One More Year: The Romantic Path of Ana Lee (The Path Less Taken Series Book 1)

by SJ Cavaletti

  “Ana, there is no such thing as equality between any two people, neither in a loving relationship or otherwise. Each individual human being is so extraordinarily unique that the best any pair can get out of any union is balance. Yes, I may have already made it in my career but you have strengths that I don’t have.”

  “And what are those?” I asked, surprising myself at my own lack of confidence.

  “How can you even ask that question? You are far more intelligent than I am.”

  I blushed even though the answer was dubious.

  “Carlos, it’s just that… it’s like I worship you. Or like, I look up to you.”

  My gosh, Angelo must have cast some vulnerability spell on me. I continued, “I have come to realize that I admire you and look up to you in a way that perhaps isn’t right in a love affair. The problem of the money issue is a big one, too. My past, you know, my Mom and Dad and how they were… I can’t help but feel I shouldn’t let history repeat itself.”

  “You mean you’re thinking you don’t want to end up an alcoholic, washed up beauty queen,” somehow the words came out devoid of judgment.

  “I should probably punch you for saying that… harsh…” I cracked a half smile, “But yeah.”

  He shook his head and ran his hands through his beautiful, luscious black locks. His hand followed his cheek down to his chin, which he stroked.

  “Well, this is a conundrum. I’m pretty sure that you are breaking it off with me but what you are saying is making me love you more,” he said, “Bittersweet.”

  “I don’t think I’m breaking up with you, Carlos. Just saying what’s on my mind… I have concerns about my own ability to move past some of the circumstances around our relationship.”

  “Seriously… that’s just a fancy way of saying we’re over,” he said, a bit acute for the first time ever. It made me feel sad to feel his energy shift.

  This wasn’t going as planned but it was starting to feel a bit beyond my control. I didn’t think through how Carlos would feel nearly enough. If this was a debate, I hadn’t considered the rebuttals. Bad move.

  “I can’t change being rich and successful,” he said, “I cannot change my age, my children or any of the other things that might feel like a barrier to us being together. I will wait for you forever if you need to travel the world and find a career or need time to engage in my life as it currently exists. But I am too old to wait for you to decide whether or not some of my permanent features are right for you. Ana, this is not an ultimatum… but I need to know now if you can live with these things. We’ve been together for long enough now, clocked up some serious talk time… this shouldn’t still be in question.”

  Oh boy. Being on the spot like this did not suit my personality. I was not emotionally calm under pressure and almost always chose the easy option: to run away. But running away this time could be the worst mistake of my life. Then, something really unexpected happened. My eyes became wet. The condensation pooled in the corners of my eyes and one overflowed with a tear. I felt it rolling down my cheek, heavy as a waterfall. It was the first time I had cried for as long as I could remember.

  My Dad had always told us not to cry. He said that tears were for followers, not leaders. He said that leaders, like anyone else in the world, may feel like crying but that they hold it inside in order to maintain composure so that others may not lose theirs. Tears were not a sign of weakness but of hierarchy. And when explained in that way, I certainly did not want to be a sheep rather than a shepherd.

  Carlos raised his giant thumb to my cheek and gently wiped the tear on his digit. Then he pulled it to his lips and kissed it. His hand pushed my hair behind an ear and he grabbed my hands.

  “Does that tear say it all?” he asked.

  “No, it doesn’t,” I replied, “But I guess it says the most important thing. I’m messed up Carlos. You’re so perfect. Seriously. It really is me and not you. There’s something seriously wrong with me. All I can do is worry. And wonder how we’ll ever get past the barriers that are stacked up against us?”

  Carlos flopped back against the sofa. He put his hands on his stomach and clasped them together, pressing his thumbs firmly against one another. He thought. And thought. And thought. It gave me time to fill up with regret and second-thoughts.

