Miss Me with That Read online

  Some names and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals involved.

  Copyright © 2022 by Rachel L. Lindsay

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Ballantine and the House colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Lindsay, Rachel, 1985- author.

  Title: Miss me with that: hot takes, helpful tidbits, and a few hard truths / Rachel Lindsay.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2021044392 (print) | LCCN 2021044393 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593357071 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780593357088 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Lindsay, Rachel, 1985- | Television personalities—United States—Biography. | Women television personalities—United States—Biography. | African American television personalities—Biography. | African Americans on television. | Race relations on television.

  Classification: LCC PN1992.4.L5357 2022 (print) | LCC PN1992.4.L5357 2022 (ebook) | DDC 791.45/08996073—dc23/eng/20211027

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2021044392

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2021044393

  Ebook ISBN 9780593357088

  randomhousebooks.com

  Cover design: Ella Laytham

  Cover photograph: Mallory Holcomb

  ep_prh_6.0_138967718_c0_r1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  This Is Not a Fairy Tale

  Rachel’s Life Plan (Age 18)

  Growing Up Lindsay

  All Black Everything

  I Want My Reality TV

  Rachel’s Ideal Man (Age 18)

  The Sexual (Mis)Education of Rachel Lindsay

  Giving Up the Ghost

  Ratio Decidendi

  You Say He’s Just a Friend

  From Boys to Men

  The Coach’s Girlfriend

  Woman’s Best Friend

  In(to) Sanity

  Plan A

  Lucky Twenty-one

  Rachel’s Ideal Man (Age 31)

  My Favorite Ex

  Clarity and Closure

  The Last Man Standing

  Let No Man Put Asunder

  The Vow

  The Coach’s Wife

  From Charity to Change

  Nation of Double Standards

  A Parting Gift

  Working Girl

  Rachel’s Life Plan (Age 36)

  This Is Still Not a Fairy Tale

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  THIS IS NOT A FAIRY TALE

  On August 7, 2017, more than seven million people watched me accept a marriage proposal on The Bachelorette. They tuned in almost every Monday night for almost three months to witness the very emotional process of my meeting, getting to know, and ultimately sending home thirty men. After watching genuine connections, tense conflicts, and heartbreaking farewells, fans think they know me.

  When you watched me on TV, you might have seen someone who had it all together—an intelligent and mature woman who was secure within herself, knew what she wanted, and refused to suffer anyone whose own agenda got in the way. Privileged upbringing, attorney-at-law, and actually married to the man I chose on the show? It can be easy to think that my life is a fairy tale.

  But my journey to love began long before those eleven episodes. To truly understand the desires, motives, and reasons behind the decisions I made on The Bachelorette, you have to know my story before I ever followed that whim to audition for a show I’d never watched. My biggest hope is that when you finish reading Miss Me with That, you’ll realize that I’m not so different from you. I don’t have it all together. In fact, right before I signed on to be a contestant on The Bachelor…Girl, I was the epitome of untogether. So much so that had the man I wanted to marry at the time asked me not to do the show, I would have passed on the opportunity (and probably be living that mediocre life my critics love to keep threatening me with). But I appreciate how much you wanted me to win, and I want to reciprocate the love by sharing the journey behind the journey so you can win, too. I want you to know me at my worst so you can learn from my experiences and realize that no matter how complicated you might be, you can have the life you dream for yourself. You absolutely deserve it.

  Note to The Bachelor fans: Let me warn you that this is not your typical Bachelor book. When I share anything about the show that I haven’t disclosed before (and we can all agree I have had tons to say), my intention isn’t to spill the tea. C’mon, you already know that I’m going to be honest about what I think and feel about the franchise. Just understand that my intention is not to gossip about or hurt your favorites. If anything, I expose no one more than myself. I make a genuine effort to own my mistakes and regrets as readily as I express my concerns and resentments. I wrote this book with an open heart and I hope you read it with an open mind.

  Miss Me with That is about how I went from pursuing a life of other people’s design to becoming clear about what I wanted for myself and finding the courage to pursue my authentic desires. I wrote it to share the experiences and work it took to become the woman you see on TV or might hear on a podcast. Not to present myself as some paragon of success, because I assure you that I remain a work in progress. If anything, as you read, I want you to think, “Damn, Rachel was a hot mess, but at least she was always willing to clean her shit up.”

  I chose the title Miss Me with That because it’s a phrase I’ve been prone to say on the two podcasts I cohosted after appearing on The Bachelor and The Bachelorette—Bachelor Happy Hour with fellow alum Becca Kufrin and Higher Learning, where Van Lathan and I discuss the latest in hot topics, politics, current affairs, and sports, and how they impact Black culture. Whether a gentle pushback or a forceful argument, saying “Miss me with that” is my way of calling bullshit. In other words, I use it a lot. Especially about serious topics like justice and equality and to my haters (and I’ve got plenty for you, too, since I know you’re here, too).

