How to Be Single

by Liz Tuccillo

  Ruby took a breath. “No, thank you. I’m not hungry.” She then turned to Craig. “I’m so glad you’re okay, and I’m so happy that you’re going to be a father one day. But I think I’m just going to go home now if that’s okay with you?” Craig nodded as Ruby quickly stood up. She leaned down and gave Craig a big kiss on the cheek, turned, and walked out the door.

  Back in Bali

  Our hotel in Kutu was another obscenely luxurious villa, this one with its own little backyard and private swimming pool overlooking the ocean. I know. Insane. Thomas had gone to a business meeting an hour ago. The bad news was, I missed him terribly. This was the first time we had been apart in over a week and it was horrible. I’d become completely emotionally dependent on him. I was never a possessive girlfriend, even in my teens and twenties, but if I could have sewn a pocket into my skin and tucked Thomas inside me, I would have. I didn’t want him to ever leave my side.

  It took all my energy to fight the urge to stay in that hotel room and refuse to leave it for the rest of my born days. But Thomas had told me Kutu was a big surfer beach, so I decided to go watch the surfers; finally I might not look so out of place in my surfing trunks. But I was also curious if I was going to see some gigolos waiting to tell some lady that she was the most beautiful woman they had ever seen. And I wondered if the beach would be full of older women waiting for their day to be Made.

  The beach was dotted with surfers, all waiting for the next wave. The beach wasn’t crowded yet, and as far as I could tell, there were no gigolos or women waiting to be gigoloed.

  As I sat in one of the chairs provided by the hotel, a young Balinese man came up to me with a big plastic bag.

  “Excuse me, miss, would you like one? Very cheap.”

  He pulled from his bag something that looked like a Rolex watch—I’m going to go out on a limb and say I don’t think it was real. I shook my head.

  “But look, they are so nice, very cheap. Buy one.”

  Being a New Yorker, I know how to get my point across. I shook my head forcefully, and said loudly, “No thank you.” He got the message, picked up his bag, and walked away.

  The surfers had found a wave and I watched them doing their best to ride it. They made it look so easy, most of them keeping their balance until the wave deposited them gently on the shore.

  My thoughts quickly drifted back to Thomas and the fact that he was going to be going home in less than a week. Back to Paris, to his wife. It started to dawn on me that in only a few days, I might never see him again.

  I began to think again about what a great deal this had been for him. A nice little vacation he must be having from the monotony of marriage. And he could go home guilt free, because he had been completely honest with me about his open marriage, and his wife didn’t seem to mind. He had a perfect arrangement. I was starting to get pissed off.

  Just then, an older Balinese woman came up to me and asked if I wanted my hair braided. I said no, forcefully, with one very big shake of my head. She moved on.

  It also began to dawn on me that I might not be the only woman Thomas had done this with. I know, sometimes I’m a little slow. I realized that this might be where he takes all his lady friends. In fact, he might’ve known he was going to Bali and made sure he had a girlfriend lined up for the trip. Who knows? All I knew for certain was that I had bought it all, every last romantic bit of it, like a tourist snapping up a fake Rolex.

  A man came by with an armload of tshirts. But before he could speak, I barked “No!” and he scurried away.

  I then had the thought that no woman in my situation should ever allow herself to have. I started to imagine Thomas telling me that he wanted to leave his wife for me. I imagined him with tears in his eyes, begging me to be with him, he loved me too much, he couldn’t bear living without me.

  I shook my head, trying to dislodge this dangerous thought as quickly as possible. It was going to be terrible saying good-bye. I wondered if there was a way to just guilt him into staying with me. If there was a way I could seem as pathetic and vulnerable as possible and just cry and plead with him to stay. I’ve seen it work on the soaps.

  A young Balinese man came up and sat down on the chair right next to me.

  “Excuse me, miss, but you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen on this beach. I had to come over and tell you that.”

  And at that, I said, very loudly, “Okay, that’s fucking it.” I stood up from my chair, grabbed my towel, hat, and beach bag. He jumped at my little outburst, but I have no idea what he did next, because I walked away from him quickly without ever looking back.

