Unravelled

by Robyn Harding

  Of course, I occasionally wondered if my failure to have positive closure with Colin could be blamed for Jim’s silence. But trying had to count for something! And really, I was feeling pretty good about the way we’d left things. Hopefully, Colin would read the note and let our fond memories guide him to a place of understanding and forgiveness—or whatever it had said. Maybe he’d even start dating again soon? For some reason, my stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought, but I pushed my unease aside. Colin needed to move on and let me go. And if it took a new girlfriend to make him realize that, then so be it.

  I was so busy that I barely had time to obsess about my relationship with Jim. My article for Northwest Life was due the following Tuesday, and Angie had emailed the rehearsal schedule for “Eternal Love.” While she had originally suggested two rehearsals per week, Martin and I had whittled her down to one. We could always increase the frequency as the wedding date approached, if need be.

  On Tuesday evening, Sophie, Martin, and I met at Angie’s apartment for an initial run-through of the poem. As expected, Angie was exuberant. She’d bought champagne for the occasion, and insisted we toast Nicola’s upcoming nuptials before we began. “Okay,” she finally said when her champagne flute was almost empty, “let’s get down to business.” She proceeded to hand out copies of “Eternal Love,” printed on light pink paper. “There are five verses and only four of us, so someone will have to read twice. Any volunteers?” There was only the slightest pause before she continued. “I’ll do it, if there are no takers?”

  “Sounds good,” Martin said.

  “Okay...” our choreographer continued. “I think we should line up in order of height. I’ll read the first verse, followed by Sophie, Beth, and then Martin. Then, I’ll read the last verse as well.”

  “Great.”

  “Let’s begin...” Angie said. In her clear, practised voice she began to recite the poem, something about love being like the never-ending ocean. Unfortunately, I couldn’t concentrate on her words, as my heart had begun to pound deafeningly in my ears and my stomach to churn with nerves. God, this fear of public speaking was a real pain. I had battled it all my life—even taking acting classes in an attempt to overcome it. Eventually, I realized that I was quite comfortable pretending to be someone else in front of an audience, just not myself. My fear had even had significant bearing on the career path I chose. I was most comfortable hiding behind the written word.

  But my physiological response to reading a simple verse in front of three close friends was ridiculous. How was I going to handle three hundred wedding guests? I knew how—with a mild panic attack followed by some serious diarrhea. The more I thought about it, the more nervous I became. After Sophie finished her verse, I forced myself to begin. With a thin, shaky voice, I read:

  With roots as strong as a mighty tree,

  Your love will blossom and grow,

  Two hearts entwined, reaching for the sun,

  Your future’s seeds you’ll sow.

  As soon as I’d read the last sentence, my pulse began to slow. I focused on breathing calmly as Martin recited his couplet. The pounding of my heart had almost returned to normal when Angie delivered the final verse. She stepped forward and turned to face us all. “That was good, you guys,” she said insincerely, a tense smile on her lips. Obviously, it was not good enough. “Beth, make sure to breathe while you read. And Martin . . . you really need to put more expression into your voice. That was a little . . . blah.”

  “Umm . . . okay,” Martin said, awkwardly.

  “From the top, everyone,” Angie instructed.

  Maybe it was the second glass of champagne, but I felt slightly less nervous this time around. I employed the breathing techniques I’d read about years ago in Conquering Your Fear: Dealing with America’s Number One Phobia, Public Speaking, and managed to get into an almost meditative state. This did little to enhance the power of my performance, but at least I was getting through it.

  “Better,” Angie said when we’d finished.

  Martin spoke up. “Yeah . . . I’m just a little uncomfortable with my particular verse. It’s a bit too... I don’t know . . . much. Does anyone want to trade with me? Beth? Sophie?”

  Sophie spoke up. “Sorry, Martin. I’m not really that comfortable with the uh...” she cast her eyes down demurely before coyly returning them to Martin’s face, “the sexual connotation of that verse, either.”

