Chapter One
How do I?
By Ashley Wilkes Stockingdale
How do I avoid commitment: Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth except when buying jewelry is involved.
I love thee in the daylight,
as long as my place of residence is not invaded by night.
(Nor any semblance of your grooming materials.)
I love thee freely, except when the guys are watching.
I love thee with all the passion of an engineer.
With my old girlfriends, I avoided the moment of Truth,
But with you, dear Ashley, I may not escape my fate.
And if God so choose, may I go to the Altar with strength-as Isaac did.
I swear this is how some men view marriage, like they're being laid out on the wood of the great Altar, ready to be sacrificed, and just praying the ram will arrive in time. I, Ashley Wilkes Stockingdale, have been dating Seth Greenwood for nine months. And while God can form a new human being in that same time frame, getting an adult male to the jewelry store is an entirely different kettle of fish.
I have a theory on commitment, and being a patent attorney, I'm considering getting the lock on it. I've always wanted to write a book where I state the incredibly obvious and people flock to the bookstore as though I am some psychological genius. Kind of like Men are From Mars, Women are from Venus. Here's my first attempt:
Steps Towards Getting a Male to Commit.
First, you must conquer "Whiplash." Whiplash is when your boyfriend thinks every woman in the vicinity might be potentially better for him. This involves several quick neck sprains while he looks until he eventually come to the conclusion that no, there's a reason he picked you. Allow about six months for this stage.
Then you enter the "Accommodation" phase. This is where Boyfriend discovers that, yes, you are the best one for him at the moment, but maybe God is calling him to a life of foreign mission work instead. He probably can't take you along on his great and deeply sacrificial ministry, so he accommodates you with the theory that some big life change will happen and let him off the hook. Two months for this stage.
You have now entered "Jeopardy." Now Boyfriend must fish or cut bait, and the real pressure begins. You watch him writhe like a trout on a hook, knowing you have the power to release him, but is that the best thing? As you watch the struggle, you begin to wonder, Do I even want to get married enough to strip this guy of his . . . his, heck, I don't know what I'm stripping him of, but it must be important if it's worth all this squirming.
So as it stands, Seth and I are in the Jeopardy phase. He's afraid to be alone with me, afraid I might pressure him to ask "the" question. The romance is gone. Only fear remains, and what's the fun of that? I've almost forgotten why we started dating in the first place. I remember knowing, at the time, that it was God's will for my life. Now I know it was probably God's will because I had some great life lesson to learn. I hope it's learned by now. I don't want to go through this again.
My best friend Brea is reading my first attempt at poetry now, How Do I . . . ? Brea is married. She adopted a baby and poof! she has another one in her tummy. Being Brea's best friend is truly impossible because she lives a charmed life. It's like little fairies drop rose petals alongside each of her steps.
Brea looks up at me from my poem. "What are you planning to do with this . . . this poetry, and I use the term loosely?" Brea waves the paper around. Her little baby Miles grabs it and gums the edges of it. "'How Do I Avoid Commitment?' Ash! Kinda pathetic. If this is how you feel, I think it's time you just broke things off."
Okay, not the reaction I was expecting. "What do you mean, pathetic? I think it's a deep and truthful allegory about Christian men and commitment."
"Um, if you're Sylvia Plath, maybe. Ash, this borders on the mentally deranged." While Brea sounds all concerned, she is actually giving equal time to Oprah, who is blaring over me.
My cell phone is ringing, and I just want to throw it across the room. "Give my poem back to me." I rip the paper from her hands, and little Miles forms a pout you could perch a bird upon. He begins to howl. "See, I can't make men happy at any age! And this," I wave my paper again, "is not mental. It's just my attempt to show Seth there's nothing to be afraid of when it comes to marriage."
Brea is now cracking up, while Miles continues to scream and Oprah offers an indispensable fashion tip. Meanwhile, my phone is still trilling. "Oh yeah, this will do it," she says. "Seth will be completely ready for commitment after this. Just rushing to the altar because he wants a wife who lives part time in the institution." Her laughter slows. "Ash, let's put it this way, if you sent this from jail? You wouldn't be getting out anytime soon. Oooh . . . oooh! Move out of the way, here's the 'after' part." Brea faces the television and her eyes are wide with excitement at a stay-at-home mom transformed into a glamour queen.
