Rum Regret

Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.

-Sydney J. Harris-

I try never to regret the things I did … I always say, regret what you didn’t do. Unfortunately, the one time I didn’t follow my own advice, has not really been tempered by time. I’m talking about the One That Got Away. He was such a Perfect, Perfect Specimen of Man. (Aptly, I shall refer to him as Mr. Perfect. It’s true, because he is!) Not just on the outside, but truly on the inside where it mattered the most.

We were never anything more than friends (much to my regret!) However, I do have too many instances to think about - where friendship managed to spill over, just for a second… into an all- too brief glimpse of What Could Have Been.

I honestly don’t know what I felt for him. I love him of course; and I love him still, as a dear friend. That much has not changed. While I fancied him when I didn’t have him, I can’t realistically see me ever actually being with him. So what it was, I’ll never be able to explain. Not to you, not to me … not to our friends, and never to him.

This one incident comes to mind every time I think about "us". Why the hell did he come rushing back to England the minute I told him about my break-up with my Rotten-Ex? (Am going to start referring to him as R-Ex now.) After a few days of denial, disbelief and suffering in silence, Mr. Perfect was actually the first person I poured my heart out to. I didn’t even realise he was halfway across the world on holiday. All I got was a one-line response to my soul baring e-mail.

"I’m taking the next flight out."

He took me out to dinner that very night. In my state of grief, the romantic setting didn’t hit to me, the oblivious fool that I was. In retrospect, I guess it was like he had it carefully planned - first drinks by the Thames, in view of a quaint Cathedral nearby, the river, and the setting sun – the all elusive "quiet spot" in London. Later dinner followed, at a cozy restaurant that included candles on the table.

Rex never gave me candles.

I guess anyone who saw us would have thought we were out on a date. He wore a suit (a far cry from Rex in his favoured Euro 96 rotten t-shirt and trekkies), I was in my favourite black Chinese outfit. (It was my never-fail 100% successful LBD. With a mandarin collar, sexy neckline and nothing but see-through black lace to cover my back, it was always a sure fire hit.) Hand on heart, the only reason I wore it that night was because it was the first time I ventured out from under the duvet of tears and tissues, so I wanted to make a proper splash.

Guess that outfit’s scorecard till today remains, 100%.

My heart was feeling lighter than it had for months. I didn’t realise how unhappy I had actually been until I felt my first genuine smile when I first saw Mr. Perfect that evening. He was so tall and dashing in his calf-length black London coat and suit, coming out to meet me from his posh offices. The Modern Day Prince Charming. We could have been any other happy young trendy London couple but for the fact my heart was in pieces.

I blubbered and sniffled and cried all through dinner … and he scoffed at my woes - "You think out of all the 3 billion blokes out there, there’s only ONE for you?" Ever pragmatic, is my Mr. Perfect. I looked at him in shock and was forced to think about my response. I believe that was the first time I began to accept that perhaps Rex wasn’t the One.

We spoke at length. Before Rex, Mr. Perfect was my closest confidant in the big bad London town, when I had yet to make it mine. My best friend from Uni was busy travelling at the weekends to be with her fiancé (now husband) and the best she could do for me was the odd lunch or so. I didn’t hold it against her – but it did help bring Mr. Perfect and I closer.

It’s weird because we didn’t know each other so well at Uni. The only reason we even knew each other was because I dated his friend. In a long and twisted type circumstance, we became friends. (I always fancied him though. All the girls did - he was undeniably yummy. A younger, cuter version of JFK Jr., with those huge chocolate eyes, unruly chestnut curls and matinee-idol Bouvier good looks. Believe me girls, I AM kicking myself still).

However since Rex knew I fancied Mr. Perfect, when Rex & I were together, I barely saw Mr. Perfect. That night, we had a good two years of catching up to do. To my surprise, I was laughing again, enjoying myself – a first in ages. I was enjoying him. I felt attractive and desired, and this wonderful man seemed to have eyes only for me.

For a while there, I almost forgot this was my dear friend, and felt the stirrings I thought were long dead. Despite my own feelings - which I had barely registered, I couldn’t guess what was coming.

Mr. Perfect walked me to the station at the end of the evening. Actually happy, I looked up at him (he was just about 6’. Maybe 5’10" at the very least, but a comfortable height for me to hold on to) for a friendly goodbye hug … I couldn’t put my finger on it, things were suddenly different.

He drew me into his arms (in a decidedly unplatonic gesture!) and said softly, "You look really lovely tonight, Vix." Alarm bells were ringing in my head, but I truly couldn’t believe it. Not Mr. Perfect, not then. Of all the million ways I’d envisioned us getting together, I didn’t think it’d be then. Even as his face neared mine – a long suppressed fantasy almost coming true, I was in total and utter denial.

I absolutely bolted. Away from him without a second glance. I ran past the barriers, raced down the escalator, jumped into the train without catching a breath. My brain was a blank, my heart was racing in a panic. Yes, I was supposedly a young adult woman, but I behaved like a 16 year old who’d never been kissed, let alone shagged senseless!

Stupid me, I headed straight for Rex’s. He’d been my best friend, my first port of call, my shoulder of comfort and hand to hold for so long that he was the only one I could think to run to. You couldn't have found a blinder fool than the woman I was then.

Reality crashed into me like a train. (Incoming from Singapore).

Who do you think answered Rex’s (and what used to be my) door? At 3am in the morning, wearing nothing but his well loved England Rugby shirt that I used to sleep in. In fact, when he finalised our break-up, he asked if I wanted it as a "parting gift". Damn him, he knew how much I loved that shirt. But in my place, stood this malicious creature, cackling in my stead, wearing my shirt, answering my bloody door.

It couldn’t be more obvious than if she had peed all over him. (Let’s not go there….)

But the deed was done. Mr. Perfect and I never spoke of that moment, and till today I wonder if it was just part of my over active imagination. Would he have kissed me if I’d held on to some semblance of calm that night? Or was it all in my head?

I read "He’s Just Not Into You". I know the score. And yet something in me still wonders. Women really make their own lives a misery, eh? Maybe men really are that simple and if they like you, they'll tell you. Maybe maybe maybe... But the truth of the matter is that only the two individuals standing barely inches away from each other, that one time, so many years ago now, would know. As for what would have happened ...

We'll never know.

There is no happy ending - this excerpt is after all, titled "Rum Regret". Mr. Perfect met the woman he would eventually marry a mere 2 weeks later. I was furious for a time. In the entire time I’d known him, he’d never even had a girlfriend, let alone date anyone! Then barely 2 weeks after making a move on me (I thought!) – he hooks up with someone? I tried to declare her persona non grata, and avoided meeting her whenever I could.

But my outlook changed when I met the happy couple recently. They actually came here on their honeymoon (don’t ask me why he chose to come to Malaysia, I’d rather not think about it!) … and as hard as that was, seeing him so happy made everything crystal clear for me. If she puts that smile on his face, I have no beef with her.

Meeting The One That Got Away and The One He Got Away With, at what would probably be their happiest time together, was probably the hardest thing I’d had to do yet. Hosting them in my own house was harder still.

However, it has made me realise that I probably would not be able to bring out that kind of euphoria in him. Perhaps the better woman had won the better man after all.

No, not better, but Right. The two right halves had found each other to make One whole. I can only hope she lives up to everything he hopes she will be, because he deserves nothing less. She definitely is His One … and by default, that meant, I was Not.

"There are two tragedies in life: one is not to get your heart's desire. The other is to get it."

-George Bernard Shaw-

This Vixen's search continues.