statistical—I had never thought about it that way. I looked at Thomas and decided I loved him then and there. Not in the real sense of love. More in the “I'm-in-Paris-and-you're-handsome-and-saying-smart-things-about-life-and-love” love. He was married and I would never sleep with him, but he was definitely my kind of heartthrob. “That's an interesting theory” is all I said.

We drank our wine and talked for another three hours. It was four in the morning when we had visited our last café and walked all the way back to Steve's apartment. I felt rejuvenated and flattered and attractive and smart and funny. As we stopped by Steve's door to say good night, Thomas kissed me on both my cheeks.

Then he smiled mischievously at me. “We should have an affair, Julie. It would be so nice.”

I then began to have a prolonged coughing fit that happens when I suddenly feel exceptionally nervous. It also gave me time to think of what to say.

When I was finally done hacking, I said, “Yeah, well, you know, I don't know if I believe that I'll find the love of my life any time soon, and I'm not sure if I believe I'm a mystical person or a statistical person, but I do believe I shouldn't sleep with married men.”

Thomas nodded. “I see.”

“No matter if their wives approve of it or not. Call me provincial.”

“Okay, Miss Julie Provincial,” he said, smiling at me. “Tell me, how long will you be here in France?”

It was then that I realized I hadn't made any actual plans about how long I was staying or where I should go next.

As I stood there I wondered,
had Paris taught me enough about how to be single?
I did learn about pride. And something about the different types of marriages that exist. Maybe I had learned all I needed to know for now. Maybe it was time for me to go.

“I don't know. I might go to Rome next.”

Thomas's eyes lit up.

“You must! Paris is very nice, yes, but even we French understand—Rome is…” He rolled his eyes in reverence. “I am part owner of a café there. You must go. I know many single women there.”

“I'm sure you do,” I said, sarcastically. I heard how it sounded before I was even finished with the sentence. It sounded so hard, so cynical, so New York.

Thomas looked at me, earnestly and slightly annoyed.

“You know, Julie, if you dislike yourself so much that you think I must be like this with every woman I meet, that's for you and your therapist. But please, don't paint me as some pig. It's not fair.”

Properly scolded, I didn't have a sassy retort.

“Please let me know if you need my help with Rome. It will be perfect for you,” he said politely. “In fact—I think it's just what you need.”

As I watched him walk away, I realized what I believed in for this moment at least: sometimes the princess really should just shut the hell up.

Back in the States

A week after Georgia had given Max her number at Whole Foods, she didn't know whom to turn to. Because I wasn't around, and because they were the only single women she knew, she called up Ruby and Alice, who agreed to meet her at a West Village Mexican restaurant that served five-dollar margaritas.

“I mean, why would a man ask for your number and then never call you?” Georgia asked Ruby and Alice, incredulous. “Please explain this to me.”

Ruby and Alice hadn't even had a chance to get their coats off. They stared at Georgia, frozen, not knowing how to answer.

“Really. I didn't come up to talk to
him,
I didn't ask him for
his
number. I was minding my own business. But then he asked for my number, and I got excited. I looked forward to seeing him. Going on a date with him. Does this happen a lot?” Ruby and Alice looked at each other. Ruby couldn't help but ask, “I'm sorry, but have you never dated before?”

A waiter came over and took their drink orders. It was going to be frozen peach margaritas all around.

“I had a steady boyfriend all through college, and then I met Dale at grad school, so, actually no. I never have really dated before. I listened to Julie and all her stories, but I guess I wasn't really paying that much attention, since I was, you know, married.” Georgia suddenly looked very guilty. And confused. She looked up at Alice and Ruby, her eyes searching for answers.

“Tell me, are men really that shitty to women in New York?”

Ruby and Alice looked at each other again. They were facing the same dilemma you face when a friend's about to get her wisdom teeth pulled and she asks you how it was when you had it done. Do you tell her the truth and say you spent two weeks in excruciating pain, swollen like a chipmunk, or do you lie, let her find out for herself, and secretly hope it goes better for her?

Ruby sipped her margarita, which was the size of a small car, and thought about it for a moment. She thought about how many days and nights she spent disappointed and crying over some guy. Alice crunched on a greasy, delicious corn chip, and thought about how many men she had dated, of how much time she put into this whole dating venture. In that brief moment, they both thought about what they actually believed about dating and looking for love in New York. Ruby began.

