I Said Yes: My Story of Heartbreak, Redemption, and True Love (14 page)

I became close to Michelle Money and Lisa Morrisey. Lisa was quiet, like me, but very cool, and we had an almost immediate bond. We’d always hide whenever we were called down for rose ceremonies, sneaking our pajama bottoms on under our dresses. Michelle was a lot sweeter than how she came across on the show. She always helped the girls out with their hair and makeup, many times even before hers was done. When I found out she was a mom, I leaned on her for support. I was grateful to have a friend who could understand how much I missed my little girl.

There wasn’t much cat fighting in the house. In fact, most of us got along so well, I was convinced this season would be the most boring of them all. I did have one confrontation with Ashley H. that didn’t air. She had a bit too much to drink during one particular group date and acted out of character. She
later apologized to Brad, bringing up the excuse that she was upset about an ex-boyfriend who had recently passed away. When I had heard this, something in me was triggered. I felt she used the victim card, and that made me angry.

Of course, my feelings had nothing to do with her. Looking back, I got so angry because of my own insecurities and what I’d been through when Ricky died. A bunch of us girls were talking about the situation, and in the middle of our groaning, Ashley H. walked in. Every one of us clammed up immediately, an obvious sign we were talking about her. Ashley wasn’t dumb. She knew what time it was.

When she asked us what was going on, I told her how I felt. That I didn’t like her using a situation as an excuse and yada, yada, yada. I went on and on, not taking a breath. I was all claws at that point, not showing Ashley any grace or empathy, and the rest of the girls in the room, who were watching this scene unfold before them, couldn’t believe that I, the least confrontational girl in the house, had turned into a raging bull. I wish I had kept my mouth shut.

As quiet as the room was before Ashley walked in to face the firing squad of belittling talk, if it was possible, it got even quieter. Ashley didn’t say much. She just stood there, tears falling. After saying my piece, I walked away and hid in my room, feeling very alone, wondering if everyone hated me.

I had hurt Ashley’s feelings, and I was sorry for that. I had no right to call her out in a room full of people. It was disrespectful. And no matter what I was going through internally at the time or what I had been through in the past, I should have looked inward instead of blowing up outwardly at someone else.

An hour or so later, I felt terrible and asked the producers if I could talk to Ashley off camera. My wish was granted. “I’m very sorry,” I told her. “I know what you’ve been through, and I’m sorry you had to go through it. I’m sorry I judged you. I know better than that.”

Ashley responded in kind and sweetly accepted my apology. We talked for a while that night, her asking me questions about Ricky and the accident, both of us sharing the devastating effects of grief. Surprisingly, the whole situation, as ugly and hard as it was, brought us closer. She became a friend and we stayed in touch after that show. Two years later, I was thrilled she found true love with J. P. on season 7 of
The Bachelorette
and was honored to attend their wedding.

Something similar happened with Chantal, the confrontation part, at least. She came home from a one-on-one date with Brad, and while typically the remaining girls in the house would pepper whoever came back from dates with questions and ask for juicy details, this one time no one said a word to Chantal. I think we could all tell Brad had some deep feelings for her and we were understandably jealous. I could tell Chantal was upset and later told her, off camera as well, that I was sorry, that I didn’t want her to think everyone was talking about her, and that we were all jealous and tired and allowing our emotions to get the best of us. All she said was, “Thanks.” Our exchange did not include a kumbaya moment.

Being on
The Bachelor
is not your everyday, garden-variety experience. Cameramen are everywhere, and producers looking
for entertaining and air-worthy sound bites are wandering around asking you questions about how you feel about your experience, Brad, and the other girls. And even though after a while you start to forget that you’re being constantly watched and filmed, sooner or later your emotions start to run wild.

It doesn’t take long to get caught up in the drama, the suspicions that the other girls in the house are out to get you, or your man, which of course is partially true. And because being part of the show means giving up access to a phone, a computer, the Internet—basically contact with the outside world—you don’t have the support of others outside of your housemates to find strength, a sounding board, or simply a sanity check. Even if you are not a competitive person, like me, this instinctual aggressive nature erupts, at least internally, and you start to get a bit miffed that other women are competing for the man of your dreams. I know, you think you’d understand this obvious fact going in, right? But in the beginning, you’re so blinded by what could be a potential fairy tale that reality doesn’t quite sink in. When it does, you just want to be the one who’s picked. You want to be the last girl standing. Yeah, that happened to me. I can’t say exactly when, but it did.

When it was time to leave the mansion and head to Las Vegas for a six-week journey around the world, I was itching for a change of scenery, for a breather from the fast-and-furious emotions of being in the house. And, of course, I was happy to clutch yet another rose that gave me the continued chance to get to know Brad. The rules of the game remained unchanged. We were contractually bound to keep our mouths shut as unauthorized spoilers could damage the show. Unfortunately, somehow information would get discovered and leaked. Can’t
control everything, I guess. So with the ground rules reinforced and bags packed, fourteen of us said good-bye to Los Angeles and hello to Sin City.

I had been to Las Vegas once before and was familiar with the lights, the glamour, and the nonstop party climate, but I’d never before noticed the mountains. Our Sky Villa in the Aria Resort bragged some pretty impressive mountainous scenery, transporting me far away from this crazy road trip for love. Ever since Ricky’s accident, I’ve had a love-hate relationship with mountains. While a part of me despises them, their looming peaks reminding me of his tragic death, I’m likewise fascinated by them. Maybe it’s because I grew up in the great outdoors of West Virginia and seeing them brings me back to the simplicity of childhood. A carefree life, wind on my face, breathing in fresh air.

