Baby proof

don't believe that Richard thinks I am. For the first time, I look at him and see insincerity. I can't help wondering how many women Richard has called gorgeous. I feel certain that the number is triple digits high.

'You really shouldn't have,' I say again. Because I have nothing else to say.

'I wanted to,' he says. And then, 'It's no big deal.'

I look at him and feel the full truth of his statement. It's really not a big deal to Richard. The ring. The Villa d'Este. The sex. Me. None of it is a big deal at all. I guess I knew this all along. I knew that all of this was just a matter of Richard living large. It was the sort of lifestyle I thought I wanted, too.

Still, at some point along the way, maybe on this birthday trip, I think I hoped for something more. Maybe I even hoped that I could find in Richard what I had with Ben. But it is suddenly very clear: Richard is not falling in love with me, and I'm not falling in love with Richard. We are not creating anything permanent or special. We are only having fun together. It is a fling-just like he said last night-a fling with an ending yet to be determined. I feel relieved to have it defined. Relieved to know that we are both feeling the same way. But I also feel a sense of profound disappointment. In myself and in the way my life is turning out. My ring catches the sunlight as I think, Maybe I am more like Richard than Ben. I am here because I am more like Richard than Ben.

twenty-two

On the flight back to New York that night all I can do is ponder my relationship with Richard. I decide that giving a girl a ring when you're not in a serious relationship is sort of like giving a guy a blow job when you have no real feelings for him. It makes everything feel a little bit cheap. It cheapens the giver and the recipient. I don't want to feel this way about Richard's ring (or my blow jobs). I want to be enlightened and modern and independent and sexually liberated. I tell myself that Richard and I feel the same about each other. Nobody is using anyone-or perhaps we are both using each other equally. There is no deceit, no false pretenses. Richard is a grown man with plenty of experience, and he can decide for himself how he wants to spend his money. And I can decide for myself who I want to be intimate with. But despite my masterful rationalizing, the relationship just doesn't feel right to me anymore. Every time I look down at my new ring, I feel queasy.

By the time we land in New York and take a radio car back to the city, my mood has rubbed off on Richard, and our conversations have become noticeably strained. He has already asked me twice if something is wrong- which is far from our typical light dynamic. I tell him no both times because you can't very well tell someone who is not serious about you that you are not serious about him but that you feel somehow unsettled anyway. It's like calling an ex-boyfriend and announcing that you're over him. Or telling a boss who just fired you that you had wanted to quit for weeks. It's just… weird.

Besides, the last thing I want to appear is ungrateful. I am grateful. I loved our trip as much as you can possibly love a trip when you don't love the person you're with. When we pull up to Jess's apartment, I kiss Richard and thank him one final time.

He says, 'I'm going to miss you tonight.'

'I'll miss you, too,' I say.

It is the first lie I've ever told him.

I only miss one person right about now, and his name isn't Richard.

'Well?' Jess says when I open the door. She is wearing an oversized man's undershirt and a pair of Daisy Dukes from our college days. The hem is unraveling in long strands. 'How was it?'

'It was incredible,' I say. 'The place is breathtaking… and you packed perfectly. The lacy underwear came in handy…'

'But?' she says. A best friend can always sense a but coming.

'But I don't think I want to keep seeing Richard.'

Jess's eyes widen and she says, 'Why not? What happened?'

'I don't know,' I say. 'I really don't know. It was all great and fine, and then he gave me this.' I hold up my ring.

She grabs my hand, identifying the gems as a pink tourmaline flanked by two peridots. Then she admits to giving Richard my ring size, but insists that he picked it out himself. She had no input. Then she says, 'Wait. I don't get it. Do you not like it or what?'

'I like it,' I say.

'So what's the problem?'

'I don't know… The relationship-just makes me feel… unmoored.'

'Unmoored? What the hell does that mean? You read too many books.'

I didn't expect Jess to understand, but I try to make her anyway. I say that Richard just feels like killing time, and killing time doesn't feel good when you're thirty-five.

'Shit,' she says, wincing. 'I forgot today was the actual day. I have your card somewhere-and another small gift… Happy birthday. How's it feel?'

'Not so great,' I say.

'Why not?' she says.

'I feel old.'

'So what? You don't want kids.'

I think of the last time she told me that my age was irrelevant simply because I didn't want children. This time I say something. 'I know I don't want kids… But that doesn't mean I don't want anything.'

Jess looks hurt when she says, 'You have me.'

'I know I do, Jess,' I say. 'And I love you to death… But you know friends aren't the same thing.'

She doesn't try to dispute this. Instead she says, 'Well, you have Richard, too.'

'Richard's not enough, either,' I say. 'I want more. I want what I had with Ben.'

Jess inhales as though she is about to impart some wisdom I am pretty sure she does not possess. Then she stops and just says, 'Don't we all, my friend?… Don't we all?'

Later that night, my cell phone rings and awakens me from a fairly sound sleep. I answer with a disoriented hello.

'I expected voice mail.'

It is a man's voice-and at first I think it is Richard, and then register that it is Ben.

I sit up and snap to attention. No part of me expected a call from Ben, on my birthday or otherwise. I say his name, which feels intimate because I am in bed, in the dark. I look at the clock. It is only nine.

He says, 'Happy thirty-five.'

'Thank you,' I say. My heart is racing, and I am smiling. No, I am full-on grinning. Ben has just made me happier than any ring-or any other person-could ever make me.

'How was your day?' he asks.

'It was fine,' I say. And then bravely add, 'Better now.'

'So,' he says. 'What did you do?'

I hesitate and then say, 'Not too much.'

I feel guilty for lying to him (Lake Como could never be construed as 'not too much'). And I feel guilty because I went to Lake Como without him. I tell myself that I don't owe him the truth, and I am allowed to go anywhere with anyone I choose. But I still feel guilty.

'Annie says your boyfriend took you somewhere?' Ben says, and I can suddenly tell that he's been drinking. The boldness of the question gives something away, but beyond that, his speech is slightly slurred, all the words running together. And just as I am very good at guessing what time it is in the morning by the light coming through the window, I can pretty much guess that Ben's had five beers, six tops. What I can't tell, however, is whether he drank them alone or with Tucker.