Around the World in 80 Dates (38 page)

I walked to the front of the bus and sat on the seat behind Lloyd. “Excuse me, but do you know how often buses go from Middlemarch to Queenstown?” I asked him.

“Just once a day at 5 p.m.,” Lloyd replied in a mildly alarmed way, as if I'd just asked where in Middlemarch I'd be able to buy a Ferrari after 10 p.m.

“Oh, it's okay,” I reassured him, “I'm booked onto it tomorrow. I just wondered if there was more than one a day.”

“No,” Lloyd said apologetically, as if personally troubled he couldn't provide more frequent service. “I'm afraid that's all there is.”

I thanked him and made my way back to my seat. Glumly staring out of the window, I could see we were the only vehicle on the only road for miles. I watched a cinnamon-colored colt race exuberantly around the grass, radiating an absolute joy at being a horse and alive on the side of this desolate mountain. I suddenly felt trapped and more tired than I'd ever felt in my life.
Please don't make me have to do any more dating,
I thought earnestly. I had to find a way out. I just had to.

Going back up to the front, I apologized for interrupting Lloyd again. “But I was just wondering,” I asked him, “will we make it to Middlemarch in time for the 5 p.m. bus to Queenstown?”

“Madam,” Lloyd replied solemnly, “we
are
the 5 p.m. bus to Queenstown. We go right the way through.”

I could have kissed him. Lloyd must have sensed this and, seeking the protection of his steering wheel, hunched over it defensively. This wasn't going to make me popular, but I sensed an escape plan. “Lloyd,” I said (he was my getaway driver, I had the right to call him by his first name), “I might need to do some explaining, but if I wanted to ride all the way to Queenstown with you tonight, would that be okay?”

“Yes, that's fine by me,” he replied gravely.

 

So we pulled into Middlemarch.

I'm ashamed to admit that, when the bus came to a stop, I hesitated in my seat. If my cell phone had been working, I could have just rung and canceled all the arrangements, but we were miles from any phone reception so I was going to have to do it in person. For a moment I was tempted to just stay on the bus, keep going, and sort it all out when I got to Queenstown.

Lloyd had other ideas, though. “Barry and Lorna run the B&B you're staying at, he runs the garage, too. You could go over and tell them you're not stopping, but I thought I just saw Barry drive off.”

I felt rightly chastised by Lloyd for thinking of taking the cowardly way out. I got out of the bus and walked across the road to the neat bungalow Lloyd had pointed out to me. Two old men were standing talking outside the general store, but they broke off their conversation to watch me cross the road. This was a small village: If Lloyd knew where I was staying, he—and—everyone else—probably knew what I was doing here, too.

But, whatever. I was more concerned about how I was going to explain to Barry and Lorna why I wasn't staying at their house tonight:
“I seem to have overextended myself romantically and need to leave the country as soon as possible.”
I felt so overwhelmed, I barely understood what was going on myself; how I would explain it to Barry and Lorna was anyone's guess. Or, I suddenly thought, hope erupting like a volcano in my heart, was I going to be lucky enough to find them out and escape having to make any explanation at all?

As I opened the gate and walked up the path to the front door of the bungalow, an intense feeling of guilt and fear washed over me, as if I were a burglar who could be caught at any moment.

Arriving at the net-curtained front door, through a side window I could make out a neat single bed, covered with a candlewick bedspread, a towel folded tidily on the pillow. My room. “Please be out. Please be out,” I whispered over and over again as I rang the doorbell.

The seconds ticked by.
Please…please…

I let a full thirty seconds drag endlessly by before breathlessly thinking,
Right—no question, they're out!
and bolting back down the path and out onto the street, slamming the front gate shut behind me.

Running back across the road to the petrol station, “Is Barry in?” I asked the young mechanic behind the counter as I hurtled into the office. He stopped wiping a silver wrench with an oily cloth and looked at me suspiciously. “No. He's at home,” he replied shortly, as if fearing to engage me in conversation.

My heart was beating really fast now.
Please don't let him be home when I turn around, please don't let Lorna and Barry and the Judge and the Bachelor be sitting in the car outside their house waiting for me,
a voice gabbled wildly in my head.

“No, he's out,” I replied with more certainty than I felt and without turning around to check.

“Oh,” the mechanic replied dully.

He studied me through half-downcast eyes. He almost certainly knew why I was here. It was as if he was refusing to make eye contact with me for fear I'd leap over the counter, rip the wrench out of his hand, and ravish him where he stood.

Well, frankly, if he wanted ravishing, he'd have to take a ticket and wait his turn.

“Can you please give him a message?” I asked politely in my best
I am respectable, you know,
posh English accent.

“Sure,” the mechanic replied, though clearly he was anything but.

“Please tell him Jennifer came by and she's very sorry, but something came up and she's not going to be staying. Please tell him I'm very sorry,” I repeated. “Tell Lorna, too,” I added guiltily.