“No…no, it's not like all guys are shitty. You can't think that, you mustn't think that. There are really, really great guys out there. It's just that, well, it can be rough out there, and you have to sort of, well, protect yourself, you know? But not protect yourself so much that you seem, brittle. But you have to be careful, you have to take it all very seriously…in a sense, but then not at all, you know?”

Georgia looked at Ruby, confused. Ruby realized she was not helping in any way. Alice, because she was a former trial lawyer, was much more comfortable breaking the bad news to Georgia, straight, fast, and with no salt around the rim:

“Listen, Georgia, the truth is some guys in New York really do suck. They're not really out there to meet the woman of their dreams, to settle down and get married. They're out there trying to have sex with as many women as they can, while they keep looking for the next woman who's going to be prettier, hotter, better in bed. Now as for this guy, Max. He could just be going around collecting women's numbers just because it makes him feel like a big man, to know he can get women to give him their number. He could be doing it just for sport.”

Georgia listened to Alice in rapt attention.

“And the only protection we have against this is our resilience. Our ability to go back out there and try to meet someone else; to be able to recognize, weed out, fend off, and recover from all the bad guys out there, just to get to the one good guy. That's our only defense.”

Georgia took a big gulp of her frozen margarita. “Well, okay. But I don't think these men should be allowed to get away with…ow! Brain freeze. Brain freeze!” Georgia's face suddenly scrunched up as she threw her hands to her head. She sat there for a moment until her face relaxed as the sensation passed away. For a moment she looked truly deranged.

“Okay, anyway, I don't think they should be able to get away with it that easily. I think they need to be retrained. If none of us ever tell them how it makes us feel, they'll think that they can keep going around asking for women's numbers and never calling them. But we have to let them know that it's not okay. We have to take back the night!”

At that, Georgia picked up her pocketbook, got out her wallet, took out twenty dollars, and threw it on the table.

“Thank you for all your help. Drinks are on me.”

Ruby asked, fearfully, “Where are you going?”

Georgia put on her jacket and got up from the table. “Whole Foods. I'm going to wait for him there until he shows up. And then I'm going to try and be a catalyst for change in New York!”

Georgia stormed out of the restaurant, leaving Ruby and Alice there, alone, not knowing exactly what to say to each other.

Georgia prowled the Whole Foods aisles like a cougar searching for an unsuspecting hiker. There was no reason why Max should be at Whole Foods on this night, at this time, but Georgia was on a mission. She was hoping that the sheer force of her will might conjure him to appear in the organic greens section right this very minute. She walked up and down the aisles thinking about how she would talk to him, calmly, teaching him how his actions affect others, and so making the world a safer dating place for all of womankind. She walked up and down the aisles for two hours. It was now ten o'clock at night. She had memorized every section in the store, and was now starting to become familiar with all the items in each section, when she saw him by the frozen edamame.

He was talking to a young pretty blond girl who was holding an NYU backpack. Another one of his victims. Georgia didn't waste a minute to pounce. She bounded over to Max and stood right in front of him and the cute NYUer.

“Oh, hey—hi. Great to see you here,” Max said, perhaps with a touch of discomfort in his voice.

“Hi, Max. I just wanted you to know, that when you take a woman's number, to call her, and then you don't, it can be hurtful. Most women don't just give their number to just anyone. Most women rarely feel that much of a spark to someone they're talking to, to want to take it further. So when they do give you their number, there's sort of an unspoken agreement, or expectation, that you'll actually call—because, just to be clear, you're the one that asked for the number in the first place.”

Max now started looking around the store, his eyes darting nervously. The NYU girl looked at Georgia blankly.

“I'm sure you think you can do that because you have been getting away with it. But I'm here to tell you that you actually can't anymore. It's ungentlemanly.”

Max just looked at his sneakers and muttered, “Jesus, don't get all psycho on me.”

Of course he went straight for the psycho defense. Men always like to go straight to the psycho defense. For that reason alone we should never go psycho on a guy: just so we'll never be proving them right. ANYWAY, Georgia now got a little pissed.

“Oh, of course you're going to call me psycho. Of course. Because most women don't confront men and their bad behavior, because they've already been so beaten down, they're sure it won't make any difference. But this time, I just wanted to enlighten you. That's all.”

