#21) Serendipity?
In the story about Molly, we touched on the current day phenomenon of women ending marriages with men, and experimenting with dating both women or men. This has become so prevalent on dating apps in recent years that I’ve noticed correspondence frequently includes, Are you really gay?, in the first volleys of conversation. This week we’re going to skip forward to the fall of 2016, and explore that Generation X confusion.
I had spent the first part of the year busily volunteering for Hillary’s campaign, and in September, victory looked like a sure thing. I had plans to go to swing states in the final weeks before the election, but prior, focused on getting my daughter off to college, my son settled in high school, then took a few weekends off before the final Election Day push. I had joyfully and naively started planning for life after Hillary was President. There was a certain sense of optimism and possibilities in the air that now seems hard to recount.
I grabbed the pups for a day trip to one of my favorite get-aways: Kent, Connecticut in Litchfield County. We arrived at the trailhead for a late morning hike. The sky was bright blue, and the cool crispness in the air was the first reminder that fall was just around the corner. My older dog Arleen trotted along happily in the cooler air, and during our long hike, joyfully plunged into the stream for a swim. When we were finished, I put Arleen and Shep in the car, and drove into the center of town for shopping and lunch.
The center of Kent is lined with a few blocks of shops, restaurants, and art galleries. If you blink as you drive through, you could completely miss it! One boutique was consistently my go-to shop, and I never left empty handed. The eclectic offerings ranged from candles, to kitchen products and gadgets, to clocks and ceramics, with chic clothing mixed in. Walking in, I spied a stylish fall jacket, and with the first hint of fall in the air, couldn’t resist trying it on, but then felt indecisive—maybe too early to give up on summer—so continued shopping.
I was giggling aloud while reading the quotes on drink coasters, and snapped a photo to share the laugh with my college friends Sue and Ali, when the bells above the entry door clanged, announcing a new entrant. She was hard to miss: a strikingly beautiful woman, tall, slim, with long brown wavy hair and hazel eyes. She moved like a dancer as she pranced in, cradling a Pomeranian attired in a sweater in her right arm. We smiled at each other the way patrons do when you are the only two customers in a store.
The store owner seemed to know her, and warmly welcomed her. The patron also walked straight to the new fall jackets, handed the Pomeranian to the owner, and tried it on. I decided I didn’t really want the jacket—it looked better on her anyway—and headed to the cash register with a candle and cute coasters. As I walked to the door, the woman was swaying back and forth in front of the mirror, asking the dutiful owner for her opinion. I headed across the street to the bookstore, browsed around, then crossed back to an upscale deli to order a sandwich and drink for the ride home.
I entered the deli, and was checking the sandwich options, when I noticed the same glamorous woman up at the counter. She was having some sort of discussion—I thought I overheard her complaining about the amount of cranberries in the chicken salad?—and the workers behind the counter seemed a little perturbed as the line was long and building. Clearly, like the previous store owner, they knew her, so were obliging. I picked out a sandwich, and was standing in line, semi-smiling watching this woman in action. She was both beautiful and familiar, in a sitcom character kind of way.
She eventually settled the cranberry dispute, paid, then turned around and walked past the long line that had gathered during her discussion. She stopped at me, looking rather serious, Do I know you? She was so striking, I blushed and struggled to respond, We tried on the same jacket. (Come on Amy, is that the best you can do?) She paused to consider and study me, and to fill in the awkward silence, I added, My dogs are not as well behaved as yours, so they’re in the car. One’s all wet from a morning swim (Ugh Amy!). She looked me up and down, now lightening her look to a smile, Oh, because you look familiar. I wish I had something more clever to say, but I left it at that.
I got home a couple of hours later, and logged onto social media to catch up on politics. I opened Facebook, and scrolled down my feed, alternating between polls, news stories, and photos, when who did I see jump out on my screen? That same woman! I couldn’t believe it—she was in a photo posted by a friend. At first I wasn’t sure it was really her, how could this possibly be? but then I saw another photo of her with the Pomeranian in the sweater. I laughed at the computer screen, No way!—I mean, what were the chances? Then I wondered if it was some sort of sign. Serendipity?
Her name was Margie, and of course I immediately searched online to find out more. She owned a handbag company—which explained the glamour and sense of fashion. I couldn’t resist messaging her: Hi M, we met in Kent today! I’m the one with the wet dog. A. Moments later she responded, Hysterical, Amy. I knew you looked familiar. From there, we moved to texting and discovered we knew people in common, and had many shared interests. Margie was up in Kent to visit a gay male couple who were opening a gallery. That caught me for a second—nah, she couldn’t be. I asked, Did you end up buying the jacket? She did. She jested that we could share it.
Our texting became a daily communication. We just clicked. It turned out we had similar backgrounds and life experiences: temple and summer camp, and overbearing parents who pushed us to highly achieve. Margie was from the West Coast, and had moved out East in part to escape from all that. She too was an avid Hillary supporter, but not as into politics. She was a dog lover, with an aging dog. We agreed to meet up again with the pups in Kent.
We arranged for two Saturdays later, and as luck would have it, the weather couldn’t have been more ideal. We planned a hike with the three dogs (well, for her a long carry), then dinner at the nearby tavern. It was late September, sunny in the low 70s at the peak of the afternoon heat, but the day was already cooling as we met for a late afternoon hike. I pulled into the parking lot of the hiking trail, and parked next to her Mini Cooper. Upon seeing me, her face lit up and she waved as if seeing an old friend. It felt strangely like we had known each other for a long time.
It was a glorious day on the trail, and the beauty of nature alongside us seemed to lend to the ease of our connection. We spoke of our college experiences and careers, lighter topics like art and design, and then on our relationships. She volunteered that her one marriage had been a disaster—I should never have married him!—it lasted less than a month. Since then, she explained, she had soured on marriage. I recognized this storyline from innumerable first dates with women who were formerly dating or briefly married to men, before coming to understand and acknowledge that it wasn’t the guys, but rather they were gay.
After the hike, Margie followed me into town. We parked next to each other, fed the pups, and left the windows ajar for them to sleep off the hike and their dinner. The tavern in Kent is popular, and especially on a Saturday evening, generally packed. I was grateful we had a reservation. The harried maître d’ said there were some stragglers at our table finishing dessert, and invited us to wait at the bar. We spotted two unoccupied seats, and beelined over to grab them.
The conversation we had so effortlessly enjoyed on the trail continued over cocktails. We discovered we both loved the same weekend destinations. I mentioned the Clark Museum, and Margie lit up, I was just invited to do a trunk show up there! Let’s plan a weekend in the Berkshires! We also explored more serious topics, like family dynamics, and then love. She questioned her lack of meaningful relationships with men, and as a woman in her early 50s lamented, I’ve kind of given up on dating. She said she just didn’t desire sex with men anymore, proclaiming, The kitchen is closed! We howled in laughter.