I Said Yes: My Story of Heartbreak, Redemption, and True Love (19 page)

I went on the show with pure intentions. I truly did want to meet my husband, not necessarily get engaged but find someone who I could, one day, see the possibility of marrying. I wanted to prove everyone wrong and show the world that I could find love, that it could happen, even on something as silly as a TV show. I wanted to be the poster child for a love success story. Most important, I trusted the peace I had, this strong feeling that prompted me to make the decision.

I knew that peace couldn’t come from the devil, so I assumed it was from God and that it was an internal sign of Him blessing my decision. And I figured if I had such a peace, something good was going to happen. Surely God wouldn’t put me at ease only to watch me fall flat on my face in heartbreak . . . on national TV . . . again. Right? Now, all that being said, was I confident I would, in fact, find my husband? Not really. But I was super hopeful I would.

When I told my mom my decision to be the next Bachelorette, she laughed. “Emily, I just don’t understand.” Still, Mom was as supportive as ever. She may have voiced her concerns, but she always stood beside me with all my crazy ideas. I have always valued her consistent presence and that she never gave up on me.

And I’m sure Mom felt a little more confident this time around that I wouldn’t make a total fool out of myself on national TV. I’m sure she was just hoping I’d find love by the more traditional route.

I told the producers I’d do the show under one condition—Ricki would be with me this time. (I would tell her, as I did the last time, that I was hosting a show, not being on a show to find love.)

Mom was also able to accompany me some of the time. I was thrilled to be able to share these memories with her. And I know part of her being close to me and involved in the process made her feel more comfortable about what I was doing. Oh yeah, one more important thing. I was adamant with the producers about the fact that I did not want to get engaged on the show. I was hoping for love, not a fiancé. From what I remember, the producers got my drift. Or so I thought.

The ground rules were the same for the most part. I was sworn to secrecy during filming and for a time after and could have no contact with the outside world via phone, computer, or Internet during the process. Also, because I’d been on
The Bachelor
, I had a pretty good idea of how things were run on the show and what I could expect. Now, while not every single thing is scripted, I was well aware that there would be plenty of times I’d have to follow specific direction from the producers.

In the beginning of February 2012, right around my twenty-sixth birthday, I went to Los Angeles to finalize the arrangements and—one of the best parts—choose my wardrobe! I was assigned two producers who would be by my side throughout the entire journey, yes, even on my dates. One was a free-spirited and laid-back surfer chick with long blonde hair. She didn’t care
what anyone thought of her and took every opportunity to act goofy and make me laugh when I was in a bad mood. She had a particular talent for dancing like a goofball and whipping her hair around to the beat of Jersey Shore–worthy club music, something she did often to cheer me up.

The other, a hippie chick, just got me. She knew when to give me space and when, and how hard, to push my buttons. The three of us had a great time together. We laughed together. We cried together. And though we bonded like sisters, our time wasn’t without some hiccups (more on that later).

Together the three of us rummaged through the racks and racks of amazing clothes that the show’s stylist had carefully laid out for me in his minimalist yet very chic condo. Oh my goodness, I was in heaven, surrounded by beautiful fabrics and exquisite designs, clothes I’d only dreamed of wearing.

As my producers picked up a string of stunning ball gowns, bikinis, blouses, and shorts, they’d whisper to one another, pointing to a particular article of clothing, “Oh, that would be perfect for such-and-such.” They knew my entire schedule, and while I was only privy to the fact that we’d be filming in Charlotte for a while, I had no idea where we’d be taken or what we’d do outside of North Carolina. Boy, I loved surprises! And being surprised as the Bachelorette was much more fun than being surprised when you’re just one out of thirty girls.

I started getting worked up, in a good way, when I was in Los Angeles. Oh sure, a few nerves were present (I wouldn’t be Emily Maynard without them), but this time around I actually felt that I was on a fun adventure. And that was more confidence-inspiring than trying to connect with a guy alongside so many women who were trying to do the same.

At the beginning of March, a week before we started filming, the network shipped to my house all the necessary equipment and props, which a crew member stacked and stored using every inch of space in my garage. I have never seen so many different kinds of cameras, lighting equipment, microphone packs, and (can’t forget the favorite prop) candles in my entire life! When it came time to set up my house for taping, the crew worked so hard and did an amazing job not to make a total disruptive mess of cable and wires. This was especially important because at times my house looked like a kids’ club. What was so neat about this experience was that many of the producers (and even Chris Harrison at one point) brought their kids along with them. I love the sound of a house full of kid giggles and chatter. And Ricki? Well, she was over the moon at having some playmates around.

We filmed around town the first few days. Ricki and I had a few photo shoots together, and I did a few solo interviews at home and at various locations around our neighborhood. I followed the producers’ leads to “Push Ricki on the swing” and “Run with the balloons in your hand, then let them go” and “Crawl into bed and start writing in your journal.” It was basically a lot of direction and a lot of filming. My little girl and I had a blast. She loved the attention, the whirlwind of excitement that comes with being filmed and surrounded by a crew of people.

I vowed to myself that things would be different this time. On
The Bachelor
, I was guarded, reserved. On
The Bachelorette
, I made a commitment to put myself out there and bare my soul. I knew these producers were screening men left and right to find me great matches, and part of my being
vulnerable and transparent was a testament that I believed they could help me find love.

I started getting ready for the initial meet and greet at three in the afternoon in the comfort of my own home. I can’t tell you how good it felt to be there and not some strange hotel. The guys were staying in a gorgeous rented mansion fifteen minutes away, where in only a couple of hours they’d introduce themselves to me, mingle at the cocktail party, and—eek!—participate in their first rose ceremony.

