Internally, I knew that it was all bullshit, that he had little self-control, and there was no excuse for that. I hoped it was a phase and yet never felt confident it was. I was honest about what I wanted, and I could only hope that he was doing the same. I would not allow infidelity in my life, which I told him up front, and if he wanted to be with a lot of people to make him feel special, then I made it clear that I wasn’t capable of living that way. I guess I kept life interesting enough with my multiple personalities and penchant for dreaming big, since he stuck around. But he wasn’t sure that he wanted to be married again.
When H made plans for us to go to the Bahamas, I wasn’t surprised; he liked to go to a different country every New Year’s. Our first year together, we went on a cruise to Mexico, which was my first time out of the country besides going to Paris to do hair for Fashion Week. He had been talking about taking a trip, and as I wasn’t really working at the time, I didn’t have any reason to say no. We booked the flights and, with his timeshare, we were able to reserve a beachfront room for a reasonable price.
New Year’s Eve rolled around, and we spent the day exploring Freeport. We ended up at the casino, which I knew was going to be a problem with his lack of self-control. H always talked about how good he was at craps but never seemed to grasp that, when it comes to gambling, all you can control is mitigating your risk when it goes south. Hours later, long after our time had gone from fun to played out, H was glued to the craps table like his life depended on it, and was senselessly throwing away money. Now, I understand it was his money, and he was welcome to do so, but there comes a point when it just gets into the stupidity zone. We were in the stupidity zone. I tried to politely tell him we should finish up and maybe go do something else. I was the one who would pay for it ultimately when it affected his ability to cover the household bills.
“Just a minute.” He didn’t look up. “I need to win back my money.”
“Yeah, but that’s what people always think and they just keep losing more. Listen, if you have enough extra to be throwing away our rent money, just give it to me and pretend that you gambled. Then, I’ll give it back and tell you that you won, okay? Surprise! Now, let’s go.”
He still didn’t look up. “No, not now. I’m almost done.”
Anger boiled my blood. “Whatever then, I’m not watching this. If you want to be an idiot, you can do it by yourself.”
I walked away and found a slot machine in the corner. I figured I’d play out my voucher, get a cab back to the hotel, or maybe walk around downtown a bit. I wasn’t sure why he was making things so difficult. He stormed by me on his way to the men’s restroom, and I could practically see the steam coming from his ears. He gave me a side look on his way, and I could tell he was pissed off that I demanded he stop his game. I wasn’t a quiet woman and never had been. He came out of the restroom just as I was wasting away the last of my slot spins. I braced myself for the impact of his bad mood as he walked up to me (attitude wise - he wasn’t a violent person), but he could act like a child.
“Let’s go get some dinner. Are you hungry?”
Phew, I thought. Crisis averted. He looked raging mad as he went into that bathroom and came out like Mary’s little lamb, so I nodded and we headed to dinner on the pier. He was like that sometimes, with these extreme highs and lows. I didn’t like it. After dinner, we sat enjoying some wine and watching the waves, listening to all the people partying around us in the busy downtown area.
“Hey, want to go back to the hotel and sit on the beach for when midnight hits?” he asked. He was always so show-boaty, so this seemed different. And more up my alley. We didn’t have a ton of time, so we hopped in a taxi (actually, just a long, skinny van with no seatbelts), grabbed a blanket and champagne from our room, and went out to the beach. Besides a few people walking around here and there, we pretty much had the place to ourselves. As midnight struck, we touched glasses. “Cheers!”
H had always loved making toasts, so it was no surprise when he said, “I’d like to make a toast…” I just nodded. “Alright then…” He started off with how our relationship had changed him, how lucky he was to have me, and then he started to get down on one knee. It all happened so fast that I comprehended the gist of what he was saying, but I could never recite it to another person word for word. I’ll just say that it was from the heart, it was simple, and as the fireworks started, he was there on one knee, holding a ring up, waiting for my answer.
I heard myself say, “Yes!!!” before I even realized I was speaking. In total shock and disbelief, I teared up a little, and he grabbed me and hugged me, screaming to passersby about how, “She said yes! We’re getting married! Woohoo!” We played hip hop music, danced along the beach, took hysterical pictures of the two of us, and just celebrated in our very own style with no cares in the world. We entered the new year as an engaged couple.
The next morning, I woke up with a start. H was still asleep, and suddenly the events of the night hit me. I looked down at my finger to see a ring there and had to remind myself that those events did, in fact, take place. My stepmom had given me The Hunger Games books for Christmas that year, and I went out to our oceanfront balcony to sit in the warm air, watching the ocean and reading my book. I took a few minutes to stare at my ring, and, I’m sorry to admit this, but one of my first thoughts was, “Does this mean I have to change my Facebook profile status to engaged?” Something about that seemed so permanent. Marriage was permanent. Fuck. I was headed toward marriage. The ring wasn’t my favorite. But what it symbolized made sense to me, and for that reason I found it to be special. He never asked if I loved it, so I never brought it up. Ultimately, he knew, though.