  Okay, if Martin couldn’t figure out that Sophie had the hots for him now, he was either gay or lobotomized! He seemed a little flustered when he turned to me. “Beth? How about it?”

  Gee...I had been too busy listening to my breathing and heart beating to pay much attention to Martin’s verse, but how bad could it be? It was square Nicola’s favourite love poem. “Sure. I’ll trade with you,” I said, with an ambivalent shrug.

  “You’re the greatest!” Martin wrapped his arms around me in a giant bear hug. I glanced at Sophie, who was obviously now wishing that she’d traded with him.

  “But that messes up the height order,” Angie whined.

  “I think Martin being comfortable with his verse is more important than height order,” Sophie said. She smiled sweetly at Martin.

  “Well, I’m sure I’ll be fine with it,” I piped up. “I’ll just have to have a few glasses of champagne before we read.”

  “Not too much, though,” Angie said. “We don’t want any slurring or giggling.”

  Martin looked at his watch. “Sorry, but I’ve got to take off. I’m meeting a friend for drinks at nine.”

  “A friend?” Sophie asked.

  “A buddy from college,” Martin said, pulling on his coat.

  “An old college pal, eh?” Angie said, interestedly. “So... tell me about him.” Her eyes darted knowingly to Sophie and me. “What did you two scoundrels get up to in college? Football games? Keg parties? Or were you more into the artistic side of things? Drama club? Choir?”

  Martin gave her a quizzical look. “Just the usual college stuff,” he said, fishing his car keys out of his pocket.

  “I bet you two listened to a lot of music back then. What were you into? Heavy metal? Grunge? Or did you prefer the classics—like Liza Minnelli?”

  “Uh . . . I don’t know. A bit of everything, I guess,” he replied, bemused. He turned to me. “Thanks again for switching verses with me. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem.”

  “Bye.”

  When the door closed behind him, Angie said, “God! Why is he so evasive?”

  “Evasive?” I shrieked. “He probably thought you’d lost your mind, throwing all those inane questions at him!”

  “I’m trying to build a profile!” Angie said. “Why am I the only one actually doing anything to find out if he’s gay or straight?”

  Sophie gave a shy smile. “I think I have my answer.”

  “You do?” My friend and I cried, in unison.

  “Yeah. He’s uncomfortable reading a verse about two people yearning to be together, right?”

  “Okay . . .”

  “Well . . . I think it’s because he feels an attraction toward me. It probably makes him uncomfortable because I’m married.”

  “Maybe,” I shrugged. “I didn’t really pick up on anything.”

  “It makes sense, though,” Angie said.

  “Oh, I don’t know!” Sophie suddenly cried with exasperation. “Maybe it’s just wishful thinking! I really feel like I’m losing it. I left Flynn with Rob’s mom tonight and she made some comment about me going out, again. Again! Once a week I go to a knitting circle! She makes it sound like I’m a horrible mother who spends every night watching male strippers!”

  “That’s crazy. You’re a wonderful mother,” I said, soothingly.

  “But of course . . .” her voice became shrill as her tirade continued, “she thinks it’s completely fine that Rob hasn’t come home before ten once this week. He can do no wrong! And our fifth anniversary’s coming up and I just
know Rob’s going to forget all about it. And it’s almost like I want him to because that will be the final straw. I’ll finally have to tell him I can’t be in a relationship where I feel completely invisible!” Her eyes welled with tears.

  “Oh, hon!” Angie took her into her arms, and I patted her back a bit awkwardly. Unfortunately, Sophie had confided in two friends completely unqualified to give advice. Angie had spent most of her life single, until her recent coupling with Hollywood Thad. While I’m sure their time spent at sweat lodges and chanting Kabbalah prayers was enjoyable, it still gave Angie little perspective on a real, normal relationship. And I had to admit, I didn’t fare much better. I’d spent four years of my life with a commitment-phobic man-boy who used an overturned laundry basket for a coffee table. And was my current relationship really a vast improvement? I was now dating a man fifteen years my senior, who lived miles away, contacted me sporadically, and couldn’t even get a hard-on! So there was little Angie and I could do but murmur “there, there” and “it’ll all be okay,” and other useless platitudes while Sophie continued to weep over her marriage.

