Exes and O’s

PRAISEFORSetonYou
“Justtherightdoseofdelicioussteam.AmyLeahascraftedanodetoallofuswhostrugglewithself-acceptancewhileremainingdeterminedtoloveourselves.”
—AliHazelwood,NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofTheLoveHypothesis
“Fresh,fun,andextremelysexy.SetonYouisaromanceofunexpecteddepth.”
—HelenHoang,NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofTheHeartPrinciple
“SetonYouisenergetic,steamy,bubbly,andso,sofun.Butmorethanthat,it’salsoahugelyimportantbookthatcelebratesbodypositivityinthemostjoyouswaypossible.”
—JesseQ.Sutanto,authorofDialAforAunties
“SetonYouisanincrediblyfunandsexyslow-burn,enemies-to-loversrom-comthathadmeinvestedfromthefirstpage.Andinbetweenallthesteamyandswoonyscenes,there’salsoathoughtfulexplorationofbodypositivityandthetruemeaningoflovingyourself.”
—KerryWinfrey,authorofVerySincerelyYours
“SetonYouisthebestkindofworkout:onethatupsyourheartratewithitsswoonyhero,makesyousweatwithitsslow-burntension,andleavesyousatisfiedwithitsthemesofempowermentandself-acceptance.Withafresh,hilariousvoiceandadeeplyrelatableprotagonist,thisromanticcomedyisenemies-to-loversgold.”
—RachelLynnSolomon,nationalbestsellingauthorofTheExTalk
“Authenticandfullofheart,thisbookisamust-readforfansofHelenHoangandSallyThorne.”
—LynnPainter,authorofMr.WrongNumber
“Thegymhasneverseemedsuchasexyandromanticplaceasinthisbook!”
—DeniseWilliams,authorofHowtoFailatFlirting
“AmyLea’sdebut,SetonYou,isaswoony,feel-goodrom-cominitsfinestform.Theproseiscomfortingasahug,andthemaincharacter,Crystal,isacertifiedbadass.”
—SarahEchavarreSmith,authorofOnLocation
“Afantasticdebut!You’llwanttospendlotsoftimewithCrystalandScott(andtheirscorchingchemistry!).”
—JackieLau,authorofDonutFallinLove
“Thisbook’sappealingcharactersandgym-boundsettingwillresonatewithanyonewho’severmentallycursedafellowgym-goerforfailingtowipedownthemachinepost-use.”
—USAToday
“SetonYoubyAmyLeaisafun,flirty,andhotAFromance.”
—Culturess
“Lea’ssteamydebutromancefeatureswell-developed,likablecharacterswithslow-buildchemistry….HandthisonetofansofHelenHoangandTaliaHibbert.”
—LibraryJournal
“Lea’sproseisclear,witty,andpowerful,deliveringanodetoallthosewhostrugglewithself-acceptance.”
—PublishersWeekly
“Lea’sdebutromanceisaterrificrom-comthatoffersanessentialmessageaboutacceptingoneself,anditisapleasuretoread.”
—BooklistTITLESBYAMYLEA
SetonYou
ExesandO’sBERKLEYROMANCE
PublishedbyBerkley
AnimprintofPenguinRandomHouseLLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright?2023byAmyLea
ReadersGuidecopyright?2023byAmyLea
ExcerptfromTheCatchcopyright?2023byAmyLea
PenguinRandomHousesupportscopyright.Copyrightfuelscreativity,encouragesdiversevoices,promotesfreespeech,andcreatesavibrantculture.Thankyouforbuyinganauthorizededitionofthisbookandforcomplyingwithcopyrightlawsbynotreproducing,scanning,ordistributinganypartofitinanyformwithoutpermission.YouaresupportingwritersandallowingPenguinRandomHousetocontinuetopublishbooksforeveryreader.
BERKLEYandtheBERKLEYandBcolophonareregisteredtrademarksofPenguinRandomHouseLLC.
LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Names:Lea,Amy,author.
Title:Exesando’s/AmyLea.
Description:Firstedition.|NewYork:BerkleyRomance,2023.
Identifiers:LCCN2022017318(print)|LCCN2022017319(ebook)|ISBN9780593336595(tradepaperback)|ISBN9780593336601(ebook)
Subjects:LCGFT:Romancefiction.|Humorousfiction.|Novels.
Classification:LCCPR9199.4.L425E942023(print)|LCCPR9199.4.L425(ebook)|DDC813/.6—dc23/eng/20220414
LCrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2022017318
LCebookrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2022017319
FirstEdition:January2023
CoverdesignandartbyVictoriaChu
BookdesignbyDanielBrount,adaptedforebookbyMaggieHunt
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
pid_prh_6.0_142226813_c0_r0contents
Cover
PraiseforSetonYou
TitlesbyAmyLea
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Author’sNote
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
ChapterTwenty-One
ChapterTwenty-Two
ChapterTwenty-Three
ChapterTwenty-Four
ChapterTwenty-Five
ChapterTwenty-Six
ChapterTwenty-Seven
ChapterTwenty-Eight
ChapterTwenty-Nine
ChapterThirty
ChapterThirty-One
ChapterThirty-Two
ChapterThirty-Three
ChapterThirty-Four
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
ReadersGuide
DiscussionQuestions
ExcerptfromTheCatch
AbouttheAuthorToallthe“crazy”ex-girlfriendsGotalonglistofex-lovers
They’lltellyouI’minsane.
—TAYLORSWIFT,“BLANKSPACE”author’snote
DearReader,
ThankyousomuchforchoosingmyromanticcomedyExesandO’sasyournextread.Whilethisstoryisgenerallylightandhumorous,IwouldberemissifIdidnotincludethefollowingcontentwarnings:emotionallyabusiveex,on-pagegaslighting,portrayalofchildwithillness,mentionsofdeathsoflovedones,anddeliberateuseofthewordcrazythroughout.
Note:thislastoneisvehementlycondemnedbymeandthemaincharacters.Pleasetakecarewhilereading.
Withlove,AmyLea?chapterone
YOUKNOWYOURdayisgoingswimminglywhenyou’vebeenprojectilevomitedonandsomeonestoleyourGreekyogurtfromthestaffroomrefrigerator.Andit’sonlyseveninthemorning.
Eagertoleavethememoryofmyhellishnightshiftbehind,I’minformationattheedgeoftheplatform,stancewide,pointyelbowsout,amonghundredsoftiredmorningcommutersprimedtobattleforarareopenseatonthesubway.
I’velearnedathingortwoaboutnavigatingacrowdfromwitnessingfive-foot-tallGrandmaFlobarrelherwaythroughthegrocerystore,whackinginnocentswithherfaux-crocodilepursewithnoapologies.
Bostonsubwaycommutersmaynotbeasferociousasgrocerystoregrannies,butthey’lltrampleyouforanopenseatallthesame.Ihaveagrotesquescaronmyleftshintoproveit.
Thankfully,nobloodisdrawnintoday’swar.Inarareturnofevents,Ihavemychoiceofthreeseats:onebesideamanthree-too-manyediblesdeep,passionatelyairdrumming;anothernexttoawomanwithbubble-gum-pinkhairopen-mouthsmiling;andoneacrossfromanadorableelderlycouplebundledinmatchingredparkasthickenoughforaperilousArcticexpedition.
Inabtheseatacrossfromtheelderlycoupleandsetmypurseatmyfeet,eagertoavoidallrealitywithmytrustywornpaperback.Thisbookhasallmyvices:aball-bustingheroinewithasharptongueandakind-eyedyetemotionallyconstipatedex-boyfriend.
Afewparagraphsintoajuicyyachtscene,myphonedingswithatext.It’sfrommysister.
CRYSTAL:Hopeyouhadagoodshift.We’llmeetyouattheapartmentsoon.Justloadedallyourboxesinthecar!Cheerstonewbeginnings.Crystalistwoyearsyoungerthanme,thougheveryoneassumesshe’stheolderonebecauseI’vebeenoverstayingmywelcomeinherone-bedroomcondoforthepasteightmonths.
“Newbeginnings,”Imuttertonooneinparticular,tryingtopsychmyselfupforamorningofmanuallabor.
I’veonlyrecentlypeeledmyselffromrockbottomaftermyhappilyeverafterplottwistedintoaNicholasSparkstragedy.Truthfully,theprospectofmorechangetriggersmygagreflex,butI’mtryingtostayoptimistic.MovingoutmeansI’llbefreetoreadonthecouchforsixstraighthourswithoutanyonethrowingshade,andCrystalgetsprivacywithhernewfiancé,Scott—whoI’mswappingapartmentswith.
Thesubwayveersaroundasharpcurvewithanearsplittingsqueal,causingtheentirelengthofmythightopressagainstacompletestranger’s.Theluxuryofpublictransit.WhenIbraveaglanceatmycozyneighbor,apairofhooded,azureeyesensnaresminefrombehindtortoiseshell-framedglasses.Thestrikingsky-blueshadeofhiseyesoffsetsafullheadoflusciouslythickgingerhair.
Asalifelongconnoisseurofromancenovels,I’mkeenlyawarethateyecontactlastinglongerthanthreesecondsisripewithromanticpotential.
“Goodbook?”Hisvoiceisthick,almostsleepy.
Stunned,Iscrutinizehisfaceforanysignofsarcasm.That’sthethingaboutreadingromance.Bookcoversdepictingunfairlyattractive,half-nudemodelsembracinginapassionatelip-lockareperennialtargetsofmockingandsnobbery.Welcometothepatriarchy.
Sweatpoolsintotheunderwireofmybrawhenhesmiles,revealingteethsowhite,theyappearartificialunderseizure-inducingsubwaylighting.Hisquestiontakesmeoffguard,andhecantell,becausehebashfullyfollowsitupwith,“Ireadalittleromanticsuspense,ifyou’rewondering.”
Mytoescurlinsidemynursingshoes.Hasfategiftedmeanemotionallyadept,romance-readingPrinceHarrylook-alike?BecauseI’meternallyvoidofallchill,Ispewquestionsatrapid-firespeed.“Youreadromance?Whohaveyouread?Whichtitles?”
Irefrainfromsuddenmovementsashetiltshishead,dithering.“Okay,yougotme.Ilied.Ijustwantedanexcusetotalktoyou.Idoread,though,”headds,hisgazefallingtomypurseatmyfeet.
“What’syourgenreofchoice?Andpleasedon’tsaypoetry,”Ibeg.Fortherecord,Iholdnoillwilltowardpoetry,butIwasghostedincollegebyadudewhodidslampoetryandthewoundstillcutsdeep.
“Horror.Ihaveasickaddictiontoit,actually,”headmits,pushinghisglassesupthebridgeofhisnose.
Theseamsofmyproverbialcorsetthreatentoburstwithsuppresseddelight.I’mnotahorrorreader,butmensouthofsixtywhoregularlyreadfictionareanendangeredspeciesthatmustbeprotectedatallcosts.
“Malevolentspiritsorbloodandguts?”
Hegrimaces,strugglingundertheweightofhischoices.“CanIsayboth?Isthatcreepy?”
“Itisborderlinemorbid.ButI’mokaywithit.”Morethanokaywithit.
“I’mNate.”HisintroductionisfollowedbyanenchantingDisneyprince–likesmile.
“I’mTara.”Ourgazeslockagain,kickingmyheartintooverdrive.It’shammeringfastandfurious.EitherI’mgoingintocardiacarrest,orI’mhavingameet-cutewiththeblueprintofsquare-jawedperfection.It’shardtosay
IfIweren’twearingmymostunflattering,shapelessnursingscrubs,I’dprobablytwirlaroundthesubwayaisle,armsoutstretched,likeablissfulmiddle-agedpersoninanallergymedicationcommercialwho’sfinallyexperiencinglife’sjoywithoutwateryeyesandnasalcongestion.
Inthespanoftenminutes,I’velearnedallthereistoknowaboutNate.He’stwenty-five(fiveyearsmyjunior,butI’mwillingtoembracetheCougarLife),worksataninvestmentfirm,ownshisveryowncondo,wouldchoosemustardoverketchupifstrandedonaremoteisland,andissecureenoughinhismanhoodtoadmithisfondnessforTaylorSwift’slatestalbum.Creatureslikehimarearomancereader’swetdream.Themanjustoozessoulmatepotential,andI’meagerlyabsorbingitlikeaShamWow.
Infact,peaksoulmatestatusisreachedwhenhewavesenthusiasticallyatacherub-facedtoddlerwaddlingupanddowntheaisle.Hello,dadmaterial.
Cuetheviolins.I’vejustfallenininsta-love.
Ifthiswerearomancebook,thecloudswouldpartasweexitthesubwayatanygivenstop,lockstep,handinhand.We’dspendthecoolOctoberdaydoingtheusualthingssoulmatesdo:ignoringallresponsibilities,discoveringrandomdivesaroundthecity,drinkingliquorwrappedinabrownpaperbag,andrevealingallouremotionalbaggageasthesunsets.Attheendofthenight,he’dfoldmeintoapassionateembraceunderthestarryskyandblessmewithafoot-poppingkiss,preferablywithalittletongue.
Turnsout,thisisnoromancebook.Idon’tevenhavethechancetonameourgoldenretrieverandfourunbornchildren.InthenonfictionlifeofTaraLiChen,thefollowingeventsunfoldinchronologicalorder:
1)Thesubwaycomestoanabrupthalt.Hordesofpeoplefunneltotheexit.
2)Anewgroupofcommuterspushandshovetheirwayin.AlankydudewearingaMaytheGainsBewithYouT-shirtoverafullLycragetupbeelinesitfortheonlyremainingseat,tothequietdismayofaverypregnantwoman
3)Bythetimethecrowdsettles,SoulmateNateisnolongernexttome.Infact,he’svanishedentirely.
4)Andsohasmypurse.
LIVEWITHTARAROMANCEQUEEN—THEDEATHOFTHEMEET-CUTEEXCERPTFROMTRANSCRIPT
[Taraappearson-screenatanupwardchinangle,seeminglyoutofbreath,hairslickedbackinanunflatteringfoundingfathers’ponytail.Shepowerwalksdownabustlingcitysidewalkinaseedyneighborhood.]
TARA:Hello,romancebooklovers,welcomebacktomychannel,whereItalkallthingsromance.First,I’dliketoapologizeformyhiatusthepastfewdays.I’vebeensuperbusywithworkandpackingformymove,whichhappenstobetoday.Yay!
SinceI’llbespendingthebetterpartofmydayschleppingboxes,thisepisodeisgoingtobesuperbrief.Iwanttotalkaboutmeet-cutes.
YouallknowI’masuckerforagoodmeet-cute.Imean,they’reabelovedstapleinromance.Thebestonesinvolvethespillingofascalding-hotbeverage,oranear-deathexperience.Sometimesitevenvergesintomeet-uglyterritory,wheretheydawdleinmutualloathinganddelightfullypettyprejudiceforhalfthebook.Thatis…untiltheydiscovereachother’semotionalsidesandfallheadoverheelsinlove.
[Tarawaitsimpatientlyatanintersectionandstaresintothecameraofherbrand-newphone,browcocked.]
Thankstotheinternet—don’tevengetmestartedononlinedating—real-lifemeet-cutesareDEADandI’minmourning.Intoday’sharshworld,anystranger,nomatterhowbeautiful,whomakeseyecontactforlongerthanafewconsecutivesecondsmostdefinitelyhasnefariousintentionsandwillmugyouinbroaddaylight.Ispeakfromexperience.
Isallhopelostonceyouhitthirty?I’mbeginningtothinkso.Ifanyonewouldliketoprovemewrongwithsomeadorable,real-lifemeet-cutestories,I’mallears.
COMMENTS:
Imetmyhusbandonline.We’vebeenhappilymarriedfortenyears.Meet-cutesareoverrated.
Tara,Icompletelyagreewithyou.I’mwaitingformyin-personmeet-cutetoo.Preferablyinbetweenrowsofdustymahoganyshelvesinapubliclibrary.???
EVERYTHINGISFINE.EVERYTHINGISFINE.
ImentallyrepeatthatphraseasIhaulmyselfupthestairwelltomynewapartment.Tomynewlife.
It’sfinethatIgotmugged.It’sfinethatI’llneedtocancelallmycreditcards.It’sfinethatIhadtobuyanewphone.It’sfinethatI’mmovingintoanewapartment,sightunseen.It’sfinethatitboastsachronicallybrokenelevator,eventhoughI’mastaunchproponentofasedentarylifestyle.IT’SALLFINE.
WhenIreachthethirdflight,Itakeamomentaryleanagainstthewobblyhandrail,balancingmyheart-shapedthrowpillows.Inbetweenwheezes,Iforcemymouthintoasmile,atrickIusetoresetwhenI’mspiralingintoanegativityvortex.
There’snoreasontohateonmybrand-newdigs.ItmaynotbetheRitz,butfromwhatI’veseenoftherun-down,orange-tiledentrywayandprobablyhauntedconcretestairwell,it’sthenicestplaceIcanaffordonthedirectsubwaylinetothehospitalthatisn’taroach-infestedbasementapartment.AndScottwascharitableenoughtoleavemehisgentlyusedbedroomfurniture,freeofcharge.
AsIpressonandupward,Iremindmyselfchangeisgood.Thismoveismorethanjusttheapartment.It’sanewchapterofmylife.Achancetostartanew,aftereightmonthsofwallowing,mourningthelifeIwassupposedtohavewithmyex-fiancé,Seth.
Thistimelastyear,Iwasblissfullyengaged,planninganelaborateCinderella-inspireddreamweddingfromthecomfortofourBeaconHillcondo.Then,sixmonthsbeforethewedding,SethdecidedtheseasonfinaleofSurvivorwasasgoodatimeasanytopickadramaticfight,concludinghe“couldn’ttoleratemeanymore.”
Thetribehadspoken.
SethReinhartwouldbethetenthmantobreakmyheart.
Startingmylifeoverwasatrip,tosaytheleast.Butaftermonthsoftherapyandstar-fishingonCrystal’sfloor,I’vefinallycomeintomyown.
I’veembracedamorselofchange,startingwithaboldhaircut(alongbluntbob).MybookstagramandBookTokaccounts—nichecornersoftheinternetwhereliterature-obsessedfolksbondoverbooks—arethriving.I’vesecuredmytrustedinnersocialcircleofexactlytwo—mysisterandMel—therespectiveCarrieandSamanthatomyCharlotte(eventhoughwe’reallprobablyMiranda).
MaybethisyearI’llsurpriseeveryoneandtakeupanewhobby,likelooming,archery,ormountainbiking.Sethalwaysresentedmylackofhobbies,asidefromreading.MaybeI’llpurchaseasucculent,orseven,andnamethemafterthevonTrappchildrenfromTheSoundofMusic
I’mreinvigoratedwithendlesspossibilitiesbythetimeIreachunit404.Somuchso,Iopentheunlockedapartmentdoorwithtripletheforcenecessary,likeaprodancertakingcenterstage,makinganimpassionedentranceintomyshinynewlife.
ThemomentIenter,it’sclearthatthisnewchapterisnoimprovementfromthelast.Infact,it’sworse.
Beforemeisamagnificentlymuscled,entirelynaked,tattooedmanbendinganauburn-hairedwomanoverthekitchenisland.
Welcomehome,Tara.?chaptertwo
THINGSGOTITSupfromthere.Literally.
Iletoutabloodcurdlingscreechfromthedepthsofmygut,tossingmythrowpillowsintheair.Theauburn-hairedwomanyelps,endeavoringtocoveratleasthalfherenviablyamplebosom.Thetattooedmancursesanddivesforcoverbehindthebutcherblockisland,likeaWorldWarIsoldierundersiegeinthemuddytrenches.
Butit’stoolateforme.Isawit
Thepenisbelongingtomynewroommate,TrevorMetcalfe.
It’snotlikeIexpectedtocrossthethresholdintoaSexandtheCity–worthylifeoffabulousriches,cosmos,whirlwindromance,andgirlfriendswhoarereadilyavailabletodroptheirlivesatamoment’snoticewheneverdisasterstrikes.ButIwasnotexpectingthis
Normally,Iwouldn’tentertaintheprospectofmovinginwithastranger.Buttherentwascheap,Ihavestudentdebt,andanywherewaspreferabletomyparents’place,whereI’dbeforcedtocompeteforattentionwithHillary,Mom’sankle-biting,narcissisticChihuahua.Besides,TrevorisScott’sbestfriendandcoworkeratthefirehouse.Ifigureditwassafetotrustmysoon-to-bebrother-in-law,butapparentlyyoucan’ttrustfamily.
You’llneverseeeachotherwithyourshiftwork.It’llbethesameaslivingalone,Scotthadassuredme.
