Dreaming in Technicolor (24 page)

I wailed again.

“Pheebs, you two have been apart longer than you were together.” MJ kept barreling down the logic track. “His relationship with you that was just beginning got shoved to the back burner when his dad got sick. Then when he had to remain in England to run the company—well, the flame just died down.” She sighed. “It's hard to maintain a long-distance relationship in the best of circumstances—”

A light bulb went off. “But that's just geography! If I were to stay here, who knows what might happen?”

“You can't force a relationship—”

“I wouldn't be forcing anything. What's wrong with just giving it a chance?”

She played the God card. “Have you considered that maybe God doesn't want this relationship to go any farther right now? He already knew that Alex would be staying to help his family.” Mary Jo pushed her hair behind her ears. “I'm not saying it's forever, although I don't know that it won't be, either. But clearly, for now, the two of you aren't meant to be together. Alex has his own issues to deal with—”

“That's for sure.” I let loose a bitter grunt.

“Was it?” MJ gave me another gentle look. “You've been wondering about Alex ever since we saw him that first night at the theater.”

“True. But that's when I thought there might be something going on with Gorgeous George. Alex says there's not.” I sighed again. “Maybe it's like in
Roman Holiday
. You could see that Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn fell for each other, but she was a
princess and he was a reporter, and they had separate lives to lead.” I managed a wistful smile. “At least they always had Rome. And Alex and I will always have Barley.” I rolled my eyes as I repeated the
Casablanca
line I'd said to Alex. “Doesn't have quite the same ring to it, does it?

“Oh, Mary Jo,” I wailed as I flopped across my bed. “I'm such a total reject in the romance department. I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life.”
And I'm never going to get that passionate kiss.

A flying pillow hit me in the head. “Hey, watch it!”

Mary Jo grinned. “You know what we need?”

“What?”

“A change of scenery.” She bounced on her bed, eyes sparkling. “Let's go to the Cotswolds. And Yorkshire!”

“Yorkshire?”

“Yeah, you know.” She gestured to my copy of
Jane Eyre
on the nightstand. “Brontë country, the moors and all that. And the hills and dales made famous by
my
favorite author, James Herriot.” She clapped her hands. “C'mon Pheebs, what do you say?”

I didn't really feel like saying anything. Or doing anything. “But we still haven't seen all the items on your London list.”

“All the ones that really mattered.” She grabbed the travel guide and started thumbing through it. “Besides, they'll still be here when we return. We can come back to London a day or so before we fly home and see anything we might have missed.” Mary Jo grew pensive. “To be honest, all the crowds and noise and stuff—it's starting to get to me. I'd really love a little fresh country air. What's that old poem? ‘Away, away from men and towns. To the wild wood and the downs.'”

“Hey, I didn't know you knew Shelley.”

“I don't know Shelley.” Her eyebrows furrowed together. “Who's she?”

“
He.
Percy Bysshe Shelley. The poet who wrote those words?”

“Oh.” MJ looked sheepish. “I didn't remember who said it, just recall hearing it in one of my college classes. And it's always stuck with me.”

“I can see why it would, nature girl.”

“Remember when we planned our trip? We said we'd be footloose and fancy free, able to go wherever we want, whenever we want. Whatever mood strikes us.” She crossed her arms. “Well the country mood is striking
me
, so I say we go to the Cotswolds tomorrow.”

I was beginning to catch the footloose spirit, but I wasn't quite up for the countryside yet. “Maybe we could go to Oxford first?” I asked meekly. “Delia recommended a great little bed-and-breakfast there.”

“All right, all right. We go to
Oxford
tomorrow, then the Cotswolds. Then Yorkshire.

“Ma'am, yes ma'am!” I gave her my air-force salute. “Hey, have you ever considered becoming a boot-camp drill instructor? You could have a great second career going there.”

She threw another pillow at me. Followed by a Cadbury's Dairy Milk.

The latter I inhaled. The former I punched before sticking under my head and turning it over a couple of times to find the cool spot. “We'll be just like those women in
Enchanted April
who couldn't wait to leave rainy London,” I said, finally getting into the spirit. “Only instead of going to the Italian countryside, we're doing the English.”

“Uh-huh,” my sleepy roommate replied.

Once she fell asleep my brave face crumpled.
So why did I come all
this way, God? I thought it was to get together with Alex . . .

So much for pure motives.

I cried myself to sleep. But quietly.

“What's up with this whole ‘gift of singleness' thing anyway?” I asked the next morning as we were packing to leave. “And how do I know if I even have it?”

Mary Jo started to answer, but I was on a frustrated roll after nighttime dreams of Alex—which included that
kiss
and so much more on our happily-ever-after honeymoon—that I didn't give her a chance. “Do I have this special singleness gift if I'm not lusting or will never lust again? But even Jimmy Carter lusted in his heart.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I remember reading that when I did a paper on him in junior high. He said it in a
Playboy
interview or something when he was running for president.” I shoved my socks into my small suitcase. “Of course,
he
was married and I'm not. So how can I have the gift if I'm still having lustful thoughts, even if they do include marriage wishes?”

I stuck out my chin. “Yes, I admit it. Even though things with Alex didn't work out, I'd still like to get married.”

“Well, yeah, Pheebs. Who wouldn't? But wanting it doesn't mean it's going to happen. After all, you're nearly thirty-two. Truth is, you don't have much marriage shelf life left. That expiration date is fast approaching.”

“Very funny, Ms. Has It All Together.”

