I Said Yes: My Story of Heartbreak, Redemption, and True Love (16 page)

Michelle’s exit interview was hilarious. She was as smart as she was sassy and sexy. She and I stayed in touch after the filming ended.

And then there were four.

It’s a great honor to be given a hometown date. And it’s also exciting. A chance to hop off the crazy train of emotional upheaval and constant traveling to be surrounded by those you love (though you are not allowed to talk to your family about anything having to do with the show). Watching previous episodes, I’d seen how fun these dates were, being with family who are in your corner. But when arrangements were
being made for Chantal to fly out to Seattle, Ashley to Maine, and Shawntel to California, and the girls were squealing with delight at being able to break at home, I was less enthusiastic.

Seeing Ricki, of course, was the highlight. I couldn’t wait to scoop her up in my arms. But for various reasons, none of my family members, nor the Hendricks, were willing to share the experience with me. This made me sad. I had visions of Chantal, Ashley, and Shawntel showing Brad off to their perfect families in their perfect houses chowing down their perfect lunches and dinners and touring their perfect towns. In comparison, my hometown date seemed, well, lonely, a sentiment that only reinforced my sad and depressing story line. And I wasn’t 100 percent sold on Brad meeting my daughter. It felt fake, like playing house.

I missed Ricki something fierce. And I was feeling so conflicted at how far along I’d come on the show and that my relationship—or however it could be defined—with Brad was progressing. I liked him, but loved my daughter more. And my homesickness trumped what could possibly be love. Some of my family members were even trying hard to persuade me to call the whole thing off and come home. The producers knew all this and were generous to film my hometown date first and then fly Ricki and me to New York City where we would spend a few days together waiting for the other girls to arrive to film the rose ceremony prior to being whisked off to another unknown destination.

I can’t even begin to tell you what it felt like to have Ricki in my arms back in Charlotte. Her bright smile, her dreamy eyes, her shampoo-scented hair, her giddy chatter, her little hands clutching mine—I soaked it all in. Home. That’s what
it felt like. Home. Seeing my mom and being able to catch up with her was another blessing. Though I couldn’t share any of my experience, none of the nitty-gritty details, I was happy to see my mom (not saying one way or the other that I did or didn’t abide by the contract by keeping mum during my time with her).

We had a heart-to-heart during some anxiously awaited alone time, and she admitted one of the reasons she opted off the show was because she wouldn’t be able to handle what could end up as a heartbreaking situation for me, having to go through two months of intensity only to be broken up with in front of millions of Americans on national TV. It would have torn her up. As a mom, I understood, and still appreciated the fact that she supported me, though in this case off camera.

Ricki meeting Brad, who I presented to her as merely a friend, was more uncomfortable, awkward, and weird than how it looked on the actual episode, which was a good deal of uncomfortable, awkward, and weird. With cameramen and producers scattered around my house, the whole shebang felt so orchestrated. Again, like playing house. Reality as a single mom is not just about flying kites in a park and sweetly tucking in an adorable little girl. As I told Brad later that night, parenthood involves a lot of not-so-sweet things, like taking care of them in the middle of the night when they’re sick. And dealing with annoying tantrums. And needing to travel to mostly kid-friendly places. And not being able to be totally spontaneous. And not being able to party and kick back for the night because you can sleep in the next morning.

Obviously, I knew all this because I was in the trenches. I didn’t want to scare the poor guy off. I liked him. I did. But
my feelings were spotted with the realities of raising a child, the realities of life’s inevitable messes, the reality behind the cameras. I wondered if Brad was ready to accept, to even welcome, the sacrifices that came along with being a stepparent. I hoped he was, but I wasn’t confident. Perhaps I came off a bit too strong, but when it comes to my little girl, I’ll always err on the side of being overly cautious.

After spending a day or two in Charlotte, Ricki and I took off for New York City, while Chantal, Ashley, and Shawntel prepared for their hometown dates. I needed that break with my girl and time off from filming to feel normal again.

Ricki was the focus of the entire week. We did whatever she wanted to do, which included a trip on Broadway to see
The Lion King
, a day at the American Girl Place (really, you need at least a day to browse through every inch of the three-floored, forty-two-thousand-square-foot doll heaven), and a visit to the fabulous Serendipity where we stuffed ourselves with hot fudge sundaes and slurped frozen hot chocolate. It was a magical time.

The rose ceremony was planned for the night that Ricki was scheduled to fly back home. My mother flew up from Charlotte so she could travel back to North Carolina with my baby. I needed, and appreciated, those few days of relative ordinariness, just being a mom, trekking through the Big Apple like a giddy tourist. I rode with Mom and Ricki to the airport, the three of us drenched in a deluge of tears and I love yous.

That night in New York City, sans my little girl, was the rose ceremony where Brad said good-bye to Shawntel, who was shocked to be sent home. After Brad took some time to talk to her and I guess explain his choice, which really doesn’t
help any girl who feels sucker punched by rejection, he told us we were going to—wait for it, wait for it—South Africa!

Wowzers! As we three girls shrieked for joy in the Manhattan penthouse suite, I remembered the abysmal stack of questionnaires I had to fill out when I was first being screened for the show. One of the matchmaking-type questions posed was to describe my ideal, most fun date. I didn’t have to think long and hard for that one.
Ride an elephant in Africa
, I scribbled. I hoped that was on the list! Chantal, Ashley, and I said quick good-byes, paired up with now individual producers, and prepared for our separate twenty-hour-plus journeys to South Africa. The next time we’d see one another would be the forthcoming rose ceremony. Talk about weird.