  Contrary to popular belief, the best gift I ever received was not a wedding ring. It was the permission I gave myself to be imperfect and grow from some less-than-flattering experiences. If you think that my transparency can be of service to you in any way, turn the page. If not, you know the saying…you can miss me with that.

  RACHEL’S LIFE PLAN (AGE 18)

  AGE 18: Graduate from First Baptist Academy and move from Dallas, Texas, to New York City to attend New York University. (Who needs a gap year?) While in college, meet my future husband—an Omega football player. (Refer to the list on page 48 for other qualifications.)

  AGE 22: Graduate from New York University with a BA in political science. Then promptly move to Southern California and begin law school. First choice is Loyola Marymount, but Pepperdine or UCLA would be great, too.

  AGE 25: Graduate from law school with a specialization in sports and entertainment law. Then start my career as a sports agent at CAA, WME, or IMG.

  AGE 26: Get engaged to my future husband. (Even though I know the proposal is coming, he still manages to surprise me.)

  AGE 27: Get married. (This age gives me the perfect amount of time to spend two year
s with my husband traveling the world before we have any kids.) The idea of walking down the church aisle in a white dress with all eyes on me and then pouring my heart out at the altar is mortifying. We’re eloping. Just immediate family at the courthouse followed by a huge reunion-style celebration.

  AGE 29: Give birth to the first of four children. Two is not enough. As the second of three, I want to spare my child that middle child syndrome, so four it is. Maybe more.

  GROWING UP LINDSAY

  I recently learned that I came into this world fighting for my life. Literally.

  I was in Houston visiting my mom’s side of the family…grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins. We typically gather around my grandmother’s kitchen table for hours to talk, laugh, and gossip. We were talking about my unusual life path when my Aunt Jetta shared that she knew I was destined for greatness because of how I came into this world. “You know you almost didn’t make it, right?” she said.

  “I’m sorry, what?” My aunt explained that when my mother was twelve weeks pregnant with me, she stood as a bridesmaid in a friend’s wedding. From the congregation, my grandmother watched as my mother slumped over the piano. Mom fainted and later discovered that she was spotting. She almost lost me, and the doctor insisted she remain bedridden until she had me. Having never heard this, I looked at my mother. “Mom?”

  She shrugged. “I thought I told you that story.”

  Meet the Lindsays. We’re reluctant to share information. Even family business that pertains to you. (The Lindsay group chat is probably ablaze right now since we’re not even two chapters in, and I’ve already shared too much.)

  Learning about the circumstances surrounding my birth made me realize that we rarely question how we came into this world, what a delicate process coming to life is, and how easily things can go wrong. The story rocked me, making me consider my life and its purpose from a different angle. I almost never existed, but I did, which means I’m here for a reason.

  According to Mom, I already showed a temper at three weeks old. She was changing me when I balled up my fist and growled at her. Now, that doesn’t surprise me. As a Lindsay, I would be expected to succeed no matter the odds, so of course, I was born ready for any challenge or fight. Success included excelling at school, establishing a respectable career, and raising a family—all under the guidance of the Church—just as my parents had.

  My father grew up one of eleven children on a farm in Beeville, Texas. His was one of the only Black families in a small community, and at the age of five, Dad learned how to work the land. While my grandmother coddled my father and his siblings, Pa-Pa was all about tough love. At a time when it was unheard of for African Americans to own land, my grandfather accumulated hundreds of acres of real estate that remain in our family to this day. Educational and economic success was paramount to my grandfather, and he ingrained in all his children an expectation that they would achieve these things. The Lindsay side of my family is reserved and private, and my father is no exception. (While my father did meet the final three men during my Bachelorette hometown visit to Dallas, he chose not to appear on camera. More about his take on Bryan, Peter, and Eric when the time comes.)

  Meanwhile, my mother hails from a family with a radically different vibe. She grew up in a family of seven in Houston’s Fifth Ward and then moved to South Park. In other words, the inner city. My relatives on my mother’s side could not care less where I went to school or what my GPA was. They are more open with their feelings, the life of any party, and the kind of kinfolk that burst in when you’re in the bathroom because Privacy? What’s that? We’re family! While I feel blessed to have been raised with my father’s professional ethic and discipline, my emotional temperament comes from my mother’s family.

  My female cousins on my mother’s side are more like sisters to me. Unlike the cousins on the Lindsay side, who are much older than I am and spread throughout the country, they all lived in Houston, and we are all close in age. I spent summers with my maternal cousins, having sleepovers, watching movies, dancing to Michael Jackson and Prince, and talking about boys. I feel so fortunate to have had the experience of forging strong female ties from the start.