  But when I got home that night, Kendra muttered, “There’s a voice message for you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, glancing at the TV, where Diane Lane and John Cusack were exchanging meaningful glances over a little white dog. Of course, Kendra had sounded mildly affronted that my message was taking up valuable space in her voice-mail box, despite the fact that she never received any calls except from her mother, occasionally her aunt, and once, from the lady in the Cascades, confirming her attendance at the quilting bee. Picking up the phone, I punched in the message code.

  Hey babe. It’s Jim calling. I’m still in Chicago but heading home on Thursday. My flight gets in at 4:25. I’ve got my car at the airport, so I was hoping I could come straight to your place and we could go for a bite? Send me an email and let me know if you’re free . . . I can’t wait to see you.

  Yessss! Finally! I suddenly felt guilty for doubting that my relationship with Jim was a step up from what I’d had with Colin. He was so eager to see me he was coming straight from the airport! He’d obviously missed me so much! And while he hadn’t mentioned it over the phone, I hoped he planned to spend the night in Seattle. We could get a hotel room, order champagne . . . Of course, we’d only drink a little of it... just enough to relax us, but not enough to, you know, impede his performance. Surely after being apart for nearly ten days, Jim would get a boner just at the sight of me! Well, maybe that was stretching it a bit for a guy his age, but it shouldn’t take much to get him aroused.

  The next day, I took a trip to a small organic market in Ballard and then returned home to work on my article. In the afternoon, I met Mel and Toby for a coffee and some jerky treats at the dog park. The early spring sunshine warmed our faces as we chatted, and I occasionally closed my eyes and breathed deeply of the fresh ocean air. The grass was green, the tulips and crocuses were in bloom, and all seemed to be right with the world. Mel focused on throwing the soggy tennis ball for Toby, who careened after it like it was a vial of antivenom and he’d just been bitten by a rattler.

  “How are things going with the older guy?” Mel asked.

  “Jim and I are doing great,” I answered happily, enjoying the sun’s warm rays. I decided not to open up about our recent failure in the bedroom. Too many people knew about it already. “I’m seeing him for dinner on Thursday.”

  “So you ended things properly with Colin?”

  “Uh...yeah.” I paused before elaborating. “I mean, I definitely feel like I have positive closure on the relationship and am moving on. I’m just not quite sure that he feels the same way.”

  “Uh-oh,” Mel said, chucking the tennis ball.

  “Uh-oh?” My heart lurched into my throat.

  “It’s no big deal,” Mel assured me, sensing my fear. “Obviously, it would be better if he felt the same way, but there’s nothing more you can do.”

  I was not appeased. “So, you’re saying that if Colin can’t get over me, it could wreck my relationship with Jim?”

  “No!” Mel laughed, as if this was the most absurd theory she’d ever heard. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s just that sometimes, when there are negative feelings and vibrations toward you out there in the ether, it can have an impact on your life.”

  “Well, that’s just great,” I grumbled. Despite my best efforts, Colin’s inability to get over me could still be affecting Jim’s erection.

  Mel reached over and gave my forearm a comforting squeeze. “It’s nothing to worry about. You’ve done all you can to have positive closure with Colin. Eventually, he’ll come round.”

  Yeah, but eventually wasn’t good enough. I needed Colin to come round by tomorrow night! I didn’t know if Jim and I could survive another awkward and embarrassing attempt at consummating our relationship.

  “And if things don’t work out with Jim,” Mel continued casually, “it’s not the end of the world. He’s your rebound guy after all.”

  “No he’s not!” I shrieked. God! Rebound guy! That sounded so high school . . . or so Sex and the City! What Jim and I had could not be categorized with a cliché. Ours was a mature, grown-up relationship, based on mutual respect, trust, and astrological compatibility. “What Jim and I have is the real thing,” I insisted.