  Finally, he spoke, “It isn’t just you, Ana. I knew I loved you from almost day one. I couldn’t explain it. I saw you sitting on Simon’s lap, the thoughts racing behind your eyes and I had to have that thinker to myself. But, I have insecurities, too. I’ve never been with someone so much younger than myself. Felicity and I are the same age and the only other woman I took seriously, and took home was only a few years younger. It is only natural for us to hesitate. I don’t know the music you like. I’m aging. You will seem forever drinking from the fountain of youth by juxtaposition alone. And, like you, I’ve worried about stifling you. Or subconsciously steering you into a life that suits me. I’m NOT perfect, Ana.”

  I had never seen him speak like this. He had never shown a single doubt.

  “So, does this mean you’re worried it won’t work, too?”

  “No. It means I’m worried I’ll make it work. Whatever the cost.”

  “Carlos. Maybe we should try being friends first?”

  He sat up stiffly and looked me square in the face. “I never wanted to be your friend.”

  This wasn’t going well. Wasn’t he supposed to automatically agree to being friends.

  “So,” I asked, “You don’t want to be my friend?”

  Silence again. Carlos looked out into the emptiness of the room, searching for some answer. The suspense choked me. My heart clenched inside; my stomach squeezed.

  “Ana, I’m not sure if you’re saying that so that his will hurt less than it would otherwise or if you want to keep me within reach in case you change your mind.”

  My immaturity was on display like a window on Fifth Avenue. But he didn’t bother making it look pretty. Still, his question was perfectly legitimate. The truth was, I couldn’t tell what was my own doubt, and the ones I accepted as my own but actually belonged to someone else.

  “I don’t really know, Carlos. I guess… I wish I met you in a different stage of life. I still have so many plans and, all of this. This dancing, this trying to be totally independent. It hasn’t worked its magic yet. I’m still so insecure about everything. Myself, who I am… I… I don’t deserve you. I don’t want you to have to nurture me to the finish line.”

  “Mmmm,” thoughts flashed across his brown eyes, “If I really think about it, that was maybe what I wanted to do most. Help you. Nurture you, as you put it. I see all this potential in you and care for you… I wanted to make it happen.”

  “I know. And that’s, well, that’s a beautiful thing. But it’s like…”

  “Playing Dad?”

  For the first time I saw a flash of anger on his face.

  “Don’t, Ana. I don’t want to be your father. This is already bad enough. I won’t argue with you just to make it easier for you to break up with me.”

  “I’m not…”

  “You are.”

  “I just wanted to slow things down. I’m not sure what I want.”

  “That says it all. When you know, you know. Love isn’t something you figure out.”

  I folded into myself, my heart crushing like a crumpled piece of tinfoil. I wanted to talk more. But there wasn’t more to say. I wanted to take it slowly, see where it was going, he wasn’t going to wait. Maybe he was right, when you know, you know. I did feel romance with Carlos. He intrigued me. Stimulated my mind and awakened my heart. But it never happened. Why? Was I broken? Was I incapable? I hadn’t let Vin love me either, though he had wanted to so badly.

  Just as I wondered if my heart flatlined, Carlos got up for the sofa and went to drawer in a nearby console table. He pulled it out and grabbed a thick, filled envelope. He walked back to me and handed it to me.

  “I really do wish the best for you. T
ake this. Use it to make a start on something that makes your heart sing.”

  I opened the envelope. Hundred dollar bills, aligned tightly against each other in the thousands. Never in my life had I ever felt so confused. Why was he giving me money? And why on earth would I take it?

  “After our conversation on the phone I had Abby run to the bank. It was to help with the South Africa trip.”

  I didn’t know what hurt more. Breaking up with a handsome, intelligent and kind-hearted billionaire. Or being treated like a stripper by someone who said he loved me.

  One More Year

  I went home that afternoon and cried more. The fissure at the side of my eye breached and the floodgates opened. I cried at the realization that I was self-destructive. I cried because I had no guidance in life. I cried because my parents ruined my ability to open my heart to Mr. Right. I cried because I chose to be a stripper instead of moving on in a positive direction. I went to bed with a swollen face and a box of tissues.