Theillusionoflivingaloneseemedplausible,giventhatmyandTrevor’sconflictingshiftschedulespreventedusfrommeetingpriortotoday.Irotatebetweendayandnightshifteverytwoweeks,andapparently,sodoeshe.Sofar,we’veonlyexchangedacoupleoftexts,whichconsistofmyrequestforthedimensionsofmynewroomformybookshelf.Nosmalltalk.
Thetoplesswomangapesatme,justifiablypeevedIinterruptedherBigO.Asidefromdisappearingintothevoid,Idothenextbest,highlylogicalthing:mumbleavagueyetsincereapology,covermyeyes,andsprintawayintheonlydirectionpossible—downashorthallway.
“Thisisfine.It’sallfine,”Imutter,takingrefugethroughthefirstdoorontheright.Islamitshut,savoringtherelativecoolnessofthedooragainstmysearingskin.
Asanurse,Iseegenitalsaplenty,particularlyduringmystintintheERbeforeItransferredtotheneonatalward.Butmakingeyecontactwithalivehuman(amega-rippedhuman,tobeprecise)inthethroesofpassionameretenfeetawayisafirst.
Whenslowingmybreathbecomesaherculeantask,Itryatechniquemytherapisttaughtme.Takeinyoursurroundings.Noteeverythinglogically,withnojudgment.
I’minatiny,outdatedbathroom.It’swhitefromfloortoceiling,saveforaplushnavy-bluetowelhangingbehindthedoorandthematchinghandtowelnexttothesink,bothprobablybelongingtoamanwithanice,sizable—Nope.We’renotgoingthere.Focus,Tara.
Crackedyetcleanceramicsubwaytilesadornthewallinthegleamingglassshower.ForabathroomformerlysharedbyScottandTrevor,twothirtysomethingmen,it’simpossiblyclean.Irunmyindexfingeralongtherimofthesmoothporcelainsink.It’sspotless.Notastraymanhairorglobofdriedtoothpastetobefound.
Weakandweary,Iparkmyselfontheporcelainthrone.Ishouldprobablycommenceanewsearchforanotherplacetolive,buttheveryprospectofprobingthebowelsofCraigslistpromptsaheavinggag.Instead,Iself–eyebleachtovideosofbabyfarmanimalsuntilmyfeetloseallcirculation.
IknowIhavetogooutandfacethemusicatsomepoint.Butlikeacoward,IdelaytheinevitablebyFaceTimingMel
Sheanswersimmediately,preeningherultra-lushlashextensions.She’sacurvyinfluencer,likeCrystal,exceptinsteadoffitness,Mel’sspecialtyisfashionandbeautyandallthingsaestheticallypleasing.Today,ashimmerypurpleshadowsweepsacrosshereyelids,accentuatingherdarkeyes.Hercontourisalsoonpoint,showcasingherbonestructure.She’ssostunning,it’sfranklyoffensive.
Basedonthefloor-to-ceilingwindowbehindher,she’sathomeinherbougieapartmentinthetheaterdistrict.“Wherethehellareyou?”sheasks.
“I’mhidinginmynewbathroom,”Iwhisper.
“Whyarewewhispering?”Shelowershervoiceconspiratorially.
“Because.Ijustwalkedinonmynewroommate.Naked.”
Sheletsoutastrangledgaspandslapsahandoverherviolet-paintedlips.“Naked?Asin,assout?”
“Penisout,”Icorrect.“Actually,hewasmorethannaked.Hewasboningagirlinthekitchen,”Iexplain,takingituponmyselftosnoopintheshower
ThemomentIopentheheftyglassdoor,I’mhitwithazesty,far-too-sexyspicinessthat’ssurelyabiohazard.Isniffthebodywashtoconfirmtheoriginsofthescent,anditimmediatelyclearsmyairways.Cinnamonandcedarwood,accordingtothebottle.Nexttothebodywashisabasictwo-in-oneshampoo-and-conditionercombo.
Pokingaroundavirtualstranger’sshowerfeelsillicit,buttechnicallythisismyshowernow.I’vealreadyseenthisman’snetherregions,sodoesitreallymatterifIknowhispreferredbrandoftoothpaste(Colgate—MaxWhiteExpertComplete)?
“Jesus,takeme.”Melclaspsahandoverherchestandpretendstofaintonherchaise.Shequicklyrightsherself,fullyalertandreadytosiptheproverbialtea,whichshelikespipinghot.“Okay,tellmeeverything.OnascaleofDannyDeVitotoHenryCavill,howattractiveishe?Sparenodetail.”
“Iwasn’tlookingathisface.”Hisfacewasbutabluronaccountofhisnakedbody,whichdefinitelyleansinfavoroftheCavillsideofMel’sscale.Thememorywillliveonforever,searedontomyretinas.
“Itakeityou’regonnahideinthereuntiltheendoftime?”
“Yes.IthinkI’lljustrotinhere.”Iexaminetheglitterysoapdispensernexttothesink,whichdoesn’tbelongamongtherestofthepractical,low-maintenanceproducts.It’slabeledToastedVanillaChai.Thisisawoman’stouchifIeversawone.Maybeitbelongstothebig-breasted,auburn-hairedwoman.
AsMeltellsmeaboutatimesheaccidentlywalkedinonherbrotherdoingthedirty,Iswiftlymoveontothemedicinecabinet.Beforeopeningit,Icatchmyhopefulreflectioninthemirrorandcringe.Whatwaspreviouslyaperkyponytailthismorninghassagged.Itrytighteningittoaddvolume,inadvertentlymakingitworse.There’szerovolumetobehadhere.Eachstrandisdeadslicktomyscalpandseverelypulledback,accentuatingmyshinyforehead.Ireallyneedtoblot.
Givinguponmyselfentirely,Iexplorethecabinet.Insideisanopenedpacketofassortedcolortoothbrushes,ashavingset,asinglerazor,abottleofshavingcream,Listerinemouthwash(CoolMint)andajumbobottleofTylenol.
AsIpluckthebottlefromtheshelftoexaminetheexpirationdate(expiredinJuly2021),afloorboardcreaksinthehallway,rightoutsidethedoor.Panicked,IflingtheTylenolbackwhereIfounditandside-shuffleawayfromthesink.Afewbeatsofsilencetickbybeforethere’saknock.
“Tara?”Trevor’svoiceisgravellyandbaritone.Veryaudiobookworthy.
“Mel,Igottago,”Iwhisper,franticallyendingthecallbeforeshecanrespond.
“Youokayinthere?”heasks.
“Totallyfine.Morethanfine.Whywouldn’tIbe?”Yikes.IsoundlikeMinnieMouseonuppers.Imakeapointtolowermyvoice.“Wassheyourgirlfriend?”
There’sabeatofsilence.“No.She’snotmygirlfriend.Shejustleft,bytheway.”
“Oh,”Isay,mildlydisappointed.Itwouldhavebeennicetohaveanotherwomanaround,likeanunofficialroommateofsorts,especiallysincethemajorityofCrystal’sandMel’stimeisdevotedtotheirrespectivelong-term,committedrelationshipsandfull-timethrivingsocialmediacareers—bothofwhichIlack.WhileIlovebeingabookinfluenceronInstagramandTikTok,it’sahobby,notacareer.
There’sanotherextendedsilencebeforeTrevorsays,“Listen,I’msorrywehadtomeetlikethat.Ididn’tthinkyouweremovinginuntillatertoday.Ifeellikeanasshole.”
Isinktothefloorbehindthedoor,noodlelegspulledtomychest.“It’sfine.Imean,it’syourapartment,technically.”
“It’shalfyoursnow.”
“Doyouregularlyhavesexincommunallivingareas?”
“Well,notanymore.”Basedonhishalfchuckle,Ipictureacharming,tiltedgrinthatcouldmeltthepantiesoffanygivenstraightwoman.“IswearI’lldisinfectthewholekitchen.Thoroughly.”
“Muchappreciated,”Isaygenuinely.It’sniceknowingthesurfaceIeatmyPop-Tartsoverwillbevoidofbodilyfluids.
Afewbeatsgoby.“So,uh,areyouevergonnacomeoutofthebathroom?”
“Thatdepends.Areyoustillnaked?”
“I’mfullydecent,Iswear.”
Ipressmycheekclosertothedoor,cravingthevibrationsofhisvoice.“Imightstayinherealittlelonger.It’scomfortable.”Thistinyspaceisactuallykindofsoothing,reminiscentofaScandinavianspa.
Hisfootstepsdisappeardownthehall,onlytoreturnafewsecondslater.“IhaveCheetos.Anddon’tworry,Iwashedmyhands.”
Mymouthwatersinstantlyatthetried-and-truesoundofacrunchingbag.Bestillmyheart.Ireachtoturntheknob,openingthedoorwideenoughtomakeagrabby-handsmotionthroughthecrack.He’sstillnotvisible,withtheexceptionofhishandashepassesthebaglikeadiceydrugdeal.There’salightdustingofashy-brownhaironhiswristandknuckles.Hispalmismassive,almosttwicethesizeofmine.Icatchthetailendofadetailed,dark-graytattoointheareabelowhisthumb,butbeforeIcanmakeoutthedesign,hishanddisappearsbehindthedoor.
Starved,Idescendonthebag,rippingitopenlikeanape.Inthespanofunderthreeminutes,I’vedemolishedatleastaquarter.Ashamedofmyblatantgluttony,Islideitbackthroughthecrack.“Sorry,I’vehadatraumaticday.”
Thebagcrunches.“Shit.Becauseofme?”
“No.Mydaywasalreadyawashbeforeyou.”
“Why?”heasks,passingthebagback.
“Todaywassupposedtomarkabrand-newstart.Aturningpointinmylife.ButIgotmuggedonthesubway,”Iadmitthroughacrunch,“byaguywithsomeserioussoulmatepotential.Themeet-cutewasgoingsowelluntilhestolemypurse.”
“Wait,yougotmugged?Andwhat’sameet-cute?”Herepeatsmeet-cuteslowly,likeit’saforeignconcept.IwatchhislargehandreachthroughthecrackfortheCheetos.There’saRomannumeraltattooonhiswrist,partiallyobscuredbyhissleeve.ItakeamentalphotosoIcandecipheritlater.
“Ameet-cuteiswhentwoloveinterestsmeetforthefirsttime,”Irattleoffimpatiently.“Butyes.Igotmugged.Iwasreadingonthesubwaywhenthisguynexttomestartedchattingmeup.Youshouldhaveseenthisguy,Metcalfe.Hewasasnack.Definitelydidn’tlooklikeamugger.Notthatmuggershaveaparticularlook,butyouknowwhatImean…”
WepassthebagbackandforthasIrehashthestoryofNate,fromthatinitialmomentofeyecontacttowhenhejackedmypurse(andallmyhopesanddreams).
“Well,that’sshitluckeitherway,”hesays,sympathetictomyplight.
“Right?I’mstartingtolosehope.EverytimeImeetapotentialman,somethinggoeshorriblywrong.ThelastguyImetthroughafriendseemednormal,untilherequestedphotosofmyfeet.”
“Footfetish?”
“Apparently.Idon’twanttofetish-shame,butIthinkI’mcursed.Todayit’samugging.Tomorrow,probablyakidnapping.Someguywillluremetohiscarwithcandy.I’llgobecauseIlikefreefood.Andhe’lltossmeinthetrunkandsetmybodyonfire.”Igrimaceatthemissedopportunityofflauntingmylatestfavoritenumber,ahigh-neckpinkdress,inanopen-casketfuneral.I’vealreadyadvisedCrystalofmywishtobeburiedinit,andshe’sassuredmeshe’llmakeithappen.
“Okay,thatgotdarkrealfast.Thisiswhyyoushouldnevertruststrangerswithcandy,”Trevorwarns.
“Technicallyyou’reastranger,withCheetos,”Iremindhim,fishingarogueCheetofromthefloor.Itossitinthetrashcannexttothesink.
“You’reastrangertoo.Inmybathroom.Whoknowswhatyou’vedonetomytoothbrush.”
Ihavethesuddenurgetochangeourstrangerstatus.ThehingessqueakasIpullthedooropen,pokingmyheadoutlikeameerkatemergingfromtheprotectionofitssandyburrow.
Trevoris,indeed,fullyclothed,backrestingagainstthewall,longlegsextendedinfrontofhim.
Thetopofhiseffortlesslytousledmopofdarkhairjuxtaposeswiththeshort,neatlytrimmedsides.EventhroughhisBostonFireDepartmenthoodie,hisbicepsaremature,unyieldingtreetrunks.Incomparison,mineareflimsierthanaricenoodle.
HisAdam’sapplebobsashetakesinmydisheveledponytailriddledwithdryshampoo,scanningdownwardovermyoversizemaroonsweatshirt,whichreadsNonfictionalfeelingsforfictionalmeninTimesNewRomanfont.
Nowthatheisn’tnudeandhistattoosareadequatelycovered,I’mabletoassesshiseyes.They’rethecolorofhoney,likeaninfernoofcracklingfirewoodresistingmercilessgoldenflames.Theyprobablytakeonamossyhuewhenthelighthitsthemjustright.Undertheprotectiveswoopofdenselashes,they’reforeboding,guarded.Andwhenhisgazemeetsmine,mystomachbetraysmewithanuncalled-forbarrelroll.
Inanefforttomaintainaniotaofnormalcy,Isquinttoblurhisfaceoutoffocus,distractingmyselfwithahumungousCheeto.“ShouldItrustyou,deliriouslyhandsomestranger?”
Hismouthshapesintoacrookedsmileashestands,toweringovermeonthebathroomfloor.“Nah.Probablynot.”?chapterthree
Onemonthlater
ACCORDINGTOGRANDMAFlo,thefirstmomentyouopenyoureyessetsthetonefortherestoftheday.Ilikenittoanill-advisedopeningsceneofanovel,orarom-comwherethemaincharacterwakesupinfullmakeup;unstained,crisppajamas;andperfectlyintactbarrellocks.
Thoughinreality,Iroutinelywakeuplookinglikeacadaverfromagrislycrimescene.Sickly,pale,anddisheveled
Ablue,pre-sunriseglowpeeksthroughtheblinds,whichtellsmeit’sonehourtooearlyforconsciousnessanddefinitelyfartoolatefortherhythmicsqueakofthemattressandthesteadydrumoftheheadboardslammingagainstthewallacrossthehall.
It’sbeenonemonthsinceImovedin,andthisisthethirdwomanTrevorhasbroughthome(notincludingtheredheadfrommove-inday).OnelookatTrevorandit’seasytounderstandhissuccesswiththeladies.Notonlyisheaheroicfirefighter,butI’vededucedheresemblesamildlylesstortured,darker-hairedversionoftheleadSonsofAnarchyoutlawbiker,readytowhiskyouawayforalifeofcrimeonhisHarley-Davidson.Inreality,Trevordoesn’tactuallyownamotorcycle.Heownsaplum-coloredusedToyotaCorollawithlike-new,spotlessinterior.Buthedoeshavetheforeboding,tattooed-badasslookgoingforhim.
Icertainlydon’tresentTrevorforhavingahealthysexlife.Infact,afteroverayearofcelibacy,I’mseethingwithjealousy.Butcobwebsonmydownstairsaside,sleepisapreciouscommodityasashiftworker.Afterback-to-backnightshifts,Iwaslookingforwardtosleepingintodaybeforetransitioningtodayshifts.
Ifoldmypillowovermyheadinasadattempttomufflethecriesofpleasure.Butsomehow,theyjustgrowlouder.There’sonlysomuchYes,OhGod,andFuckIcanwithstandbeforemorbidcuriositysetsin.
IsTrevorMetcalfereallythatgoodinbed?Oristhiswomanfakingitforthesakeofhisfragilemaleego?
Mustbefakingit,Idecide.
Withoutnotice,mytraitorousimaginationgiftsmeavisualtoaccompanytheaudio.Trevor’stattooed,sinewyforearmscagemeinashislustfulgazesweepsoverthecontoursofmybody.Histhumbmakeslanguishedstrokesontheundersideofmywristashepinsmyhandsabovemyhead.Theweightofhissolid,muscledbodyputspressureexactlywhereIwantit.Hepressesthesoftestbiteintomyneck,sendingatrillofelectricitytotheforgottencornersofmybodybeforehe—
Isnapmyeyesopen,looseningmydeathgriparoundmyblanketIdidn’tknowIwasclutching.Wherethehelldidthatcomefrom?AmIthatharddoneby?
Irefusetoberemotelyturnedonbythesoundsofmyroommateandarandomwomangoingatit.Nottoday,Satan.
Despitebeingobjectivelyhot,tattooedbadboyslikeTrevorarenotnormallymytype.It’sthewhite-collarsortwithfront-pleatedchinos,cross-countryrunnerbods,andboy-next-door-turned-respectable-plant-daddyenergythatusuallymakemefeelsometypeofway.AndwhileTrevorisanexceptiontothis,Ihavenointentionofcrossingthatlinewithhim.AftertheyearI’vehad,platonic,drama-freecohabitationisjustwhatIneed.Besides,giventhegorgeouswomenhebringshome,he’scertainlycategorizedmeasnothingmorethananobnoxious,sexlesshuman.
Bleary-eyedandfrustratedwiththeuninvitedtensionbetweenmythighs,Ithrowonmyfavoritecable-knitsweaterdressfromthefloorandsnapacutebowoveryesterday’sFrenchbraid.Ievenapplyanextralayerofmascara,fullfoundation,andbronzerinpreparationformyLivevideosessionthismorningwithGrandmaFlo.
BythetimeIdriftintothekitchenformymorningPop-Tart,thescreamingcomingfromTrevor’sbedroomhasthankfullydissipated,replacedbyarelativecalm.AsItossthesingedpastryontomyplate,IcatchTrevor’shookuptiptoeingtowardthefrontdoor.Asidefromthewildlymattedhairandgeneralfatiguefromphysicalexertion,herprofessional-gradewingedeyelinerissmudge-free.Thebeamoflightfromthetinykitchenwindowabovethesinkgiveshertannedskinaluminous,postorgasmicglow.
Whenoureyesmeet,shestopsinhertracks.“Morning,”shewhispers,promptlyavertinghergazetoherbarefeet,asifbracingforjudgment.
BecauseI’manemotionalbeaconwithfartoomanyfeelings,Iwon’ttouchaman’spenisifIdon’tknowhismiddlename.ButIdon’tjudgeothersforpartakingincasualsex.Infact,Ienvytheirabilitytotakewhattheyneedwhileavoidingemotionaldamage.
“Hi.I’mTrevor’sroommate.”I’mabouttowishherwellandcontinueonaboutmyday,butforreasonsbeyondme,Ithrustmyplateinherdirection.“WantaPop-Tart?It’sraspberry.”
Sheeyesitlikeit’sararedelicacy.“Youaredoingthelord’swork.I’mstarving.”SheplucksthePop-Tartfromtheplate,baskingintheunderratedgloryofthatfirstsugarybite.
ThefamiliarcreakofthepipesandsputteringwaterdownthehalltellsmeTrevor’stakingashower,soIdon’tbotherusingahushedvoice.“Notsurprised,fromwhatIheard.Youneedtoreplenishyourcalories.”
Shehalfchokesonherbite.“Sorry.”Shepauses.“I’mGabby,bytheway.”
Idon’tbothertohidemyeagersmile.“Tara.”
TwoPop-Tartslater,GabbyandIarebesties.Turnsout,she’sabadass.Attheripeageoftwenty-four,shealreadyrunsanEtsybusinesssellinghandmadejewelry(I’veorderedadaintygoldnecklace).She’salsoamemberatthesamefancygymasCrystal.Anddespitemyinitialprotestagainstphysicalactivity,she’sconvincedmetojoinherforanaerialyogaclasslaterthisweek
ThemomentGabbyleavestocatchherUber,Trevorsneaksdownthehallway,freshlyshowered.Hisashyhairisdamp,unsurewhichwayitwantstofall.Apairofgraysweatpantshangslowonhiships,andofcoursehe’sshirtless.
Whenhespotsmeparkedonthestoolattheisland,Izeroinontheintricatebirdwingsweepingfromhisrobustrightshoulderandoverpartofhissculptedchest.Hehasasmatteringofothertattoosonhisarmsandback,aswellasanothersetofRomannumeralsonhisleftrib.Andwhilehemakesaregularhabitofwaltzingaroundshirtless,identifyingtheparticularsofeachdesignislikesolvingajigsawpuzzle,slowlybutsurely,piecebypiece.
Today,Ifollowthesweepingwingleadingtothebird’sexpressiveeyes.Evencolorless,there’saferocitythatscreamstobenoticed.
“Isshegone?”hewhispersbeforesomuchassettingatoeintotheopen-conceptkitchenandlivingarea.
“No.Iaskedhertobeourthirdroommate.”Mytoneisfartoosarcasticforearlymorning,butIdon’tknowhowelsetoactafterhearingthat(andaccidentlyvisualizingit).Asheentersthekitchen,mychesteruptsinuglyredblotches,heatdottingthecrestsofmycheeks.IthinkIneedtoliedown.“Didn’twetalkaboutnudityincommonareas?”
