I blame my sisters for the fact that I am a hopeless romantic. I worshipped Samantha, who is two years older than me, and adored Christine, who is two years younger. Even now, as I approach my 40th birthday, they are still two of my five favorite women in the world.
It was Samantha who first got me addicted to romantic comedies when we were growing up. By the time I was 12, she was in charge of the VCR on nights when Mom and Dad went out. I probably watched movies like "Working Girl," "Cocktail," "The Princess Bride," and "Dirty Dancing" at a younger age than would be considered appropriate now. I definitely watched them more times than would be considered healthy then or now.
By the time Samantha started spending Fridays and Saturdays out on her own, the rules had changed and Christine, being the youngest, took charge of the remote control. Now, I was stuck with an overdose of the early-90s vision of love: "Pretty Woman," "Groundhog Day," and of course, "Four Weddings and a Funeral" were among the tapes worn out from overuse.
What about our parents? Mom and Dad were approaching their 25th wedding anniversary when this story starts and were still more in love than any of the couples on the screen. The reason we were alone on Friday or Saturday nights (or both)? From the moment we were old enough to be safe on our own, they started dating each other again. We were well-off enough that, while they didn't go to Michelin-starred restaurants regularly, they could afford a nice dinner out every week and often paired it with "good-date" activities like dancing, movies, and even a few cooking classes. So, it's possible they're partly to blame for my continuing romantic mindset, too. But overall, they were (and still are) great parents.
On the first day of my life, however, they didn't do such a good job. They named me "Keegan." Being lifelong Liverpool fans and bathing in the euphoria of that incredible year, it would almost be forgivable if not for two other facts: one, we lived just outside Manchester, and two, they gave me the middle name "Emlyn." Not that I was going to use it, and it wouldn't have helped. Keegan Emlyn Thomas -- yes, I got my fair share of beatings from kids growing up. Finally I realised the benefit of a first-name-as-a-last-name, and since I was 12 I've been Tommy, and then Tom.
I grew up on the outskirts of Manchester but lived all of my adult life in London, while Samantha migrated to the United States and Christine moved down south to Brighton. We're still a close family, and I try to see them all at least a couple of times a year, especially my parents as they approach the end of their seventies. But we're no longer part of each other's day-to-day lives, and while they'll pop up, primarily as sources of emotional support, they're not key players in the stories to come (beyond the aforementioned blame). However, before they drop out of the narrative and your interest, I did want to mention that they all got their fairytale romances. Mom and Dad are planning a grand 50th anniversary, Samantha graduated with a first from Oxford, did an MBA from Harvard, and is hopelessly devoted to her husband, an electrician/handyman with a high school education and a heart of pure gold. Christine likes to tell people how the first time she met her husband, he was elbow-deep in the private parts of a cow. The fact that he's a vet and was saving the life of a calf makes the story a little more acceptable. So my straight-laced, former city-slicker, former investment banker sister now manages a farm and veterinary practice in the country and is happier than anyone has a right to be without drugs and alcohol.
Whew, that's a lot of setup. Maybe it's time to get down to the plot (or plots). As I said, I'm now approaching 40 and, despite (or possibly because of) the road bumps along the way, I retain a romantic idealism. So, Valentine's Day has always been huge for me, and I have been known to go over the top on occasion (occasion being every single time I was in any sort of relationship on the day), but it has worked for me. And today has been no different. But strangely, this story doesn't happen on February 14th, but on February 13th -- five of them, to be exact.
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Day 1: February 13, 1996. Because there's a dance in school the next night.
The scene opens with Tommy and Helen sitting across from each other at a small, intimate Italian restaurant. They were both 18-year-olds in their last year of high school, and had been dating for three years, though they'd been best friends since they were barely out of diapers. The ambiance was dimly lit, with soft Italian music playing in the background. The smell of freshly baked bread and garlic filled the air. Tommy looked handsome in his button-up shirt and Helen looked stunning in her red dress, her hair cascading down her shoulders.
They reminisced about their high school years, laughing and smiling, reliving old memories. Tommy couldn't believe how lucky he was to have Helen by his side. She was smart, funny and beautiful, and he knew she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
As they perused the menu, the tension between them started to rise. Tommy was fidgety, constantly adjusting his silverware and playing with the ring in his pocket. Helen, on the other hand, seemed distant and preoccupied. She had been acting strange lately, and Tommy couldn't help but feel something was off. He tried to shake the feeling and focus on the proposal he had been planning for months.
After their meal was served, Tommy took a deep breath and reached for Helen's hand. She stiffened, and he could see the sadness in her eyes. "Helen," he said, his voice trembling. "I love you more than anything in the world. Will you marry me?"
Helen hesitated, and then gently pulled her hand away. "Tommy, we need to talk." she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've been thinking a lot about our future, and I don't see us being together in the long run."
Tommy was in shock, as he listened to Helen's words. He tried to understand, to make sense of what she was saying. He could see the tears welling up in her eyes, and he knew that this was not just a simple argument. She was not just upset, she was breaking up with him.
"What do you mean?" he asked, desperately trying to hold back his own tears. "What's changed? I thought we were happy."
Helen took a deep breath, "I love you, Tommy. But you've been accepted into Oxford, I'm staying in Manchester, and I don't want to hold you back. I think it's time for us to move on and grow as individuals."
Tommy could feel his heart breaking, as he realized that Helen was serious. He had been planning this proposal for months and now it was all falling apart. He couldn't believe that after three years of being together, everything was ending like this. He tried to argue, to plead, but Helen's mind was made up. With tears streaming down his face, Tommy got up from the table and walked out of the restaurant, leaving Helen sitting alone.
Tommy stood outside the restaurant, the cold February air biting at his skin. The ring, still in his pocket, felt like a lead weight. He looked up at the sky and whispered, "How could this happen?"
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Day 2: February 13, 2002. Because no-one's stupid enough to go on a blind date on Valentine's Day.
Tom sat nervously at the table, fidgeting with his silverware and glancing at his watch. He had been looking forward to this date for days, but now that it had finally arrived, he couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension. He had been single for a just few months, since his break-up with Shauna, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for another relationship.
As he looked up, he saw Diane walking towards him. She was beautiful, with long dark hair and sparkling green eyes. She was dressed elegantly in a black dress, and Tom couldn't help but stare as she approached.
"Hi, I'm Diane," she said, smiling warmly as she took her seat.
"Hi, I'm Tom," he replied, trying to hide his nerves.
The conversation flowed easily, as they shared stories about their interests and backgrounds. Diane was an artist, and Tom was a writer, they both loved to travel and try different foods. They talked about their favorite books and movies, and laughed at each other's jokes.
"So, where are you from?" Tom asked, taking a sip of his wine.
"I grew up in London," Diane replied, her eyes lighting up as she spoke. "It was always such a vibrant and exciting place to be. I loved the energy of the city, the hustle and bustle of the streets. But, it could also be lonely at times, being the only child of divorced parents."
Tom nodded, understanding the feeling of loneliness all too well. "I grew up in a small village in the Peak District," he said. "It was quite different from the City. I had two sisters and a brother and we were all very close. We always spent a lot of time together, whether it was playing sports, going to church or just hanging out."
"That sounds lovely," Diane said, her eyes softening. "I always wished I had siblings growing up. It must have been nice to have that kind of support."
