The Spinster Sisters (18 page)

“Carly, don’t bother the nice people,” her mother admonishes. “Let them eat in peace.”

“She’s no bother,” I say.

“Carly, that’s a nice name,” Ben says. He is amazing with kids. Probably because he still is one.

The two of them talk very seriously for a few minutes. I watch Carly develop her first crush. Ben is a very charming fellow. But they are interrupted when Carly’s parents receive the check and get up to leave.

“Say good-bye, sweetheart.”

“Good-bye, sweetheart,” Carly says to Ben solemnly, clearly sad to be leaving.

“Good-bye, princess.” Ben kisses her hand dramatically. They leave, Carly looking back over her shoulder all the way out the door.

“Careful, tiger, I’m liable to get jealous, you fawning all over that younger woman right in front of me!”

“Wasn’t she a doll? I can’t wait to have a couple of my own!”

“You’ll make a wonderful father.” Which he will.

“And you’ll make a wonderful mother.” He leans in to kiss me again. I stop him.

“I’ll make a wonderful godmother. A helluva aunt. But not a mother, not me.”

“Stop that, you’ll be fantastic.”

“Ben, I didn’t mean that I questioned my own ability to be a good mother; I meant that I have no intention of being one. I don’t want kids.”

“Sure you do.”

“No, darlin’, I don’t.”

“But you’re a woman.” For Ben, this is all the logic he needs.

“Yes, I am.”

Ben pauses, obviously confused. Then a strange look comes over his face, and he tilts his head at me. “You know, there’s always adoption.”

Oy vey.
“Ben, don’t look at me like that. I’m not barren. At least I don’t think I am. I just don’t want to have kids. I like my life, I like my vision for my future. And it doesn’t include children of my own, natural or adopted.”

“I don’t know what to say.” He is looking at me like I’m an alien life-form.

“You don’t have to say anything; it is just who I am.”

“But what if your husband wants children?”

“Ben, if I get married again, and that is a
big
if, I would never marry someone who wanted kids. I would marry someone who already had kids. Frankly, I think I’d make an adorable step-mother. But this is sort of a deal-breaker for me.”

“So you’re saying I have to choose between you and my desire to be a dad or I have to get married to someone else, have kids, get divorced, and then come back to you.”

“Oh, Benji. I’m flattered that you would even think of me as the possible mother of your future children, but we have only known each other for a couple of months . . .”

And a dark cloud moves across his features. “Are you seeing other people?” He looks wounded.

“Well, yes. I mean, I told you when we first started going out that I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship. Aren’t you dating other women?”

“No. I’m not. I thought, I mean, it was one thing in the very beginning, but I can’t, I mean, splitting focus and all, and . . .” He can’t seem to get a coherent sentence out.

I reach over and squeeze his arm. “Ben, I think you’re wonderful, but I’m not in a serious relationship place right now. And I enjoy your company, but I have to be free to live my life my way. I don’t mean that to be hurtful; I just want to be honest.”

“Well, do you think you might get into a more serious place sometime in the foreseeable future?”

How do you tell someone that he just isn’t ever going to be that guy? You don’t. You chicken out. “I honestly don’t know, Ben.” Always use the word
honestly
when you’re lying. No one will suspect you. I’m a cow. “I’m not ruling it out. But I’m not making promises.”

I hate this. I really do like him, I like hanging out with him. Why I can’t just say that we should be friends is beyond my own comprehension. We aren’t compatible physically, so the relationship is pretty chaste, with the exception of some decent good-night kissing. But I know he thinks he is giving me space to get back to a place of intimacy, and it just isn’t going to happen. So why can’t I tell him that? What is it about me that I like having him pursuing me romantically and not just being friends?

Ben smiles. “No, it’s fine. I’m glad we both are on the same page. I definitely want us to keep hanging out. No worries. Nonexclusive. It’s fine.”

This is where I get nervous. Ben looks like I just handed him a challenge. But I have to take him at his word.

“Okay then, shall we go to this party?” I say, getting up out of my chair.

“Absolutely,” he says, his voice filled with brave enthusiasm. I can hear his gears turning. I’m starting to dread the evening. Mostly because I feel like sort of a bitch, and I hate that.

“Off we go.” He offers me his arm, I take it, and we head out to surprise Benna’s new boyfriend.

 
“Okay, everyone, quiet! He’ll be here any minute!” Benna says in an exaggerated stage whisper.

There are maybe fifteen of us crowded into Gino’s spare living room, waiting for the door to open. It is almost nine thirty, and so far, so good. Ben has been charming and funny, Jill has given her stamp of approval, and Paige has winked at me so many times she looks as if she has a tic. He has fetched drinks, made friends with all of Gino’s pals, and been generally adorable. He’s bounced back remarkably from our uncomfortable earlier exchange and seems bound and determined to be a jovial and attentive companion, which is part of why I do like him so much.

“
Shhhhhhhh!
He’s here!” Gino’s helpful neighbor yelps from the window where he has spotted Gino’s car turn the corner. We all hunker down, and I wonder how it is that the sound of fifteen people breathing can be so loud. After several long moments, there is a key in the lock and the door swings open.

“Surprise!!!”
we all yell as someone throws the lights on. And then, silence.

Gino is standing in his open doorway with an attractive blonde, one hand still inside her blouse, the other holding his keys, mouth agape.

“Who the fuck is
that
?” Benna says with venom in her voice.

“Who the fuck are
you
?” the blonde snaps.

“What the fuck is going on?” Gino says, releasing the blonde’s left breast and letting his hand drop to his side.