“I’llthrowonashirtifyoucleanupyourbooks.”Hewavesavaguehandtowardthestackofpaperbacksinthecornerunderthelivingroomwindow.Iusedthemforabook-stack-challengephotoshoottwodaysagoandhaveyettomovethembacktomyroom,despitehisnumerousrequests.Inthemeantime,he’spiledthemalphabetically.
Trevorhasaphobiaofclutter,whichI’mdiscreetlydesensitizinghimtobyaddingafewpersonaltouchesonebyone,soasnottospookhim.Myfirstaddwasmyheart-shapedthrowpillows,thenthesucculents,and,mostrecently,anadmittedlyrevoltingstarry-skycanvaspaintedbyyourstrulyatawine-and-paintnight.Trevorsaysithurtshiseyes.
“Itoldyoutheotherday,Ihavenomoreroomonmybookshelf.Andyoushouldbethankingmeforaddingcharactertotheplace.YourapartmentwasaclichébarrenwastelandofnothingnessbeforeImovedin,”Irightlypointout.
IfIhadtodescribemynewapartmentinoneword,itwouldbeminimalist,andeventhat’sbeingtookind.BeforeImovedin,everywallandsurfacewasbare,voidofanyclutter,color,ordécor.Tobefair,itwasn’talwaysthisway.Apparently,ScotttooklotsofstuffwithhimwhenhemovedinwithCrystal,leavingonlyalimitedamountofbasicfurnitureintheformofexactlyonewornleathercouchandmatchingarmchair,aflat-screentelevision,andasmallmaplediningtabletuckedinthecorneroftheequallyblandoff-whitekitchen.
Icontinueon.“Andifyou’regoingtokeephavingloudsexwhileI’macrossthehall,theleastyoucoulddoisletmedecorate.”Myexpressionispointed.Themandisturbedmymuch-neededtranquility,afterall.
Hesmirksasheopensthefridge.“Hey,Ican’tcontrolotherpeople’svolumes.”
“SoundedlikeGabbyhadagoodtime,atleast.”
Hetossesaziplockbagoffrozenkaleonthecounter,narrowingasuspiciousgazeatthecrumb-filledplatesontheisland.“DidyougiveheraPop-Tart?”
Iliftashoulder,watchingashedumpsahandfulofkaleintotheblender.“Shewashungry,andyoudidn’tfeedher.”
Hiseyesbulge,likeI’vejustsuggestedhetakeherhandinmarriage,whichI’mhalf-temptedtodo.“WhywouldIfeedherafterward?”
Imakeasourface,pinningmystareattheswirlydesignonmyplateanddefinitelynottheswirlydesignonhisimmaculatebod.“Tothankherforthesex?Youcouldhaveatleastwalkedherout.She’ssocool.Didyouknowshehasascubadivingcertification?”
There’sabreakintheconversationasheblendshissmoothietoapuree.“That’snothowaone-nightstandworks.”
“DoyoumindifIinviteheroverthisweekend?We’rebestfriendsnow,”Igloat,mesmerizedashepourshishealthyconcoctionintoatallglass.“Ithinkyou’dlikeher,ifyougottoknowher.She’swifeymaterial.”IgivehimwhatIalreadyknowisanauseatingwink,mostlytogetareactionoutofhim.
Hemaintainshisdeathglareashetipshisheadback,guzzling.“I’mnotlookingforwifeymaterial,Chen.”Hesetstheemptyglassonthecounterandmarchesdownthehall,butnotbeforecastingonelastgloweratthePop-Tartcrumbsontheplates.
Ifollowhimtohisroom,leaningonthedoorframelikeaswoonyromancehero.AglimpseintoTrevor’sroomisarareopportunity,giventhatheusuallykeepshisdoorclosed.Themomentmybigtoecrossesthethreshold,I’mgiddy,temptedtosnortthatspicysignaturescentlikeLeo,WolfofWallStreet–style.
Withaneffortlesstug,hepullsthefittedsteel-graysheetfromhismattress,tossingitintothelaundrybasketnestledinhisintenselyorganized,color-codedcloset.
Meanwhile,I’vedeclaredastateofemergencyinmyroom.Booksarestrewnhaphazardlyonmynightstandandeveryavailablesurface.Atleastseventhrowpillowshavetakenuppermanentrealestateonthefloor.TrevormustthinkI’madisaster.
Ifoldmyarmsovermychest,unabletotakehimseriously.“CanIaskyouaquestion?”
“No,”hegrumbles,hiseyesfixedonhisphone.Icatchabriefhalfsmileashescansatextandquicklyfiresoffaresponse.Iidlywonderifhe’stextingGabby,orsomeonenewalready.
“Please.”
Herollshiseyes.“Fine.Butdon’taskmeifyoucanaskquestions.”
“IfeellikeIhavetoask,becauseyoudon’tseemtolikequestions.”
“Sorry.I’mnotamorningperson.”Hedefinitelyisnot.Overthepastmonth,I’vediscoveredhe’spracticallymuteuntilmidday.IfIstrikeupaconversationbeforenineinthemorning,itusuallydoesn’tgomuchfurtherthanafewgarbledmumbles.Hegesturestowardme,sighing,likehe’sgivenup.“What’syourquestion?”
“What’sitliketobethedumper?”Iaskpoint-blank.
“What’sadumper?”
“Ineveryrelationship,there’sthedumperandthedumpee—theonewhogetstheirheartbroken.Takeme,forexample.I’malwaysthedumpee.Neverthedumper,”Iexplain,omittingthedetailthatI’vehadtheunfortunatepleasureofbeingdumpedtenseparatetimes,bytenseparatemen.“ButIassumeyou’remostoftenthedumper.”
Hegrunts,fussingoverhispillow.“Youcanonlybeadumperifthere’sarelationshiptodump.Idon’tdorelationships.”
“Letmeguess:youdon’tbelieveinhappilyeveraftersbecauseofyourmysterious,turbulentpast?”
Basedonmyextensiveknowledgeofrakesandplayboysinromancenovels,I’dsayit’safairdeduction.Thoughtruthfully,evenafterroomingtogetherforamonth,Idon’tknowmuchabouthim,asidefromthefactthathe’safirefighter,hedrinksgreensmoothies,hehasalotofsex,andhe’saversetoclutterandmess.
Hisjawflexesashechucksthepillowontothebed.Itlandscrooked,andhedoesn’tevenbothertofixit.I’vedefinitelyhitanerve.
Ibitemylip,suppressingmymorbidcuriosity.“Sorry.Thatwastoofar.CrystalsaysIhaveanannoyingtendencytoboxpeopleintoromancetropesandstereotypes.”
Hesitsontheedgeofthebedandwatchesmecuriously.“Andwhichromancestereotypeareyou?”
Istrokemychin,pretendingtocontemplate,eventhoughIalreadyknowtheanswer.“I’mtoobroketobeadivorcéestartingoverwithaninheritedfixer-upperintheEuropeancountryside.I’mprobablytheclumsysidekickwhocracksbluntjokesatallthewrongtimes.Thedisheveledonewhoprovidesemotionalsupporttothemoredesirableandlevelheadedheroine.”WhenIsayitoutloudtoTrevor,mylifedoesfitperfectlyintoarom-comtrope(holdtherom).
Heslow-blinks.“Youreallythinkyou’reasidekick?”
Idropmyshoulders,resignedtomyfate.“Wecan’tallbemaincharacters,Metcalfe.Someofusarenamelessbackgroundpeoplewhoarejust…there.”
“I’lltakeyourwordforit.”
“Iwouldliketogetoutofsidekickterritory,though.Trysomethingnew.Actually,IjustmadeaTinder.Wannajudgemyprofile?”Itossmyphonetowardhim.Itlandswithasoftthudonthemattress.
Sincemymeet-cute-turned-muggingonmove-inday,myDMshavebeenfloodedwithpeopleservingupthecold,hardtruth:onlinedatingismyonlyoption.Inamomentofweakness,Icavedanddownloadedalltheapps.
“WouldyouswiperightonmeifIwereastranger?”Iask.
Trevorhuffsaone-syllablelaugh,whichIinterpretasadefiniteno.Ouch.“?‘Seekinghusbandpotentialonly.Notestdrives’?Isthatactuallyyourbio?”
Ifoldmyarmsovermychest.“Whenyou’vehadyourheartcrushedtosmithereensasmanytimesasIhave,youdon’tmessaround.Thisbioweedsoutthedudswhojustwanttoassaultmewithdickpics.”
Melspentasolidhourbrainstormingprospectivebiosforme,themajorityofwhichIturneddownimmediately,including:
I’llsharemyNetflixaccount;
CooksKraftdinnerwithoutconsultingdirectionsonbox;
Lookingformorethanonetypeofhappyending;and
Early-onsetdadbodswelcome.
“Damn,who’sthegirlinthephotowithyou?”Trevoroglesmyprofilephoto,acandidshotofMelandmecheesingforthecameraatalush,sunlitvineyardlastsummer.HezoomsinonMel,interestpiqued.
Atiredgrowlescapesme.“Mel.She’smyfashioninfluencerfriend.Theoneyoumettheotherday,”Iremindhim.Theymetbrieflywhenshecametopickmeupforamallouting.Hegaveherhisbestflirtyeyes,practicallyimpregnatingheronthespot,turninghercheekstoRedDeliciousapples.
Trevorcontinuestodissectthephoto,zoominginandoutlikeanFBIagent.“I’mnotsurethisisyourbestphoto.Besides,noonewillknowwhichoneyouare.”
“Excuseyou.”Iyankmyphoneoutofhisgrip.“Thisismyonegoodphoto.Iuseitforeverything.”
UnlikeMel,whoisInsta-famousforherflawlessmakeupandlusciouslythickblackhairIwanttotransplantontomyownscalp,I’mchronicallyunphotogenic.EvenifIlookbombinperson,Ilooklikeaserialkillerinanygivenstillphoto.Infact,inhighschool,awebcampictureofmewithvacant,NightStalkereyesbecameaviralmemecalledCrazyEx-Girlfriend.Yes,thatismyoneclaimtofame.Andyes,peoplehaverecognizedmeinpubliconexactlythreeoccasions.ThisiswhyIexclusivelytakephotosofbooks
ThisTinderphotoofMelandmejustsohappenstobetheonephotoofathousandwhereIdon’tlooklikeIdabbleinrandomactsofcannibalism.DareIsay,Iresembleaneven-keeledindividualwithaverageemotionalrangeandsufficientsocialskills.
“AnyluckonTinder?”Trevorasks,changingthesubjectfrommyapparentlyunidealprofilephoto.HestandstograbaT-shirtfromhiscloset,slippingitoverhishead.
“No.It’skindofdepressing,actually.”
Forproof,Ishowhimthefirstprofilethatcomesup.It’sathirty-four-year-oldnamedTedwithateardroptattoo.Ireckonhe’skilledbefore.Nextisaguyinacorduroynewsboycap,whichcouldbeacceptableifIwereintothegaunt-faced,troubled,andegotisticalacademictypes.
“You’rebeingpicky.Lookatthisone.”Hepointstothethirdguy,Dax,whoisrockingaskinnypolka-dottie.He’saboveaverageinlooks,withtiredyetgentleeyes,alittlenerdy,innocent.Andwillprobablyshattermybrittlehearttopiecesallthesame.“Hisbiosayshelikeschickennuggetsandquantumphysics.Youpracticallyliveoffchickennuggets.Thiscouldbeyoursoulmate.”
“Idon’tthinkmysoulmateisonTinder.Andhelookslikehismomstillcutshisnuggetsforhimintotinybite-sizepieces.”
“Ifyousayso.”
Ishowhimthenextguy.“Andthenthere’sthisone.Withthedog.”
“What’swrongwiththedog?”
“Hedoesn’tlooklikeadogguytome,whichtellsmehe’samanipulativesociopathwhostolesomeone’sdogtomasqueradeashisown.”
Trevorletsoutasoftsighandheadsintothehallway.“Well,I’dlovetostandhereandmakesweeping,veryspecificjudgmentsaboutinternetstrangers,butI’mheadingoutforerrands.Needanythingatthegrocerystore?Fruitsorvegetables,perhaps?”heasksteasingly.
Ifollowhimtotheentryway.“Hey,Ieataperfectlybalanced,healthydiet.Andyoucertainlyhaven’tbeencomplainingaboutmycupcakes.”I’vegottenintothehabitofbakingBettyCrockercupcakesfromtheboxeveryweekendoutofpureboredom(andgluttony).Eachbatchhasbeendevouredquickly,thankstoTrevor.
Helevelsmewithaknowinglook.“Nameonefruitorvegetableyoulike.”
Irackmybrain.Myentirelife,I’vebeenanotoriouslypickyeater.DadusedtomakemesitatthetableforhoursuntilIfinishedmydinner.I’dholdoutuntilhe’dcaveandmakemesomethingIliked,likenuggets.Eventwoweeksago,CrystalandScotttriedtomakemeeatapieceofcookedasparagusandIalmostcriedbecauseofthetexture.
“Ilikepickles,”Iannounce.
“Pickles?”Asmileflirtsatthecornerofhislipsforafractionofasecondasheslipshisarmintohisjacket.“Fine.I’llbuyyouajar.”
“Oh,okay,butmakesurethey’redillpickles.Idon’tlikesweet—”
Aknockatthedoorinterruptsme.TrevorpullsitopentorevealGrandmaFlo.?chapterfour
GRANDMAFLOIShereforourLivevideosessionasolidforty-fiveminutesearlyto“prepare.”
Assheslipsoffherextra-griporthopedicwinterboots,Itakeoneofhergrocerybags.Thisoneisfullofyarnandaboxofdigestivebiscuits.“Grandma,thisismyroommate,Trevor.”
GrandmaFlotosseshercoatatmeandscrutinizeshimwithhersharphazeleyesforanuncomfortableamountoftime.“Roommate?Yournewroommateisaman?”sheasks,aghast.
“He’sacolleagueofScott’s.Atthefirehouse,”Iemphasize,inanattempttolessentheshock,lestsheassumehe’ssomeunvettedCraigsliststrangerwho’sanglingtoroastmybonestomakeaceremonialbroth.
Herexpressionsoftens,asIknewitwould.“You’reafirefighter?Myhusband,Marty,isacareerfirefighter.Retirednow,ofcourse.”
“I’veworkedattheBFDwithScottyforabouttenyearsnow,”Trevorsays.
Hisoverthide-your-wife-kids-and-extended-familyvibesaside,FloseemssatisfiedbyTrevor’spublicservicecareer.Sheshakeshishandandevengiveshimtheafghansheknitmeasahousewarminggift.It’savibrantgreen,white,andorange,toremindmeofmyhalf-Irishheritage.WhenImakeashowofdrapingitovertheentirelengthofthecouch,Trevorpretendstostrokeitlovinglywhilesubtlyeyeingitlikeanevilobject.
GrandmaadmiresTrevorasshemakesherselfcomfortableonthecouch.“Youknow,youcouldbeoneofthoseshirtlessmalemodelsonabookcover.Tara,doyouhaveanyconnections?Maybeyoucangetthismansomemodelingwork.”
Unsurehowtorespondtothat,Trevorflashesmeafunny,closed-mouthgrin.
“Grandma,ItoldyouIdon’thaverealpublishingconnections.I’mabookreviewer,”Iremindher.EversinceImanagedtogetheranearlycopyofanewDanielleSteelbook,she’sunderthefalseimpressionthatIhavesomesortofcloutinthepublishingindustryatlarge.
Shewavesmeoff.“Trevor,wouldyouliketojoinusforourLivevideo?We’retalkingaboutromancebooks.”Shebouncesherthinpenciledbrowstoenticehim.
“I’dloveto,ma’am,”hesays,allkind-eyedandgentlemanlike,“butI’mgoinggroceryshopping.I’vegottapickupsomefruitsandvegetablesforTarabeforeshediesofmalnutrition.”
Imeethissmart-asssmilewithaglower,becauseIknowexactlyhowGrandmaFloisgoingtoreact:withanotherlectureabouthowI’llneverfindahusbandifIdon’tcook.
Asexpected,she’sseverelydisappointedinme,shakingherheadasthoughshe’sfailedasagrandmother.“Tarahasneverbeenonefordomesticlife.Certainlydoesn’ttakeafterme.Youknow,atageten,Icouldwhipupagourmetmeal.Anymeal.Frommemory,”shebrags,tappingherhead.“Itakeityoustillhaven’tmadeuseofthecookbookIgaveyou?”sheasksme.Formythirtiethbirthday,shegiftedmeacookbookshefoundatayardsaletitledEasy-PeasyRecipesforOne
“Um,yeah.I’veusedit,”Ilie,dodgingeyecontactentirely.
Ignoringme,shebeginstoindulgeTrevorwithsometalesofmypersonalfailingsinthekitchen,includingthetimeImicrowavedtinfoil.Trevorfindsthisalltooamusing.
“Dear,didyoufindadressforyourbigValentine’sDaygalayet?”Grandmaasksmeeagerly.
Mystomachfillswithdreadatthemerementionofthegala,despitethefactthatValentine’sDayismyfavoriteholiday.ThegalaisanannualBostonChildren’sHospitalfundraiserformedicalresearch.Thisyear,ithappenstofallonValentine’sDay.Inkeepingwiththetheme,themoneywillgotowardtheChildren’sHeartCenter.
Thehospitalstafftreatthiseventlikeit’sseniorprom.I’mtalkingformalwear,makeup,updos,andlimorentals.LastyearwasthefirsttimeIelectedtoworkinstead(duetolifeimplosion).AndwhileItoyedwiththeideaofskippingitagainthisyearinfavorofself-loathingonthecouchinahazeofCheetodust,spendingValentine’sDayalonefeelsalittletoodepressing.
Igiveherawarylook.“Howdidyouevenknowaboutit?”
“IsawyouclickedAttendingontheFacebook,”shesaysflippantly.“Icouldcrochetyouadressifyou’dlike.”
Ipretendnottobehorrifiedattheprospectofahand-kniteveninggown.“Iwasthinkingofbuyingsomething,Grandma.Butthankyou.”
Luckily,shedoesn’tappeartooputoutbymydeclineofhercrochetservices.ShequicklygetssidetrackedwithastoryabouthowsheoncecrochetedanoutfitformymomandhowMomdidn’tappreciatethecraftsmanshipbecausesheisn’ta“domesticgoddess,”either.Atsomepointduringtherant,Trevormanagestomakehisquietescape.
Oncehe’sgone,GrandmaFlotellsmeabouthernewInstagramaccount,LoopsWithFlo.ItseemsCrystalandIarenolongertheonlysocialmediainfluencersinthefamily.
“Ialreadyhavefiftyfriends,”shegloats,shovingheriPadaninchfrommyfacetoproveit.
Ipacethelivingroom,scrollingthroughherfeed.She’sdocumentedallherlatestcreations:hats,blankets,scarves,mittens.She’sevengottenthehangoffiltersandhashtags(#knittersofinstagram,#wool,#makersgonnamake).“They’recalledfollowersonInstagram,Grandma.”
Shetakesatinybirdbiteofherdigestivebiscuit.“Iwanttolearnhowtogetmorefriends.”
“Crystalwouldknowmorethanme,butitlookslikeyou’reonlypostingonceeveryfewdays,”Isay,passingtheiPadbacktoher.“Youhavetopostconsistently,dailyeven,togetmaximumexposure.”
Sheone-fingertypesaskcrystalaboutfriendsinherNotesappwhileIsetupmytripodandphoneinfrontofthecouch.OnceGrandmaFloissatisfiedtheangledoesn’taccentuateherneckwrinkles,it’sshowtime.
LIVEWITHTARAROMANCEQUEEN—SECOND-CHANCEROMANCEEXCERPTFROMTRANSCRIPT
[TaraandGrandmaFlositsidebysideonaleathercouch,knitafghandrapedovertheirlaps.Flosipsteaandscrutinizesherownimage.Tarasmileshappilyintothecamera.]
TARA:Hello,romancebooklovers,welcomebacktomychannel.Iamstokedabouttoday’sepisodefortworeasons.First,youallknowI’mtrashforasecond-chancereuniontrope.Second,mylovelyGrandmaFloishereasaspecialguesttoshareherstoryofareal-lifesecond-chanceromancewithherchildhoodsweetheart.
BeforeIgettoocarriedawaywithFlo’sstory,letmeexplaintheinsandoutsofasecond-chanceromanceforthosenewbieromancereadersoutthere.Usually,secondchancesgoalittlesomethinglikethis:PersonAandPersonBaredestinedsoulmates,butsomethinggoeshorriblywrongandthey’reseparated.