  But the next day, everything felt surprisingly normal. It was a work day and I looked forward to seeing the familiar faces and to feeling in control again. I wanted to dress up and make up my face and feel pretty. Being a stripper was transformative for many women, including myself. Pretending to be self-assured, blithe and carefree was like a self-fulfilling prophecy, where the positive response between belief and behavior makes the imagination reality.

  Once there, I changed in my usual spot at the counter and tucked my things away in a locker. I saw all the usual suspects around me. I quickly rushed up to the second floor bar and ordered three shots of Patron. I didn’t have to wait long before the seats I had saved were taken. Jamie, Angelica and I greeted one another as we always did with a hug and a kiss of the cheek. We giggled about Angelica’s new tattoo and Jamie complained that she needed new heels as her strap was about to break.

  Angelica was the first to notice I was unusually quiet.

  “What’s up with you then, sista?” She asked. “Are you a bit off tonight or is it just me?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I’m a little bit down today but better now that I see you ladies.”

  “What happened?” asked Jamie.

  “I broke it off with Carlos yesterday.”

  It was like a game of Freeze Dance and everybody wanted to win. The whole world went hushed and still and nobody seemed to want to make the first move. But Angelica was always good at breaking the ice.

  “You’re an idiot,” she said.

  Melted, Jamie agreed, “Yup, couldn’t have said it better myself. Dumb move.”

  I was flabbergasted.

  “What? I thought you two thought there was something weird going on? You kept acting like I’m some gold digger, “ I said to Angelica, then turned to Jamie, “and you wondered why I wasn’t able to actually have sex with the guy. How am I an idiot?” I asked.

  “I was only pointing out some things that weren’t perfect,” said Jamie, “but no relationship is. And for fuck’s sake, dude… what are you expecting to find out there? Carlos was probably the best there is. Smart, rich, cute…”

  “Yeah,” interjected Angelica, “You are fucking off your rocker if you think you’ll find someone better than that. And seriously dude, gold digger or not, I’d take a free ride out of here if I was offered one.”

  “That’s just it, I didn’t want a free ride,” I said, “I loved him. I actually cried yesterday about it. I couldn’t believe it. But even though I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why I broke it off I couldn’t help but think that being seen as some trophy wife for the rest of my life just wasn’t me.”

  “God you fucking overthink things,” exclaimed Angelica, “If that’s a burden of being smart count me out. Anyway, you say you didn’t want a free ride, isn’t that what this is all about?”

  She gestured around at the club.

  Jamie was more sympathetic, but hardly.

  “Well, obviously something wasn’t right if you broke up with him, right? At the end of the day there was that whole ex-wife thing, too, which was creepy. But I’d take a guy with a thing or two that wasn’t perfect if he had Carlos’ life. I mean, the comfort more than makes up for it. But Ana, you’ll probably end up being some Richard Branson type on your own anyway. You’re so flippin’ smart.”

  She tried to be reassuring but unfortunately it didn’t land that way. I felt like I had made a big mistake. Huge. Not all, but much of my decision was based on not being perceived as a money grubbing, grave robber and now my friends were saying they wouldn’t have cared?

  Angelica said, “ I think every girl is a gold digger if that’s the way you want to look at it. At the end of the day having a man that can provide is what we want. It’s written in our womb. We all want that guy in a Porsche but deep down inside most of us aren’t hoping we can take a ride in a fancy car. We want our babies to be strapped into it.”

  A stunning and astute anthropological statement? Who knew? I just felt sad. I realized just how low my self-confidence was. I let myself make or break a chance to be in love based on an incorrect assumption about my friends accepting me and a worry that my sister wouldn’t. Had I always had the disease to please?

  I came to my own defense. There was the Felicity issue. Like my sister said, of all the guys in the world why would I choose one with baggage?