  “I’m sure it is, but he’s still the first guy you dated after Colin, right?”

  “Yeah, but I was already over Colin when I met Jim. Well . . . practically over Colin.”

  Mel shrugged. “Maybe it’ll be different for you, but I’ve always found that when I end a serious relationship, I have to date a couple of guys before I find something meaningful again.”

  “Well, I’ve already found something meaningful,” I said, defensively, “with Jim.”

  “Okay!” she cried, holding her hands up like I was pointing a gun at her. “I’m just saying how it was for me. I’m sure what you and Jim have is the real thing.”

  “It is.”

  And it was, wasn’t it? As I trudged up the hill back to my apartment, I tried to shake the feelings of doubt Mel’s words had stirred in me. Jim and I had a future together, I felt sure of it. With Jim, there was hope for the marriage and family I had always longed for. I was now almost thirty-three and a half. And while I’d recently decided that putting deadlines on things like husbands and babies wasn’t healthy, I didn’t have a lot of time to mess around with rebound guys and the like. I wanted a serious relationship, and I wanted it with Jim. He was everything Colin hadn’t been, and he was everything I wanted in a man—once he regained the use of his penis, of course. When you found someone who fit with you so perfectly, it didn’t matter if he was your rebound guy.

  Later that evening, I emailed the stitch ’n bitchers to let them know I wouldn’t be able to attend our next meeting. Three of them replied wishing me a good time with Jim, but Angie seemed to take my absence as a personal affront.

  I had planned to do a run-through of “Eternal Love” for Nicola, she wrote. We won’t be able to if you don’t show up!

  We’ll do it next week, I responded. We’ve got lots of time.

  We don’t actually, came her reply. Nicola wants us to do a reading at her rehearsal dinner, which is in three weeks!

  When I promised to recite my verse in front of the mirror four times a night before going to bed, she let me off the hook. But not without a final jab at my relationship with Jim.

  It’s a shame that you have to be at his beck and call. In most relationships, you can have one night a week to spend with your friends. Anyway, have a nice time.

  Ange

  I was fuming. How dare she make judgments about my relationship? If Thad suggested they go for side-by-side high colonics next Thursday, she’d blow us off in a second! But I would not stoop to her level and retaliate with an insult. I was above it. Besides, I wanted to bleach my upper lip before my big date tomorrow night.

  Twenty-four

  JIM
PICKED ME up at five-thirty. As I let myself out of my apartment building, nervous butterflies danced in my stomach. It had been ten days since I last saw him—eleven since I so unsuccessfully tried to seduce him. Would it be awkward? Uncomfortable? Or would we continue to pretend that night had never happened, and pick up where we left off?

  But the smile on Jim’s face as he walked toward me reassured me. He swept me into a huge embrace and held me tight. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “You, too,” I murmured. There, in his arms, any inkling of doubt I’d had about our relationship was washed away. Rebound guy? As if! This was real.

  He released me, held me at arm’s length, and looked at me. “You look gorgeous.”

  “So do you.”

  “I’ve missed you.” He pulled me into him and kissed my forehead.

  I looked up, our eyes meeting intensely. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  Jim drove us to a cozy little restaurant he knew of in Magnolia. As we sped across the bridge, I kept my purse on the floor between my feet. Maybe purse wasn’t exactly the right term for the satchel I’d brought with me. Some might even call it a . . . duffel bag. But it was not a suitcase! Definitely not! I’d just needed something big enough to hold my wallet, lipstick, a change of underwear, my contact lens case and solution, and my toothbrush and toothpaste. If this evening went as planned, I would be coercing Jim into spending the night in Seattle, and I needed to be prepared. And it wasn’t like he’d notice that my purse was rather enormous. Big slouchy bags were in, weren’t they? I was sure I’d seen a picture of Lindsay Lohan carrying one on the streets of New York City. Come to think of it, I’d seen that picture in a magazine in my gynecologist’s office and it might have been two to three years old. But what did men know about purse fashions?