FLO:Sometimesformanyyears.Decades,even.
TARA:Yup.Fast-forward.Theheroineislivingafabulouslifeinthecity,probablyNewYork,andmustreturntoherbackwoodssmalltowntotakecareofunfinishedbusiness.She’susuallyengagedtoafancyarchitectwhohaszerotimeforher,leavinghervulnerabletotheruggedlysexyex-boyfriendwho’sneverlefttownandstillpinesforher.
[TaraflapsherhandsexcitedlyandturnstoFlo.]
Tara:TellusalittlebitaboutyourandMartin’sstory.
FLO:MartyandImetinkindergarten.Hewastakenwithmeimmediately,ofcourse.Iwasquitethecutie-piebackthen.Hiswayofshowinghisaffectionwastotormentme.Chasedmearoundwithbugsandfrogshecaughtinthecreek.Inthethirdgrade,hejumpedfromtheroofofaschoolyardshedjusttoimpressme.Poordearbrokehisarm.Isignedhiscastwithalittleheart,andtherestishistory.
TARA:Toclarify,youfellinloveaskids?
FLO:ThingsendedwhenIcaughthimsmoochinganothergirlintheschoolyard.Afterhighschool,webothmarriedotherpeople.Livedrightdownthestreetfromeachotherformostofouradultlives.
TARA:DidyoualwaysknowyouandMartyweremeanttobe?
FLO:Heavensno.Youknow,Martywasn’tthefirstmanIdatedafteryourgrandfatherdied.
TARA:YoudatedothermenbeforeMarty?
FLO:OfcourseIdid.Aladyhastokeepheroptionsopen.Youcan’tjustrunintothearmsofthefirstmanwhogivesyouasecondlook.Thatwouldbedesperate.
???
GRANDMAFLOGIVESmeaknowing,wise-owllook.DidmyowngrandmotherjustinsinuatethatI’mdesperateonLivevideo,infrontofmythousandsoffollowers?
Iclearmythroat,plowingforward.“Tellusabitaboutyourdatingexperience.DidyouhavelotsofsuitorsafterGrandpadied?”
“FirstIsetmysightsonthemenatchurch,buttheyturnedouttobeabunchofsticksinthemud,”shesayswithasassyeyeroll.“Icertainlywasn’tinterestedintherigmaroleofcourtingsomeonenew.OnedayIhappenedtobeattheseniorswafflebrunch,andguesswhoIraninto?”Shejabshersharpelbowintomyribforemphasis.
“Who?”
“SilasReeves,”shesaysdreamily,playingitupforthecamera.“IdatedSilrightafterMarty.Hetookmetomyfirsthighschooldance.Hewasasensitivecreature.Andletmetellyou,hewasalooker.PictureGeorgeClooneyinhisERdays,butwithalargernoseandweakerchin.”
“Soundslikeacatch.Whathappenedwithhim?”
Shewavesmywordsawaylikeanirksomehousefly.“Hiswifeisstillalive.Veryinconvenient.”
Shestartsrootingaroundinhermassivepurse,whichisatmaximumcapacitywithrandomreceipts,lipsticktubes,andancientpacketsofgum,untilshefindswhatshe’slookingfor.
It’sacrumpled,stainedpieceofpaper.Sheunfoldsittorevealaclusterofhandwrittenwordsandnumbersinvaryingsizes,writtenindifferent-colorpen.It’sunhinged.It’smadness.Phonenumbers,addresses,occupationsarescribbledineveryopenspace.IleanincloseenoughtomakeoutthenameCurtisBell—Croakedin2003
“SinceSilagedsowell,itinspiredmetorecordalistofallthemenI’vedated.Iwasquitetheflirtbackintheday.”Shechucklestoherselfasshescansherlist,scandalizedbyherpast.“Trackedmostofthemdown.ButnonereallywowedmelikeMarty.”
Iscanherlistinawe.Whatfirstappearedtobethescribblesofapersonwholosttheirmarblessuddenlylooksliketheworkofagenius.Amastermind.“Thisex-boyfriendlistledyoutoyoursecond-chancereunionwithMarty?”
“Indeed.Wehadn’ttalkedinalongwhileafterSheilapassed.SoIranghimupandaskedhimtohelpmewithsomeyardwork.”Shedoesadoublewinkforthecamera.
Mywistfulexpressionisquicklyreplacedbyafrown.“Storieslikeyoursdon’thappentomillennials.I’mstillaggressivelysinglewithzeroromanticprospects,swimmingindebt,gettingmuggedonpublictransit.I’veevenresortedtoonlinedating.”
GrandmaFloshrivelsatthehorror.Shedoesn’tknowwheretostart.Mymugging?Mylonelyfuture?ThefactthatI’vejustconfessedmyprivatelifetotheentiretyoftheinternet?
Eitherway,thecommentsarecominginhot.
Omg,Isorelate.Onlinedatingistheworst!
Yikes.Thatsucks.Youshouldgetacat
GrandmaFlomakesatsksound,severelydisappointedwiththeyouthoftoday.“TheFacebookisnowaytomeetsomeone.”
Idon’tbothertoexplainthatFacebookisnotsynonymouswiththeinternetwritlarge.“Tellmeaboutit.Butthisishowitisnow.Thisismoderndating.”
“So,whatyou’resayingis,you’relookingforloveandyou’refinallyopentomyhelp?”GrandmaFlo’seyeslightuplikeaChristmastree.Foryears,I’vewardedoffherofferstosetmeupwithrandomsuitors(includingherchurchfriend’seighteen-year-oldgrandson).
“Solongasthey’reinmyagecategory,”Iwarn.
Whenshestrokesherchin,Iexpecthertorattleoffalaundrylistofpotentials.Butshejustshrugsandsays,“Idon’tknowofanyonesuitablerightnow,asidefromEthel’sgrandson,Hank.Theonewhojustgotoutofprison.I’llsurveymygirlfriendsandgetbacktoyou.”
Icringe.YouknowthedatingworldisbleakwhenGrandmaFlocan’tevenmusteruponemeaslyoptionasidefromaconvictedfelon.“IwishIcouldjustmeettheOneinalaundromatlikeMomandDad.OrbycrashingintoeachotheronbikeslikeGrandmaandGrandpaChen.OrbyreunitingwithmychildhoodsweetheartlikeyouandMartin.”Iletoutadisgruntledsighatalltheromanticlovestoriesinmyfamily.“Romanceslikethosedon’thappeninreallifeanymore.”
Sheleansforwardtotheedgeofthecouch.“Theydon’tjusthappen,Tara.Youhavetomakethemhappen.Whydon’tyoudowhatIdid?”
“Trytodatemyexes?”Iclarify.
“Whynot?Whatbetterpooltochoosefromthanalreadyvettedmen?Ofcourse,leaveouttheduds,”sheadvises.“ButIrememberyoudatedsomefinefellows.”
She’snotwrong.Someofmyexesaretotalcatches.They’reallsomewhatsimilar.Generallykind,soft-spoken,good-natured,andtrustworthy.Themenmostwomenfriend-zone,ignoringtheirpotentialandunderstatedsexappealuntilit’stoolate.“Youknowwhat,Grandma?Thiscouldbeagoodplacetostartmysearch.”
Sheleansinwithyetanotherslightlydisturbingdoublewink.“I’lltellyouonething.Menonlygetbetterwithage.Trustme,secondtime’sacharm.MaybeyoucanevenfindoneontimeforthatValentine’sDaygalaofyours.”
BythetimeweendourLiveSession,there’sanavalancheofcommentsonourvideo,mostofwhichareencouragingmetopursuemyexesandgetadateforValentine’sDay.Infact,it’sgarneredtwiceasmanyviewsasmyusualvideos.
MaybeGrandmaFlohasapoint.Alltheromancebooksandmoviesinsisttruelovehappenspassively.Love,aswe’retold,isnotsomethingyouactivelyseekout.Thebestlovestoriesjustmagicallyfallintothelapsofthosewhodon’texpectorwantthem.
ButwhatifIdon’twanttositaroundandwaitforpotentialsuitorslikeademureflowerwho’sjustcomeofage?WhatifIwanttotakemattersintomyownhands?Toproveromance-book-worthylovestillexists?
Inspired,Igrabmyphone.It’stimetodowhatIdobest.
Internetstalk.?chapterfive
WHICHEXSHOULDIreachouttofirst?Myhighschoolsweetheart?Mycollegeboyfriends?Don’tforgettoletmeknowinthecomments.Youcanalsovoteinthepoll—”
Myvideoisinterruptedbyafiguretakingupnearlytheentirewidthofmybedroomdoorwaybehindmeoncamera.
“It’sonlysixinthemorningandyou’realreadyplottingsomethingsinister,”Trevorremarksinahoarse,early-morningvoice.He’sinaplainwhiteT-shirt,whichhasnobusinesscontouringhiseverymusclethewayitdoes.
Iswiftlyturnmyattentionbacktothecamera,butnotbeforeshootinghimasternlookovermyshoulder.“Sorry.Thatwasmyroommate.Anyway,asIwassaying,youcanvoteinthepollinmystories.Bye,everyone!”Iwave,hittingEnd
Trevorisappalledbythestateofmyroom,horror-movieeyesdartingfromthehalf-emptiedboxinmydoorwaytomybed,wheretheremainderofitscontentsarescattered.Hegulpswhenhespotstheitembehindme.“Whatthe…”
“Behold.Myhitlist.”Igesturetomymasterpiecelikeit’sasparklingCadillaconThePriceIsRight
Rescuingmyoldcollegecorkboardfromthedepthsofmystoragespace,IcreatedanFBI-stylelinkchartofmyex-boyfriends.
TARA’SEX-BOYFRIENDS
Daniel(childhoodlove)
Tommy(ninth-gradeboyfriend)
Jacques(StudentSenateboy)
Cody(highschoolsweetheart)
Jeff(froshweekfling)
Zion(campusbookstorecutie)
Brandon(worldtraveler—theonewhogotaway)
Linus(Brandonrebound)
Mark(bookclubintellectual)
Seth(ex-fiancé)
Nottobrag,butI’mbasicallyCarrieMathisonfromHomeland,uncoveringtreasuretrovesofpertinentinformationoneachofmytargets,includingbutnotlimitedto:highschoolathleticandacademicachievements,grandparents’obituaries,etc.Nexttoeachnameisanaccompanyingphotofromsocialmedia,aswellascontactdetails,includinghandles,emailaddresses,phonenumbers,workplaces.
TheonlyexIwasn’tabletofindanythingonisexnumberone,DanielNakamura(humanity’sshiningexampleofallthatisgoodintheworld),whoisaghostonline.
“ShouldIbescared?”Trevorasks,perusingmylist.
“Notunlessyou’remyex.”
Hedoesn’tlooksosure.“Sotheseareallyourluckyex-boyfriends?”
“DuringourLiveSessionyesterday,GrandmaFloinspiredmetoembarkonasecond-chanceromancequest.”Ifollowupwithadetailedexplanationofwhatasecond-chanceromanceentails,aswellasGrandmaFlo’slovestoryandhowitrelatestomynewplan.“Andbonus,ifmyex-boyfriendsearchgoesasplanned,maybeIwon’thavetobealoneonValentine’sDayoratthegala.MaybeI’llhaveaplus-one.”
Trevorrewardsmewithadead-eyedstare.He’sprobablyregrettingwastingthelastfiveminutesofhislife.“Youwanttodateyourexesbecauseyoudon’twanttoresorttoTinder?Andbecauseyourgrandmamarriedherchildhoodboyfriend?”
“That’sagrossoversimplification.”Ipause,bitingmythumbnail.“Butbasically,yes.GrandmaFlosaysmenonlygetbetterwithage.Sure,someoftheseguyswereboneheadsyearsago,butwhatifthey’veturnedintoamazingpeople?”
Evenmorethanthat,thisquestforasecond-chance-romanceherofillsmewithsomethingIhaven’tfeltsincetheearlydayswithSeth:butterflies.Ridiculousasitmaybe,thinkingaboutmyexesisnostalgic.It’sthatinnocent,childlikeanticipationofseeingyourcrushinthemorningatschool.Thatdeliciousflutterinthebaseofyourstomachwhentheygiveyouapassingglanceinthehallway.
BothCrystalandMelwerehesitantaboutthisplan,righteouslyremindingmethatcareerfulfillmentaloneshouldbeenoughtomakemehappy.Butunliketheirrespectiveinfluencercareers,I’mnotdie-hardpassionateaboutnursing,eventhoughIenjoyit.I’vealwaysbeenabitofananomaly,findingpurposenotthroughwhatIdobutthroughmyrelationshipswithfriendsandfamily.Butwheneveryoneisabsorbedwiththeirownlives,wheredoesthatleavemeattheendoftheday?Aloneinmytwinbed,listeningtomyroommate’ssex-capades?
IfI’mbeinghonestwithmyself,I’msickofbeingsingle.Andifmytimeasasingletonhastaughtmeanything,it’sthatjustbecauseIdon’tneedsomeoneinmylifedoesn’tmeanIdon’twantone.
Realistically,Ishouldbelaudedformywillingnesstotakeonawholeseparatehuman’spersonaltraumasinadditiontomyown.That’sstrength.
Trevorturnshisattentionbacktotheboxathisfeet.“Whatdoesallthisjunkhavetodowithyourexes?”
Whilepokingaroundinmystoragespacelastnight,IfoundalargeboxappropriatelylabeledTheEx-Files
IexplaintoTrevorhowthisboxhasbeenwithmesincemiddleschool.Tobefair,itstartedasashoebox(decoratedwithmagazinecutoutsofmycelebritycrushes).Overtheyears,itgotbigger,withphysicalartifactsfromeachsuccessiverelationship.Lovenotes,movieticketstubsfromfirstdates,articlesofclothing,younameit.
Trevorbendsoverandfishesoutatrue-to-sizeroyal-purplepeniswaxcandle,appropriatelynamedthePeckerFlame.Heexamineswithcaution,andInotehowitfillshislarge,callusedpalmwithcommendablegirth.Hecanmostdefinitelyhandleahose,Ithinktomyselfbeforeblinkingthaterrantthoughttotheabandonedcellarofmymind.
Hisbrowspinchtogether,completinghisconfusedface.“Pleasetellmethisisn’tamoldofyourex’s…”
Iwincewhenhetossesitbackintotheboxasifit’sauseddildo.“God,no!It’sjustacandle.IgotitasagaggiftfrommycollegeroommateonthenightImetexnumbersix,Zion.”
TrevormanagestofindanancientFruitbytheFootwrapper.Heholdsitbetweenpinchedfingers,quietlydisturbed.“Andthis?”
“FromthenightexnumberoneandIhadourfirstkiss,”Isay,takenbythememory.
TrevorofficiallythinksI’maloon.
Iturnhisattentiontothemementosofboyfriendspastscatteredatopmybedandholdupaboldlypatternedbody-condress.HewatchesleerilyasIholditinfrontofmybody,willingittomagicallyfitagain.“IworethisthefirstnightIhadsexwithexnumberseven,Brandon.”
“Where’stherestofit?”
“Okay,Dad.”Irollmyeyes,movingontomynextfind.WillIwearthiscobalt-blue,zip-up,backlesspeplumtopagain?Probablynot.DoIwanttokeepitindefinitelybecauseIworeitonmyfirstdatewithSeth?Absolutely.
Trevorshakeshishead,overwhelmedwhenIbrandishmyshoeboxfullofoldValentine’sDaycardsandloveletters.Infact,heevenstartsorderingthebooksonmyshelf,probablytoescapemychaos.“WhatisitwithwomenandValentine’sDay?”hemutters.
“Letmeguess:you’repartoftheninety-fivepercentofpeoplewholiketomoanandcomplainaboutValentine’sDaybeingnothingbutatackycommercialholiday,blahblahblah.AmIright?Andbeforeyougoontoslanderit,Ifeeltheobligationtotellyouit’smyfavoriteholidayofalltime.Itakeitveryseriously.”
Hislipstighteninamusement.“Ineversaiditwastacky.Ijustmean—”
“Youthinkloveshouldbecelebratedeveryday,notjustoneday,”Ifinishforhim.
Basedonhismiffedexpression,that’sexactlywhathewasgoingtosay.
“Everyonesaysthat,”Inote.“Andyes,it’strue.Butlifegetsbusy.Whynotuseitasanexcusetotakestockofallthepeopleyouloveinyourlifeandgotheextramiletomakethemfeelspecial?Evensomethingassmallasleavingacutenote.Idon’tgetwhycelebratingloveopenlyhastobeconsideredtacky.Ifanything,theworldneedsmoreexcusestoeatchocolateandcelebrateloveforthesakeofit,don’tyouthink?”
Hestudiesmeforamomentbeforeshrugging.“Sure,ifyousayso.Butyouneedtothrowthisstuffout.Youhavenoroomforit.”
“ButwhatifIgetbacktogetherwithoneofthem?Ican’tjusttossouttokensofourpast.HowcutewoulditbeifIstillhadthemenufromtheveryfirstrestaurantwewentto?”
Heignoresthis,stillalphabetizingmybooks.“Didn’tyousayyou’realwaysthedumpee?Ifalltheseguysbrokeupwithyou,whywouldyouwanttogetbackwiththem?”
“Becausetheywereallgreatpeople.AndIcanonlyassumetimeandmaturityhavemadethemevenbetter.Theyallhavesoulmatepotential.Mostofthem,anyway.”AtleastIthinkso,ifmymemoryservesmecorrectly.
“Eventheguywiththesharkface?”TrevorjabsathumbtowardSeth’sphoto.It’shisLinkedInphoto,andIchoseitspecificallybecausehelookslikeasmarmy,country-clubarseholenamedTrippwhopopshiscollarsandpaidsomeonetotakehisSATs.Hisfaceiscrossedoutwithominous,double-thickmarkerthecolorofblood.
“Sharkface?”Irepeat.
Trevorleavesmynoworganizedshelfandstepsaroundthebox,officiallyenteringmyroomtoexaminethephotocloser.“Don’tyouthinkhekindalookslikethatsharkfromFindingNemo?Withtheteeth?”
Iclutchmystomachinaburstofevillaughter.WherehasTrevorMetcalfebeenallmylifewhenIneededsomeonetotrash-talkmyexes?“Youhaveapoint.”
Hepointstonumberstwoandthree,whoarecrossedout.“Whathappenedwiththeseguys?”
“Jacquesismarried,whichisfinebecausehebrokeupwithmeviachainemailinninthgrade,”Isay,convenientlyleavingoutthefactthatwhenIreachedoutlastnight,heimmediatelyunfriendedandblockedme.“AndTommy…youcanseeforyourself.”
IshowhimTommy’sFacebookprofile,whichisfullofpoliticallyfrighteningmemes.Trevordoesabriefscanofhistimeline,searchingforanyredeemablequalities.Basedonhisfrown,he’sfailed.“Okay,Iunderstandwhyhegottheax,”hesays,passingmyphoneback.
“Yup.I’msingle.Notdesperate.Besides,heprobablystillhatesmeafterIkeyedhiscar.”
Trevortakesastartledstepawayfromme.“Youkeyedhiscar?”
“I’mnotproudofit.ButIwasfifteenyearsold,”Ipointout.“IwentfullCarrieUnderwood.Itwasanicecartoo.Redwithasunroof.Dadnearlyflippedhislidwhenthecopsshowedupatourdoorstep.Ifeltawful.Spentmywholesummerworkingtopayforthedamage.”
Hismouthshapesintoafullgrimace.“PoorTommy.”
“LestweforgetwhatTommydidtodeserveit.”Spikesofheatpiercemyneck.“Hekissedanothergirlatthesemiformal.Thenightweplannedtoloseourvirginitiestoeachother.ThenhecalledmecrazywhenIgotmadathimoverit.Thegaslighter.SoIfeltcompelledtoshowhimwhatcrazyreallyis.”I’mabouttorantaboutthestigmaofcallingpeople“crazy”willy-nilly,butTrevorisstillgrimacing,tiltinghisheadbackandforth,seeminglyunconvincedmyactionswerejustifiable.
“Anyways,Igottagettowork.I’mmeetingJeff,numberfive,onmylunchbreak.”IslidintohisDMsthismorningafterhepostedatwenty-part,eloquentlywrittentweetaboutoceanpollution
TrevorpeersatJeff’sphotoonmyexlist.He’ssippingaCoronaonabeachinwhitesunglassesandaHawaiianshirt.“WhitesunglassesstraightfromtheDouchebag101starterkit.Ifthat’snotaredflag,Idunnowhatis,”heremarks,pausingtocheckhisphone,whichjustdingedinhispocket.
Hesmilesagainashereadsthemessage,onlyit’sawidersmilethantheoneIcaughtwhenhewastextingyesterday.Peopledon’tcasuallytextandsmilefornoreason.Maybethere’shopeforhisblackheartafterall.I’mtemptedtoaskfortheidentityofthewomanwhowieldsthepowertomakeTrevorMetcalfesmilelikealittleboy,butIrefrain.