Mary Jo grinned as she folded her turtlenecks. “I so don't have it all together. But this is the way I see it: If you're single right now, then for now—today, this season of your life—you have the gift of singleness. Doesn't mean it will be forever; doesn't mean it won't. That's up to God. But how you handle it is up to you.”

“Okay, Mother Teresa, I get the point.” I carefully tucked my new clothes back into their shopping bags. “But please don't throw that scripture at me that married people do all the time—the one about trusting in the Lord with all your heart and He will give you the desires of your heart. Or if not, He'll take away the desire.” I frowned. “That hasn't been my experience at all.”

“Mine either.”

“What?” I stared at my contented-single friend. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying I struggle just like you.” MJ sighed. “It's a constant process of turning things over to God. I can have days, weeks, even months of being okay with where I am as a single. Then something will happen—like maybe I come down with the flu and wish I had someone to take care of me. Or I'm watching the news and some awful tragedy happens that makes me wish there was someone I could curl up next to for comfort.” She zipped her suitcase shut. “Or I want to move some furniture but I can't do it all alone and I wish I had some strong guy to help.”

“So what do you do?” I stared again at my stalwart, I-am-woman-hear- me-roar friend. “How do you handle it?”

“I gnash my teeth, stomp my feet, and shake my fist at God. Then I call my friend from down the road—or just leave the furniture exactly where it is.” Mary Jo grinned. “And when I'm sick, I ask someone to bring me some chicken noodle soup. And as for the curling up with someone part”—her face split into a huge grin—“that's why I have Riley.”

“Maybe I need to get a dog. Herman's more of a climber than a cuddler.” I gave Mary Jo a curious look. “So what about when you see some tragedy on the news then?”

“I stop and pray for all those involved.”

And that's why she's a WOG and you're not, Pheebs. Get over yourself
already!

“And as far as marriage goes,” she added, “I'm so set in my ways at this point in my life that if I got married we'd have to have a duplex. Then
he could have his space and I could have mine.”

“With nighttime visiting hours of course.”

“Of course.” She expelled a resigned sigh. “Phoebe, I've been exactly where you are right now; still go there sometimes. Do you know the last time I had a date?”

Date? Mary Jo? I've never seen her with anyone—at least not since
high school.

I shook my head.

“Four—no wait, I think it may have been five—years ago.”

“I'd slash my wrists,” I blurted. My hand flew to my mouth. “Sorry. That's just a really long time.”

“I know. But there's not a lot of available men in Barley.”

I gave her a curious look. “Why do you stay in Barley then?”

“Barley is my home,” she said simply. “God hasn't called me anywhere else; except for this vacation to England. And that mission trip to Guatemala.”

“But your odds would be so much better in a bigger city.”

“It's not about odds.” She smiled. “And it's definitely not about geography. I have girlfriends in both Sacramento and the Bay Area who haven't dated in a long time either. One's our age, one's forty, and another's forty-seven.”

I winced. “And all this is supposed to make me feel better?”

“I'm just saying that it's not about location or statistics. It's about where you are with God and learning to be content in your circumstances.” She gave me a gentle look tempered with a crooked smile. “Getting married isn't the only happily-ever-after, you know.”

She frowned. “Those fairy tales we were raised on don't help. And unfortunately, a lot of churches tend to perpetuate them. I'm not talking about Barley Pres here. But do you ever notice how some churches gear everything toward couples and families? And whenever someone preaches on singleness, the message is always just ‘Don't have sex!'”

“I hear ya on that.” I grimaced. “Although I've also heard a few pastors lump all single women together and say the reason we're not married is that we chose to put off the highest calling of wife and motherhood to establish our selfish careers first.”

Mary Jo shot me a wicked grin. “Hey, I know I've turned down plenty of proposals in favor of my selfish career. What about you?”

“More than I can count. Just too busy clawing my way up that good ol' corporate ladder, and those darn men dangling diamond rings got in my way.” I tossed my head. “And now that I've reached the pinnacle of professional accomplishment, well it's just my own fault I don't have anyone to share it with. You know what they say: ‘It's lonely at the top.'”

“It gets lonely sometimes wherever you are.” Mary Jo shook her head. “Most single women I know are simply trying to pay the bills and make good use of the gifts God has given them. Sure, we struggle with the sex-and-romance thing . . .” She expelled a loud sigh. “Sue, my forty-year-old friend in the Bay Area, has even chosen not to watch romantic comedies anymore because it's just too difficult. She can be strong and walking with the Lord, fine with being single. Then she'll watch one of those love stories where a man and woman meet, have the requisite sparring and misunderstandings, and wind up happily ever after in two hours, and it sets her to longing all over again.

“That's why she started watching martial arts films,” she finished.

I giggled. “But even
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
is a love story.”

“I know. There's no escaping it. Romantic love is all around—always will be.” She smiled. “But so is the love of God . . . and the friendships he puts in our lives.”

“Preach it, sister. But be careful,” I warned her. “You're veering into sappy territory here. Next thing you know, you'll be singing me the theme song from
Beaches
.”

[chapter fourteen]

Oxford Dreaming

m
ary Jo ran her hands reverently across the ancient tabletop. “Just think. C. S. Lewis might have sat at this very table. Or Tolkien.” She looked across at me, her eyes wide. “Maybe he even wrote some of
Lord of the Rings
here.”

The Eagle and Child pub in Oxford is the one that the “Inklings” group—whose members included Lewis and Tolkien—used to frequent. Now
we
were frequenting it.