by Jamie Shupak
We gather the scraps of food left over from our picnic, and I swig down the end of the wine. I grab for my bag and hear the opening beats of my all-time favorite Ray song. “Ben!” I squeal as Ray clears his throat to start singing. I clear mine too and once again clutch my wine-bottle microphone. I sing the beautiful lyrics of “Shelter” the entire walk to the Fifth Avenue side of the park, where we hail a cab. Without planning it out or talking it through, we both get in, and he gives the cabbie my address. I look at him and smile, and before I can say anything, he kisses me. At first it’s strong, his whole mouth over mine, with just a touch of tongue. Then he softens his grip and starts nibbling on my bottom lip with one hand behind my head, the other pressed firmly on my hip. This is nothing like the kiss we had outside Tanuki Tavern. This is nothing like the kiss we had outside the Wrap party that the Toast wrote a blurb about. This is a real kiss. A few minutes later we hop out of the cab, and a few minutes after that, we hop right into my bed together.
“Are you mad about the Sloane stuff?” I have to ask. I feel like I pried right into his personal life—and although he’s done it to me without seemingly a care in the world, we’re at a different place now, the two of us. I don’t want him to hurt anymore.
“I’m only mad that you just said her name in bed with me. She doesn’t deserve that breath,” he says, putting his finger to my lip. We kiss again—this time a little slower, a little softer, but with a whole lot more meaning. He reaches behind me and unhooks my overalls, letting them fall to my waist. He kisses me all over my chest, telling me how each part is the most beautiful part of me. Then he lowers me onto the pillows and smoothly slides the overalls down my legs, and off.
Just as we’re basking in the warm afterglow of each other’s bodies, both of our phones ding from the nightstand, alerting us to a message.
One new message from Twitter.
@NewYorkToast: We hear @BanteringBen has quit—@SloaneRiley AND his job! Where’s @GuilianaLayne? Both of their feeds are eerily quiet this evening.
“See? They miss us when we don’t tweet,” Ben says, trying to make light of it.
“I’m just over it,” I say in a tone much more serious than his. “I’m glad you quit. I’m done with the pictures and the tweets and the Toast and Banter …”
“Hey, so am I,” he says, stopping me in my tracks. “Look, I quit—sure, for me and my own sanity, and because my boss was banging my girlfriend. But also for us.”
There’s that word again.
He turns his attention back towards his phone, clutching it in both hands, and I see him hit reply to the Toast’s tweet. My heart rate, which slowed down after sex, has now gotten another jolt of gas, waiting to see how he responds. I wish he wouldn’t, and would just enjoy this moment together. This whole year started with that text message Courtney sent to JR when he was in jail: Don’t worry baby, we’ll get through this. No matter what I love you. I remember thinking to myself—over and again—how is it that two people who aren’t even together are communicating in such an intense way, with such powerful words? It all felt so overly done and so fast for them. That’s not the kind of love I want.
Please: No empty banter. No grandstanding premature “I love you” messages. Please: none of the stuff that movie montages are made of. I don’t want a sepia-filtered relationship that looks good on Instagram—though I do love me a perfectly filtered Instagram. Give me depth and wit and a fierce game of Ping-Pong. Give me someone who knows that texts, tweets, and emails can, like road signs, dictate the course of our lives. But not always.
I look over at him and he’s still typing.
He’s thinking. I’m waiting.
Then he turns it around so the brightness of the screen illuminates my face. I read what he’s written two, three, maybe five times over and smile as my eyes fill up with tears. This time, for the first time, there is no buzz of the phone. That feeling—that jolt—is instead coming directly from him.
It’s not a reply to that tweet; it’s a message meant just for me.
YOU WERE RIGHT. TRUST IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING. SO, TELL ME: DID YOU LET ME WIN IN PING-PONG?
Acknowledgments:
Jess, my real-life Gemma: You took me in and let me share your bed when I had nowhere to go and I am forever thankful for you for that time -- and every time in the last ten years that you’ve loved me, dressed me, consoled me. You’re my best friend, my sister, my family. I love you.
Brian Pashkoff: You were the first person to tell me to write a book. Remember that g-chat? Remember all those g-chats? Being single wouldn’t have been half as fun without our morning recaps.
Noah Coslov, my brother from another mother: I can’t imagine my mornings without our emails. I can’t imagine life without your friendship. And while I’m sorry there isn’t a Noah character in the book, I’m happier to have the real you as part of my real life.
Lonnie, Lece, Brian and T-Money: My people. It was your strength that moved me out of my old apartment and into my new life. Considering we can’t choose our brothers and sisters I got pretty damn lucky with you guys.
Jared and Brandon: My favorite tiny people. I hope by the time you’re old enough to read this book the Eagles have won a Super Bowl. More importantly, don’t ever be a JR; be the Ben that your parents are raising you to be.
Alex Slater: I knew I wanted to work with you since you sent me that first email, asking if I had ever thought of writing a book. Thank you for believing in me before I even put a word on a page, and for all your encouragement and edits along the way. Your kindness and persistence brought this story to life.