WhileIwaitforhimtofinishhistext,IpulloutthatexactpairofwhiteOakleysfromthedepthsoftheboxlikeamagician.Trevorbarksalaughwhenheliftshiseyes.Iputtheglassesonfordramaticflair.“Oh,comeon.It’searly-2000schic.Youdon’tthinktheysuitme?”
Heshieldsmefromviewwithhishand.“No.Verydisturbing.”
“You’rereallykillingmyvibe,Metcalfe.”Iheadpasthimtowardthedoorway.
Iwaitinthehallwayashefollowsmeoutofmyroom.We’reface-to-face.Myforeheadtechnicallyonlyreacheshischin,remindingmeI’mverticallychallengedthankstotheChens,mydad’ssideofthefamily.Istudytheriseandfallofhischestforalongbeatbeforemeetinghisgaze.
TheorangetintofJeff’ssunglassessetsTrevor’seyesalight,liketinyflecksofgold.Mybreathhitcheswhenhegentlypullstheglassesoffmyface,warmfingertipsgrazingmycheekbones.Evenwithouttheprotectiveshieldofthelenses,hiseyesstillsparklelikeapotofriches.
Heclearshisthroatandtakeshalfastepback.“It’sjust…They’reexesforareason.Aren’tthey?”
IthinkaboutTrevor’swordsforthefirsthalfofmydayshift.Peoplelovetosayexesareexesforareason,sotheydon’thavetodwellonthepast.Butpersonally,I’vealwaysthoughtsecond-chancelovestorieswerethemostsatisfyingofthemall.?chaptersix
JEFFISOFFICIALLYtwentyminuteslate,”Iannouncetomyfollowers.“Willkeepyouallupdated.”Iletoutaforlornsighandwavegoodbyetothecamera.
Tomakemattersworse,myjasmineteaisnolongerhot.Atleastthecaféiscute.Floor-to-ceilingbookshelvesspanthewall,completewithadinkyyetcharmingslidingladderstraightoutofBeautyandtheBeast.RecallingJeff’svegandiet,Iselecteditpurposelyforitsfree-trade,non-GMO,andorganicmenu,printedonbeigepaperallegedlymadefromwheatstraw.
WhileIwait,Harmon,thebarista,tellsmeaboutsomeliteraryfictionwrittenbyadeceasedwhitedudethat“changedherlife.”Myeyesglossoveratthedescription,butImaintainaneagersmile,assuringherthatit’sHIGHonmyTBR(to-be-read)pile.
WhenHarmongoesbacktoservingcustomers,Icheckmyphone.Commentshavefloodedinonmyvideofromearlythismorning.
WhoisWHITETSHIRTGUYandwherecanIfindhim?
Isthatyournewroommate???
Screwtheexes.Datetheroommate!!
ROOM-ANCE
IwheezeatthethoughtofdatingTrevorI-don’t-subscribe-to-loveMetcalfe,ofallpeople.ButbeforeIcanproperlyentertaintheridiculousidea,aflashofneonoutthewindowcatchesmyeye.Theneonturnsouttobeahelmet,wornbyalankymaninabaggyT-shirt,sleevelessfleecevest,andkhakiswhizzingdownthesidewalkonaSegway.Withoutnotice,hehaltshisSegwaydirectlyinfrontoftheshop,peeringatthesignabove.
Themomenthishelmetcomesoff,therecognitionsetsin.Thevibrant,sunnysky-blueeyes.Thelong,curly,surfer-dudehairIusedtoloverunningmyfingersthrough.Thedimpledchin.Andhisstrongnose,whichalwaysseemedalittletoolargeforhisface.
Whenhespotsmegawkingathimlikeazooanimalthroughthewindow,hegivesmeasmallwave.Iworkdownaswallowofmyteawhenhewrenchestheglassdooropenwiththeforceofamanwhogiveszerofucks.
Thecafépatronsturntostarewhenthebellsmashesagainsttheglassdoor.Heswaggerstowardme,longarmsoutstretchedforanembrace.“Tara.Youlookrad.”
Thehelmettuckedunderhisarmscrushesmyribsashegoesforafull-bodyhug.Hisbodyisaniceberg,probablybecausehe’sbeencruisingaroundthefrigidstreetsofBostonbare-armed.Itcrossesmymindthatmaybehecan’taffordawarmcoat,ormaybehewasillpreparedforthecoldweather.HeholdsourhugforabeattoolongbeforeIduck
“Longtimenosee.”Iforceasmile,takingmyseat.“Thanksformeetingonsuchshortnotice.”
“Noprob,”hesays.
Idelaymyresponse,expectinghimtoacknowledgethathe’soverhalfanhourlate.Buthedoesn’tsayanything.Instead,hetugsthechairback,allowingthelegstoscrapeacrossthetiledfloor,garneringawincefrommeandeveryonewithinourvicinity.Hedrumshisknucklesonthewoodentabletopandjustsmilesatme,closed-mouthed,likehe’sexpectingmetospeak.
“Youdidn’twearacoat?Aren’tyoucold?”Igestureoutthewindow.“It’sNovember.”
Asheplunksthehelmetontothefloorathisfeet,Inotethelayerofhaircoveringhisarmsisliterallywhitefromfrost.“Nah,bro,”hesays,likeold-schoolJustinBiebercasuallyappropriatingBlackculture.“Mybodyisafurnace.”
Icringe,castingadistressedglanceatthetimeonmyphone.
“So,you’reanursenow,right?ThoughtIreadthatonFacebook,”hesaysasIchugtherestofmynowroom-temperaturetea.
“Yep.IworkintheNICUatthechildren’shospital,”Iexplain.“Iloveit.It’snicetoworkwithpatientswhodon’tcomplain.”
Myattemptathumorfallsflat.Instead,Jeff’sexpressionturnsgrave.“Ihadabuddywhosecousin’sfriend’sbabydiedafteranursegaveitthewrongdoseofmedication.”
Isitbackinmychair,quietlydisturbed.“Oh,wow.That’sterrible—”
“That’swhyIrefusetogotohospitals,”hecutsin.“Ionlypracticeholisticwellness.”
Istartstress-tearingmynapkinintothinstrips,unabletomusterthestrengthtodefendthescientificadvantagesofmodernmedicine.Thememoryofdatingthismanislikeadelayed,distortedfilm.WhileIrecallsnippetsofbeingwithhimlazinginthecourtyard,thememoriesfailtobringmeanysenseoflongingorcomfort.
HisHollister-modellooks,potaddiction,bare-minimumpersonality,andstaunchhatredforanythingmainstreammayhavecharmedmyeighteen-year-oldself,butatthirty,Ijustfeelabizarrematernalurgetogivehimmycoatandsomelifeadvice.
“So,Jeff,lasttimewesaweachotheryouweretakingEnvironmentalScience.Whatdidyouendupdoing?”Iask.
“Droppedoutjunioryear.Gotasickinheritanceaftermygranddadpassed.Gavemesometimetofigurethingsout.”
“Oh?Whereareyoucurrentlyworking?”
“Nowhere.I’mreallynotcutoutforthenine-to-five.Thinkingofstartinganonprofit.Orgettingintothebeekeepingbusiness.”Nohealthinsuranceismyonlytakeawayfromthatstatement
“Beekeeping?”I’mnotconfidentinmyabilitytofeigninterestinbugs,howevercrucialtheyaretosustainingtheecosystem.Theuniverseofficiallyhasitoutforme.Thisisjustswell.
Henods.“Yup.”
Nowthathe’ssittinginfrontofme,givingmeone-wordanswers,Idorecallcomplainingabouthispoorconversationskills.He’sbasicallyahumanboomerang,bringingeverytopicbacktohimselfsoonerorlater,whichIblamedforthedemiseofourrelationship.Ibegantosuspecthewaslosinginterestwhenhestartedrespondingtomymulti-paragraphtextswithKk.Ineverknewwhetherhewantedtokeeptalkingorifhewantedmetodisappearfromhislifeentirely.Andbasedonthefactthatheeventuallystoppedtextingmealtogether,I’dsayitwasthelatter.
WhenJeffstareslonginglyoutthewindowathisSegway,likeit’shislong-lostloveorfirstbornchild,Istartcrushingthestripsofnapkinintotightballs,fantasizingabouttossingmyselfintothenearestditch.
Weattemptsomestiltedconversationaboutthescienceofcomposting,atopicIknowabsolutelynothingabout.Whenthattrailsoff,Ireachformycoat,explainingthatIhavetogetbacktoworkforthebimonthlyall-staffmeeting.
“So,I’mcurious.Beforewego,whydidyoureachout,anyway?Forclosure?”heasks.
“Closure?”MylaughtercomesoutshakyasIreachformycoat.“Whywouldyouthinkthat?”
“Youwereprettyintomeincollege,”hedeclareswithnoshortageofconfidence.
Mycheeksflush.“Imean,Iguessitwouldbenicetoknowwhywestoppedtalking.”
“Listen,I’mgonnabehonest.”Agravepause.“Youweregreat.Wehadalotoffuntogether.Butyouwere…alittle…”
“Alittlewhat?”
Hebiteshislip,hesitant.“Clingy.Abitofastage-fiveclinger.”
“Stage-fiveclinger?”Ileanbackinmychair,claspingaweakhandovermychestlikeI’mingradeschool,obedientlypledgingallegiancetotheflag.Didthismanreallyjustcallmeclingy?Thegall.Thegumption.
“Youtextedandcalledme.Nonstop,”hesaysmatter-of-factly.
“Okay,that’sanexaggeration.It’snotlikeIsatbymyphonewaitingwithbatedbreathforyoutotextme,”Ilie.Imighthave.Butitseemslikepoortimingtocomeclean.Anditdoesn’tmakemecrazy.Iwasinlove,damnit.“Inmydefense,youtoldmeyouwantedtogetmarried.”
Hegapesatme.“No.Idefinitelyneversaidthat.”
“Youdid.ThenightwedancedinmydormroomtothatToploadersong.Yousaiditwouldbeourweddingsong.”
“Youthoughtthatmeant—”Red-faced,herunshishandsdownhischeeks.“ObviouslyIdidn’tmeanit.Iwaseighteenyearsold.Ididn’tevenknowhowtodomyownlaundrybackthen.AndIwasprobablyjusttryingtogetintoyourpants.”
“Soyoutoldmeyouwantedtomarrymeforfun?Youcan’tsayshitlikethat,Jeff,”Iwarn.
“Yeah,Ilearnedmylesson.”Hesnickers,almosttohimself.“Youknowwhattheysay.Thehotterthegirl,thecraziersheis.”HegoesontomansplainthisawfulCrazyHotMatrixYouTubevideoheswearsby.Whenhecatchesmyblatanteyeroll,headds,“Nodisrespect.Imeanthatasacompliment.You’reareallygood-lookinggirl.”Hisflatterymissesthemark.
“Butalsoreallycrazy?”Iventure.
Heshrugs.“I’mjustoneofthoseguyswhoneedsmorefreedom,yaknow?”
Iwanttopokeapininhisinflatedheadwithahundred-pointlistofallthereasonshe’sinthewronghere,alltheinstanceswhenheledmeastray,butIrefrainforthesolepurposeofpreservingmydwindlingdignity.Instead,InodinmockunderstandingasHarmoncollectsmyemptyteacup.
ThemomentIstand,Jeffpracticallylaunchesoutofhisseat,dragginghischairlegsacrosstheflooryetagain.
“Well,Ibettergetgoing.Catchyoulater,Tara.”
Ornot.
Daniel(childhoodlove)
Tommy(ninth-gradeboyfriend)
Jacques(StudentSenateboy)
Cody(highschoolsweetheart)
Jeff(froshweekfling)
Zion(campusbookstorecutie)
Brandon(worldtraveler—theonethatgotaway)
Linus(Brandonrebound)
Mark(bookclubintellectual)
Seth(ex-fiancé)?chapterseven
IMANAGETOMAKEitbacktomydayshiftjustintimefortheall-staffmeeting.Itstartsofflikeanyother.Thedoctorsandnurseshashouttheirpent-upgrievancesagainsteachother,blamingtheotherpartyforallthatiswrongintheNICU.Tensionsareparticularlyheightenedeversincelastweek,whensomeonebrokethe$5,000coffeemachineintheexclusivedoctors’lounge.Theperpetratorremainsatlarge,andnowusnursesarestucksharingourbasic-bitchKeurigwiththedoctors,whohavebeenhoardingallthebestpodflavors.
Anotherfifteenminutesgobyaspeopleposemiscellaneousquestionstheyshouldbeaskingtheirdirectsupervisorsinaone-on-onemeeting.
“Don’tforget,thecharitygalaiscominguponValentine’sDay,”Jordan,theheadnurse,remindsus.“TicketsareonsalestartingFridayforthosewhocanmakeit.We’reactivelyacceptingitemsfortheauction.”
Mentionofthegalainthreemonthsfillsmewithdread.AftermydatewithSegwayJeff,I’mnoclosertoaplus-one.Infact,Ifeelfurtherawayfromthatprospectthanever.Himcallingmeclingyandcrazydoesn’tsitrightwithmyspirit,especiallyconsideringhenevercommunicatedhowhefeltaboutmeuntilnow.Yearslater.
Theonlypositivetakeawaywastheclosure.Cometothinkofit,apostmortemanalysisonwhereitwentsidewaysforallmyexeswouldbenicebeforeattemptingtorekindletheflame.
Luckyorunluckyforme(notquitesurewhich),theoneexIdon’thavetosocial-media-stalkisrighthereintheroom.Seth,myex-fiancé,happenstobeadoctorintheNICU.Perhapshe’llhavesomeextrainsightIcouldusetomyadvantagewiththeremainingprospects
“Hey,Seth?”Icallout,pokinghiminthebackaseveryonefiltersoutofthemeetingroom.
Hespinsonhisheelasifinslowmotion,delayinghisfate.Thisishowit’sbeensinceourbreakup.IntherareeventthatIhavetointeractwithhim,heregardsmelikeachore,likethatonedrawerinyourhousepiledwithjunkthatyou’drathernotdealwith.
“What’sup,T?”heasksimpatiently,handsonhips,chestpuffedoutlikeGodcan’ttouchhim.
“Canwetalk?”Iwhisper.“Inyouroffice,”Iadd,eyeingourcoworkers,whoarehuddledbehindthenurses’station,butteredpopcornattheready,pretendingnottoeavesdrop.That’sthethingaboutworkplaceromances.Theinitialdatingmakesforjuicygossip.Butthebreakups,nomatterhowcivil,aregoldminesofscandal.
Admittedly,theimmediateaftermathofSeth’sandmybreakupwasn’twithoutdrama.Itookthingshardafterhecanceledourwedding.Iwasindenial,onthevergeoftearswheneverIsawhim,jumpingatanyopportunitytotalktohim.Beggingforscraps.Anylittletidbitofinformationthatcouldexplainwhyhechangedhismindafterourthree-yearrelationship.Whyhegaveuponthefuturewe’ddreamedof.Evenmyshiftsupervisortookmeasideandtoldmeinthenicestwaypossibleto“getmyshittogether.”
Ontheotherhand,Seth’sreputationwascompletelyuntarnished.Hewieldspower,asadoctor,asaman.Heactedsmug,likehewasthe“biggerperson”forhandlingourbreakupsoseamlessly,withzeroemotion,ofcourse.Afterall,overtfeelingsareforunhingedwomen.Andinaprofessionalsetting,surroundedbypractitionersofthemedicalsciences—peopleoflogic—thereislittleplaceforemotions.
Seth’seyesdarttotheonlookers,thenbacktome,hoveringaroundmyforehead.“Uh,Ireallydon’tthink—”
“It’snotaboutus.Atleast,notreally,”Iassurehim,mycheeksturningpink.“I’mdoingsomeself-reflection,andIneedsomeadvice.”IfIknowSethlikeIthinkIdo,fluffinghisegoalwaysworks.
Itdoes.Hegivesmeacuriousbrowraiseandushersmeintohisoffice,asifhe’sscaredI’llmakesomesortofscene.
Hiswindowlessofficeiscanaryyellow,whichishilarious,giventhathe’sanythingbutasunshine-and-rainbowsperson.Infact,he’srequestedforittobepaintedgraymultipletimesbecausehesaysyellowundermineshisprofessionalism.
Fillingthemajorityofthespaceisabulkyglassdesk,whichnolongerhousestheframedphotoofourengagementphotoshootsessionattheappleorchard.There’sasmallbookshelftotheright,stockedwithwartimenonfictionandmedicaljournals.OnlythemostseriousofliteratureforSeth.
Sittinginthisorangechairwiththerickety,loosearmgivesmeflashbackstothattime,justdaysafterourbreakup,whenIcriedinhisoffice.I’dusedupallhisKleenexwhilespit-firingwaysinwhichwecould“fix”ourrelationship.Inresponse,heshooedmeoutofhisoffice,tellingmeIneededtogetoveritand“moveon.”
“HowcanIhelpyou?”Histoneisirritatinglycalm,almostcondescending,likeI’mapatientandnothisex-fiancée.He’sleanedbackinhischair,legscrossed,restinghisarmsbehindhishead,unapologeticabouttakingupspace.
Isuckinadeepbreath,bracingforjudgment.“I’mlookingtoreunitewithmyexes.Togetasecond-chanceromance,kindoflikemygrandma’s.Theonewhotookoverourwedding,”Iremindhim.
Hiseyesgoroundlikedinnerplates.“Umm,you’reawareI’mwithIngridnow,right?”
HowcouldInotknow?Ingridisanotherdoctor,whoworksinOncology.Theystarteddatingtwomonthsafterourbreakup.WatchingSethfallintoanotherrelationshipsoquickly,asiftheyearswespenttogetherweresimplyanunfortunateblip,wasawholenewlevelofgut-wrenching.Seeingthemtogetherinthoseearlydays,stealingkissesindarkenedcorridorsorcuddlinginthecafeteriainthebooththatusedtobeours,wastorture.Itdoesn’thelpthatSethisboisterouswhenhelikessomething.Hemadeitknowntotheentirefloorhow“chill”Ingridiscomparedtootherwomen,howshelovesbeerandsports,andhowshe’sbasicallya“hotdude”(akatheperfectwoman).
“Obviously.Everyhappinesstoyouboth,”Iforceout.“Youcanrestassured,youarenotacontender,”Iclarify,mortifiedhe’devengetthatimpression.
SethpretendstowipethenonexistentsweatoffhisforeheadashepourscoffeefromhistravelthermosintohisHarvardMedicalSchoolmug,crestpointedtowardme.“That’sarelief.ThoughIkindoffeellikeIhaveanobligationtowarntherestofthesemen.”
Igivehimapointedlook,asshalfoutofthechair.Ishouldprobablygetoutofherebeforethisturnssouth.“Really,Seth?”
“Relax,Tara.I’mjustmessingwithyou.”Heplaysoffhisbelittlementlikeitwasnothing,reachingforhissmiley-facestressball.Hetossesitupwardlikeachild.“Anyways,Ihaveanappointmentsoon.What’syourquestion?”
“Iwantedtoknow,forresearchpurposes,whyexactlyyoubrokeupwithme.Youneverreallygavemeaproperexplanation,otherthantellingmeyoucouldn’thandleme.AndIthoughtitmightbenicetoknowwhatIcoulddobettergoingforward.”
ThetensionisasvisibleasapantylineunderCrystal’sworkoutleggings.Neitherofusbreathes,blanketingtheofficeincompletesilence,saveforthedullbeepsofvariousmachinesandfarawaychatterechoingfromthehallway.Itugatthecollarofmyscrubs,bodyeruptingwithasickening,pricklyheatfromSeth’spiercingstare.“Ididn’tgiveyouafulsomeexplanationbecause,frankly,Ididn’tknowifyouwereinthepropermentalspacetohandleit.”
Iflattenmyspineagainstthebackofthechairandmeethishardgaze.“I’mreadytohandleitnow.Whydidyouendthings?”
Heclearshisthroat,stilltossingthestressballbackandforthbetweenbothhands,refusingtogivemethedecencyofhisfullattention.“That’saloadedquestion.Butforone,weneverhadanysharedinterests.Youhatesports,andyouneverwantedtohangoutwithmyfriends.”
Myeyetwitches.Sethknowsfullwellheneverinvitedmearoundhisfriends,allofwhomaredoctorsortrust-fundkidsIhavenothingincommonwith.CrystalthinkshewasembarrassedIwasalowlynurse.ThatIwasn’taseducatedastheywere.Ononeoccasion,IoverheardhimtellinghisbossatthestaffholidaypartythatIwasplanningtogobacktoschooltogetmymaster’sdegree—whichwasacompletelie.