By this point, people were glancing over at them. The NYU girl wasn't budging; she was enjoying the show. Max was losing his cool.

“Okay fine, psycho, are you done?”

Georgia now got pissed. “LISTEN, DON'T CALL ME A PSYCHO. YOU WILL NOT INVALIDATE MY FEELINGS LIKE THAT.”

The NYU girl, who up to this moment had been silent, began to speak.

“Yeah, I don't think you should call her a psycho. She's just telling you how she feels.”

“Oh great, another psycho,” Max said.

“Don't call me a psycho,” the NYU girl then said, a little more loudly.

“Don't call her a psycho,” Georgia said, even more loudly than the NYU girl. Luckily for everyone involved—except maybe the highly entertained onlookers—a short Hispanic man in a crisp white shirt came over to break it up.

“I'm sorry, but you're going to have to leave the store right now. You're disturbing the other customers.” Georgia looked around. She looked back at Max, haughtily.

“Fine, I'll leave. I think he's gotten the message.” Georgia began to walk proudly out of the store, her head held high. She didn't even notice the smirks and the people giggling at her as she stormed out the exit door. But as she walked down the street and looked back into the window of Whole Foods, she couldn't help but notice that the NYU girl was still standing there talking to Max. And that Max was laughing and making that circular motion with his finger at his head that signifies “crazy.”

Georgia turned away from the window. She walked down the street, trying to remain prideful, trying to maintain her dignity. She got two more blocks and began to cry. She thought yelling at him was going to make her feel so much better. And it did for that five minutes when she was screaming. But she was still a freshman at being single, and so no matter what she thought she believed, she still had a lot to learn.

(Even Though It's Impossible to Know When You Should and When It's Just Going to End in Disaster)

A
lice had always prided herself on how well she knew New York; she could be a tour guide for this grand city from the Bronx to Staten Island because she knew the ins and outs of the place like no other.

But that was before she had a boyfriend. It was only then that she was reminded that there was a whole other New York out there that existed only for couples. In this past year of professional dating, Alice had gained access to the hottest bars, nightclubs, restaurants, and sporting events that the city has to offer. But because she had not had a boyfriend, there had been a whole other side of New York to which she had not been given admittance.

For example, there was the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, where she was with Jim. Okay, so he wasn't really her boyfriend; it had only been two weeks. But after that first date together, she had decided to let him adore her for as long as they both were enjoying it. They had taken the No. 2 train out to Brooklyn together and were now walking through the tropical pavilion and the bonsai museum, holding hands. It was divine. They stopped at a little lecture being given about the golden ginkgo trees.

A white-haired little woman was talking to a group of people about how you can distinguish a ginkgo from other gymnosperms by its fan-shaped, bi-lobed leaves. Alice started to think back on these past fourteen days with Jim. They had discovered other couple hot spots, such as the Hayden Planetarium on the first Friday of the month (when it stays open late), the Bronx Zoo (who would ever go without a child or a boyfriend?), and the skating rink at Chelsea Piers (Alice had always wanted to go but could never drag anyone with her). And now she was at the Botanic Garden learning about bi-lobeds.

This is just so cute,
Alice thought.
Being in a couple is cute.

The lecture over, they walked down a pathway strewn with leaves. Jim took Alice's hand and a rush of pure joy warmed her. She was aware that it probably wouldn't have mattered if the hand were attached to the arm of Ted Bundy—holding hands felt fucking great. Holding someone's hand meant that you belonged to them. Not in some profound irrevocable way, but for that moment in time, you were attached to someone. As they walked along the path, Jim said, “We should go apple picking next weekend.”

“Cute,” Alice said, happily.

They walked toward the Japanese garden pond. The air was cool, but not cold, with the bright sun warming everything up. It was a perfect fall day. They sat under a little pagoda looking out onto the pond. For someone who thought she knew everything there was to know about dating, Alice was shocked to discover what an amazing time she could have with someone she wasn't crazy about. She decided to check in with herself again as to why she wasn't falling in love with Jim yet. He was attractive. His manners were impeccable, which, Alice realized as she got older, was an important thing to her. He was fun, and sometimes even a little silly, which she always loved. And she really liked his laugh. And he thought she was hilarious. He moved in a little closer to Alice. She put her head on his chest. Last week, when they had sex for the first time, she was relieved to discover that she kind of enjoyed it.