Scott Miller: I’m not sure if it was Snooki, the massive bottle of Patron, or the fact that one of my favorite people (hi Jill!) is your cousin -- but I couldn’t be happier or luckier to work with an agent as professional, smart, and talented as you. CGL for life.
Pat Kiernan: my favorite Canadian. I am the luckiest girl in TV, that I get to work beside such a superstar every single day. I am so thankful that you let me -- at 4 o’clock in the morning, every morning -- gush about my life. But everything you’ve done for me work-wise doesn’t hold a candle to how you changed my life by playing wingman to a certain NYT reporter who, for a whole year chased me down. You saw something in him that I didn’t at first, and I am forever grateful that you fought for him. You’re one of the main reasons this book, and my life, has a happy ending.
Caitlin Drexler: I can’t believe how much life has changed since I first met you at Bonsignour. You’re a mama now! You’re a wifey now! But you will forever be one damn good writer and editor. You took my earliest drafts and shaped them, molded them, guided them into a story -- and so quickly too! One of my favorite moments of writing this book was you realizing you knew the Brooklyn bar owner. NYC is a small, crazy world and I’m glad you’re in it with me.
Kate Lee: Thank god you read the New York Times. If you never saw that profile, never asked me to come into your office, there would never be this book. (And we might not be friends!) You believed in me and encouraged me to write this story. You read drafts and answered countless emails with such honesty and grace. And you gave me the best advice, which I’ll never forget: to just start writing. I’ll also never forget what I told you that same day in your office: “I think Brian’s gonna be my boyfriend.” You were so excited, and rightfully so.
Adam Leibner + Sam Marpe: 4 years ago I was at WNBC and told you NY1 wanted to hire a traffic reporter for their morning show. You convinced me it was the right move and you were right. This job saved me when I felt like I had no other reason to wake up in the morning. It’s led to everything that’s good in my life right now. You’re amazing agents for sure, but you’re even better friends. This book is just the beginning and I love you guys for knowing that and always being on Team Shupak.
Jason Pinter: You bought my book! You bought my freaking book! Look at you, making dreams come true. I remember the first time we met, at Coffeeshop in Union Square. I came straight fr
om a Flywheel class -- which you hadn’t heard of yet -- and I knew then what I know even better now: that you are such a wonderful human. You have a huge heart and you are even more talented than you are kind and generous. I am so excited to be a part of the beginning of Polis Books cause I believe in it and I believe in you. I wish you and your company nothing but success.
Amy Vreeland, my rockstar copyeditor. Thanks for not only removing about half the commas and em-dashes I wrote, but also for uncovering details like the closure of Splash. You saved my tush from the truth seekers and myself -- which is not, for the record, a size medium thankyouverymuch.
Georgia Morrissey: Thank you for the gorgeous cover design. I know I was a lot to handle, but it was so worth it because the cover is beautiful.
Mom: You were right; I stopped crying. I’m happy again – happier than I’ve ever been. And you know what? Everything is wonderful in Jamieville because of you. Your 5 a.m. texts are the perfect way to start my day, everyday. You are the sunniest, most loving person I know and if one day I can be half as good a mom as you have been to me, then I’ll have succeeded.
Dad: Remember this is fiction. Single girls my age, in real life, don’t drink and make out with boys. Blasphemy! That’s also why you didn’t have a bigger part in the book -- cause you’re way too nice and normal for fiction. And I didn’t want to change you for anything. How you love mom, and all of us, will always be the way I model love in my life. What you told me three years ago will always stay with me: pretend like you’re driving without a rear view mirror. I love you, Neilka Peilka. Love is real, not fade away.
Brian: My co-scribbler, my editor and fact checker, my favorite bald ass head, my everything. I’ll never know what I did to get so lucky. You are the most patient, kind, and generous human being I know and I am so thankful for Twitter (and PK) that you came (and stayed) in my life. You took a sad, broken girl and showed her what love is and how beautiful it can be if you just let it. I know it took me a while to come around, but wasn’t it worth it? It’s a pretty funny story, so thank you for letting me tell it, and even moreso for holding me through the whole process. You are the best thing.
The real-life JR and Courtney: Thank you.
Jamie Shupak is the morning traffic anchor on NY1, Time Warner Cable’s popular 24/7 news channel in New York City. Shupak, a news Emmy nominee, can be seen every weekday morning from 5 a.m. until Noon. She has been the subject of profiles in The New York Times and the New York Post, the latter of which dubbed her the “Trans-It Girl.” The New York Observer named her one of the media’s top 50 “power bachelorettes” while she was the dating columnist for Complex magazine, penning her advice for single men and women everywhere on a weekly basis. But the Philadelphia native and University of Maryland graduate now chronicles her romantic home life and the delicious, healthy meals she cooks on her food blog, TV Dinner. Featured on Mashable and in New York Magazine’s Grub Street, Shupak showcases her culinary talents, tailored to her meat- and dairy-free diet. She currently resides in Manhattan with her boyfriend, New York Times media reporter Brian Stelter. Find out more at www.JamieShupak.com, and follow her on Twitter at @jamieshupak.
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