Hecontinueson.“Butbesidesthat,thebiggestthingwasyourdistrustofme.Youwerereallycling—”
Icuthimoff,unabletostomachthec-wordagain.“Okay,let’snotforgethowsketchyyouwereinthelead-up—”
“Well,actually.”Heholdsuphisfinger,commandingthefloor.Ialmostburstoutlaughing.It’sarunningjokebetweenmyselfandtheothernursesthatSethisNICU’sresidentWellActuallyGuy,intrudingoncompletelyprivateconversationswithtechnicalcorrectionsandirrelevantfactshefoundonReddit.“Multiplestudiesshowthattrustisfoundationaltoanyrelationship.Ifyoudon’thavetrust,youhavenothing.That’ssomethingyou’llneedtolearnifyouwanttomaintainalong-term,healthyrelationship,”hetellsme,feigningconcern.
“Trustisn’tsomethingyouhavetolearn.It’ssomethingyouearn,”Isay,mytonefirm,fistsclenchedinmylap.“AndIthinkwebothknowyourbehaviorattheenddidn’texactlyscreamdevotedfiancé.”
“That’swhathappenswhenyoupulltheleashtootight.”Hetossesthestressballontothedesk,clearlydonewiththisconversation.
Istand,lettingoutajadedsigh.WhydidIeverexpecttohaveaproductiveconversationwithSeth?“Ithinkourversionsofthetrutharetwoverydifferentthings,Seth.”
Heliftshismughighforaslurpysipandshrugs,likehecan’tbebothered.“Guessso.Goodluckwiththewitch-hunteitherway.”?chaptereight
MCDONALD’SISPACKEDtonight,fullofloiteringteenagersanddistressedmomsscreamingattheirchildrentositdownandeattheirdamnedHappyMeals.Itakeinthefamiliarcomfortofgreasyfastfoodthatpermeatestheair,elicitingaloudrumblefrommyemptystomach.
Trevorbroughtmestraighthereafterdiscoveringmylifelessbodystar-fishingonthelivingroomfloor.WhenIdeniedhisofferofanultra-healthyhomecookedmeal,hepracticallydraggedmetohiscar.
“Youneedtoeat.Ineedyoualivetocoverhalftherent.Comeon,I’llbringyouwhereveryouwanttogo,”he’dpromised.Asanunapologeticglutton,Iwasn’tabouttodenytheprospectofbeingchauffeuredtoeatwhereverIwanted.Admittedly,hisspicyscentwasalsoanenergybooster.TwohitsandIwasuponmyowntwofeet.
TrevorstandsinlineforourorderswhileIsecureatablenearthewindow.AsIwait,IcomeupwithsomanythingsIwishI’dsaidtoSeth.Herailroadedmeinthatconversationatworktoday,likehealwaysmanagestodo.Meanwhile,I’mlefttocomeupwithsickburnsandviciousinsultslongafterthefact,whennoonecaresanymoreexceptme
I’malsodisappointedinmycollegeselfforcompletelymisreadingmyentirerelationshipwithJeff.MystomachturnswhenIthinkabouthowIskippedaroundcampus,fancy-freelikethehumanversionofaheart-eyesemoji,ignoringthesignalsentirely.HadIknownheconsideredmetobeatotalnutjob,Ineverwouldhavewastedmytimeonhim.
Forthefirsttimeinmylife,I’mstartingtounderstandwhyromanceheroinesdramaticallyswearoffmen.MaybeIshoulddothesame.LovewouldsurelyfallintomylapthemomentIdidso.
Trevorarriveswithourfoodstackedononetray.Themomenthespotsthesprinkledsaltandadabofketchupsmearedacrossthetable,hebacksaway,shakinghishead.Itmightaswellbefreshbloodfromanopen,oozingwound.“No.”
Ihaphazardlywipethemessawaywithmynapkin.“Comeon.Sit.It’sperfectlycleannow,”Iassurehim,gesturingtotheopenseatacrossfromme.
Helooksintothedirtyboothandshakeshishead,hiseyesflickeringtothecomparativelycleanboothonmyside.
Ipatthespacenexttomeandscootover.
Withzeroenthusiasm,heslidesinbesidemelikethedivaheis,kneebouncingunderthetable.Thewarmthofhisthighgrazingminesendsazingdownmyspine.I’mnowhyperawarewelooklikeoneofthosecutecoupleswhositonthesamesideofthetableatrestaurantsbecausetheycan’tkeeptheirhandsoffeachother.
“Isitthescreamingkids?”Iask,tearingthewrappingoffmyQuarterPounderlikeafrenziedchildonChristmasmorning.
“No.Idon’tmindkids,actually.”AsIchewthatfirst,gloriousbite,hewavesahandaroundatthefloor,fullofslushy,brownnapkins.“It’sapostapocalypticnightmareinhere.”Hezeroesinonaglobofhardenedsweet-and-sourdippingsauceImissedatthecornerofthetable.Ipromptlyscrubitawaybeforehehasabreakdown.
“MyparentshadtheirfirstdateinaMcDonald’s,”Itellhim.Whenhesquintsatmeinsuspicion,Imakesuretoadd,“Don’tworry.I’mnottryingtodateyou.”Itfeelsnecessarytopointthatout.WhenIgothomefromworktoday,Inoticedabasketofexpensive-lookingcandiessittingonTrevor’sbed,visiblefromthehallway.Trust,Itriedtoburymycuriosityandgoonwithmyday,butI’mnotknownforexercisingself-control.Itiptoedmynosyassintohisroomtopeekatthecard,whichreadToAngie,fromTrevor,withasmileyface.
Theromanticgiftstruckmeasoddatfirst,consideringhe’snevermentionedanyonenamedAngiebeforeandhe’saversetorelationships.Itwasonlyacoupledaysagothathebristledattheideaofawifey.Thenagain,maybehedoesn’twanttosettleforjustanyone.Maybehe’salreadyinlovewithaspecialsomeone.
Everygoodplayboyherocarriesasecrettorchforonewomanhisentirelifebutrefusestodoanythingaboutituntiltheeleventhhour(probablywhenshe’shalfwaydowntheaisleatherweddingtoanotherman).Trevorcertainlyfitsthemold.Dangerous,sulky,alwaysbroodinginthecorner.Thismakessomuchsense.
Unfortunately,I’llhavetowaitforhimtobringitupunlessIrevealIsnoopedthroughhispersonalbelongingslikeacompletestalker.
Trevordoesn’trespondtomyassurancethatI’mnottryingtodatehim.He’stoobusyassessingtheinsidecontentsofhisBigMac,probablydaydreamingaboutAngie.Withtheprecisionofaheartsurgeon,heremovesthepicklesandsetstheminthelidofhisburgercontainer.Whenhenoticesmeoglingthemlikeastarvedhyena,heasks,“Wantthem?”
“Um,hellyes.”Withouthesitation,Ipluckthemfromthecontainerandpoptheminmymouth,oneaftertheother.
“So,didyougiveJeffhisOakleysbacktoday?”heprods,reconstructinghisburger.
“Nope.Itwastoomuchofashitshow.Icompletelyforgotbythetimeitwasallsaidanddone.”Isqueezemyeyesshut,tryingtogathermythoughts,whichseemtofallbackintoplacethemorefoodIgracefullyshoveldownmythroat.“HedroveaSegway,ifthattellsyouanything.”
Trevor’slipstwistinamusement.“Ittellsmemorethanitshould.Goon…”
“Okay,first,hewaslate.Isatinthecaféaloneforhalfanhourlikeapatheticloser.”Iimmediatelyself-soothewithahandfuloffries.
“You’renotaloser.Peopleeataloneallthetime.”
“Iwouldnevereataloneinpublic.”
“Whynot?”
Iplungemyfryintomyketchup.“Thereusedtobethisoldcouplewhocametomygrandparents’AsianfusionrestauranteveryFridaynightforyears.ZhangandWen.MygrandmaChenevenreservedaspecialtableforthem.Knewtheirordersandeverything.OneFriday,theydidn’tshowup.Then,overayearlater,Zhangshowedupalone.Wenhaddiedofpneumonia.Hetoldmygrandmahowharditwastocomeback,butthatheknewWenwouldwanthimto.Tothisday,hestillcomesfordinneralone,everyFriday.Hestillordershermeal,eventhoughhedoesn’teatit.”
Trevor’sfacecontortsandhesetsdownhisburger,whichhewaseatingmethodically,edgesfirst.“Jesus.That’sterrible.”
“AndnowyouseewhyIdon’tliketheideaofeatingalone.”
“Pointtaken.So,whathappenedwithyourdate?Obviouslyheshowedup.OnhisSegway,”headdsgleefully,sippinghischocolatemilkshake.
Trevor’sfaceturnsanincreasinglyvibrantshadeofredasIrattleofftheentirestory,includinghowJeffdidn’twearacoatandhowhewantstobeabeekeeper.“Thatsoundsmade-up.Idon’tgetit—yousaidallyourexesweregreatguysworthreconcilingwith.Wasthisdudenotweirdincollegetoo?”
I’mmomentarilysidetrackedbyamanambitiouslycarryingthreeicecreamconesthroughtheparkinglot,oneofwhichisabouttotoppleoveratanysecond.“Idon’tknow.IkeeptellingmyselfIwastoohomesickanddrunktomakesounddecisions.It’stheonlyexplanation.”Hadthisnotbeenmyfirstintroductionbacktothedatingscene,IhaveafeelingIwouldn’tbetakingthissohard.Butbeingvulnerableandputtingmyselfoutthereforthefirsttimeinforever,onlytohaveadatecrashandburn,doeslittletorenewmyhopeforthefuture.“HeassumedIaskedhimoutfor‘closure.’?”Iputairquotesaroundclosure,half-mauledburgerinmyrighthand,twofriesinmyleft.
“Didyou?”
“Well,yes.Buthewasjustso…presumptuous.WhenIaskedwhyhestoppedtalkingtome,hesaiditwasbecauseIwastoo‘clingy’and‘crazy.’Canyoubelievehecalledmecrazy?”Idemand.“Infact,hesaid,andIquote,‘Thehotterthegirl,thecraziersheis.’Heeventweetedaboutit.Hashtagged#CrazyExGirlfriend.”IslidemyphoneoverwiththescreenshotsofJeff’stweetsforTrevor’sperusal.
Herootsthroughthemquickly,unimpressed.“Youcanresteasyknowingheonlygotthreelikes,oneofwhichwashimlikinghisowntweet.”
“Ikindofwanttorespond,givehimapieceofmymind,”Imutterdarkly,drummingmyfingerstogetherasIconsiderscorchingcomebacksandaccompanyingthreateningGIFs.
Trevortentativelyclearshisthroatafteraslurpofhismilkshake.“Idon’tthinkrespondingisagoodidea.It’llonlyreinforcehisopinionofyou.”
“ThatI’mcrazy?”
“Exactly.”
Iwaitacoupleofbeatsandnarrowmygazeathim.“DoyouthinkI’mcrazy?”
“Iwouldn’tusetheterm‘crazy.’But…”
“Butwhat?”Isnap.DoIcarewhetherTrevorthinksI’mhotand/orcrazy?Certainlynot.
“Youmadeahitlistofexestopursue.Andyoumadefriendswithmyone-nightstandandcalledhermarriagematerial.”Hesafelystickstothecrazysideofthings,andI’malittlerelieved.
“Gabbyismarriagematerial.”
Heignoresthatstatement.“Imean,let’slookatthefacts.Youalsokeyedoneex’scar.”
“Ican’tbearthatcrossmywholelife,Metcalfe.Iwasfifteen.Givemeabreak.YousoundlikeSegwayJeff.”Irollmyeyesdismissively.“Also,it’soffensiveanddemeaningtobewrittenoffascrazy.Especiallygiventhestigmaofmentalhealth.Andmaybetherealissuehereisthatsomemencan’tconfronttheiremotions.Insteadoftakingresponsibilityforyourownbehavior,it’seasiertoscrewus,writeusoffasloons,andforgetaboutus.”Ihuffattheinjustice,stuffinganotherhandfuloffriesintomymouthlikeagoblin.
Heconsidersthatforamomentandfrowns.“Pointtaken.You’reright.Butcanyounotadmitthatpeople,notjustwomen,canactalittle”—helookstotheceiling,searchingfortheproperterm—“intensesometimes?”
Itossmyburgerontothetrayandleanin.“Ifyou’renotintenseandpassionateonceinawhile,canyouevencallitlove?”
“Surecan.It’scalledamature,stable,adultrelationship,”hesays,elongatingeachsyllablelikeI’masmallchild.
“Andyouwouldknowfrompersonalexperience?”MytonedripswithsarcasmasIwaitforhimtotellmeaboutAngie,theloveofhislife.
Instead,hefireslaserbeamsatmeashecarefullyfoldshisemptyfrycontainer.“I’vehadtwoseriousrelationships,thankyou.”
Iholdoutmyhand,makingagrabby-handsmotionforhisphone.“Let’sseethem.”
Hemakesmewaitafewblinksbeforebegrudginglyrelinquishinghisphone.Hisfirstex,NatalieLowry,isstunning.Shelookslikealiteralangelwithherbelly-button-lengthcoffee-coloredbeachwaves.“Shewasmyhighschoolgirlfriend,”hetellsme,promptlymovingontothenextprofilebeforeIhavethechancetopressforbackstory.
Thesecondex,KylaSheppard,isleggy,raven-haired,andremindsmealittleofayoungerOliviaWilde.She’smid-laughineveryoneofherInstagramphotos,whichtellsmeshelikestohaveagoodtime—oratleastwantstogivethatillusion.
“Youshouldreachouttothem.”Ilightupatthemerethought.“MaybeyouandIcouldgoonexsearchestogether.”
“No.Idon’twantagirlfriend.Toomuchwork.”Heturnshisphonefacedownonthetable,abruptlyputtinganendtothatsuggestion;stacksourtrays;anddumpsourtrashinthebin.
WhataboutAngie?Iwanttoask.ButIrefrain,insteadgrabbingmyjackettofollowhimoutside,intotheparkinglot.“IsthataJaneAustenquote?You’rebasicallyawalkingexampleofromance.”
Trevorflashesmeaflirtysmileasheunlockshiscarwithhiskeyfob.“Pleasedon’tputmeandromanceinthesamesentence.”
Ipretendtolaugh,wheninreality,I’mmoreconfusedabouthimthanever.?chapternine
IT’SBEENAweek,andAngie’sidentitystillremainsanunsolvedmystery.Thenagain,Ihaven’tdaredtocomeoutandask.TrevorandIhaven’tseenmuchofeachotherduetoourshiftschedules,asidefromtheoddrun-inwhileoneiscominghomeandtheotherisleaving.Besides,pokingaroundhislovelifelikeathirstyHollywoodtabloidreporterfeelsneedlesslycruel.
Inthemeantime,I’vedevelopedatheory:AngieisawomanTrevorisinlovewithbutcan’thavebecauseshe’salreadymarriedorengaged,whichwouldexplainthesecrecy.Maybethey’redesperatelyinlovebutshe’sbeenforcedintoamarriageofconvenienceshecan’tescape.
Aftermultipleback-to-backovertimeshiftscoveringforallmycolleagueswhotaketimeoffforThanksgiving,I’mofffortheday,allbymylonesome,asTrevorisondayshift.Normallybeingaloneforextendedperiodsoftimedepressesme,buttodayI’mtakingMel’sadvicetosoakupthequietandpartakeinsomeself-care.Thisincludesabagofchips,astackofmyfavoritebooks,myrom-comsoundtrackplaylist,myweightedblanket,andmaybealittlequalitytimewithmyvibrator.
BecauselifelikestogivemeakickintheasswhenIgettoosmug,I’minthemidstofthelatterwhenTrevorreturnshome,whistling.
Shit.
Here’sthething.I’vemadetwograveerrors.First,I’veboughtalouder-than-averagevibrator(itsvolumeisonparwithaDysonvacuum)withfartoomanyfancysettings.Second,Ifailedtoclosemybedroomdoor,becauseTrevorwasn’tsupposedtobehomeforanotherhourandahalf.Damnhim.
Panickedandsweaty,IattempttohittheOffbuttononmydevice,butofcourseIendupincreasingtheintensityinstead.
TrevorisalreadyinmydoorwaybythetimeI’vemanagedtolocatetheOffbutton.“Isitjustme,orareyouintheexactsamepositionIleftyouinthismorning?”Hisquestioniscompletelycasual.Butinmyhot,bothered,andfrustratedstate,mybraincan’thelpbutturnitsexual.
Itdoesn’thelpthathe’sinoneofhistight-fittednavy-bluefiredepartmentT-shirts.It’soneoftenidenticaloneshekeepsfoldedMarieKondo–styleinhisdresser.Ilurchupwardwhenheleanshisweightagainstmydoorframe,hishairfloppedoverlikeit’sdonewiththeday,onearmbehindhisback.
“You’rehome!”Isqueak.
“Yeah.Oneoftheguyscameinforhisshiftearly.”Hepauses,assessingme.“Youfeelingokay?”
Iabandonmyvibratorunderthecoversandrunthebackofmywristovermyforehead,whichisdefinitelyclammy.“Thriving.Neverbetter!”
Hisbrowsraiseinsuspicion.“Yousure?Youlookalittleredandfevery.There’saflugoingaround,youknow.”
“I’dknowifIhadafever.I’manurse.”Imakeashowoftestingmytemperatureagainwithmywrist.“Nofever.Justalittlewarmwiththeweightedblanket.”
“Right.Apologies,NurseChen.”Whenhegrinsatme,nonethewiser,allthetensionandfrustrationfrombeinginterrupteddissipates.Latelywe’vebeenbanteringbackandforthaboutwhoisthemorequalifiedhealthprofessional.Trevor,whoistechnicallyalsoacertifiedmedic,isverysureofhimself.“Lookslikeyouhadarelaxingday.”
Ishrug.“Itwasaverage.Kindalonely,though,asidefrommybookboyfriends.”Andmyvibrator.
“Thesewillkeepyoucompany.”HepullshisrightarmfrombehindhisbacktorevealtwoHalloween-sizebagsofCheetosinhisrighthand.
“Really?…Forme?”Iaskinawe.
Hesmirks,tossingthebagsontotheendofmybed.“Whoelse?Oneoftheguysatworkbroughtinextrasfromhiskid’sHalloweenstash.Grabbedthemforyoubeforetheothersswarmed.”
“OhmyGod.Iloveyou,”Iblurtout,alreadyrippingoneofthebagsopen.Whenthecrestsofhischeeksturnadarkshadeofred,Iwalkbackmyovertenthusiasm.“Um…youlooktired.”
Hislipscurveintoasmallsmile.“Gee,thanks.Youknowhowtomakeaguyblush.”
“Savealotoflivestoday?”Iaskthroughacrunch.
Hefrownsagain.“No.Lostafew,actually.”
Icovermymouth,asiftryingtostuffthewordsbackin.“I’msosorry.Ididn’tmeantojokeaboutthat—”
“It’sallgood,Tara,”heassuresme,wavingmywordsaway.
“No.Ishouldknowbetter,beinginhealthcare.Itwasashittythingtosay.”
“Seriously,it’sfine.Didyouhityourreadinggoalsfortheday?”Icantellbyhisabruptchangeinsubjectandtonethathe’snotreallyinterestedintalkingabouthisday,asusual.Evenwhenhe’sinadecentmood,hegetsuncomfortablewheneverIaskhimquestionsabouthimself.
“Suredid,”Isayproudly,gesturingtomybookpileanimatedly,tryingtosoundextraupbeatinanefforttolightenhismood,evenjustalittle.WheneverIhadroughdaysatworkwherewe’dlosepatients,Sethwouldn’toffermuchsupport,insteadtellingmetosuckitupbecausethatwasjustthejob.Ialwayswishedhe’dmakemoreofanefforttotakemymindoffthings.“Igotthroughtwoandahalfbookstoday,andit’sbeentherapeutic.”
“Whatchareadingnow?StillontheMafiaromance?”heasks,leaningforwardtogetaglimpseofmybookcover.
“Nope.Donewiththatseries.Thisisoneofmyfavorites,”Isay,lightingupattheprospectofsharing.“Acountrysingerwho’sforcedtogoontourwithherex,asexy,broodyguitarist.”
“Second-chanceromance?”heguesses.It’sagamewestartedplaying,whereheguessesthetropebasedonaone-linedescription.
Imocksurprise.“You’regettinggoodatthis.Thisoneisalsoaforcedproximity.Theyhavetotraveltogetheronatourbus.It’sprettyhot.”
Heraisesacuriousbrowashetakesacoupleofstepsintomyroomtorearrangemybookshelfagain.“Yeah?”
Iflipafewchaptersbacktoaparticularlysteamysceneinvolvingthekitchencounterandhandittohim.“Youmayrelatetothisone.”