In the early evening, my producers and I left my house to head toward the Bachelorette mansion, where I’d temporarily occupy the master bedroom for the final touches on my makeup and hair. We listened to a local radio station as we rode. When Jay-Z’s song “Forever Young” came on, I rolled the window down and stuck my hand out, waving it in sync with the beat. Gratitude washed over me. I couldn’t believe so many people, the producers, the cameramen, the stylists, the staff, and everyone involved in this process, had taken time out of their lives to come to Charlotte and help me find love. It was humbling to even think about.

While I was having this moment, one of my producers looked at me and rolled her eyes in her imitable way. “For Pete’s sake, Emily, are you crying?”

I smiled and started laughing. “This whole thing is crazy. Good crazy!” I replied. (Note I said “good” crazy, not weird crazy like meeting a bachelor and his ostrich egg, but I’m getting way ahead of myself here.)

Chris Harrison was waiting for me at the mansion. He was great, very funny. I got to know him a bit better this time around, though I didn’t spend time with him off camera
talking about the guys or my experience. That sort of chitchat was reserved for my producers.

The twenty-five bachelors hadn’t piled in by the time I arrived, so I took a brief tour of the place, walking past thousands of flickering candles large and small and admiring the breathtaking home. My producers talked me through the night so I knew what was going to happen. It was pretty simple. Meet some guys, take breaks for interviews, meet more guys, break for more interviews, welcome all the guys at the cocktail party, talk to some one-on-one, take a break for another set of interviews, more guys, more interviews, and finally the first rose ceremony, where I’d have to say good-bye to five guys.

Ah, the dreaded rejection drama. That day, feeling a very bold and confident self, I was sure I’d have no trouble sending guys home right and left. Oh, sure. This is so easy to say when you are not the one rejecting the guy face-to-face and in front of millions of people.

When the sun slipped past the horizon, I knew what time it was. I was ready, so ready, to meet these eligible bachelors! My producers positioned me on a literal X by the front door of the house, where I was to wait for the boys to roll in. It was important to stay on that exact spot facing a certain way. If any guy would compromise that position, I’d have to, as smoothly as possible, scoot him over. Before my producers left my side, they told me to have fun. Oh boy.

Sean stepped out of the first limo, all-American, big muscles, warm eyes, and a kind smile. I was off to a great start. Because I knew how nerve-wracking it could be to stand in their shoes, I did my best to make the guys feel comfortable. After Sean, the trail of cute boys continued along with my giving the producers
a thumbs-up or thumbs-down sign after they walked off and into the house. I was so giddy that the meet and greet was a blur.

Some of the entry stunts were definitely entertaining (e.g., Mrs. Doubtfire guy, boom-box Jersey guy). Some were cute, like Jef gliding on his skateboard. And some were just odd, enter the ostrich egg–toting guy. I remember standing and kind of waiting, or hoping, that maybe someone was going to step out of a limo and I would just know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was the one, my future husband. But that never happened.

When that phase of the evening was done, I had to pick the guys I liked and which I didn’t. It was so hard to say because I couldn’t remember all of them. Wait. Of course I remembered Kalon flying down in the helicopter, but not for good reason. I wasn’t impressed by his showy entrance. It was a tacky, off-putting gimmick that came across as pretentious.

Meeting these potential mates took place within only a minute or two, so it was hard, almost impossible, to find a connection or remember the guys vividly before they were whisked off. I did my best. While being on
The Bachelor
was a waiting game, being a Bachelorette was nonstop. I learned this immediately. There was no downtime.

I welcomed the guys at the beginning of the cocktail party, making sure I hit the one or two points the producers suggested I mention but mainly sticking to my own heartfelt thoughts. And then, it was time to get to know the guys. Producers scurried off to find me particular bachelors to talk to. None of them could approach me without permission, so it’s more orchestrated than it looks on TV. But think about it, and not just in my case. Imagine the chaos of guys and girls clamoring
over the Bachelorette or Bachelor had producers not guided the whole thing. Madness, right?

I could write that it was exhausting, or that I didn’t enjoy the constant motion, or that I felt like a piece of meat meeting all these guys, but I’d be lying. It was fun. Really fun! When was I ever going to have the chance to meet so many potential significant others in one place? Um, never. For real this time.

Some guys were nice. Some were funny. Some were cute. Some were intense, purging their emotional baggage over me. And some stood before me in awkward silence, not knowing what to say as I desperately tried to fill the wordless gap by asking them get-to-know-you questions. When it was time to wrap up whatever conversation I was in, producers would give me a signal, and I’d—sometimes smoothly, sometimes painfully—say some form of, “Well, thank you for chatting with me. I’ll look for you later tonight.” And then it was time to move on to the next guy. Phew!

I gave Doug the first impression rose. He had read me the cutest letter from his son. I bonded with him being a single parent and all. The producers thought he was a great first pick, not just because he had a child but because he was likely the least threatening to the other guys.

I will say the guy who stood out the most was smoldering Arie. We had the strongest connection and he knew how to make me laugh, which was definitely a plus! I don’t remember much of what we talked about because I was so nervous, but I liked his whole vibe. When he told me he was a race-car driver, my first, somewhat disappointing thought was,
Oh, great. So that’s why you’re on the show
.

A part of me felt like it was a setup, as if the producers
hoped I’d pick him and create this redemption-like fairy-tale love story. Something along the lines of getting back what I lost so many years ago. I tried not to let those thoughts distract me, however, because I wanted to stay present with Arie. And I also had to start thinking about which five guys to send home. And I didn’t know! I didn’t even have a clue how to begin weeding them out.