  I can tell you that at that moment, I had never felt so completely, literally, utterly, whatever, insulted in my life. He actually mistook me for a woman who was desperate and lonely enough to believe his line of bullshit.

  As I walked back to our little villa of lies, it occurred to me that maybe this Balinese boy had read my mind. Maybe he sensed that I was a woman at that moment scheming on how to make myself so pitiable that a man might be guilted into staying with me.

  Maybe that kid knew exactly whom he was talking to.

  As I stomped down the stone path, I realized that it had to stop. I desperately loved Thomas, I wanted desperately to have someone in my life, and in New York I had been desperately lonely. But as I got close to the door of the villa, I also decided that this was fantastic. This was going to be my saving grace. I was a desperate woman. Good. Now that I knew this about myself I could be on guard for it. It wasn’t going to ambush me suddenly and force me to do something embarrassing. Not me. Because the truth is, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with feeling desperate—it’s just that under no circumstances are you ever allowed to act it.

  I started throwing all my things into my suitcase: my clothes, my toiletries, everything. As I was running around the room grabbing up my things, Thomas walked in with a big smile on his face.

  “Julie, I’ve missed you—” He saw my suitcase on the bed and looked immediately distressed.

  “But, what are you doing?” he said, panicked.

  “You’re going home soon anyway, back to your wife and your life. It’s better I leave now, before things get…”

  I stopped. It was very important for me not to cry. “I just want to leave, now.”

  Thomas sat on the bed. He put his head down, thinking. I kept running around the room, looking to see if I had missed anything. When Thomas finally looked up, he had tears in his eyes. My first thought, because I’m from New York and fucked up, was that he was faking it.

  “I spent this entire meeting thinking of you, Julie. I couldn’t keep you out of my mind. I missed you so much.”

  I stayed firm. It was easy for him to have all these romantic notions, with his nice, big Paris safety net. I spoke to him a little coldly.

  “You’ve been through this before, I imagine, so you understand. This was going to end in a few days anyway, so it’s just ending a little sooner. That’s all.” I zipped up my suitcase. This time I had a plan. “I’m going to go to China. It’s really interesting, I read that there are so many more men there than women, due to the policies involving—”

  Thomas stood up, grabbed me and kissed me.

  “Yes, Julie, I admit it, I’ve been through this before. But this feels so very different. Please, please, let me go with you wherever you are going next, please. China, Zimbabwe, wherever. I can’t leave you, I can’t. Say you’ll let me stay with you, please. I beg of you.” He pulled me close to him, his hand around my head, clutching at my hair, desperately.

  Back in the States

  I’m going to try to be brief with this because it’s upsetting, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to because I need you to have all the details. The details are important.

  Ever since the Sam incident, Georgia had actually been feeling pretty good about things. There’s nothing like deciding not to see a perfectly good man to make a girl feel a little up on herself. She had been going on some dates
with a few men she met online, none of them really for her, but not disasters, either. Dale had been taking the kids as often as Georgia asked, and she also had a long list of reliable babysitters. She might not have been paying as much attention to her kids as she should have, but she was feeling optimistic. So there had been some improvement.