  The only conclusion left was that the real problem was me. What did it say about me that I feared being cared for? Being seen as inferior? Having to compromise and share my space and time? What did it mean that any other girl I knew would have been on cloud nine with Carlos and halfway to the altar by now; I never let myself truly enjoy a moment of it.

  It was heartbreaking to discover that I was a Dismissive Avoidant. But it was clear as day. I might as well have joined a support group. My sister had taught me about all these labels around attachment theory. Basically there are several ways in which a person might attach (or not attach) in relationships. My sister explained how we were both dismissive avoidant because of our Dad. She told me that our early experiences in life, being pushed and pulled by him gave us a subconscious fear that caregivers are not reliable and we shouldn’t get intimate.

  “That is so not me,” I told Rebecca many months earlier, “I just don’t think I need a relationship. I mean, I’m fine the way I am.”

  “Ah, ha,” she exclaimed, “That’s exactly the kind of thing a dismissive would say. Also the whole thing with this guy Vincent. You getting your needs fulfilled by someone who doesn’t need any intimacy from you and is basically an impossible relationship? Avoidant to the max.”

  I thought back to some of my early chances for relationships. It all started with my closest friend in high school. His name was Jayden and he was in the Math Club with me. He clearly liked me and when he asked me to the Freshman dance I asked him if I could think about it. I went home and made my first of many iterations of the Man Matrix. Basically this was a list of qualities that I scored on a scale of 1 to 10. They were features I would or would not like in a partner: attractiveness, intelligence, humor, approach to charity, etc. Jayden scored high. It worried me that he had done so well. I had thought to myself that I surely left out some important quality so I added a few more lines of criteria: passion, strong will, creative… his score went down and the next day I told him I couldn’t go as my Dad wouldn’t let me.

  I had made it impossible for Jayden to succeed by finding ways for him to fail.

  I had chosen Vincent because our relationship could not develop.

  Carlos scored high on my Man Matrix which now, after more than two years had forty-eight different criteria. Even eHarmony didn’t require that level of detail. When the facts couldn’t flunk the perfect man I had the intangible and impossible future doom us. Who could fight against the imaginary? Not even the mighty Mr. Ferrera.

  Rebecca was right.

  Looking back it seemed impossible that I could have stayed in the industry so long. But the truth was that now I belonged. It w
as both a reassuring feeling and a scary one. How had I gone from promising math student with PhD aspirations and blue blooded connections to a stripper in one of the most liberal and crazy cities on earth? These forty-nine square miles were big enough to keep the reality surrounding it at bay. But now, I was like any other societal outlier be it drug addict or prostitute… I could hardly even remember my path to the present and was overwhelmed thinking about the one to the future.

  I had to get a grip on a more neutral, “normal” reality. But how would I continue to live in my $4500 per month flat on an entry level position? How would I make “normal” friends and integrate them into the loving motley crew I currently had? And even if I could overcome my Dismissive Avoidant personality disorder, who would want me now? Knowing that I had once used and abused men for my own pleasure and gain?

  I was overcome with melancholy, a feeling that paralyzes brain synapses and makes decision making and any other functional motion impossible. All I could think, as I sat there now staring at the glittering stage and bouncing bottom on it, was how I let myself break it off with the perfect man.

  Carlos may always be the one who got away… in his million dollar private jet.

  It came to me in an instant. I needed to stop dancing. One way or another I needed to get out of the clubs. My fellow dancers and friends seemed to think that me not hopping into Carlos’ “Porsche” meant that there was no exit. But I promised myself in that moment, I only needed one more year to pay off the rest of my student debt. One more year to figure out where I could live that didn’t cost an arm and a leg and one more year to find a real, big girl job. That’s it. In one more year, I’d be ready for love.

  To Be Continued…

  About the Author

  I have a passion for writing books that break through the wall of mystery between ‘them’ and ‘us’, and I hope to give readers a glimpse into lifestyles and lives that would otherwise remain unknown. Using the backdrop of romance, I want to draw us all together through love, something we can all understand. Romance on the path less taken.