“Okay,” he said, making full eye contact for the first time and looking surprised.

“You got that?” I checked. He nodded, looking down again now as if I'd already left.

Suddenly elated, I rushed out of the garage and jumped back onto the bus that was waiting on the forecourt, engine running.

“Everything okay?” Lloyd asked as I collapsed into my seat. I nodded, too wired to talk.

“Want to use the restroom before we go?” he inquired. I looked at Lloyd in wide-eyed amazement. Was he insane? I could be dragged off the bus and made to date the Bachelor of the Year at any moment. We didn't have time for me to go to the toilet. We needed to leave this very moment.

I shook my head and the automatic doors whirred shut. And without being pulled over by the police, sirens blazing, giving me the choice of dating the Bachelor or serving a long stretch in jail for wasting police and everyone else's time, we quietly drove out of Middlemarch. After fifteen minutes, we started climbing up into the mountains. And Middlemarch was lost in the distance.

 

It was over. I couldn't believe it. My journey was over. All those dates; all those adventures; all those people; all those places. It was over. I was going home.

It had been quite a journey: the skaters; the Vikings; the midnight-sun sauna; the festival in the desert; the fires in the mountains; the Elvis impersonators; the surfer; the ravers; the Romeos…all those bloody boats.

It had been an emotional journey, too: learning to trust my instincts and know that because I'd made stupid mistakes in the past didn't mean I was going to make them forever.

And realizing how wonderful my friends were and how lucky I was to know them. I go on about how technology made the journey possible, but, really, it was my friends (and their friends) who had made it all happen. And I'm not just talking about their contacts; accepting my friends' and family's support and realizing the value of their advice had been an important lesson in itself.

Just at that moment, from inside my bag, my cell phone gave a little cheep. Now down from the mountains and driving through lush green valleys where farms were fringed by wide rivers, their water cold and fresh from the mountains, I finally had a signal on my phone. Phew, I was back in the world again.

I took it out of my bag, and there was text from Garry. I knew he'd be packing up after a basketball game, with Jon, Doug, JR, OB, and the rest of the crew.
sorry I've been so busy: I want u 2 know how v important u r 2 me,
it read.

I gave a wobbly little smile and felt the tears sting in my eyes. I blinked hard and texted him straight back with my news:
dating tour over. thank u 4 being so loving and trusting. am so lucky 2 know u.

u've finished?
he texted back immediately.

chosen 2 finish,
I replied carefully.

How u feel—exhausted, victorious…?
he asked.

Feeling a little ashamed and very emotional, I texted back:
v long story, will tell all when c u. 4 now feel drained but happy. love & miss u. flying to Seattle 2MORROW if okay?

I had to see Garry. And I wanted to tell him everything that had happened: He deserved to know the truth. But I was going to tell him in person, not over the phone or email or instant message or text. In fact, much as I loved technology, I was sick of having a relationship through it. I was going to try to have our relationship face to face from now on.

I had no idea how it would all work. Would I move to America? Would he move to London? Would we commute between the two?

I had no plans. And that was fine: We'd make them together.

Looking out the window at the soft chocolate-colored mountains topped by the purple clouds at sunset, I felt utterly spent. But I also had a sense of absolute certainty about this. I'd made the right decision. I was sure of it.

Another text popped up;
YES! It's about time u came home.

I smiled and shut my eyes. That's how it felt to me, too: like coming home.

Happily ever after…

What comes after
happily ever after?

I mean, once we close the book and sigh happily, do the Prince and his Princess drive on unobserved, holding hands and cuddling up in their golden carriage? Or does the Princess wriggle away from her hero, snapping: “You're ruining my dress, for chrissakes, stop sitting on it” as the Prince, engrossed in the latest issue of
Men's Health,
dreams of buff bodies and tunes her out?

I suppose what I'm saying is, it wasn't until I was flying from New Zealand to Seattle that I stopped to consider the small print of my
happily ever after.
And was completely terrified. I mean, no question Garry and I were in love and were meant to be together, but how exactly was it going to work on a daily basis?

Arriving in Seattle, I was relieved to find Garry in a similar state; so, agreeing we'd take it one day at a time, he gave me a key to his house and I moved in.

Real life
caught up with me almost immediately. I'd been traveling for ages, and deadlines for long-overdue articles circled ominously overhead like hungry vultures. But since—as I'd just proven—technology meant that wherever I lay my Mac, that's my home, we hatched a plan. I'd spend the rest of the winter with Garry in Seattle, soldiering through my U.K. deadlines, and Garry would carry on as usual, working the busy basketball season. This was the perfect solution, since it meant that straightaway we were forced to get on with our
normal
lives without being daunted by the big picture. And as a result, building a life together simply happened.

Gradually, my life in Seattle took shape. I was with a man I adored and adored being with; but I also instinctively recognized that my Soul Mate couldn't give me everything I needed. Good friends; Seattle Athletic Club; KEXP, XM, and NPR on the radio…I went about finding the equivalent essentials to my life in London, and that made Seattle feel more like home.