I was buddied up with a producer, a Middle-Eastern–looking guy with crazy hair who wore ponchos and bandanas. Incredibly sweet and funny, he quickly became my best friend throughout the rest of filming. After about a full day of traveling from the States, enduring long layovers and long flights, passing through multiple time zones, and finally touching down in South Africa, my producer and I left the airport, hopping in an open, rugged Jeep driven by a local. We headed toward our hotel, Casa do Sol, located in the province of Mpumalanga and about fifteen minutes from Kruger National Park, one of the largest game reserves in Africa.

Because our hotel was located within a nature and game reserve and next door to an elephant sanctuary, we were given ample opportunities to gawk at majestic elephants and giraffes while they roamed their natural habitat. As we rolled into the driveway of our hotel, a massive and wrinkled elephant crossed straight across our path, playfully swinging its giant trunk in
a graceful cadence. My eyes widened as I shrieked like a little kid. “Can we ride one?” I begged, grabbing my producer’s arm so hard, my fingernails on the verge of leaving marks.

He smiled knowingly, but shook his head. “Not today, you can’t.”

Our resort reminded me of being in Cancun, hence the Mexican name I suppose. Though we were in the wild, the accommodations were luxurious. Lush gardens, tranquil pools, charming cobbled paths, and terracotta Spanish-tiled roofs colored the villas. It was breathtaking. When the sun set that evening, I grabbed my journal and sat on my bedroom balcony staring into the midnight sky. I was too mesmerized by the scene above to start thinking about Brad being on his date with Chantal or Ashley. Sprawled over a sea of black stretched a thick, sparkling blanket of stars, millions and millions of them, some forming staggering clusters that released a powerful shine. I’d never before seen anything like that—and going back to South Africa to see those wonders of the night sky again is high on my bucket list.

I was grateful for the opportunity to be in South Africa, to get a glimpse of raw nature, untouched, unfiltered, and so mind-blowing. Being alone on the balcony, gazing into heaven, I loved what felt like an escape. I don’t want to come off as being unappreciative, but by this point, I was so tired. I was tired of sharing Brad with other women (and yes, I know that was the point of the show). I was tired of overanalyzing every conversation I had with him. And I was tired of being alone. I wanted to either be with Brad or go home. I just wanted normal life back.

The next morning, the South African sun greeted me with
muted shades of orange, pink, and red, along with a troupe of playful monkeys clowning around on my balcony. Doing my first interview of the day proved difficult, with the curious animals screeching and whooping as they swung from one side of the roof to the other, swatting the boom mic in the process. It was cute to watch, but the amusing diversion became annoying when we had to do a dozen-plus takes.

By the time Brad and I had our date, I was so ready for my turn at alone time with him. As I waited in what seemed the middle of nowhere for Brad to whisk me away, imagine my surprise when I heard the trumpeting roar of an elephant in the midst of snapping branches. Yup, I almost peed my pants. And there was Brad, doing what I’ve always dreamed of doing—riding an elephant! I was shaking, a crazy mixture of nerves and excitement, as a few locals hoisted me up onto this ten-thousand-pound animal, its ears slapping wildly against tough, wrinkly skin. I was glad to share this moment with Brad. We laughed like giddy schoolgirls as we rocked side to side in time with the elephant’s surprisingly graceful gait.

After the ride of a lifetime, Brad and I were led to a dock that overlooked a large, muddy pond. The brown body of water was cluttered by elephants of varying sizes that rolled around, played with one another, and trumpeted squeals. One of the producers asked us to go for a swim, but I refused. Only a few seconds earlier, I had seen an elephant relieve itself of a giant pile of you-know-what and, excuse me, um, what now? You want me to go swimming in that? I think not.

My feelings for Brad were the same. I liked him. He was warm, kind, sweet, a gentleman. I admired the same qualities now as I had when we first started getting to know each
other. Yet, he wasn’t as funny as I wanted him to be, and even though we had a great time together, he always seemed a bit uptight. Whenever I would mention this to the producers, they reassured me with things like, “Oh, Emily, he’s just so nervous around you.” I thought it was sweet.
Ahhh, he really likes me!
But really, it was a classic sign that I needed to get to know him, us, a whole lot better.

My emotions were tangled in a debris-ridden rubble of confusion. It was hard to distinguish what was real and what was reality TV. When you’re filming a show like
The Bachelor
, the two get intertwined pretty quickly into an indistinguishable mess. While I felt strongly that I had made the right decision to be cast on the show, things were moving way too fast for me to process my emotions in a healthy and wise way. Reflecting back, I think I just wanted to want to fall in love with Brad. I think I wanted to want to be engaged to him. Because, really, I had no business talking about a serious relationship, let alone marriage, to someone I had just met. But the pressure for me to explain my feelings to Brad, the ones I wasn’t sure I had, mounted each day and made me think twice about what I was getting myself into.

I was tired of what was starting to feel like work. I tried hard to make Brad comfortable by opening up and being more vocal about my feelings, but the fact was, I was one of three girls now, and I didn’t want to spend the last few days chasing him around like a little puppy. I sure wouldn’t act like that with a guy in real life.

While I didn’t plan on spending the night with Brad, I couldn’t wait to spend time with him off camera in the infamous suite. Before I stepped into the room after dinner, my
producer pulled me aside and said, “Emily, we need you to be more open with him. Show him how you feel.”

Brad and I sat on the wicker couch in the Fantasy Suite, surrounded by producers and cameramen, talking to each other but basically waiting for everyone to leave. It had been a long day and we wanted to relax, alone. Being in the suite was a light at the end of the tunnel. But nobody would leave. The crew stayed, filming. Watching. Waiting.

And that’s when I did it. “Brad,” I said, “I am falling in love with you.” Actually, I said, “I’m absolutely, completely falling in love with you.”

We talked for a while. Brad and I both opened up about our past relationships, enjoying each other’s company. It was sweet.