Chapter 21 #2
"Okay, Mr. Expert. Change of plans." Amara brushes her long, light sundress. "You teach the ladies how to make dinner while Daniel and I enjoy aperitifs."
"I'll even make the Aperol Spritz." Romeo stands and kisses his mom on the cheek. "You can pretend you aren't watching us." He moves into the kitchen, motioning for us to follow.
We move into the big, modern room. It's beautiful. A real chef's kitchen with stainless steel appliances, tile floors, and a stove big enough to cook dinner for ten. The fridge is similarly massive.
"Can you collect the ingredients while I make the drinks?" He nods to Cynthia.
She nods back and moves to the fridge. "This one is a breeze. Though Daniel is picky."
Romeo chuckles.
"He's a bit of a perfectionist. I'm surprised he okayed the idea to have the wedding here.
" Cynthia glances at the living room, which is partially in view, partially blocked by the half wall.
It's far enough away we can't hear a thing, but close enough we can see Daniel and his mom chatting about… something.
"Was it your idea?" I ask.
She pulls a block of cheese from the fridge and sets it on the kitchen island. "I wanted to elope. I've always seen my wedding that way. Something small, intimate, modern."
"One where you wear a suit?" Suddenly, the image forms in my head. A City Hall wedding. A tall woman in a suit and white flats. A man in a matching white three-piece. A sex therapist and a sex worker.
A fake wedding maybe.
Or a real one.
I don't know anymore.
I don't want to marry Romeo. I barely know the man. But I can see the image of our wedding. An image of our wedding.
The first image of a wedding I've had since my divorce.
It's strange. I don't know if I ever want to marry again. I still can't shake the image of my last marriage.
And the vision of that possibility:
It's exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.
Because it means I can love and trust again.
Because it means I can get hurt again.
But then I can't.
I can't marry Romeo. There's no future here. The man's job is sleeping with other people. I'm not nearly evolved enough to pay my bills with the orgasms my husband gave other women.
And, sure, he has a goal of opening this coffee shop with his brother, but he can’t count on success there. Most small businesses close in the first five years. He would be smart to keep his day job. I can’t ask him to risk his future.
We don't know each other that well.
But we are getting there. Sorta.
"No, not a suit." Cynthia laughs, pulling me back to the moment. "But not a gown either. Something less formal. A cocktail dress, maybe, and not white. Who needs white? It's not like I'm pretending I'm a virgin."
"Absolutely not," Romeo laughs, from his spot at the bar.
"I suppose I should figure that out," she says.
"Maybe I can help," I offer. "Actually, maybe my friend Meredith can help. She always looks so cool. She's at a meditation retreat, but she's texting me non-stop to try to get a break. She'd be happy to offer feedback on a few pictures."
Cynthia smiles. "Okay. We can go shopping tomorrow. Escape a few activities, maybe." She looks to Romeo and shakes her head. "No boys allowed."
"I don't remember volunteering."
"What do you think about a bright color?" I ask. "I love not doing white. Why pretend this is your first time at bat?"
"I think everyone likes to pretend a little, don't they?" Cynthia asks. "That our partners never had anyone as good or fun or exciting as us?"
"You two started dating when you were seventeen," Romeo says. "Who was he experimenting with?"
Cynthia shoots Romeo a look I can't quite place. One with familiarity. A platonic connection. Or a familial one maybe. Maybe they already feel like siblings.
Or maybe it's oh, isn't it cute that Ivy doesn't know the typical social norms around sex.
I do forget most people aren't open. I do forget that conversations aren't podcast interviews, that I'm not here as Dr. O… or even Dr. Vaughn.
"Daniel doesn't like to talk about that kind of stuff," Cynthia says.
"I understand that. I don't mind the stories of his sex life, but I hate hearing about how much he loved his first girlfriend.
" She grabs the pepper from a high shelf and stares at the grater.
"Why do we do that? Why do we want to pretend someone didn't love before? "
"It's easier, in some ways," I say. "If you believe this is the first time. Even if it's not."
"I think, for you, it is." She motions to Romeo. "What a gift. To find a man who's never loved before."