But as much as I needed elements of my London life, being with Garry meant much more to me. Being around him seemed to bring a part of me to life that I'd almost forgotten about; for the first time in ages, I was someone's girlfriend and didn't feel on my own anymore. I don't mean that to sound quite as self-pitying as it possibly does, or to imply that I didn't already have special people in my life (if I were one of those people who drop their friends at the first sign of Love Action, I'd be the first to call myself a total cow). Finding your Soul Mate isn't about having someone who
replaces
your friends; it's a different relationship altogether. Now at the end of the day when I turn my computer off, I'll go downstairs and Garry will be there, cooking dinner or lighting the fire. I'll mix us a cocktail and find some good music, and another part of the day begins. Another part of me begins.

It's a more intimate and private part of me that grows out of sitting across the table from my super-cute boyfriend, sharing a wonderful meal and catching up on the day, and falling asleep in his arms, knowing he'll wake up wanting me, even though I haven't brushed my teeth or combed my hair. I can be
me.
And no matter where Garry is, I feel a deep sense of peace from that honest and loving bond.

Look away for a minute when I say this, since it's a bit embarrassing, but…my relationship with Garry makes me feel more attractive, too. And that feels a-m-a-z-i-n-g. Not because I'm looking to catch the attention of other guys (trust me—if I never go on another date again, that'll be too soon), but because, deep down, I'm actually quite shy. I need to be with a man I really love and trust before I'm ready to explore the fun and power of being a woman. Garry reached in and gently drew out a part of me that had been shut down for ages. He does it with the tiniest things: always holding my hand when we walk down the street, letting me leave a silly outgoing message on our answering machine, going for walks when I know he'd rather drive, talking about feelings when I know he'd sooner eat broken glass…In relationships, the smallest things underpin the biggest. And, yes, it's crazy that I had to travel literally to the ends of the earth to discover such a simple truth: that falling in love with a
good
man makes you happy.

But I
did
have to travel to the ends of the earth. It's taken me this long to understand that I had to keep traveling to prove to myself that my instincts about Garry were right, and also to give Garry the chance to back out. I didn't want to date another
commitmentphobe,
nor did I want to give up the things in life I loved, like the freedom to travel. I wanted him to know me for who I was and still want me. I set us both a tough test because I was scared and I needed to be sure. I needed us both to be sure.

And all that traveling and testing brought me here: to the man I always dreamed of, but never dared hope I'd find. And part of what makes being with Garry so
right
is that, for all its glorious magic, our relationship is really very normal. He can't fathom how I can spend hours wandering around stores and come away at the end of it empty-handed; I fail to grasp the allure of NASCAR or
Iron Chef.
But it works. We're matched, and that's the essence of a Soul Mate: someone who's like you to a point, and someone you like enough beyond that point to be open to their ideas and interests. You'll probably laugh to hear that this summer Garry and I, the famously seasick woman, bought a little sailboat called
Date #55.

Everyone else seems to have picked up on what a perfect match Garry and I are. In fact, it's quite extraordinary how thrilled but totally matter-of-fact all my friends seem to be about the outcome of my quest.

My parents, who'd been understandably anxious that I was dating my way around the world, have become very fond of Garry (as I am of his parents):

My mother emailed after my last visit back to England (making me realize, not for the first time, that mothers see far more than they ever let on).

Now a year has passed since I ended my Dating Odyssey, and as I look back over the incredible adventure that led me to Garry, I feel a sense of wonder and pride. Did I really travel around the world in eighty dates? Did Garry really say he was okay with me continuing after I met him? Now that it's all over, it seems a crazy thing to have done; yet at the time it felt like the most logical and practical course of action.

I think of my Dates often. I honestly hope I didn't hurt anyone's feelings: They are good people and deserve to find their Soul Mates and happiness, too. I don't want to be the only person who benefited from my Dating Odyssey. In fact, I'd like to think some of them will try aspects of it for themselves. You, too. Like the Relationship Résumé or the Soul Mate Job Description. And although I suspect my solution isn't for everyone, I did learn a couple of things that possibly are. Firstly, that before I could find my Soul Mate, I had to be brutally honest about how much room there was in my life for him, and be prepared to rearrange my priorities accordingly. Secondly, that I believed that with hard work, I would find an exciting job, lovely friends, and a body that didn't wobble too much when I walked—yet, strangely (or perhaps because I'd been hurt and disappointed before), I had no such expectations of my love life. When it came to
earning
a decent boyfriend, I lacked the same confidence and ambition.

My journey around the world in eighty dates changed all that and gave me reason to take a huge leap of faith. I am indebted to those friends, both old and new, who allowed me to see what total nonsense it is to believe (with apologies to Nat King Cole) that
“When I
fail
in love, it will be forever.”

—Jennifer Cox
    December 2004