  She met Bryan at a parent-teacher conference at school. They were both waiting out in the hall, on those tiny chairs, and they struck up a conversation. His son was six and in the same class as Georgia’s daughter. He was of average height, with a thin face and bright cheeks—he looked Scottish. He had been divorced for three years. They got on the subject of their respective marriages and breakups, bonding over the toll it takes on everyone involved. By the time Bryan was called in to speak to the teacher, he had asked Georgia if he could call her. Which he did. That night. Two days later, they went out. They had dinner and he walked her to her building and they kissed and kissed in front of her house and he said he had had a great time and asked if he could see her again. He called her the next day, to tell her what a nice time he had had and to make plans. They made a date for two nights later. This time she went to his house (his son was with his mother) and he cooked her a delicious pot roast and they ate and talked and he was very sweet and they made out on his bed, very tenderly—but not without passion. He called her the next day and asked her when he could see her again. She told him she was free Tuesday or Thursday and he said, “Well, Thursday feels too far from now, so how about Tuesday?” Well, how about that. Let me say it to you again, because Georgia repeated it to me, over and over again, long distance, in the ensuing Many Long Days of Bryan. He had said “When can I see you again?” And Georgia had said “Tuesday or Thursday” and he had said “Well, Thursday feels too far from now, so how about Tuesday?” Got it? Okay. This kind of insanely consistent, straightforward, I-am-incredibly-excited-to-have-met-you-but-not-so-much-that-it’s-unbelievable behavior went on for the next week and a half. They spoke on the phone nearly every day, and all things pointed to one thing only: “game on.” This was something real with a consistent, affectionate man who had not, in anything he said or did or mumbled or joked about, revealed himself to be anything other than a man who was ready and excited to enter into a relationship with Georgia. No red flags, no vague or direct warnings, no “I just need to let you know” conversations. Again, Georgia had the feeling you have when things are finally clicking. Suddenly, it’s easy. Suddenly, you didn’t know what the fuss was all about. She became a little smug, and thought to herself yet again, I knew it wouldn’t be that hard to find a great man.

  And then they slept together.

  It was a Saturday night, and Georgia had to get home to her sitter. There had been enough affection and tenderness to cushion her postcoital exit, so she didn’t feel like a complete slut when she had to leave. She went home, paid the sitter, and went to bed, happy and secure. She had done everything right. They had laid the groundwork of friendship and established a rhythm of dates and calls that obviously suited them both. So when she woke up Sunday, as her eyes popped open, her first thought was Bryan. She remembered the sex. She still actually felt the sex. And a big, easy smile came across her face.

  It would be safe to say that Georgia had been fairly impatient with her two children ever since Dale left. For some women, having their children during a time like that would give them a sense of comfort—of still belonging to something. But for Georgia, the day-to-day tedium of raising her children only served to underscore whatever misery and loneliness she was experiencing at that moment. So when Beth screamed for Georgia to hail a cab because she didn’t feel like walking the half a block back to the apartment, well, maybe Georgia hadn’t exhibited the same kind of patience she did when she had had a husband.

  But this Sunday she woke up smiling, with nothing but patience and adoration for her two young children. She got them up, got them dressed, made them breakfast, and took them for a walk along Riverside Drive. Beth was on her bike, Gareth was on his scooter. She barely looked at her phone because there was no need to. She was dating a nice man whom she had just slept with for the first time, and she would be talking to him sometime today as she usually did.

  So when Georgia saw that it was four o’clock in the afternoon, she didn’t even flinch. He was probably busy with his son. “He probably doesn’t want to call when he can’t really talk,” Georgia said to herself. She took her kids for an early dinner at their favorite Chinese restaurant and went home.

  But by eight o’clock, when Beth came out of her room and asked for her third glass of water, Georgia snapped. “What did I tell you, Beth?! No more water. Go back into your room.” Beth started to whine. “I SAID GO BACK INTO YOUR ROOM!”

  Bryan hadn’t called. Georgia turned on the television. She started having the tiny stirrings, the first whisper of a feeling, but it was there: panic. And when panic starts to creep in, even on tiptoe, a woman’s mind goes on overdrive. At least Georgia’s mind did. It may have seemed that she was watching television but in reality she was summoning all the creative powers she could muster to keep that rumbling of panic at bay. Sometimes after an intense sexual experience a man might need to take a step back, just as a cooldown, to compose himself emotionally. Maybe he was really busy. Maybe something happened to his son. Maybe he’s not feeling well. There are so many reasons why he might not have called.

  I’m not going to be one of those women who go crazy just because a guy didn’t call, Georgia thought to herself. It’s not a big deal. He’ll call tomorrow. “I SAID GO BACK TO YOUR ROOM,” Georgia screamed at Gareth when he appeared in the hallway. Georgia tried to put it out of her mind, but the dread wouldn’t really leave her. Wisely, she went to bed. Tomorrow was another day. And tomorrow he would call.

