Being Committed

by Maxted, Anna

• ISBN13: 9780060096694
• ISBN10: 0060096691
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2004-07-07
• Publisher: Regan Books

Summary

A hopeless unromantic gets a crash course in love in the fourth hilarious novel from bestselling author Anna Maxted After her disaster of a marriage ends when she is just twenty, Hannah is convinced you have to be out of your mind (or desperate) to tie the knot. And life without a husband at thirty-one is just fine, thank you very much. She has a steady job working as a private investigator (albeit a mediocre one); a devoted boyfriend of five years, Jason; and a wonderful relationship with her dad (it's a shame her mother is such a lost cause). Then, on a romantic weekend retreat to a faux-ancient castle, Jason proposes marriage, leaving Hannah with no choice but the obvious: to turn him down cold. Much to her horror, four weeks later, Jason becomes engaged to his next-door neighbor, a fine baker and "proficient seamstress." Has Hannah blown her last chance at a solid relationship as her family claims? Jason agrees to give her another chance -- but only if she meets his terms, among them a promise to dust off the many skeletons in her closet. Brimming with her characteristic blend of humor and heartache, Anna Maxted's Being Committed is a perceptive look at intimacy (and its substitutes), commitment phobia, and the power others have over us.

Excerpts

Being Committed
A Novel

Chapter One

Every woman likes to be proposed to, even if she means to refuse.At least, until I'd racked up a couple of marriage offers myself, that'swhat I believed. Aged fifteen, I read of one thirty-something who'dtotted up five and was happy to boast of it in a national newspaper.Then, I considered her lucky, glamorous, popular with boys. Everythingthat I, as a teenager, wasn't. (My adolescence can be summarizedby one incident in which I took a gobstopper out of mymouth on a train. A man leaned forward in his seat and said, "Oh! Ithought you were deformed.")

Years later, I realized that the proposal collector and I were a lotalike. You have to be quite a twit to allow matters to escalate to thepoint where some guy assumes you'll agree to rely on him for yourlife's entertainment when you have no intention of doing any suchthing. (No man pops the question unless he is convinced of a yes.Which says not very much for the perception and self-regard ofquite a few men.)

I'm being harsh. If it happens once, it's understandable. Thereare certain men who need to get married, for whom the woman isalmost incidental to proceedings. The wife is the tedious yet necessaryingredient, similar to yeast in bread. This sort of man fixes onhis target rather like a pit bull, and any girl who can't run fastenough is at risk. Then it's not her fault.

That said, sometimes it is. A persistence in finding you perfectcan transform even a man of moderate charms into an accidentalfiancé. I know that women, as a gender, are renowned for hankeringafter men one politely describes as "a challenge." But I'll bet thateven those men have at one point (perhaps by having sex with us)given the impression of finding us attractive. I think it's instinct togravitate toward those who find us delightful.

Disagree, but you'll disagree until the day you meet a personwho dislikes you on sight and doesn't bother to hide it. Then you'llrealize there's little more repellent. You won't be able to get awayquick enough.

So, putting you at the right end of the desirability scale as itdoes, it's no wonder that a marriage offer is glorious in fantasy. Aman, not noticeably defective, falling at your feet with a shower ofgifts: flowers, jewels, big dinners, himself. A vitamin shot to theego. The fact that out of all the millions of women he has met in hislife, you are the one he finds most bewitching. (Or who he thinkswill have him.)

Alas. The reality of an unwanted proposal is spitefully differentfrom the dream format -- I discovered this the embarrassing way.And, as I believe that it cheers the spirit to hear of another person'sromantic woes now and then, I feel it's only my duty to share.Patience, however. As I said, I have had two marriage offers -- wait!Three, now that I think about it -- one of which was successful. I'mgoing to detail one here and, to reassert my dignity -- presentlymaking for the hills -- I've decided not to tell you which it is just yet.

I hope you're sitting comfortably. Even if you don't deserve to.

Jason drove. And not just because our weekend away in St. Ives wasto celebrate my birthday. He always drove. As I was unbotheredabout who drove and of the implications were Jason ever to be seen in public being driven by a woman, I let him drive. Indeed, wheneverwe traveled together, I'd head for his car, no question. I'm allfor granting favors at no cost to myself. Driving is an activity thatmen engage in to boost their self-esteem, which I can relate to butnot in a Fiat. Anyway, as we both discovered awhile back when Idirected him to Swindon out of spite (we were supposed to begoing to Oxford), the navigator holds the real power.

Perhaps I'm not giving the greatest impression of myself. Mysister-in-law Gabrielle says this is inevitable as I grew up in HampsteadGarden Suburb. She means that a typical native of "the Suburb"-- a seemingly quaint residential area of London, characterizedby big beautiful houses, trim heathland, and fierce conservationorders—is a rude rich person who drives a large car badly (whenyour nose is that high in the air, it's hard to see the road) and seriallymistreats au pairs, cleaners, waiters, and anyone apparently poor -- that is, who takes home less than £1 million a year.

I've reminded Gabrielle that I drive a Vauxhall and am comfortablyunsuccessful, but her reply is "Yes, darling, but for some reasonyou're still rude."

If that's true, I apologize, and offer the weaselly excuse that I'monly being defensive. Gabrielle has a point. The Suburb, thoughpicturesque and exclusive, is a bitchy village with a high concentrationof unhappy families who resent their neighbors. Even though afriend of mine who's plod -- pardon, a police officer -- says they havezero to sneer about because half of them are bent. Still, if you don'tconform -- say, you smile at a gardener or divorce (or worse,divorce, then smile at a gardener) -- you are shunned like the traitoryou are. It's an environment that stunts your natural affability, if youhad any to begin with.

My job doesn't help. I'm a private investigator, but not a verygood one. You can imagine how that went down with Next Door. If I'm not in the mood to offend (rare), I tell people I'm in public relations.Which isn't a lie. Occasionally -- when I don't botch things -- Ido help the public with their relations.

Pretty much the rest of my time is spent tracing people, which Ihope sounds glamorous ...

Being Committed
A Novel. Copyright © by Anna Maxted. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

---

Excerpted from Being Committed by Anna Maxted
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.