Hesitsontheendofmybedtoread,themattresssinkingunderneathhisweight.Hisnostrilsflareashescansthepage.“Basicallyit’swrittenporn?Butwithnovisuals.”
Ipluckthebookfromhishandsandbophimontheshoulderwithit.“Youdon’tneedvisualswhenyouhaveyourimagination.Besides,pornusuallycaterstothemalegaze.Doesn’treallydomuchforalotofwomen.”
“Ofcourse.Theemotionalconnectioniskey,”hesayssarcastically,reachingintomylaptoopenthesecondCheetosbag.
Isuckinasharpbreathwhenhishandpawsdangerouslyclosetomyvibratorhiddenundermycovers.Beforeheaccidentlytouchesit,Ishiftitoverwithmyleganditfallswithaclatterdownthecrackbetweenthewallandmybed.
“Whatwasthat?”Trevorasks.
“Oh,nothing.Justabook.Nobigdeal.”Ishrugitoff,whileinternallyI’mscreamingandprayingithasn’tskiddedoutfromundermybed.Ievenpeerovertheedgetoconfirm.
Hiseyesflickerwithsomethingthatlookslikesuspicion,soIrambleonasadistractivemeasure.
“Feelfreetoborrowmybooksanytime,bytheway.Maybeyoucouldlearnathingortwo.Pickupafewtipsandtrickstouseinyourrelationshipsgoingforward,”Iofferteasingly.
Hesnorts.“Whatrelationships?”
“Comeon,youcan’treallywanttospendyourlifealone.”
“Beingaloneismyfavorite,”hesaysultraseriously,crunchingaCheeto.“Daysoffwhenyou’reatworkarethefuckingbest.IgetthecouchandtheTValltomyselfwithoutyouchattingmyearoffinthebackground.”
Ilaunchaweakpunchinhisside.“Wow,shotsfired.I’lltrytomakemyselfscarcer.”
Hecracksasmallsmile.“I’mjustkidding,Chen.You’renottoobadtobearound…”Oureyessnagforabeattoolongbeforeheadds,“whenyou’renotallfrazzled,huntingdownyourexes.”
Istraightenmyshoulders,ignoringtheheatgatheringinmyneck,gettinghotterandhotterthelongerhesmilesatmelikethat.FromtheedgeofmybedwhereIwasjust…
“Howgoesthesearch,anyways?”Trevorasks.
Truthfully,I’vebeentoobusywithworkthepastweektoputemotionaleffortintotheexsearch.Untiltoday.“I’mnowfocusingonBrandonWang.Senthimamessagethismorning,thoughhehasn’tresponded…yet,”Inotewithagrimace.“He’soneofmycollegeboyfriends.”
“Allright.What’sthestorywithBrandon?”
“Wewerejustfriendsatthebeginningofcollege,”Isay,findingmyselfsmilingatthememoryofhim.“Ialwayshadalittlecrushonhim,butIdidn’tactonitbecausehehadalong-termgirlfriendfromhighschool.Hebrokeupwithhergoingintojunioryear,andaweeklater,wemadeoutatacampuspubtrivianight.Afterbeinginsuchalong-termrelationship,hewasreallyagainstputtingalabelonthings,whichdrovemenuts.Imean,notknowingwhetherIwashisgirlfriendornotwassostressful.DoIlisthimasmyemergencycontact?DoIputhiminmywill?Thesearethingsanysane,responsiblehumanneedstoknow.”
Trevorcovershisunapologeticlaughwithhisfist.
Ireachovertogivehimaswiftsmackonthebiceps,whichfranklyfeelslikehittingametalpole.“Thenthingsendedona…dramaticnote.”
“Dramatic?”
“Hewantedtotraveltheglobeaftercollegebeforesettlingdown.Hewantedmetogowithhim,andIdidn’t.”
“Really?Why?”
“I’mnotgreatwithunfamiliarplaces.Planecrashmoviestraumatizedme,”Iexplain.“Airportsfreakmeouttoo.ThelasttimeIwasinone,Igotarrestedbyairportpolice,”Iadmit,raisingabitterbrow.
InspiredbyLoveActuallyandCrazyRichAsians,Itriedmyhandatanairportgrandgesture.Turnsout,onecanonlyevadeairportsecurityinthemovies,lestyoupay$850foraticketjusttoconfessyourloveinfrontofhundredsofsleep-deprivedtravelers.
ThisjuicytidbitofmypastthrillsTrevor.HedescendsintoafitofdeeplaughterasIexplainhowmyill-fatedadventureresultedinhoursofinterrogationinatiny,dimlylitroomuntiltheborderofficersfinallybelievedIwasaninnocent,hopelessly-in-lovegirlandnotsomecrazedterrorist.Tothisday,Brandonremainsblissfullyunawareofmyairportarrestonhisbehalf.
“Okay,thisisworsethanIthought.”
“Look,ifyouattemptedanairportgrandgesture,everyonewouldsayitwassoromantic.Butit’scrazywhenIdoit.”
HeregardsmelikeI’mawalkingCautionsign.“Maybeyoushouldapproachdatingmorecasually.”
“Ican’tjusthookupwithsomeonecasually.”
“Whynot?It’sjustsex.”
Whenhesayssex,myfaceflusheslikeI’maprepubescentteeninhealthclass,allgiddyoversomeanatomywordlikelabia.I’mnotsureifit’sthefactthathe’ssittinganarm’slengthawayfromme,onmybed,butlookinghimintheeyesfeelsdangerous,vulnerable,likeI’mstaringintoasolareclipse,asecondawayfromburningmyretinas.
“You’veneverhadcasualsex?”Hisquestioncomesoutgruff.
Mysilencerevealsme.
“Seriously?Never?”WhenIdon’trespond,hepointsatme.“Ihaveatheoryaboutyou.”
“Pleaseenlightenme.”
“You’reobsessedwiththeideaofpursuingyourexesbecauseyou’rescaredtomeetsomeonenew.”
Iscoff.“I’mnotscaredtomeetsomeonenew.”
“Whydoyouonlyreadbooksyou’vealreadyread?”hechallenges,gesturingtomybookshelf,filledwiththewornandcrackedspinesofwell-lovedbooks.
“Slander.Ireadnewbookssometimes.ButifyoumustknowwhyIreread,it’sbecauseIalreadyknowIlikethem.Iknowhowtheyend.”
Hiseyesglitterwithsatisfaction.“See?Youdon’tlikenewthings.Samewithfoodandtraveling.Youalsoholdontothings,likeliteralgarbagefromyourexes,forexample.”
Iignorehisweirdlyaccurateassessment.“It’snotgarbage.They’repriceless,sentimentalrelics.AndIcan’tjusthavesexwithrandoms,okay?Noteveryonecanturntheirfeelingsoffatthedropofahat.”
“It’sreallynotthatintimate.Justdon’tallowyourmindtogothere.”Hesaysitsocasually,likeit’ssecondnature.
Ileanforward,mattresscreaking.“CanIaskyouaseriousquestion?”
Hegrumbles,andImentallyscoldmyselfforthereflex.Ikeepforgettinghowmuchhehatesthatquestion.
“Isahappilyeverafterreallysoterrifyingtoyou?”
Heholdseyecontactforacoupleofmomentsbeforestanding,puttingspacebetweenus.“Yes.”
WhenIboldlyask,“Haveyoueverconsideredtherapy?”hisjawtics.
BeforeIcandiscernwhetherhe’spissed,amused,orsoulsearching,myphonevibratesonmybedsidetable.
BRANDONWANG:Hey,Tara.Thanksforthemessage.Howareyoudoing?
Myheartthudsagainstmychestwall.WhenIgaspfordramaticeffect,Trevorleansin,shoulderbrushingagainstmineashereadsmytext.Hewatchesasmyfingersflyovermykeyboard.
“WhyareyoutypingyourresponseinyourNotesapp?”hewhispersinmyear,asthoughBrandonisinearshot.
“BecauseifItypeinthetextwindow,he’llseeI’mtyping.Ellipsesareasignofweakness,”Iwhisperbackconspiratorially.“AndwhatifmythumbslipsandIaccidentlysendanunfinishedmessage?Oranuneditedmessagefilledwithtypos?”WhenI’mdonedraftingmyresponse,Ipassmyphonetohimforpeerreview.
HiBrandon!!Wowit’ssonicetohearfromyou.I’vebeenthinkingalotaboutyoulately,wonderinghowyou’vebeenandifyou’retravelinganywhere.Imissyouandwaswonderingifyouwanttogoforadrink,orlunch,ordinner,orbrunch?I’dbedownforanyoftheaforementioned.Ifyoucan’t,orifyou’reoutofthecountry,that’stotallycooltoo.Butitwouldbegreattocatchup!!Trevor’seyesincineratetheblockoftext.“No.No.No.”
“What’swrongwiththat?”BeforeIcantakemyphoneback,hetightenshisgripandstands,holdingitoutofreach.
“You’velostcustodyofyourphone.Andthefactthatyoudon’tknowwhat’swrongwiththattextscaresmealittle,”hesays,histoneclipped.“Hewillrunfar,farawayifyousendthis.”
“Hewon’t.He’sthedefinitionofaniceguy.”
“Niceguy?”
“Like…he’sthekindofguywhoanswerstelemarketingcallsandendsuptrappedonthephoneforanhourbecausehefeelstooguiltyhangingup.”
“Soundslikeamanwithnobackbone.”
“Anyway,Idon’tsubscribetothesemanipulativeplayitcoolbullshitgames.Besides,Brandonknowsme.HeknowsIhavefeelings,andlotsofthem.”
Trevorrunshishandoverhissteel-cutjaw.“Look,allI’msayingissometimesyoucanbe…alittleforward.”
“Beingforwardisn’tabadthing.AmIsupposedtopretendtobemysterious?Likethecoolchickwhoactslikeabro,goeswiththeflow,andhasnoemotionalneeds?”
“Ididn’tsaythat.Butyouneedtoeaseintoitalittlebeforeyousendhimfull-screen-lengthtexts.”Hehandsmyphoneback.
“Idon’teaseintothings,Trevor.Igoballstothewall.WitheverythingIdo,”Isay,standingtomatchhisheight.
“Look,doyouwanttoscoreasecondchanceornot?”heasks,makinghiswaytomydoorway.
“Obviously.”
“Thentrustme.Justwaitabitandthinkoutyourresponseproperly,”heinstructs.
“Waitforhowlong?YouknowIhavenopatience.”
“Justanhour.”
“Thatmightaswellbeaneternity.”
“Comeon.We’llcleanthekitchenwhilewewait.”WhenIgivehimscaryeyes,headds,“Wecanmakecupcakes.I’llshowyouhowtomakethemfromscratchsoyoudon’thavetowastemoneybuyingthatboxedcrap.”
Iraiseabrow.“Youknowhowtobakefromscratch?”
“Let’sfindout,”hesays,andIswearthere’satwinkleinhiseye.
???
ANDFORTHAThour,IforgetallaboutmessagingBrandonback.
Turnsout,Trevordecidedwe’remakinglemoncupcakeswithraspberryicing.He’snotaParisianpastrychefbyanymeans,andhenotesweputtoomuchflourinthebatter,butheknowshiswayaroundakitchen.It’sunexpected,andfranklyalittleunfair.
“Thesearelife-changing,”Isaythroughamouthful,placingtheremainderneatlyinaTupperwarecontainer.
“Youshouldsendyourgrandmaapictureandtellherthey’refromscratch.She’llbeproud.”
Ishrug.“Idunno.ShethinksthereasonI’mstillsingleisbecauseIcan’tcookorbake.Doyouthinkthat’strue?”
Asheloadsthedirtydishesintothedishwasher,hechucklessoftly.“Tara,thisisn’t1950.Andfortherecord,youcanbake.Youfollowedallthedirections.Ithinkyoujusthaveitinyourheadthatyoucan’tdoit.”
He’snotwrong.WhenIfirststarteddatingSeth,I’dstartedgettingmoreadventurousinthekitchen,tryingdifferentrecipesIfoundonPinterestjusttoimpresshim,eventhoughtheyincludedingredientsIdidn’tlike.ButnomatterhowhardItriedtostretchmyselfoutofmycomfortzone,hewasunsatisfiedwitheverythingImade,claimingthefoodwastoosimple.IthasnoflavorwashisfavoritethingtosaytomewhenI’dtryanewrecipe.Eventually,Ijuststoppedtryingaltogether.IwanttoexplainthattoTrevor,butfrankly,I’membarrassedIputupwithSeth’scrapforsolong.
“Whotaughtyouhowtobake?”Iask.
Hisjawtightensashebendsdowntoclosethedishwasher.“Mygrandma.”
“That’sreallyadorable.Wereyouclosewithher?”AgrinspreadsovermyfaceasIpictureaseven-year-oldTrevorinafrillyapron,icingcupcakesnexttoasweetlittlewhite-hairedlady.
“Iguessso.”Istareathimhopefully,waitingforhimtoelaborateonhischildhood,buthedoesn’t.Instead,hesays,“Wedoalotofcookingandbakingatthefirehousetoo.Learnedalotthere.”
“Ohyeah?Likegroupmeals?”
“Yup.Wemakemostmealstogethereveryday.Oneoftheguysonmyshiftusedtobeachefinthemilitary,sohetakesfoodprettyseriously.Theotherdayhemadehomemadericottagnocchiwithpancetta,andcrèmebr?léefordessert.”
“Damn.That’sfinedining.Areyouguyshiring?”Iaskhalf-jokingly,leaningahipagainsttheisland.
Thecornerofhismouthtugsupwardintoahalfsmile.“We’realwaysacceptingapplications.Thinkyouhavewhatittakes?You’dhavetobeabletoliftandcarryabouttwohundredpounds.”
Imakeapfftsound.“Easyenough.I’mstrongerthanIlookfromhaulingaroundbooksmywholelife,”Ilie.
Hegesturestohimself.“Okay,let’ssee.Tryliftingme.”
“Like,actuallypickyouupfromtheground?”Isqueak.
“Yup.Ifyou’reasstrongasyousay,itshouldbenoproblem.”
It’sanimpossiblefeatformyweaklingbody.Iknowthis.Surelyheknowsittoo.ButsomethingaboutTrevorbringsoutmyplayfulside.Puttingasmileonhisusuallystone-seriousfacehasbecomeoneofmyfavoritetasks.AndI’malwaysupforthechallenge.Beingthecauseofthosecrinklelinesaroundhiseyesandthatdeep,bellowinglaughgivesmeahighlikenoother.
Tohisamusement,Imakeashowofcrackingmyknucklesandbendingmykneestoloosenmyjoints,likeaseniorcitizenwarmingupfortaichiinthepark.Hesucksinasharpbreath,bracinghimselfwhenIwrapmyarmsaroundhistorso.Whilehisspicyscentisanenergybooster,he’sasolidmassofmusclethat’svirtuallyunmovable.Iattemptmultipletimes,evenrestrategizingtheangle,squattingtolifthimfromunderthebum,tonoavail.
Onthefifthtry,hesetshishandsovermyshouldersandsqueezesgentlytostopme.Idon’tblamehim.I’vemadethisawkward.Myforearmsarefoldedsnugunderhisassandmyentirefrontispressedintohis.“Allright,Chen.You’regonnathrowyourbackout.”
“Yup.Thisisn’thappening,”Isay,wincingasIstraightenmyspine.“Inmydefense,you’reagiant,probablymuchlargerthantheaveragepersonwhoneedsrescuing.AndwhatIlackinstrength,I’dmakeupforinbraveryonthejob.”
Hesmiles.“Ibetyouwould.Oh,andyouhave—uh—someflour—”Hepointsinthevaguedirectionofmyfacebeforereachingtobrushitfrommycheek.Thegentlenessoftheswipeandthewarmthofhisthumbcatchmeoffguard.Mybreathhitcheswhenhiseyessnagmine.They’reawhirlofdarknesspiercedbyflashesofgold,reflectingfromthedimlightaboveus,swirlingwithallthemanythingshekeepslockedaway.
Oureyecontactbreakswhenmyphonevibratesagainstthecounter,pullingmebacktoreality,stoppingmyoveractivemindinitstracks.Trevorstepsbackafewpaces,hisshouldersdroppinginwhatlookslikereliefashepopsthecontainerofcupcakesinthemicrowaveforsafekeeping(hisgrandma’stricktokeepthemfresh).
BeforeIhavethechancetoscoldmyselfformakingthingsweirdwithmyprolongedeyecontact,IseeBrandonhastextedagain,preemptively,evenwithoutmyplannedresponse.
BRANDON:Wanttocatchup?There’sacoolnewminiputtbardowntownIwanttotryout.
Trevor’ssmug-asssmilehasmeregrettingshowinghimBrandon’sfollow-uptextinthefirstplace.
“Thiswasaone-off,bytheway,”Ipointout,stillinshockoverBrandon’sresponseasweheaddownthehallwaytoourrespectivebedrooms.
“Youjustcan’thandlethefactthatIknewsomethingaboutdatingthatyoudidn’t,”hesays,pausinginmydoorway.
Icatchmyselfstaringattheswoopofthebird’swingpartiallyvisibleunderhiscollar.Ipromptlysnapmyfocusbacktomyphone.BacktoBrandon.“Okay,datingguru,whatdoIsaynow?”?chaptertenLIVEWITHTARAROMANCEQUEEN—THEONETHATGOTAWAYEXCERPTFROMTRANSCRIPT
[Tarasitscrisscrossapplesauceonherbed,cradlingawornmass-marketpaperbacklikeanewbornbaby.Theex-boyfriendlinkchartisoutoffocusinthebackground.]
TARA:Hello,romancebooklovers,welcomebacktomychannel.Todaywe’retalkingabouttheOneThatGotAway.
TheOneThatGotAwayispotentiallyoneofthemosttragicofalltropes.I’mhesitanttocallitaromancetrope,becausemoreoftenthannot,itendsindeathandtears.It’srelatedtosecond-chanceromanceandcomesinmanyforms.Itcouldbetwoloverswhogetsplitupduringwarandfamine,unabletofindeachother.Maybeonepartydisappearsbehindmagicalstones,twohundredyearsintothefuture,wheretheybelong.
Ifyoucloseyoureyesrightnow,Ibetafacecomestomind.It’ssomeoneyouwonderabouteverysooften.Someoneyouhavetostopyourselffromdrunktexting,perhaps?Youoftenwonderwhatcouldhavebeen?Maybeyou’realreadyfullyawarethatyou’remissingthislong-lostsomeone,whichpreventsyoufrommovingforwardinyourlife.
ThisisBrandonWangforme.
Anyway,I’vegottafinishgettingready.I’mabouttomeethimfordrinksinanhour.IfanyonehasanyadviceorfavoriteOneThatGotAwaybooks,letmeknowinthecomments!
COMMENTS:
OMGheisHOT.Doesn’thelooklikeDanielDaeKim?
MydateadviceistoditchBrandonanddateyourroommate.Thisiswhatwedeserve!!
???
“CANIASKyouaquestion?”Iask.
Trevorshootsmeaone-eyedwarningglare,evidentlyandunderstandablypeevedthatI’vebargedintohisroomwithoutnotice.WhenIflickthelightswitch,hecovershiseyeslikeavampirewho’sdeathlyallergictothesun.“Haveyoueverheardofknocking?”
“Ididyouafavor.You’regonnamessupyourscheduleifyousleepanylonger.”He’sbeensleepingoffhisnightshift,andI’vebeenimpatientlywaitingforhimtowakeupforhours.
I’mduetomeetBrandoninT-minusforty-fiveminutes,andIneedapeptalk.
“Whatthehellareyouwearing?”heasksthroughsplayedfingers.
Miffed,Irunmyfingeroverthehighwaistbandofmywrinkled,wide-leglinenpants.“Mydateoutfit,thankyouverymuch.”
Whileplottingmyensembleonthesubwayridehomefromwork,Ihadamomentaryfreak-outandmadeapitstopatGabby’s,Trevor’shookupandmynewfriend,topillagehercloset.Asitturnsout,sheownstonsofhandmadepiecescollectedfromallovertheglobe,allofwhichhavesomeelaboratestory.Thesepantswerehand-sewnbyaninety-year-oldwomanintheTibetanmountainswhohasnearlylosthersight.
Trevorrestsagainsttheheadboardandtiltshishead,studyingmefromeveryanglelikeI’manabstractmuseumpainting.“No.”
Iscoff,myhandsonmyhips.“Thisistravelerchic.They’reGabby’s,actually.”
“WhyareyouwearingGabby’sclothesforyourdate?”
“Because…she’saworldtraveler,justlikeBrandon.”Asthesonofdiplomatparents,Brandoniswelltraveled.Hespeaksfivelanguages.He’sspentwintersskiingintheSwissAlps,summersridingcamelsthroughdesertsinMorocco.Younameit,he’sdoneitall,threetimes.