My cheeks flush. It's not an act. It's real shyness. But, hey, that's why I'm here. I lean into it. "Even if it's not… I think, with every new person, love is a little different. Even if we've loved before, we've never loved quite like this."
"That's what she tells me," Romeo adds, "so I don't cry myself to sleep."
"That is a role reversal." She laughs. "A man jealous of a woman's emotional commitment. A woman jealous of a man's sexual past."
"I'm not." And that is true. I'm not sure why. I'm not usually this, well, mature. But then again, we're not actually together. I like him, I do, but I know he's not my boyfriend. I know exactly where to draw the line.
"Because he was never with anyone he loved." Cynthia nods. "I get that."
"But sometimes that sex is the best," I say.
"The flings and hookups where you experiment.
My best friend… she had this torrid affair in Barcelona.
She liked the guy, yes, but she didn't love him or see a future.
But they did all this wild stuff and… I don't know.
There can be a connection there. A special connection.
Not for me, really. I struggle with casual.
But for a lot of people… a lot of men, it works. "
Something flickers on Cynthia's face. Some understanding. "I know someone like that. I love hearing her stories."
I nod in agreement.
"But they feel like stories to me. Not that I begrudge her a little poetic license. We all exaggerate to entertain our friends." She meets my gaze. "So, it really doesn't bother you, that he's so…"
"Well-practiced," Romeo offers.
I shake my head. It really doesn't. Which is strange. With my ex, it did. I didn't like the hot sex he'd had before me. Even if he wouldn't talk about it in detail.
But I guess that was different too. When we were having good sex, I didn't think about it. When we weren't—
But then I probably shouldn't keep comparing Romeo to my ex.
No doubt, that's a sign I need more time before I enter a real relationship.
Fake relationships only for now.
Romeo takes the drinks to his family. I move a little closer to Cynthia. To give her an opening.
"Listen, if you ever want to talk about marriage or commitment or anything, I'm here," I say. "As a friend, not a professional."
"You were married before."
It's not really a question, but I nod anyway. "They say failure is the best teacher."
She smiles, but there's a sadness to it. "I don't judge you for it. I'm sure some do, but I understand relationships are complicated. I just wonder… about what I want out of life. If this is a good deal. As a woman, you know?"
"A hundred percent." It's hard to explain it in simple words.
Marriage is supposed to be an even partnership, but even when men try really, really hard, they rarely manage to get there.
They weren't raised to consider people's emotional needs, to clean the house, to co-operate.
They were raised to fight, to win arguments rather than listen, to avoid hard conversations, to feel only anger.
Even if they did give exactly fifty percent, they wouldn't get there. They'd have to give sixty or seventy or eighty percent. Even a perfect, giving man can't be the perfect husband, because the world just isn't fair.
Marriage, heterosexual marriage, of course, is a better deal for men than for women.
Women are the ones who are expected to put everyone ahead of them. To put their partner's job first, their kids' needs first, their aging relatives first.
When a parent gets sick, people expect the daughters in the family to tend to them. When someone needs to stay home from school, it's the mother. When there's a problem, because a guy isn't talking about his feelings, his wife needs to stay patient and caring.
But what happens when you reach the end of that? When you're patient, and caring, and compromising, and things don't change?
You can only twist yourself so far before you break.
That's what happened to me.
I don't know how to do it again. How to be a person who loves.
But why do I keep asking myself that? This isn't a real relationship. I'm not expected to love.
It's all for the benefit of his family and my podcast material. Or my sex life.
"It's hard," I say. "Even when you love someone a lot. I liked being married for a long time. Then one day, I didn't. It was strange, like it changed out of nowhere, but it was happening a little bit at a time, for a long time."
"But you liked it at first?" she asks.
I nod. "The feeling of the word husband, the maturity if afforded me, the shared health insurance, the forever of it. I didn't believe people who said it would change everything, but it did. It made our connection deeper. But it also made it more suffocating. Forever goes both ways."
She nods and looks to the door.
Romeo steps inside, ready to work.
Conversation over.
Right. This is their wedding week. Not my week to end the wedding. But if that's really what she wants, isn't it for the best, for everyone?