If she hadn't, that would have been the deal breaker in this crazy scheme. But the sex was nice. Fine. If there was a worry that it wasn't hot enough, there was also that whole other area in human experience cordoned off for couples only: regular sex. The experience of consistently having an intimate, physical connection with someone. Of not having to worry when the proper alignment of mutual attraction, safety, and appropriate circumstances (him not being a jerk, him not being the ex of a friend who's still in love with him, him not being a friend of a friend so if it doesn't go well it's a disaster so you might as well not even try it, etc.) would allow you to have sexual intercourse. There is nothing worse than looking through your datebook and realizing you haven't had sex in over six months and it went by in what seemed like a day. And then the worry that another six months could go by in a blink without your naked flesh getting anywhere near someone else's. Because of Jim, that worry was now out of the equation, and if it wasn't bodice-ripping, chest-heaving sex, that was fine, Alice reasoned—because it was regular. And that more than made up for any heat that might be missing.

Alice noticed two little turtles swimming in the pond. They weren't the kind you raise in a box with a plastic palm tree and feed hamburger meat. These were bigger, hearty things, and they were swimming in the small pond that must have seemed endless to them.

She kept thinking about Jim, about how nice this all was, and how she hoped to God that she would be able to fall in love with him. But she also knew enough to give herself a break. She wouldn't beat herself up just because she wasn't able to fall in love with every nice guy she met. If Jim wasn't going to be the great love of her life, it didn't mean Alice was afraid of commitment, or that she only liked guys who were emotionally unavailable, or any of the nonsense people like to blame you for. If Jim wasn't the one, that was no one's fault, it was just life. But as she sat there and thought about how nice and cute things had been these past two weeks, she desperately hoped that he might do just fine for a very, very long time.

Alice turned to Jim, who was staring out into space. He had been acting a little odd the whole morning; his usual laid-back manner had a tiny little pulse running underneath it. He kept bouncing his right leg up and down, now making the whole bench vibrate. Alice put her hand on his crazy leg, and asked what the matter was.

“I'm just a little nervous, that's all.”

“Why?” Alice asked.

“Because I need to talk to you.”

Alice's heart started beating faster. Men don't usually say things like that unless it's bad news or…

“I just wanted you to know that I'm having a better time with you than I've had with any other human being in my entire life.”

Alice's heart started beating even faster and her breath quickened the way it does for everyone on the planet when another human being is about to go through the embarrassment of revealing a large emotion to them.

“And I just want you to know that you're the one for me. And however fast or slow you want to take this, it's fine with me. If you want to get married next week, I would happily do that, and if you want to take it really, really slow I'd do that as well. Not as happily, but I would.”

Alice looked directly at Jim. It was hard to imagine him looking more vulnerable than he did at that moment. She glanced back at the pond and saw her two turtles sunning themselves on a rock. She decided to let herself get carried away. “I've been having an amazing time, too. I know we don't know each other very well, but I want to give this a go, too.”

Jim let out the breath he'd been holding in for the past three and a half minutes, and smiled.

“Great. That's great.”

“I don't really know what to say besides that right now. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sure, no, that's fine. Great. I'm just glad you didn't punch me in the face and throw me in the pond.”

“Now, why would I do that?” Alice said, sweetly. They kissed. She was happy, safe, content. Because sometimes after swimming around and around in a long black lake, it's nice to get to sit on a rock and sun yourself for a while.

On to Rome

It was ten minutes before the flight and I was hyperventilating a bit. Well, actually a lot.

It's odd when you realize suddenly that you have a new crazy thing about yourself. They say you get more fearful and phobic as you get older, but it's still shocking when you realize you have to add on one more thing to your list of Crazy. I had not a care in the world when I boarded the plane. But now, as I sat in my seat and the minutes ticked by, I became increasingly nervous. How
do
airplanes stay up? What does keep them from just crashing into the earth? Wouldn't that be completely terrifying to be conscious all those minutes that the plane is plummeting to earth? What would I be thinking about…? And as the physics of air travel became even more implausible to me and I was convinced I would never make it to Rome alive, I began having what I imagine was a panic attack. I started sweating and breathing heavy. Why now? I have no idea. I'd traveled from New York to Paris without a care in the world. Perhaps a therapist might say I was nervous about venturing out on my own, to a strange city, with no one that I knew meeting me there; that I was planning on doing all this “research” in Rome, but I didn't really know how I was going to start. Maybe it finally hit me that I had quit my job and left my home without really that much of a plan in place. Whatever the reason, I realized: who better to talk to in this moment than my very own guru? Luckily, I got her on the phone.

