Nicole

My girls are shocked.

As we round the trail curving along the reservoir in Central Park, Penny nearly stumbles on a twig, while Delaney shouts, “You’re kidding me.”

Penny’s little dog, Shortcake, stares up at her mistress with a look of utter concern on her furry features over the near-fall. “I’m okay, sweet little darling,” Penny coos to her butterscotch Chihuahua mix as she regains her footing. Then to me, Penny says, “You’re not joking?”

Admittedly, during our morning jog might not have been the best time to drop my giant-pumpkin-sized news. But sometimes you have to rip off the Band-Aid. Especially if it’s a plan of the life-changing variety. “I’m completely serious. This is something I’ve always wanted,” I say, as my Irish Setter mix Ruby jogs by my side. The calmer I am about my news, the more likely my friends will understand. And I need them to understand. Their support is like air to me.

Penny smooths a hand down her red pullover as we continue our run on this September morning. “Always meaning in the last twenty-four hours?”

“It does seem like your sense of always might be a tad off, considering this is the first we’re hearing about it,” Delaney says, her brown eyes trying to drill a laser hole in me. It’s a tough feat while running, so she’s unsuccessful.

“Always as in always. But lately, I’ve been thinking more and more about my long-term portfolio approach, and it seems like the time is now.” My heart speeds in my chest. I wonder if its pace is from the run or from the admission. But I pride myself on keeping cool and collected in matters of the heart.

“Portfolio?” Delaney scoffs at my word choice.

I smirk since I chose that word for effect. “I have a vision for how I want my future to unfold, and I want to take the necessary steps and make the best investments to ensure it happens.”

Penny snorts. “I cannot believe you’re using asset allocation strategies.”

“Would you say you’ve been considering this massive, life-changing plan for longer than a week, longer than a year, or so long we need to tackle you for never breathing a word to us before?” Delaney tosses out, as her arms swing neatly by her sides. She’s the only dog-free member of our pack. I’ve always hoped she’d adopt a small little mutt from Penny’s Little Friends Animal Rescue, because I think a dog is pretty much as close to a soul mate as one can ever get. Plus, we’d all be perfectly paired then, girl and mutt. No such luck. But Delaney finally opened her home to a four-legged creature a few months ago when she adopted an orange, six-toed cat named Crazypants.

“To answer the have I always question,” I begin, turning to Penny as Ruby and I maintain our pace along the leaf-strewn path, “it’s sort of like—how did you know you wanted dogs? You just knew, right?”

Penny nods as she brushes off a strand of brown hair from her cheek. “I’ve always loved dogs. I can’t remember not wanting one.”

I shrug as if my situation is as easy to understand. “It’s the same for me.”

“And you don’t want to wait any longer to meet the right guy? To make sure you don’t want to do this with a partner?”

I slow as we weave around the tip of the water. “Ladies, I’m thirty. I’m not getting any younger, and the pickings aren’t getting any better. I’ve been on the dating merry-go-round for far too long, and it just keeps spinning. It’s making me dizzy. Plus, let’s not forget I’m immune to love. May I present evidence in the form of Greg?”

Delaney sighs sympathetically. “He was such a nice guy.”

“He was extraordinarily sweet and quite good to me, too,” I say, recalling my ex from a few years ago. “And I didn’t feel it. I’m like a defective part. I’m the balloon in the bag that doesn’t blow up.”

Penny furrows her brow. “I’ve never come across a balloon that doesn’t blow up. Is that a thing?”

“Fine. I’m the bad starter on a car, or whatever the hell goes bad on cars that have to be recalled. You know what I mean. Clearly, there’s something wrong with me if I couldn’t even settle down with a nice guy like Greg.”

“Your ex was pretty much the textbook nice guy,” Delaney says about my former fiancé, a sweet-as-pie coffee shop owner who I brazenly asked out the day I met him after he whipped up a mocha latte for me with a heart drawn in the foam. We dated for seven months and were engaged for two. He was everything I thought I wanted: handsome, kind, sweet, attentive, and always ready with a caffeinated beverage with art on top.

But we were spark-free. He didn’t make me weak in the knees, and I’m pretty sure there was no growl in his throat when he saw me naked. Not that I don’t look good in my bare skin. I rock the nude look, thank you very much. And it’s not because I’m a perfect ten. It’s because I like to accessorize every outfit, including nudity, with chin-up confidence. That’s my best asset, and it’ll last longer than perky boobs.

The thing is, Greg and I were good separately, but together we were toothpaste and orange juice.

Several weeks into our engagement, the lovely little diamond slipped off my finger in the shower, courtesy of my Vanilla Spice body wash. The ring slipped into the drain and hasn’t been seen since. For all I know, it’s been swept into the great sewers of Manhattan, and a rat is wearing it as a tiara. I was devastated at first, but then decided fate was giving me a sign. I didn’t want to marry a man who didn’t make me swoon, and so I called it off. Greg married someone else a year later and invited me to the wedding. He and his wife appear outrageously happy, so it worked out for all of us, not just the rat.

Since then, I’ve had some memorable dates and some not-so-memorable ones. I even went out with a guy from the local dog park who owned a Papillion and a Great Dane, a combination I found utterly delightful, so I stayed with him for four months. The problem is the dogs were so damn cute together that it took me three months and three weeks longer than it should have to realize the guy didn’t give me butterfly flutters—it was the pups causing the swoops and dives.