I had to take a few deep breaths and relax. Sure, I had thought as a little girl—even now as a girl who was still somewhat little—about the possibility of getting married, who the man would be, what my life would be like, things like that. Yet I had never planned a marriage in my head or thought about what kind of dress I would wear. I had never even been involved enough in anyone else’s wedding to know much about them. I was more focused on my career, how that career would bring me money, and that money would bring me freedom.
As a child, I wanted a red convertible when I grew up. After telling me they hoped I would “marry rich to afford that kind of car,” my family would ask if I wanted kids and where a child would sit. I told them that my kid could sit in the car with me. And when they asked where my husband would sit, because “most convertibles only have two seats, you know.” I said, “Well, if I have a husband, he can just walk everywhere, I guess.”
Those early conversations not only defined my feelings about marriage, they also set the state in my mind to have all that I wanted in the world. I didn’t like how people assumed someone else would have to provide it for me, as if I wasn’t capable or worthy of creating those things on my own. Perhaps I was hesitant about marriage because I had been told to marry rich, or that I had “champagne taste on a beer budget” repeatedly by people around me. Because they couldn’t envision a certain kind of life for themselves, they couldn’t envision it for me either, and I believed them. So, to be engaged was a big step for me. I tried not to fall too far down the hole of panic, and drank my coffee on the porch as I finished up my book, soaking in the solace the quiet morning brought. I did, in fact, end up changing my relationship status to engaged on Facebook. Engagement seemed to be ready for me before I was ready for it.
The next year flew by in the blink of an eye, and business for both of us took a turn. When H originally suggested that I stop working and sell out of my businesses, I believed that he wanted to have more time with me at home and more freedom to travel the world together. Later on, I realized that his motivation might be that he wanted me to help build businesses for him. He always complimented me on my intelligence and wanted to know my thoughts on business decisions and endeavors, even though he didn’t always hear me. Like, actually hear me. After we got engaged, though, H started putting me
down for not having a job, which was strange, because he had always lifted me up and encouraged me. After a few weeks of making comments about not working, he suggested I start helping him with tasks for his company. Being naïve, I figured, what else am I really doing with all my time? So, instead of focusing on the next big dream for Danielle, I was now focused on the next big business dream for H.
He had several businesses and was private about the main inner workings about his companies, but I figured that was just his need to be in control and to be “the man.” I helped with many aspects of those businesses—always from an “outside” position—like building websites, finding ways to attract new business, client onboarding processes, hiring and training processes, employee manuals, how to streamline processes, backend systems, new strategies, growth and expansion opportunities, you name it. I did all the research and read books, and as a business owner myself, I seemed to have a natural intuition for these things. H sometimes struggled with this and saw it as a threat, as if I was saying that I knew better than he did. Yet, he didn’t want me to own my own business, maybe because he felt like we would be competing and he didn’t want to lose.
His businesses were a mess, judging from the parts I was allowed to see. Later, I would learn how messy things really were behind the scenes, how shitty he was at paperwork, and his screwy ways of keeping tabs on things. But what I could see at the time started to concern me, and I brought it up with him. He liked to seek out investors, which I thought was a stupid idea, especially when they were handled poorly. If your business isn’t scalable on its own, then investment money is nothing but a life preserver with a puncture in it. Also, why would you want to start out owing people money if you didn’t have to?
Our disagreements about business weren’t enough to break us just yet, but the tension only got worse when we started talking about adopting a puppy. I had grown up with animals my whole life and had always been sad that I didn’t have the time, the room, or the space to fairly take care of an animal, even though I desperately longed for one. I wasn’t sure, at this stage in my life, if I was capable of putting something else above my own needs, but something inside me just said I really needed a dog. I brought it up to H a few times, as I thought it was only the right thing to do, since we shared the same household and all. But I didn’t ask him to get his permission; I did it as part of going through the motions. I was getting a damn dog, like it or not.
H worked pretty often then, and when he wasn’t working, he was at the gym or playing in a basketball game as part of a competitive adult league. I knew he wouldn’t be taking care of the dog much, and I was fine with that, but for the first time in my life I had a bit of extra time.
“I have been thinking about it, and I’d really like to get a dog,” I said one night over dinner.
“Why don’t we just have kids instead?” H grinned. He had been dying to be a dad long before meeting me. Honestly, now, I think if he could have chosen between having a baby and having me, he would have chosen the baby, hands-down. All he ever wanted was to be a father.
“Yeah, so I really want a dog. I’ve been looking around quite a bit, and I’m not sure what I’d like. Obviously, I want to get something that is good for apartments, since we live in one.”
“It’s a condo,” he muttered, correcting me.
“Condo, apartment, whatever.” I rolled my eyes.
“No, it is important. We do not live in an apartment. It’s a condo. And who is going to take the dog down the elevator 20 floors every time it has to go to the bathroom?”
“I will.” I got up and put my plate in the sink before really giving him a piece of my mind. “But if walking a dog seems too difficult for you, you sure as hell don’t need to be having kids.”
We argued about it a lot in the coming days. I finally had to put my foot down. I didn’t demand anything. I didn’t throw a fit. I didn’t ask for much. But it was my life, too, and I was getting a damn dog, even if it meant that I had to live alone in order to do it. I wasn’t afraid to put my foot down, although I don’t think I was stepping fully into my power at the time.