“Okay, so Julie, close your eyes and breathe from your diaphragm,” Serena said in a soothing swami voice. “Imagine a white light emanating right out of your belly button and radiating out into the plane.”

I was imagining. “It's a white light of peace and safety and protection and it's filling up the plane and then the sky and then the whole world. And you are completely safe.” My breathing started to calm. My heartbeat slowed down. It was working. I opened my eyes. And Thomas was standing right in front of me.

“Well, hello, Miss Provincial. I believe I have the seat next to you.”

A jolt of surprise zapped through my body, Serena's hard work ruined in an instant. “Um…Serena, I have to call you back.”

“Okay, but I've been meaning to tell you. You should go to India. I mean, their spirituality, their culture—everyone says going to India is a really powerful experience.”

“Okay, I'll think about that. Thanks.”

“No, really. They say life-changing.”

“Okay. I'll talk to you later. Bye, and thanks!” I hung up. I looked up at Thomas, who was emanating his own special brand of white light.

“What are you doing here?”

“I decided to go with you. I thought I could do some business there.” He made a gesture with his hand, asking me to get up so he could sit next to me. I stood up into the aisle.

“Of course I don't usually fly economy class,” Thomas said as he moved into his seat and we sat. “But I decided to make an exception.” As he buckled himself in and looked around, he added, “My God, coach. It's such a tragedy.”

He saw I was having trouble piecing it all together.

“I got your itinerary from Steve. Plus, I know someone at Alitalia.” He smiled at me and squeezed my wrist. I blushed and got out a piece of mint gum and popped it in my mouth. The announcements about the plane taking off began and I tried to hide the sweat and the panting. How mortifying would it be to have my first panic attack in front of Thomas? There's New York Quirky, and then there's New York Crazy. Just because it was starting to dawn on me which one I was, that didn't mean he had to know right off the bat. While he was busy trying to find a comfortable place to put his knees, and the flight attendants were coming around checking our seat belts, I let out a tiny cry. Thomas looked alarmed.

“Sorry. I'm just. Something's happening. I feel a little like I'm dying. Or drowning. Something. Sorry,” I whispered.

Thomas leaned closer to me. “Has this ever happened before?” I shook my head no.

“You are having some kind of panic episode, yes?”

I nodded. “Yes. I think so.” I clutched the armrests tightly on both sides of me, but accidentally grabbed on to Thomas's arm. I leaned forward and started gasping for air.

“Excuse me, is everything all right?” the flight attendant asked Thomas.

“Yes, of course. She just has a stomachache. She'll be fine.” As the flight attendant walked away, Thomas reached into his bag.

“Julie, you must take one of these, right away. Please. It will calm you down.”

I threw myself back onto my chair and gasped, “I can't believe you're seeing me like this. This is mortifying.”

“We'll worry about that later, but for now, just take this pill and swallow please, quickly.”

“What is it?”

“Lexomil. France's Valium. We eat it here like candy.”

I swallowed the tiny white pill dry. “Thank you so much,” and I took another gasp of air. I started feeling calmer already.

“You'll probably be falling asleep soon.” He put his hand on top of mine. “It's a shame, we won't get a chance to talk,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling.

You really are close to someone when you sit next to them in coach. It's like you have to actually make an effort not to bump your lips into them.

Soon enough, I fell asleep.

I woke up to Thomas tapping the back of my hand, quite hard, and saying in his sweet French accent, “Julie, Julie, it's time to wake up. Please.”

Like deadlifting four-hundred-pound barbells, it took every ounce of my strength to open my eyes. In a haze I saw beautiful Thomas in the aisle, looking unruffled and slightly amused as a flight attendant hovered over him.

“
Signore,
we have to leave the plane. You must get her off.” It was then that I saw that the plane was on the ground and the cabin was absolutely empty. I groaned loudly and put my hands to my eyes to somehow shield myself from the humiliation. Why wouldn't they just let me go back to sleep?