I pounced on the king-sized bed, sprawling all fours across the embroidered bedspread, and exhaled in deep satisfaction. I despise made beds–I like mine to look rumpled and comfy, inviting. But I make an exception when it comes to hotel beds at 4 PM. I prefer to lie on my stomach on top of the smoothed blanket and prop my chin underneath my knuckles to watch TV with the ideal prospect of falling into a quick slumber before some fabulous dinner I have to wear a dress at. But I didn’t turn on the TV, because my parents do not make it a habit to pack formalwear in anticipation of attending sumptuous dinners on vacation. They sport fanny packs and polo shirts with pharmaceutical drug brands stitched into the breast pockets while arguing over maps folded 40 times too many. And in this particular moment, they also recount their savvy bargaining on priceline.com for the umpteenth time:
“…and that’s why you just have to ask for what you want. $100 for THIS room on graduation weekend in a college town like Boston?! I thought, no way, they won’t take my bid, but that’s why you have to TRY…”
I rolled over onto my back and stuck out my palm, eyes glued the ceiling moldings. “Nice one, Dad, you’re a real badass. Can I have a peach?”
He rummaged through the twenty-some plastic bags we’d lugged from Haymarket and tossed me a warm fuzzy.
“So how is E.? What is he like?” Mom interrupted. Wow, she must be really desperate for a topic change. I didn’t blame her. She’d probably had front seats to the live, play-by-play online bidding last month.
They had agreed to meet E. for the first time at my graduation, so we were going to dinner at Tresca in the North End tomorrow night. I lay momentarily speechless, finally managing, “He’s good, I guess…he’s a nice guy.”
“Do you like him?”
I smiled at the ceiling. “Yes. I think we will be together for a very long time.” I said this matter-of-factly–I simply could not imagine a time, place, or reason why we would NOT be together.
“Oh, really?” Mom sounded surprised. “Why do you think that?”
I shrugged, sinking my teeth into the soft peach. I licked my lips, catching the juice running to their edges. “I don’t know…we’re just…right for each other, a good match, you know what I mean?”
Dad smiled knowingly. “Yes, I know what you mean.”
Perplexed, I remembered how I used to list every achievement and amenable personality trait of past boyfriends when my mother probed, trying vainly to convince her of their worthiness. Tyler spoke six languages, Wilkerson was president of his fraternity, John…well let’s face it, John was just plain adorable. Even the hard-nosed chairman had to concede to that one. And yet, my parents had just completely accepted my vague explanation of why I was dating E., no skepticism or bubble-bursting rebuttals served up on the side. Was love really that transparent, and dare I say it…simple? Easy to believe, to recognize, to make sense of?
Needless to say, things got complicated–like, Facebook-relationship-status-complicated, and it’s difficult to tell who fell out of love first. It took me a very long time to admit this change of heart which in truth, must have been quite obvious (reminds me of that bathtub scene in Pretty Woman when Richard Gere tells Julia Roberts he dropped 10 g’s to finally declare aloud “I was very aaaaaangry with my father”). For years, I clung to the belief that the breakup was a result of circumstance, logistics, bad timing, whatever–but never a lack of feeling. And yet, at the end of the day, that’s what it has to come down to, doesn’t it?
I’ve fished in the pond pretty frequently since then and as the months have passed, the absence of Prince Charming (and also my slightly more realistic alternative, John Cusack) has encouraged me to settle more, to forgive that midget fin and compromise with discolored scales. To weigh pro/con lists and agree to oooone more date on the offchance that I’ve been totally mistaken about him during the last three. Somehow I’ve developed this mantra that relationships take effort and love ain’t easy…but the thing is, it is. It’s just that it only comes once in a blue moon, when you score a really, really great deal on a hotel room.
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