You are never single if you are in a long-term relationship with yourself.
“Get the fuck outta here.”
I toss the glossy brochure onto the conference table and lean back in my chair, eyeing Kristin as if she has asked me to write a piece on genital mutilation—which, for the record, might be more appealing than a 3000-word article about some touchy-feely retreat designed to help sad singles “create healthy, fulfilling, long-term committed relationships.”
I’m Marlow Donnelly, by the way. I write a column for Conceit, the consummate luxury lifestyle, travel and leisure magazine, and Kristin is my editor and bestie.
“Exes and Ohs is an innovative self-help program offered by Ian Chapman.”
“Nuh-uh. No way. So not happening.”
“It’s Ian Chapman, Marlow. Ian Chapman!”
She says this as if I should recognize the name, and for one long embarrassing moment I wonder if the guy she tried to set me up with a few years ago was named Ian. Ian. Ian. Fuck me! Was his name Ian? Think around it, Marlow. Tall, brown hair, Gregory Peck glasses. FBI hostage negotiator. Talked about the importance of understanding nonverbal communication and being able to read body language, while slowly reaching under the table and trying to slide his hand up my skirt. Yeah, I got nothing here. He could have been Ian or Tom or Freddie.
I finally shrug and lift my hands.
She exhales and her silky black bangs flutter off her forehead. “Ian Chapman. The Love Guru?”
“The Love Guru?” I snort. “The Love Guru? Please tell me you are joking, because if you’re not, I will change into go-go boots and pepper my speech with phrases like, ‘Oh, behave’ and ‘Yeah, baby, yeah.’”
Kristin narrows her gaze and crosses her slender arms over her chest. I know I should swallow back the bubble of laughter rising in my throat, but I imagine myself sitting crossed-legged on a grass mat interviewing a bejeweled and berobed man, a cloud of patchouli incense swirling around us, while he uses hokey phrases like vibrational escrow, and I am dying, hooting and wiping tears from my face.
The interns snicker.
Kristin doesn’t even crack a smile. She was exposed to the Wide World of Marlow Chapman in full technicolor many years ago and is now blasé to my dramatic flashes.
“Are you finished?” she asks. “Ian Chapman is a psychiatrist and relationship expert with three million YouTube subscribers.”
Oh, well, three million YouTube subscribers…
“His TED Talk on soulmates is one of the top ten most watched videos.”
“Soulmates? You did not just say that word.”
Kristin looks away because she already knows what I am going to say. She’s heard it a bazillion times.
“I do not believe in soulmates. The idea that every person has a single mate they are meant to be with through eternity is a myth, like Marie Antoinette saying, ‘Let them eat cake,’ or creams that can get rid of cellulite, or George Clooney’s charm.”
“I love George Clooney,” an intern in a bowtie and hornrims whispers.
I ignore the Clooney-loving minion.
“Do you know who made up the soulmates myth? A tragically lonely person—probably a spinster living in a ramshackle house filled with stacks of old yellow newspapers, and a clowder of cats.”
“What’s a clowder?” Bowtie whispers to the girl standing next to him.
“She made the idea up because she didn’t want to admit she was a socially awkward recluse who would rather hole up with her fur babies than get out there and meet a man.” I’m warming to the subject now. “‘I haven’t met the one yet because there are seven billion people on the planet. He will find me, though. I am sure of it.’”
“Are you quite through?” Kristin asks.
“I am.” I grin before turning my attention to Bowtie. “A clowder is the word used to describe a group of cats.”
“In the last ten years, wellness retreats have grown in popularity, particularly among the wealthy who have exchanged exclusive cruises for resort-based self-help-focused vacations.” Kristin pushes a key on her MacBook and a PowerPoint pie chart appears on the conference smart board. “Wellness vacations have become a six hundred and thirty-nine-billion-dollar industry. Singles summits and relationship retreats are the biggest slice in that pie.”
Props to my bestie. She gives an impressive presentation, but it hasn’t juiced my mojo enough to make me want to set a date with the Love Guru. In fact, there is little she could say to convince me to spend a week having my head shrunk and my heart healed by some New Age charlatan spouting clever mantras. Every choice you make helps align you for your mate. Seriously? What if I choose chicken salad on a croissant instead of a tuna wrap for lunch? Does that throwaway decision bring my soulmate one step closer to me?
“Social media,” Kristin says. “I believe our dependency on social media has inspired this travel trend. People feel more disconnected than ever before. A recent study found that people who use multiple social media platforms report more symptoms of depression, anxiety, insomnia…”
I sit up. My crafty bestie is speaking my language now. She knows my disdain for social media, especially dating apps. It’s no accident she slipped that last part into her presentation.
“Marlow, this story needs your unique perspective to keep it from becoming a fluff piece. I’m looking for a docudrama here, not a rom-com.”
“My unique perspective?” I laugh. “Would that be my jaded outlook on the happily ever after?”
“Precisely.”
She is lethally serious.
I look at the brochure again.
Seven days of workshops, exercises, and mixers carefully crafted to help you…
I push the brochure away. Kareena, my archnemesis, reaches for it. Yes, I am aware the word archnemesis is only used by comic book characters and preteen girls, but I can’t think of another word to describe a hyper-competitive, energy-sucking entity with talons for fingernails, and I’m a professional wordsmith.
“It’s in Ibiza,” Kristin interjects.
I snatch the brochure before Kareena can get her claws on it.
Determine what is blocking the deposits into your love bank.
“Yeah, I’m out.” I toss the brochure back on the table. “There aren’t enough pills in Ibiza to get me to spend seven days talking about my love bank.”