Like I said, the love portion of me is defective. I just don’t feel it. I do, however, feel gobs for my friends, my Ruby, my amazing mom, my pain-in-the-butt brother, and every single one of my callers and readers. That’s why I can do my show from a place of conviction.

As we round a bend, I say, “I’m just one of those girls who is better off going it alone. Maybe I’m too picky. Maybe I’m a hard-ass. Maybe I’m simply too cynical about love.”

“Ironic that the dating guru is a cynic,” Delaney says, clucking her tongue.

“I do believe in love,” I say, correcting her. “I’m just not entirely sure I believe it’s ever going to happen for me. And that’s okay. I’m fine with my single lot in life.”

See? I’m already in the acceptance phase of the five stages of I’ll-never-fall-in-love grief.

“It will happen in its own due time,” Penny says, waggling her own engagement ring as a gaggle of geese splashes in the water. “There’s a goose out there for you. Geese mate for life,” Penny adds, in case I’ve somehow forgotten Penny often looks to the animal kingdom for dating analogies.

“Perhaps I need to spend more time looking in lakes, then, for Mr. Right,” I quip as Ruby yanks gently toward a squirrel scampering up a tree. A quick tug from me reminds her to stay on track. Ruby raises her face, meeting my eyes with a look that says, See, Mom, I listened to you.

“Good girl,” I tell her.

Delaney inhales deeply as we prepare to run up a steep hill. “In all seriousness, though, why do you think it won’t happen to you?”

She asks a good question, and since my job is to zero in on matters of the heart and the bedroom, I’ve applied the same rigorous examination to myself. I have the answer handy. “Here’s why. I believe that writing about dating and love and sexual fetishes has made me immune to love. It’s the nature of the beast. The more time I spend breaking down habits and strategies, the more I become resistant to them. I’m like a doctor who can be exposed to all sorts of viruses but won’t catch them.”

Penny quirks her eyebrow. “So, love is a virus?”

“Absolutely. And it seems I’ve got more antibodies to it than I expected,” I say as a mom crests the hill pushing a three-wheeled jogging stroller in the other direction. My heart skips a beat. My eyes snap to the sweetest little bundle of joy in the stroller—a baby girl, decked out in a cute, pink onesie. A blond angel I just want to smother in kisses, and I don’t even know her. Butterflies launch a full-scale fiesta in my chest. Trumpets blare.

“Oh my God, your little girl is so adorable,” I call out with a bright smile.

The young mom returns my grin, her ponytail swishing as she jogs. “Thank you.”

“How old?”

“Six and a half months.”

“She’s a little princess.”

“She is, indeed,” the mom says. “Thank you for the sweet words.”

I sigh happily as I jog, and twenty feet later it occurs to me that I’m alone. I stop and bounce in place, looking around for my girls. Penny and Nicole are frozen in their spots, jaws languishing on the running path, eyes the size of fried eggs.

“Why are you looking at me like I’ve sprouted wings?” I ask as I stop moving.

Delaney goes first, flapping her arms in the direction of the mom. “Yes!”

I furrow my brow and jog back to them. “Yes, what?”

“It all makes sense,” Delaney says, jerking her gaze to Penny. “It all makes perfect sense, right, Penny?”

My dark-haired friend nods then gestures to me. “You always comment on how cute babies are. You always talk to the moms in the dog park. At the dog shelter events, you’re the one who’s interacting with the kids who’ve come along.”

My grin turns to a full-scale beam of the highest wattage. “I love kids. I’ve always wanted my own.”

Penny smacks her forehead. “My God. It’s so obvious now. Like at the bookstore a few weeks ago, picking up baby shower gifts for one of your clients,” Penny says, pointing to Delaney, and I can remember the day perfectly. A cute little four- or five-year-old was sounding out the words to Brown Bear, Brown Bear, and I helped him with the ones he struggled with. It was just second nature to me.

Delaney jumps in. “I knew you wanted to have a family someday, but I guess I always thought you’d want to do it as part of a couple. But you don’t need to. You can do this on your own.”

My heart bursts full and bright in my chest. I love that they get it. That they understand this is part of who I am. Maybe my path to parenthood is unconventional, but the end result is part and parcel of my very makeup.

“And how adorable was that little girl we just passed?” I turn to Ruby and talk to my dog. “She’s so totally cute, and soon we’re going to have one of our own.” I bend closer to my pooch, tousling her silky, russet coat. “Do you want to be an aunt?” With my hands on her snout, I make her nod yes. “You do. Oh, you do want to be an aunt. You’d be such a good auntie dog.”

Ruby wags her tail faster and paws at me. “I know, I know. We’ll get you a little niece or nephew very soon.” I rise and meet the gawking gazes of my best friends. If I shocked them when I started this conversation, I might have completely rendered them speechless now. I flash a smile and pat Ruby’s head. My dog leans against my thigh. “We’re going to be like elephants. Ruby and I. Raising our young in a little matriarchal society.”

“Yoo-hoo,” Penny says, waving dramatically and pointing at her and Delaney.

“Are we chopped liver?” Delaney asks.

“You’re in, too?”

Penny rolls her eyes. “If you’re doing this, we’re all in.”

Delaney laughs. “We’re going to be part of your elephant matriarchy, you crazy woman.”

For the rest of the run, I debrief my best friends on all the research I’ve conducted so far on Project Bun in the Oven, detailing obstacles and opportunities, pros and cons.

By the time we’re done, I’ve told them I intend to approach this like I do one of my columns—with a Top Five Reasons Why list and a firm deadline.

The clock is ticking.