And Michael wasn’t exactly bad, although for someone with more experience than me, I often wondered just what exactly I was supposed to be taking away from the experience. He’d had a few girlfriends before we got together – it made sense, he was six years older than me – but I never got the impression that sex was something that really drove him. It was more like a conquest – like something he demanded from me because I was his girlfriend. And then his fiancée.
And soon, I’d be his wife. I’d be Mrs. Michael Bennett, one of the richest women in New York. The money was appealing to me – it would be a blatant lie to say otherwise. But mostly, if I was being honest with myself, I’d accepted Michael’s proposal because I didn’t know what else I was supposed to do. We’d been together three years at that point, a time which Heather eloquently referred to as “shit or get off the pot.”
And then that pot came, in the form of a boring diamond solitaire from Tiffany’s, I felt absolutely obligated to say yes. After all, if I said no, wouldn’t that mean that I’d strung Michael along?
We’d met when I was twenty-two, and fresh out of undergrad. I’d attended an open house at Columbia, thinking about grad school. Michael had been there – he’d actually been with another girl, playing the part of a patient boyfriend while his girlfriend listened earnestly to the drone of the presenter. But as soon as she’d gone to get a glass of water, he’d walked over to me and handed me his business card. He’d been all of twenty-eight, and that had seemed exotic to me at the time. He was like, a real adult: someone with bills to pay and a car to drive and his own condo, that he made payments on.
At least, that’s what I’d thought at the time. Michael had been dressed sloppily, and aside from the sterling silver Frank Lloyd Wright card case he’d been carrying, I hadn’t really thought anything about an obvious display of wealth. I’d thought he was just like everyone else. I was so naïve I didn’t even recognize his last name
– Bennett – and tie him to one of the wealthiest families in New York.
Michael had called every day for a week. I’d never picked up – I’d immediately regretted giving my number to a guy with a girlfriend, like I’d violated some ironclad rule of the female sisterhood. But finally, he left a message on my voicemail.
“Beth, this is the last time I’m calling. I broke up with Tania – I know she wouldn’t be the kind of girl I want to be serious about in the future. You’re that kind of a girl, and I know it because you’re too classy to think about dating a guy with a girlfriend. I like you, Beth, and I want to explore this. So you’ve got a little time. Call me back, but I won’t be calling ever again.”
The message hadn’t exactly been flattering – was he only interested in me because I’d turned him down? But it had struck an odd chord with me, and I’d found myself thinking about him day after day in the next few days. Finally, I’d had a shot of vodka and then called him. Michael had asked me to dinner the next day, and the next week I was officially his girlfriend. I lost my virginity in a suite at the Plaza Hotel.
Whenever I was alone with Michael, our relationship seemed normal. We talked about our days, we talked about the kinds of things we wanted for the future. We could settle in a peaceful silence and it wasn’t bad – it was comfortable, the kind of thing that made me feel like I could spend the rest of my life with him.
But whenever I was with Heather and her endless rotating cycle of boyfriends, or any of my other friends, or hell – even just another couple, I felt weird. I realized that they all had things in common that Michael and I had never even come close to. Heather and her boyfriends always had inside jokes. They would whisper something close to one another’s ear, leaning in until they were the only ones privy. They’d throw their heads back in synchronized laughter. They’d touch each other, resting a hand casually on the other’s thigh, or wrapping an arm around the other’s shoulders.
It had made me feel like something was really missing from my relationship. I’d made up my mind to talk to Michael about it immediately, but once I’d sat down with him, I completely lost my nerve. He was so quiet and so austere that I couldn’t think of how I could possibly approach a topic like this.
Finally, I screwed up my courage and asked.
“Michael, why aren’t we like other couples?”
He stared at me. “What are you talking about, Beth? We’re just like other couples.” Michael smiled, but somehow it only set me more on edge.
I frowned. “We’re not,” I said slowly. “We’re not the kind of couple who touches each other, or hugs. You don’t even kiss me good-bye when I leave.”
Michael snickered. “Normally, because you leave in the morning,” he said. “Your breath stinks, Beth. I won’t kiss you until you brush.”
“But don’t you love me?”
“Of course I do,” Michael said impatiently. “If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t be with you.”
“I’m not just talking about caring about me,” I said slowly. “I mean, like, do you really love me? Are you in love with me?”
Michael shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t really know the difference. To me, they’re all the same thing.”
It had come as a blow. But when I’d talked to Heather about it, she said that I was just overreacting.
“You guys are fine,” she said. “I mean, not everyone is really affectionate. Come on, you’d probably get tired of someone pawing at you all the time. Sometimes I just need personal space, but it’s like guys can’t ever take their hands off me.”
“But what’s wrong with me?” I asked softly, glancing down at my hands in my lap.
“Nothing!” Heather laughed. “You have to relax, babe. I promise – everything’s fine. Just trust me, Michael is a reserved guy. He loves you, though.”
“I don’t know,” I said bleakly. “He admitted that he doesn’t think there’s a difference between caring for someone and loving them.”
Heather sighed. “Didn’t he just buy you a new car this year?”
I nodded.
“Well, would you buy a car for someone you don’t love?”
I looked at her blankly. “What does that have to do with anything?”