That first morning in Vegas I woke up to the view of the mountains in a bedroom I shared with Michelle M. and Lisa. Immediately overcome with peace, I noticed the irony. Because the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the distant peaks, and not the Strip and the lights and the bevy of fun and frolic below, my mind was drawn to the Creator. I thought of how awesome God is, how He forms and appreciates beauty. How even in a city famous for its unscrupulous reputation, His majesty could still be known. I prayed a lot in Vegas, many times in that huge bathroom tub, staring out into the mountains while scrubbing off the last bits of spray tan from my body.

The second day in Vegas offered a group date, probably one of the worst during the whole show, but not for the reason you might expect. Jackie, Lisa, Marissa, Alli, Chantal, Britt, Michelle, and I drove out of the city in the limo, as
usual, without a clue where we were headed. The minute I saw the huge Las Vegas Motor Speedway sign I cringed. This was where Ricky had been involved in the 2002 accident that ended his career as a race-car driver. I felt upset, but not at the fact that I would spend the date at this racetrack.

Noticing my plaster smile, Brad pulled me aside to talk.

“I’m worried about you,” he said as we both sat down on the Astroturf in the middle of the track.

“I’m fine,” I said.

Brad wasn’t convinced. “Are you?”

“I mean, I’m so excited just to be here with you.”

“I saw your face change,” Brad prodded further.

“I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful to be here, but honestly, I just wanted to move on from the whole NASCAR world because it’s so much a part of my life in Charlotte.”

“What got you into NASCAR?” Brad asked. “Was it your fiancé?”

And then the revelation. “Ricky was a race-car driver and then moved into an owner position. The Vegas racetrack is what ended his career as a driver.” I fought a few tears but continued. “It just felt like, you think you leave it behind and then I come here . . .” My voice trailed off as Brad nodded.

“Yeah, I understand,” he said. “I kinda feel like a jerk.”

“No,” I assured him. “This is why I did not want to have this conversation.” And boy, how I wanted our talk to end. I wanted Brad to know there was more to me than being a mom who experienced a tragic event. I didn’t want to make the NASCAR date into something it wasn’t, a big deal because of Ricky. So while I’d never before been in the driver’s seat of a race car, I did my laps. I wanted it to be over as fast as possible.

Lisa, along with Marissa, got sent home at the rose ceremony in Vegas. Michelle and I were sad to see Lisa go. Knowing how close the three of us were, and even though this wasn’t the norm, they allowed the three of us to spend a few minutes saying good-bye.

That night, still feeling upset over Lisa’s departure, bummed about losing a friend, I thought about Brad. I really liked him as a person. I’d only been on a few dates with him, so I couldn’t say I was head over heels, but I was optimistic that maybe, just maybe, he was the one. Looking back, I wonder if I just wanted so bad to find love through this experience, rather than focusing on determining whether or not Brad was the right fit for my future.

In Vegas, the girls started noticing the special treatment he seemed to be giving me. At first, I pooh-poohed away their comments, but then I started noticing it myself. He did go out of his way to get to know me or just ask how I was doing. I started feeling pretty good about him, about us, at that point, finally admitting that maybe I was experiencing a flutter or two of butterflies in my stomach. But I was definitely not going to publicize the kindling of my feelings. My gut still screamed,
Proceed slowly! Use caution!

Things were about to heat up on our road trip around the world, starting first with beautiful Costa Rica.

“Isn’t this the perfect place to fall in love?”

“Love is a lot like traveling. You never know where it’s going to take you.”

“I can’t wait to get a stamp of love in my passport!”

Any of these sound familiar? Excuse me while I retch. Our passageway out of the States included any number, or variety, of the above clichés. At first, I thought it was annoying, but after a while, it became funny. I mean really, who says these things in real life? They’re hilariously corny! As ridiculous as some of the questions producers asked us seemed, they were talented men and women who were just doing their jobs, making a great show. While, sure, some scenes were more guided than natural, the producers weren’t a bunch of hungry wolves out only to suck whatever scandalous or sensational thoughts or actions they could from us bachelorettes. I know for a fact that some of the producers truly believed the show could match two people for a lasting love.

Our time in Costa Rica was a hot, rainy mess. Ali, Michelle, Ashley H., Jackie, Shawntel, Britt, and I stayed at the Springs Resort & Spa, a breathtaking hotel nestled in a mountain ridge and only four miles away from and with a magnificent view of the Arenal Volcano. Our villa was right in the middle of the jungle, edged by bold tropical flowers and lush trees. And though the open windows welcomed the scent of paradise, without air-conditioning it was our only source of relief from the sweltering temperatures. It was hot, people. I don’t remember ever sweating so much in my life. And this is coming from a girl who’s lived in Florida!

The heat and jungle atmosphere were also very inviting to a number of large spiders with long, spindly legs as well as giant buzzing bugs that scurried around on the walls, over our luggage, and yes, sometimes even into our hair. By the end of the first day, I realized I had to be on my A-game at all times,
wary of creepy crawlies that would appear out of nowhere, no doubt getting their kicks from our ear-splitting screams.