On the marriage of my fake boyfriend

I remember Simone, a woman I worked for when I was a freshman in college. That made me... what? 18?

Simone was 28 and I thought she was reaaaaally old. And wise. And SO worldly. She was worried because she wasn't married yet, and I was a little worried too. I mean, TWENTY-EIGHT and she was still breath-takingly single. Almost time to start collecting cats, for fuck sake.

But was she cool in my eyes. She had great hair. She had great style. And she had fantastic lingo. Even just the way she said, "Well, you know how it goes," made me feel as though I actually did know how it went.

Simone reported to my uncle, so she didn't have much to say about my being there. I think mostly she humored me, and she made me do crap work. I'd go in, fill out some more forms, hand them to her, and then... just... sit there. It was the unglamorous underbelly of the music industry, but I didn't mind. It was entertaining enough to listen to Simone yell across the office to Jennifer, another "older" singleton, about her guy du jour.

It all seemed wildly exciting and adult to me. Back then I thought they didn't know I was listening, because they'd talk about some fairly private stuff. But now that I'm past the age that they were, I can identify with the apathy of sharing your love stories. Who cares if you told Man X that you liked him and he didn't give a crap? At the time I thought I would die the death of a million humiliated fourth graders, everyone pointing and laughing while they strung me up in the gallows. But now I know that Man X is like Man Y is like Man Z. You file through them, one after the other, until one of them sticks around. The ones who don't are just the faceless subjects of another love story shouted across office walls. No shame in that.

Of all the stories I heard flying between them, I remember only one.

Now, at 18 years old, I was in the middle of my first love. And that love was so profound and consuming, I couldn't stand the thought of it ending. Ever. So when I overheard Simone tell Jennifer that a guy she had been seeing decided to marry someone else, I was devastated for her.

Why was she at work? Drinking her usual coffee? How did she get her clothes to match, her car to start, or even get out of bed that morning? I just HAD to say something to her. I knew that she thought I was an annoying pain in the ass, but come on. We were both girls, and we both knew that the most important thing in the universe was boys, so I was compelled to be there for her.

When I handed her my stack of forms I asked, "Are you okay? I overheard your conversation with Jennifer."

She was quiet for a minute. At first I thought it was because she was pissed that I had been eaves dropping. But then she said, "What conversation?"

Huh? The one that should have you in a heap on the floor! I had never been so in awe of this woman's grace and poise.

"About the guy you were seeing? He... um.... " oh God, don't make her cry by bringing it up. "...he’s getting married?"

I could see it register in her eyes. "Oh. That." She put down her pen and leaned forward. "You know what, Cella?" Dramatic pause here. "When you get to a certain age, you’re just happy when someone you care about finds someone to spend their life with.” She glanced sideways, then back again. “You know how it goes."

But I didn't. I really, really didn't get it. I stood there a couple seconds longer, trying to rearrange my face from sympathetic into something more appropriate. Which was ... what, exactly?

Before I could figure it out, she reached for the forms and suggested that I go call some radio stations to check on the status of our albums.

So I did.

I worked for her for two more years. I listened to the details of a half dozen other love sagas, ordered a bazillion CDs for radio stations, talked with radio personalities I'd heard on air, saw some great shows and met a bunch of rock stars -- but the one thing that stuck with me long after I left that job was her calm demeanor when she told me about this guy moving on.

I've turned it over in my brain in different ways through the years. I thought about it when I broke up with my first boyfriend. Would I have accepted the news that he had found someone else right after? I don't think so.

I found my second love. He was with me for 4 years. Sometimes I'd think about what she said and it made even less sense to me, because he never would have left me. I trusted him more than I trusted myself. So what did she mean, I'd be happy for him to be happy with someone else? By the time he did find someone, it was well after we had moved in different directions, so that wasn't quite the same thing.

My third boyfriend left me with nothing but unanswered phone calls and a million questions. Years later I found out that he had left me for someone else, and even the time that passed between us didn’t keep it from stinging when I learned that news.

And still, I wondered, WHAT THE HELL DID SHE MEAN??

Maybe it’s the magic age of 28 that does it. Because it was about that time that I met someone who, on paper, was my perfect match. We did everything together. He was my default date to parties, we shared an interest in photography, we talked for hours into the night. He made it clear that he was interested, but I wasn’t, so my friends called him my fake boyfriend.

I have no idea why I wasn’t interested. Crappy timing? Boyfriends number four and five were still heavy in my heart, and I needed to do some soul searching before I could be ready for the thing he wanted to give me. I think I hurt him when I told him my intentions, but thankfully he kept me as a friend.

Time went on. I forgave boyfriend number five, finally got over boyfriend number four, tried boyfriend number six, then rekindled with number three and that didn’t work, so then I went on to date my own versions of Man X, Y and Z. And L, M, N, O, P. Had you been in my office, you would have heard my own apathetic love stories, shouted over the wall to my cube neighbor, who listened politely.

He remembered stories of my fake boyfriend. He met him many times, in fact, and couldn’t believe I hadn’t gone for him. So when he heard that my fake boyfriend was getting married, he made a point to stop by and ask me about it.

He asked, “So what do you think about that?” But I could see what he was really asking. The subtext scrolled across his expression like headlines on CNN: So how are you now, Cella? Remembering your fruitless dating history with the alphabet guys? Did you think you’d be in a serious relationship by now?

The truth is that I did get a little pang when I heard he had found someone to marry, but jealousy isn’t the right word for it. It’s more the wistful concept of something that could have worked, but didn’t.

And then I got it.

I thought for a minute then said, “You know what, Mark? Sometimes you’re just happy when someone you care about finds someone to spend their life with.” I tried to ignore his expression and the subtext still scrolling between us. “You know how it goes.”

And it looked like he did.