I cross my arms. "Are you listening to me?"
"Could you turn that cell phone off? It's really annoying," Brea shouts over Miles's screaming and Oprah's enthusiasm. "I want to hear this."
"I have to leave it on, in case my boss wants me. It will ring differently if he calls."
Brea laughs. "We all know your boss wants you."
"This isn't about Hans. This is about Seth." I am seriously annoyed now. "You never dated a guy afraid of commitment. You got married young, when you weren't 'bus bait.'" Bus bait is my brother's term meaning that I have more chance of getting hit by a bus than getting married over thirty. I'm thirty-one and counting. I take crosswalks seriously.
Brea rubs her belly thoughtfully, like all pregnant women do. "I know you're getting frustrated with Seth, but he's fearful, Ashley. He can't help but worry about whether you're the right one. And there's no real way to know for certain, so he's stuck. It's harder for men as they get older. They don't want to make the wrong choice. I think you should move on. That'll teach him."
"Meanwhile my clock is ticking. Brea, he is thirty-four years old, he's bald, and he dresses like an engineer. I love the man dearly, but who does he think is coming along to rescue him?"
"That only makes him more fearful, Ashley. What if he's wasting your time? He's worried about that, too, I'm sure."
My mouth is dangling open. "Are you kidding me? Whose side are you on? You're saying that Seth is so concerned about me and my biological clock that he cannot force four little words from his lips?"
Brea nods. "Seriously, I talked to John about this. He says men get nervous to date women over thirty because they feel too much pressure. What if things don't work out?"
"Thank you, Oprah. Things are working out. Well, I thought they were anyway." I scratch my head. Little Miles is still screaming at me and my cell phone is ringing again. Oprah is squealing about the makeover's gorgeous results, which Brea is craning her neck to see. I reach out for the baby. "Come to Auntie Ashley."
Miles scoffs at first, but begins to quiet as I cuddle his warm head against my chest, walk, and bounce him. We both calm down. He smells like heaven, and for the moment all my angst is forgotten and my heartbeat slows. There is only this angelic creature and his sweet new scent in my arms. I realize with trepidation that I want a baby. Who woulda thunk? Maybe Seth senses this. Maybe that's what is forcing his retreat.
Brea takes her eyes off Oprah. "Miles just loves you, Ashley. He doesn't take to anyone like you."
"You're going to have another baby soon. Why don't you just give me Miles?" I wink at her, lifting Miles above my head and back down. "You said you wanted a girl, remember? I've changed Miles's diapers, and he is distinctly a boy. So I think you should give him up."
"The doctor said he'd be a girl." Now Brea reverts to child gibberish. "But Mama got her perfect little prince, didn't she?" she coos.
"Do you mind? We want the boy to be a healthy adult."
"Well, that's gonna happen with you telling him I wanted a girl." Brea says, rubbing her belly.
Even pregnant, Brea looks like a fashion model. She's got her thick dark mane pulled into a ponytail and from behind you can't even tell she's expecting. Right before I started dating Seth, Brea had a miscarriage. It about broke my heart. For one thing, I couldn't stand seeing her in such emotional pain; for another, there just never was a woman meant to be a mother like Brea.
Of course when it happened, she freaked out like she'd never be able to have another child, and while operating in crisis mode, adopted little Miles from an unwed teenage mother. Which, of course, turned out perfect, but now the tables are turned. Now that it's my turn to obsess about my own marital status, she's the epitome of calm. I know better than to listen to her Dr. Phil tones. She's a drama queen too. Just not at the moment.
John, her husband, enters the house and stops at the sight before him. His house is complete chaos: Baby toys everywhere, Oprah on full-blast and my cell phone still ringing. He looks at the scene and, for a moment, I think he's going to turn around and leave.
"Brea." John shuts the door behind him. "What's going on?"
"Ashley had the afternoon off." Brea is biting her lip and I can't say I blame her. This place looks like a train rushed through, and it sounds like the locomotive is still in the vicinity. How does Brea handle it? Like a mature wife. She points at me as though I made the mess.
"That's great," John smiles. "Did you girls have a good time?"
Brea nods.
"There's probably no dinner then, huh?" He pauses for a moment, then reacts like all men would. NOT. "You want to go out?" John asks. Then he looks at me. "You're welco...