One by one we all replace our drinks on the nearest surface and begin to sidle out, no one making eye contact, sheepish and embarrassed.

 
 
“Poor baby, what a mess!” Paige says to Benna, handing her the umpteenth tissue.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Jill adds, squeezing her arm.

“He’s a total tool,” Ben says, which makes the rest of us laugh. We all waited downstairs for Benna and then whisked her back to Jill’s, where the four of us are commiserating with a bottle of Glenlivet.

“I mean, three months we’ve been dating! Three months! Shouldn’t I have been able to expect that he wasn’t still seeing other people?”

“Well . . .” I begin, then I think better of it.

“Well, what?” she asks.

“Nothing. Never mind.” This is not the right time to explain my views on dating protocols.

“No, really, I’d like to hear.” Benna blows her nose loudly and takes another swig of her whiskey.

“Well, did you and he ever have a conversation about making the relationship exclusive?”

“No, not specifically, but I just thought, I mean, once you start seeing someone regularly . . .”

“Look, Benna, tonight was awful for you, and I’m so sorry. I know your feelings are hurt. But it has only been three months you and he have been together, and if you never had a conversation about not seeing other people, then he wasn’t doing anything wrong. And since you didn’t have plans with him tonight, it’s sort of hard to fault him.”

Three pairs of eyes turn to glare at me.

“What? I’m just being honest.”
Yeesh
.

“Jodi, I think it’s easy to believe that in a dating situation, after several months and a certain level of intimacy, one might be able to assume exclusivity without having to make a federal case of it,” Paige says.

“You can see how she would believe that,” Ben pipes in, making pointed eye contact as he does.

“Now wait, don’t everyone jump on Jodi.” Thank God Jill will be on my side. “We have always recommended that women should be more direct about periodically addressing the boundaries of their relationships and ensuring that they are on the same page as their partners.”

“In order to avoid these sorts of misunderstandings,” I say.

“That’s all well and good,” Benna says. “But can we just not talk about it right now? Right now I want to just focus on the continuing proof that I only pick the wrong guys.”

“You got it,” I say. “How about we leave you to it?”

“Thanks, Jodi,” she says.

“Good night, Benna,” Ben says, walking over and kissing her hand, much as he did earlier with little Carly. “I’m sorry about that idiot. But it was nice to meet you anyway.”

“Good night guys,” I say, and Ben and I leave Jill’s.

“Can I come upstairs?” he asks.

I think it over. On the one hand, I’m tired. On the other, I don’t want Ben to feel like I’m punishing him for our earlier conversation.

“It’s fine if you want to come up, but I’m kind of tired, so I’m not up for much. Is that okay?”

“Of course. You know, Jodi, I just like being with you. It isn’t always about sex.”

“Well, I like being with you, too.”

He leans over and kisses me gently, and we walk upstairs.

A nice, quiet snuggle and a good-night kiss turn into talking, laughing, more kissing, and a witness to the sunrise. And this is why I am so reluctant to let go of Ben. Because not once did he try to push the advantage. Not once did he try and go further than I wanted. He just kissed me and talked to me and listened to me and held me close. And when he left early this morning, he told me how much he adores me. Which makes me adore him back, even if it doesn’t make me want anything more than what we already have. I hate that I know I’d miss him; it makes me really embarrassingly selfish. And what is worse, times like this really do make me feel like a fraud, since I’d read the riot act to any caller who behaved the same. Ugh.

You cannot blame someone else for something you allow them to do to you. If you have an opinion, assert it. If you don’t want something, don’t accept it. There is a difference between strong and bitchy, and you will have very little control over which label someone else places on you. But you should never be afraid to express your feelings, even if they are potentially offensive to someone else. You can’t live your life doing things you don’t want to do just because you don’t want someone to call you a bitch.

 
 
 
 
Riiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnng.

Fuck. Phone.
I hate when the phone rings early in the morning. I peek at the clock, seven-fucking-thirty for Lord’s sake. My alarm isn’t set to go off till eight.

“H’lo?” I mumble.

“Yes, is Jodi Spingold there?” The thick Jewish accent on the other end of the phone is completely unfamiliar to me. Probably trying to get money for JUF or something.

“I’m sorry, I don’t take solicitations over the phone. You can send me your materials, and I’ll review them.”

“No, miss, I’m not calling to ask you for money. I’m Rabbi Silverman. I’m calling about your get.”

Great, Brant. Just give some random rabbi my number, and don’t bother to tell me.
I take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Rabbi, I wasn’t expecting your call.”

“I just wanted to tell you that you need to come pick up your get; I have it.”

“It’s all set?” Well, maybe Brant isn’t a complete idiot, if he found a way to get it done so easily.

“Well, if you can come by maybe Sunday morning, we can take care of everything.”

“Christmas Eve day?” Seems an odd choice.

“You have big Christmas plans,
nu
? Going to Mass?” he says with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

I laugh. “No, of course not. But I thought Brant was out of town?”

“Brant doesn’t need to be here; he has already taken care of his part.”

I take back all my bad thoughts about this get business; Brant clearly really has organized this in the least painful way possible for me.

“Fine, Sunday morning it is.”

The rabbi gives me his West Rogers Park address, and I agree to meet him at ten in the morning on Sunday. Then I hang up and roll back over, bound and determined to sleep till the alarm goes off if I can possibly manage it.

 
“Can I have extra cherries, please?” Jill asks Aunt Ruth, who is pouring Manhattans.

“Will three suffice, dear?”

“Ample. Thanks.”