“Okay,” he relented. But he wasn’t sold on it.
After a few weeks of Internet stalking puppy sites, I had narrowed it down to a pug, since that breed would do well in our apartment (excuse me, our “condo”) and could easily ride in the car. Plus, I had always loved their flat-nose look. I had fallen in love with a girl pug that a couple had adopted and couldn’t keep for whatever reason (which is common in LA, since it can get so expensive). I convinced H this was the dog, and by the time he relented and said, “Fine, let’s go look at it,” I called and the dog was gone. I was happy she found a home, but I was truly heartbroken that it wasn’t with me.
I finally came across a litter of pugs living with a family on the edge of a very sketchy neighborhood, so I waited until H could go that day with me. “We are just going to go look,” I said. Ha. As a side note, I had gotten flak from a lot of people who said “adopt!” or “rescuing is the only way to go or you are going to hell.” I get what they were saying, but I wanted a puppy to potty train and raise. Besides, if nobody buys the puppies that people have for sale, what happens to those dogs? Would someone answer me that? So, I’m still giving a dog a freaking home.
Anyway, when we pulled up to a house filled with some kids watching TV in the living room, the mom was at work, but they pointed us to the backyard to check out the puppies. They had the kitchen gated off and the back door open for the pups. The moment I entered the kitchen, I saw a little tiny baby pug sniffing around for food. I picked him up, and he curled up in my arms and looked at me with little baby eyes. I just knew there was no way he was being set back down. These people would have to pry him out of my cold, dead arms.
The oldest girl tried to show me a few other, bigger pugs they had. “That one, he’s the runt. We call him Robin. This one’s Batman. Are you sure you don’t want Batman?”
“Yes, I’m sure. We want this one” I said. I nudged H, “Pay the woman.”
As we drove home in the car, the puppy slept in my arms the whole way. “What should we name it?” H didn’t even want the damn dog, now he wanted to name it?
“I’m not sure.” I petted the dog’s wet little nose.
“What about Morocco?” H suggested.
“Frankie. I like Frankie,” I stated. And so, Frankie it was.
I potty trained Frankie, walked him, got up in the middle of the night the first week when he was whining, to check on him. I cleaned up his messes, I took him to the vet for his shots, took him to get neutered, bought books on his breed, and even tried several different kinds of food until I found the best one for him. When he was old enough, I took him to the dog parks nearby so he could socialize with different dogs from a young age.
I raised the dog by myself. I figured eventually H would come to terms with things and accept that we had a dog, but he never really did. He’d walk him once in a great while if he really had to and the whole time he’d just repeat, “Frankie, potty! Frankie, potty!” as if that somehow works (because it was such an inconvenience to walk him for five minutes). Frankie was my dog. That was the first time I really felt a gaping distance between us. For me, it felt that he didn’t value what I felt was important in life. Even if he didn’t like certain things that I liked, if they were important to me, there should be effort, compromise, and presence. Holes were starting to appear in the satin fabric of our relationship.
Chapter 4:
My Own Little Fairytale
We were engaged for over three years, mostly because I wasn’t sure I was ready to get married. I had my doubts about marrying H, and the fact that he wasn’t pressing the issue told me that he probably wasn’t ready to get married either. He constantly pressured me to have a baby, but something inside me told me that it just wasn’t a good idea. Not now, not then, not ever (at least with him). It just never quite felt like a good idea. But he was someone I could rely on and had a way of
just taking care of things, so I thought we might have a shot at a happy life together.
One time, on a girls’ trip to Vegas, my friends and I all checked our purses in together at the coat check of a pool party. Our purses had everything in them—money, IDs, cell phones, you name it—so when our Tanya with the wristband ran off to hang out with some guy and lost our only means of getting our belongings back, we found ourselves walking back to the hotel in bikinis. The front desk receptionist stopped us before we made it to the door and told us we couldn’t enter the lobby like that. I told him I didn’t want to enter the lobby like that either, but my friend had lost our things including the key to our hotel. Once he let us into our room, I called the hotel where we left our things, I called managers, I called everyone I could think of. Everyone told us that we would have to wait for our things to be turned over to the lost and found, which would take a day or so. We were in Vegas with no IDs and no money. We were shit out of luck.
I called H, and within two hours, we all had our things back. He just did stuff like that. We didn’t wait at clubs, at restaurants, or in lines for much of anything, because he handled it somehow. And after being engaged for a few years with no wedding plans on the horizon, he decided to start handling that, too. He brought up that we should probably get started with the wedding planning process. But then he started to act weird, saying that he didn’t want me to make a wedding website, which really pissed me off. He said, “I don’t want to be on blast like that,” basically saying that he didn’t want our wedding all out there for the public to see, even though he posted everything he was doing all the time, bragging on social media. Sometimes he would even screen shot pictures of things and post them, claiming he was at an event that he never attended. I didn’t understand his need to be seen as so cool, but I got over it. You have to pick your battles.
Divorce, Drinking and Dating Page 4