  When Georgia’s alarm clock rang at six thirty the next morning, the first feeling that hit her was excitement. Yay! Bryan is going to call me today! She wondered how long she would have to wait. Georgia tried to put it out of her mind. She got up and looked at what she could make the kids for breakfast. She sighed. It all felt like drudgery. She took out eggs and bread and got to work. The kids woke up and first Beth didn’t want eggs and then she didn’t want the oatmeal that Georgia made, and then she wouldn’t eat the toast because Gareth touched it for a second. Which is when Georgia told Beth that there are many children that don’t get a choice of what to eat for breakfast and she better eat what’s on her goddamn plate or she’ll go to school hungry. Which is when Beth threw a piece of toast at Georgia and stomped angrily into her room.

  After that it was an all-out brawl to get them to school. Screaming, tears, names were called. And that was just from Georgia. Ha ha. At school she looked around for Bryan, but he wasn’t there. She walked back home, exhausted, and checked the clock. It was nine. Nine o’clock. What is he doing right now? Georgia wondered. What is he doing right now that is more important than calling me? She decided to get productive. It was time for her to look for a job. Ever since the divorce, she had been putting that off, wanting to punish Dale with her financial needs. But now it was time to move on. She knew that that is what a smart, empowered woman would do.

  It was then that she had the most comforting, peaceful thought she had ever had in her entire life.

  She could call him.

  Oh my God! She could call him! She loved it. Now, she knew that it was always better to not call the guy, but this was different. This was killing her. This was not empowering—waiting by the phone for some guy to call. This was not in any way what she called women’s lib. She was going to call him. But Georgia did know enough to get a second opinion. Unfortunately, she ended up getting a second opinion from Ruby because she couldn’t get me on the phone (I was with Thomas in Bali, I’m sorry!) and Alice didn’t pick up when Georgia called. If Georgia had spoken with either Alice or me, we would have said, “Don’t call, don’t call, don’t call.”

  In my book there are many reasons why you shouldn’t call, but th
e main one is that it’s the only way to find out what his intentions really are. You need to know how long he can go without talking to you, unencumbered by your meddlesome phone calls, emails, or texts. If you call, you are contaminating the evidence. But we weren’t available and Georgia called Ruby, and Ruby is all heart, all emotion, and you could basically get her to say anything you wanted her to.

  Georgia quickly explained the situation to Ruby, then asked, “So, there’s nothing wrong with calling him, right? I mean, there’s no rule saying that I can’t call him, is there?”

  Ruby shook her head as she clicked on the NYU Medical Center web-site. She was searching the Net for information about artificial insemination. “I don’t think there’s a rule, per se, but I have a feeling there’s a strong suggestion out there not to call.”

  “I know. But I can’t get any work done. It’s driving me crazy! I just need to know what’s going on!”

  Ruby didn’t know Georgia well, but she could tell when someone was becoming mildly hysterical. Then Georgia pulled out the real trump card, the defense for calling, which only highly experienced daters can argue against.

  “But maybe something happened to him,” Georgia pointed out. “What if something has happened to him and I’m sitting here with my pride instead of treating him like any other friend who I was expecting to hear from and didn’t? I would be worried and I would call him.”

  It seemed like a completely logical argument. (Why-oh-why didn’t Alice and I pick up our phones?)

  “You’re right. If he was just a friend of yours, which he is, you would call him and find out what’s up.”

  “Exactly!” Georgia said happily. “I have the right to treat him just as I would any friend.”

  She hung up on Ruby and started dialing Bryan’s phone as quickly as she could get her fingers to move.

  Like someone who has just taken a shot of migraine medicine, Georgia was ecstatic that her pain was going to be alleviated momentarily. As she dialed, she felt proactive. Strong. There’s nothing worse than feeling powerless over your own life. Or helpless over some guy.