  My mother’s extended family lived in Homer, Louisiana, where both my grandparents are from. My granddaddy’s side still lives there. I can close my eyes and see the red clay, dirt roads, and slender trees. I can smell the fresh scent of the country and feel the hot sun kissing my skin. Like my father’s side of the family, the Sheltons lived on acres and acres of land that they owned. Initially, we traveled to Homer every other year for a family reunion. Then, as we grew older and our schedules became hectic, the biannual reunion gave way to an annual trail ride through our family’s property (including a pivotal one that I’ll eventually tell you about). Homer represents freedom to me. While there, we didn’t watch television, play video games, or scroll on our phones (mostly because there’s no signal). Instead we immersed ourselves in the outdoors and family, chasing one another, playing dominoes, spades, and volleyball, and riding horses. I cherished every single second of those summers with my cousins, grandparents, and great-aunts and -uncles. Even as I now reminisce, I miss those priceless and defining moments. Summers in Homer taught me where I came from and who I am. This is why I describe myself as having a city-girl swag with a country-girl spirit. I look back at those times with a strong sense of pride; Beeville, Homer, and Houston made me.

  My parents met when she was a sophomore in college and he was a second-year law student at the University of Texas at Austin. I always joke with my mom that she knew exactly what she was doing, snatching up a future lawyer while she was in college. They became engaged and married upon Mom’s graduation. With my own love story being such a public one, it occurred to me that I had never learned about my parents’ engagement, so I recently asked my mom how they got engaged. Although they had been dating for two and a half years and had expressed their love for each other, Dad still caught Mom off-guard when he proposed. They were sitting in his car after a date when he asked her to marry him. She cried and said yes.

  After completing law school, Dad passed the bar and became a practicing attorney. My parents were living in Austin when my mother scored a great job opportunity with Arco as a computer programmer; she would be earning more than my father and had to move to Dallas. So what did my alpha male father do?

  He moved to Dallas with her. He moved for her, putting aside his pride and ego to benefit their growing family. This selfless act always resonated with me. In the future my father’s example became a reason why one relationship failed and another succeeded. But that story is for another essay.

  At first, my father struggled in Dallas. In the seventies, nobody was hiring Black attorneys, and it took him months to find a job despite having attended one of the nation’s top law schools. Just as Dad was about to hang up his shingle and start his own practice, somebody told him that the City of Dallas was hiring Black lawyers. Naturally, Dad applied and got the job. He also promised himself that if he didn’t triple his salary in one year, he would resign. Not only did my father achieve his goal, he eventually advanced from assistant city attorney to be appointed by the city council as the City Attorney…Dallas’s first Black City Attorney. I did not realize it at the time but firsts seem to run in this family. In this role, he oversaw all the city’s attorneys and legal matters involving the City of Dallas. After seven years in that position, he was appointed by President Bill Clinton to be a United States District Judge of the United States District Court for the Northern District of Texas. He is the first Black person to serve on the federal district court in the Northern District.

  While the public sees this commanding figure, his family knows him as a tender, funny, and respectful man. Think Philip Banks, Will Smith’s uncle and surrogate father on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. When I began seeking a partner who would not hold my successes against me, I would learn how high my
father set the bar and how rare a man like him is.

  But we’re not the Bankses, and don’t call me a Cosby kid. People see the daughter of a federal judge and computer programmer and presume I grew up like a Huxtable. Miss me with that. Yes, I grew up privileged, but my economic advantages didn’t spare me from life’s hard lessons. As the first in their families to attend college, both my parents were raised to work hard for everything they had, and they were intent on instilling in my sisters and me the same drive. We were expected to strive just as they had. The Lindsay imprint is powerful. In the same spirit in which my grandfather raised him, Dad refused to baby me. I remember spending summers in Beeville doing the same chores my father had done decades before…working the land, building fences, and feeding the cattle/horses. When my sisters and I succeeded at something, he would say, “Well, you’re a Lindsay. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

  My sisters and I are each four and a half years apart. When I entered high school, Constance started college, and when I went off to college, Heather began high school. That’s classic Lindsay pragmatism: planning each pregnancy so they did not have to pay more than one child’s college tuition at a time (because we had better be finished in four years before the next one enrolled). The age difference allowed my sisters and me both to admire and annoy one another in equal measure. Constance and Heather are nine years apart, which makes their relationship with each other quite different from the one each has with me. Pretty much protective big sister and adoring baby sister between those two. As the middle child between them, however, I both received and dished out regular doses of admiration and annoyance.