EventhoughItakeafterDadwithmy“giftofgab,”asMomlikestocallit,whatifBrandondubsmeanunculturedswine?Whatifthingstakeaturnforthehorriblyawkward,liketheydidwithSegwayJeff?Whatifhe’snothinglikeIremember?WhatifIpanicandaskforhishandinmarriage?
Asthehorrifyingpossibilitiesbesiegeme,sodoesapotentialsolution.“Metcalfe?”
“Yes?”Trevorasks,slowandtentative,asifdreadingmyresponse.
“Ireallydoneedtoaskyouaquestion.”
???
GRANDMAFLOWASabsolutelyright.Mengetbetterwithage.Atleast,BrandonWangcertainlyhas.
Hisfacewasetchedbythegods.Howelsecanyouexplainhisperfectlyproportionedfeatures?Theenchantingdark-chocolateeyesIwanttostareintolongerthanappropriate?Orthenaturallyblemish-andpore-freeskinthatlooksairbrushedinperson?Ifthatwasn’tunfairenough,healsohasthesun-kissedtanofsomeonewho’sspentmanyadayexperiencingtheworld.Hecertainlyhasn’tbeenrottingonthecouchscrollingthroughNetflix’sromancesection,pretendinghehasn’talreadywatchedeveryfilmfivetimes(notthatI’dknowfrompersonalexperience).
We’reseatedinaturquoisebooth,strugglingtoheareachotheroverthefiftiestunesblastingoverthesoundsystem.He’spracticallyglowinglikeinhiscurrentprofilephoto(aflatteringshotofhissunburnedself,grinninginfrontofanornatetempleinThailand)
Brandonleansinlikehe’sgoingtotellmeasecret.“Canyoubelieveit’sbeenovertenyearssincewefirstmet?”
Myinsidesblossomwithnostalgia.“God,no.Itfeelslikejustyesterdaywewerepullingall-nighters,hittingupthetwenty-four-hourgrocerystoreforthosegianttubsofNeapolitanicecream.”
Hemocksaretch.“Thatstuffwasrevolting.Especiallythestrawberry.Ican’tbelieveweatelikethat.Nowadays,mybodycan’ttakeit.”
“It’salldownhillafterthirty,Bran.OrsoI’veheard,”Isay.IrollupthesleevesofmycardiganasthewaiterwithaMr.Monopolymustachedropsaheapingplateofloadednachosinfrontofus.
Politeasever,Brandonwaitsformetopullmyfirstcheesynachofromthetopofthepilebeforemethodicallyselectinghis.Asexpected,hechoosesarelativelyplainone,whichhesmothersinsourcream.“Oh,definitely.Iusedtobeabletofallasleepanywhere.Ican’tgetalickofshut-eyeonplanesanymore.Oranyoldpulloutcotatahostel.I’maprincessnow,”hesaysthroughacrunchybite,massaginghisneckforemphasis.
Agrinspreadsacrossmyfaceuponrecollectionofthemanyinstanceswhenhefellasleepinthelibrary,mid–studysession.“You’rebasicallyageriatric.Areyousureyoucanhandlearoundofminiputtwithoutthrowingoutyourback?”Ijoke.
“Oh,don’tworryaboutme.Icanhackit.Hopeyoupracticedyourswing.”Hecrackshisknuckles,makingashowofcompetitivespiritbeforepeeringatthenearestputtingholetoourright.It’saStarWars–themedholewithrotatinglightsabersreadytoblockincomingballs.
Puttersbarisadmittedlyanappropriatedatespot,withtheretroblack-and-white-checkeredfloorandcharmingneonsignage.It’slocatedinahugewarehouseconsistingofthreemassivemini-golfcoursesalongsidetwodesignatedfoodanddrinkareas.UnlikeatypicalAstroturfcourse,eachholeisacallbacktoafamousmovieortelevisionshow.BehindtheStarWarshole,there’sapartiallyobscuredDorothyfromtheWizardofOzattheendofayellowbrickroad.
AsIstraintoseetheotherholesfrommyvantagepoint,IcatchTrevor’seye.Aftermuchgrovelingandemptypromisestobehispersonalchefforaweek,heagreedtoleavethesupremecomfortofhisbedtoaccompanyme.Ofcourse,he’ssubtlyseatedoneboothdown.ToBrandonandanyotherpatron,he’sjustarandomdude.Littledoesanyoneknow,he’smymoralsupport,atthereadytoensureIdon’tsayanythingIregret.
ButthelongerItalktoBrandon,themoreIrealizeIdidn’trequirebackupafterall.Turnsout,mymemoryisn’ttotallyunreliable.Brandonisasdelightfulandoutgoingashealwayswas—practicallyawalkingeharmonyad.Heasksalltherightquestions,makesjusttheperfectamountofeyecontact,nodsatalltheappropriatetimes.Andeverytimehesmiles,myheartdoestenconsecutivesomersaults.Iwantacustom-embroideredpillowwithhisfaceonit.Thatgotadmittedlycreepy,realfast.WhyamIlikethis?
Likethepreciouscreatureheis,he’slettingmescroungeallthecheesiestnachosformyself.It’sreminiscentoflongnightsinthecampuslibrarystudyingforfinals.BrandonandIwouldcombinesnacks.He’dbringsweet,andI’dbringsalty.Candybagsfromthecornerstorewerehisgo-to,andhealwayssavedthefruityonesforme,knowingIdidn’tliketheotherkinds.
Asweplowthroughthenachos,Brandontellsmehe’sstilltravelingtheworld,allwhiledoingfreelancewebsitedesignremotely.Despitethesuccessofhisbusiness,hestillcravesthe“authentic”travelexperience,preferringtostayinhostels.Heobligesmewithsomehostelhorrorstories,includingmentionsofcockroachesandbedbuginfestations.Hisdreamistoliveinatinyhutoverthewaterinatropicalparadise,withoutacellphoneorfootwear.Itrytoenvisionthatlifeformyself,tonoavail.
“Sowhere’dyougetthosepants?”heasks,leaningsidewaystopeekatthemunderthetable.“They’resounique.MyfriendhasasimilarpairfromNepal.”
Mylipspart,butzerosoundcomesout.BehindBrandon’sshoulder,Trevorgivesmeaself-satisfiedItoldyousosmirkwhilemerrilysippinghisbeer.Hepromptlygoesbacktoflirtingwiththecuteblondwaitresswho’sbeenchattinghimupsincewearrived.
Thankfully,themustachedwaitersavesmebeforeIdigmyselfadeepgraveandblurtoutalie.Hehandsusourputtersandgolfballsandrattlesoffabriefdescriptionofeachcourse.Brandonthankshimandremarkshowhehimselfcan’tgrowamustachetosavehislife,quicklywinningthewaiteroverwithhisnatural,self-deprecatingcharm.
Whenthewaiterleaves,there’samomentoffilm-worthyperfectionwhenBrandonandIjuststareateachother,grinning,highoffthememoriesofouryoungerselves.Ialmostwishsomeonewouldsnapaphotoofusinthismoment.Itwouldbetheperfectmovieorbookcover.
WedecidetostartonthecourselabeledIntermediate.I’mnotsureifit’sthealcoholorafairygodmotherabove,butIsinkthefirstJaws-themedholeinonego.
“Wehaveaprooverhere!”Brandonannounces,chucklingatmyminihappydance.
Wespendourtimebetweenholesreminiscingaboutcollege.Hefillsmeinonwhatsomeofouroldfriendsareupto,andIdothesame.Cheatsheet:They’reallmarriedandhavingchildren.Exceptforus.Despitethatdepressingfact,Brandon’spresenceputsmeatease,somuchsothatIdon’tevenknowwhyIdraggedpoorTrevoralonginthefirstplace.
Halfwaythrough,IloosenupandorderaBellini.Threedrinkslater,we’reatthelasthole,doubledover,belly-laughingaswerecountaparticularlymessynightinresidencethatresultedinoneofourfriendssleepinginanorphanedgrocerystorecartintheparkinglot(he’snowafatherandatechmillionaire).Brandonoffersacelebratoryhighfiveaswereturnourputters.NowonderIgotmyselfarrestedbyairportpoliceforthisguy.
IflashTrevorastealththumbs-uponourwaybacktothebooth,silentlygivinghimpermissiontoleaveifhesochooses.Buthedoesn’t.Hecontinuesnursinghisbeer.
“Haveyoudoneanytravelingsincecollege?”Brandonasks,sippinghisnewdrink.
Hisquestionislikeanabruptscratchonarecordplayer.Imumblealow“No,notyet.”Thiselicitsafrown.“I’vebeensuperbusywithwork,”Iclarify,likethat’sthesolereason.
Brandon’sfacelightsupwithrenewedcuriosity.“There’salwaystonsofjobsopenfornursesattheRedCross.Youshouldtotallylookintoit.Itwouldgiveyousomanyopportunitiestoseetheworld,allwhilemakingbank.”
“Really?”Theveryideaisdisturbing,andyetmydesiretopleasehimcompelsmetokeepgoing.“I’dlovetodosomethinglikethat.Orjusttakeacoupleofmonthsoff,packmylifeintoasuitcase,andhoponthefirstflightIcanfind,”Isaywiththecasual,dismissiveairofasocialitewhoglobe-trotsviaprivatejetatherwhimsy,monogrammedLouisVuittonluggageintow.
Hedrumsthetablewithhisknucklesenthusiastically.“Whynot?Imean,what’sstoppingyou?”
Besidesmyextremefearofflying?Myaversiontotheunfamiliar?Mymountainofdebt?
“Nothing,Isuppose.”Imentallyslapmyselfasthewordsrolloffmytonguewithfartoomuchease.MygazedriftsfromBrandon’sface,catchingTrevorbehindhim.He’swide-eyed,franticallymakingacrosswithhisarms,mouthing,No
Iignorehim,refocusingonBrandon,who’spassionatelydescribinghisupcomingthree-monthtriptoIndonesiatospendsometimeinBorneo.DeepintherainforestatSepilok.
“What’sSepilok?”Iask,myjawtensing.
“Anorangutansanctuarywheretheyteachyoungorphanshowtoliveinthewild.Iwasthereacoupleofyearsago,anditchangedmylife.Orangutansaresohumanlike.Sosentient.It’sincredible.Ithinkyou’dabsolutelyloveit.”
WhatwouldevergivehimtheimpressionIwouldlovethat?Doesheactuallyknowmeatall?“Imean,itsounds…cool.”Ipretendtonodwithinterest,whileplaguedbygraphicimagesofthewomanwhomadeinternationalnewsafteramonkeytoreoffherface.
“WecouldevengotoBali,checkoutsomeofthesmaller,underratedislands.Theydon’tgetenoughcredit.”
WhilethethoughtoflyingonawarmbeachwithBrandonsoundslikeheaven,Istillcan’tgetpasttheflying.Andthemonkeys.Butforsomeridiculousreason,Isay,“Let’sdoit.”
BehindBrandon,Trevorburieshisfaceinbothhands.
“You’rereallyin?”Brandonbeamswithaffection.“You’resodifferentthanyouwereincollege.”
Iperchmyelbowsonthetableandsmile.NowthatI’vestartedthispersona,Ican’tseemtostop.“Yeah.Imean,itsoundslikethetripofalifetime.”
“Igottasay,Iwasshockedwhenyoureachedout.Whatmadeyouthinkofme?”
Aseriesofunfortunateeventsinmylovelife,obviously.AndI’mabouttotellhimso,untilmyphonelightsupwithatext.
TREVOR:Don’ttellhimabouttheexsearchunlesshealreadyknows.
IhadnointentionofhidingthesearchfromBrandon,consideringit’sbroadcastedallovermypublicsocialmediaaccount.ButTrevor’swarningthrowsmeoffmygame.WillBrandonthinkI’mnuts?Justliketheothers?
“Oh,uh,justthinkingaboutcollege,”Istammer,gropingforthenearestnapkintoshred.
Brandonsmiles,delvingintoalong-windedmonologueaboutallourprospectiveadventures,includingjettingovertoThailandtospendaweekatanelephantsanctuary.
“So,afteralltheexcitementoftraveling,what’snextforyou?”Iaskatthefirstopportunity,convincingmyselfthatIcouldstomachtravelingifitmeansthetwoofussettlingintoadetachedhomewithasprawlinglawnnearmyparents,ormaybeacrossthestreetfromCrystalandScott’sfuturehome.BrandonandScottwouldgetalongswimmingly.
Thecreasebetweenhisbrowsdeepens.“DoyoumeanwheretoafterIndonesia?ProbablyPeru,or—”
Myheartsinkslikeananchor.“Oh?AreyounotplanningtosettlebackdowninBoston?”
“WhywouldIstayinBoston?”He’sgenuinelyconfused.
“Well,you’rethirty.Don’tyouwanttosettledownsoon?Havekids?”
Trevorisgivingmehisurgenthorror-movieeyesagain,asifI’vejustaskedBrandontodivulgehisSocialSecuritynumber.
BrandonnoticesmypointedglareatTrevorandglancesoverhisshoulder.Trevorabruptlyavertshiseyes,suddenlytakingasupremeinterestinthesaltandpeppershakers.
Brandonswingsbacktome,confusedandprobablyquestioninghisownsanity.“Uh…Probablynot.You?”
“Imean,yeah.That’salwaysbeenthegoal.Marriageandkidsinmyearlythirties.”
IbarelyhavetimetoregisterBrandon’sindifferentshrug,becauseTrevorcoughs,halfchokingonhisdrink.
Brandonturns,concerned.“Thatguyischoking.”
“Nah,he’sfine,”Isay,wavinghisworryawaywithmymanglednapkin,whichresemblesawornflagthat’sbeenshreddedinagruesomemedievalbattle.
Brandonisn’tconvinced,andI’mnotshocked.He’salwayshadaGoodSamaritancomplex,whichattractedmetohiminthefirstplace.Onetime,wemissedourdinnerreservationbecauseheinsistedonhelpingastrandedwomanonthesideofthefreewaychangehertire,despitenotknowinghow.
Hepeersoverhisshoulderonceagain.“Youokay,buddy?Wehaveanurseoverhere.”Hepointsatme,preemptivelyofferingmyservices.
Trevorhitshischestwithhisfistlikeamachomarine.“Allgood,man.Thanks.”
Satisfiedthatthestrangerintheboothbehindusisnothavingamedicalemergency,Brandonturnshisattentionbacktome.“Sorry,whatwerewetalkingabout?”
BeforeIcanofferaresponse,anewtextcomesthrough.
TREVOR:MeetmeinthebathroomNOW.
Iletoutatorturedsigh,scootingoutofthebooth.“Berightback.Justgoingtotherestroom.”
“Noworries.Takeyourtime,”Brandonsayscheerfully,clearlyrelievedthatthetopicofchildrenhascometoanabruptend.
Trevorispacinginthedingynarrowhallwayoutsidethebathrooms,hisfingerslinkedbehindhishead.“Whatthehellareyoudoing?”
“I’mjusthavingacasualconversation.Whyareyoufreakingout?”
Hehuffs.“Youbroughtupchildren.”
Iscoff,asifIhaven’talreadynamedourthreeunborndaughters.“Look,Ihatesmalltalk.It’snotmyvibe.Andit’snotlikehe’sastranger.He’sanex.Whenwebrokeup,hesaidmaybethingscouldworkoutinthefuture.I’mtryingtofindoutwherehe’sat.”
Trevoreyesmesideways.“No.It’swaytoosoonforthatconversation.He’sabouttohurlhimselfoffthenearestledge.”
“Heinvitedmeonathree-monthtrip.Howisittoosoon?”Ifrown.“Idon’twanttojusthookuporcasuallyseeeachother.I’mputtingitalloutonthetable.”
“Andthensome,”hegrumbles,partiallydistractedbythewaitresshe’sbeenseducingallevening.Shegiveshimaflirtysmile,thickhighponytailswaying,expertlybalancingatrayofpizza.Hereturnshersmilebrieflybeforeturningbacktomewithascowl.“You’renotseriouslygoingtofollowhimonthatrainforestexcursion,areyou?Ithoughtyousaidyouhatetraveling.Andwhataboutwork?”
IimmediatelyshutdownTrevor’spessimism.“Youknowwhat?Youshouldjustgohangwiththatwaitress.You’redistractingme,andIdon’tneedyourunsolicitedtwocents.”
“Mytwocentswassolicited,actually.Doyounotrememberbeggingmetocomewithyou?Tomakesureyoudon’tmessthisup?Tosaveyoufromyourself?”
“Iappreciateit,butIneedtodothismyway.IneedtoknowifI’mwastingmytime.”Beforehecanprotest,Ispinonmyheelandmarchbacktothebooth.
TheglimmerinBrandon’seyeswhenhespokeabouttravelhasnowdulled.Infact,hisexpressionisgenerallyserious,likeitusedtobefiveminutesbeforeexamtime.HesmileswhenIsettleacrossfromhim,butthejoydoesn’tquitereachhiseyes.Thisdatehasofficiallytakenaturnfortheworse.
“Ijustdon’tknowifIseemyselfsettlingdownandhavingkids,tobehonest.Idon’twanttowasteyourtime,”hefinallyconfesses.
Mystomachbottomsout.WhileIrespecthisdecision,I’vealwaysclungtotheeventualityofhavingchildren.VisionsofBrandonandmelivingafabulouslifeinthesuburbsallbutevaporate.“Really?Imean,IguessIjustthoughtwhenwebrokeupthefirsttimethatyou’dbeready,sometimeinthefuture.”
Hisfacelookspained.Aheavysilencefillsthespacebetweenusaswesiptherestofourrespectivedrinks.Infact,Brandonischugginghislikehe’sdyingofthirst.Thenhetwirlshisglass,draggingthepuddleofcondensationaroundthetableinafigureeight.“Sorry,Tara.You’reagreatgirl.Honestly,thebest.Ilovespendingtimetogether.Ijust…I’mnotlookingtosettledowninoneplacewithafamilyandwhitepicketfence.Andifyou’restillremotelythesamegirlyouwereincollege,itwouldn’tbefairofmetogiveyoufalsehopeandleadyouon.”
ThechaosofminiputtersandbarpatronsblursaroundmeasIstruggletorecoverfromhistruthbomb.There’snothingIcandobutletoutastrainedlaugh,whichsoundsreminiscentofaninjuredwhalestrandedonthebeach.
Anotheronebitesthedust.
Daniel(childhoodlove)
Tommy(ninth-gradeboyfriend)
Jacques(StudentSenateboy)
Cody(highschoolsweetheart)
Jeff(froshweekfling)
Zion(campusbookstorecutie)
Brandon(worldtraveler—theonethatgotaway)
Linus(Brandonrebound)
Mark(bookclubintellectual)
Seth(ex-fiancé)?chaptereleven
ITWASSOclose.Hewassoclosetobeingperfect.”Ipacefranticallyintheemptyspacebetweenthelivingroomandthekitchen,replayingthenightwithBrandon.Intheend,wepartedwaysamicably.Heforcefullyinsistedonpayingthebilloutofpurepitybeforeleavingmewithalacklusterkisstotheforehead.
Trevorcringesatmefromthestoolattheisland.“Stoppacing.You’remakingmedizzy.AndIthinkthebestcourseofactionhereistoputtheteddybearawayandgotobed.”Whyishesoresponsible?
Mypacingquickens,aswellasmygriponthestuffedteddybearBrandonboughtformesomanyValentine’sDaysago.“Nah.I’dprefertooveranalyzeandpinpointthemomentitallwentupinflames.Forfuturereference.SoIdon’tkeepmessingthingsup.”
Ahintofasmileplaysacrosshislips.“Ihavebeenknowntoputoutaflameortwo.AnythingIcandotohelp?”
I’mtouchedbytheoffer,butatthispoint,I’vealreadydugmyowngravehalfwaytotheearth’score.“Notunlessyoucanturnbacktime.”
Hestandsfromthestool.“Imayhavesomething.”
“Doyouhavesomesortofsecrettime-travelingwardrobe?”Iaskhopefully,followinghimintothehallway.
“Obviously.Doesn’teveryone?”
I’mpuzzledwhenhestopsoutsidemybedroomdoorandpointstothemessofclothesonthefloor.“Ifyou’reabouttotrytoconvincemethatcleaningistherapeutic,Imightpunch—”
“Bequietandputyourbathingsuiton,”heordersbeforedisappearingintohisbedroom,closingthedoorbehindhim.
“Mybathingsuit?”Icall.
“Yup.”
Iblink,dumbfounded.“Isthissomeweirdsexualploy?Areyoutryingtohookupwithmerightnow?”
Hemakesatsksound,liketheideaisabsurd.“God,no.”
I’mtoobusyfreakingthehelloutaboutwearingaswimsuitinfrontofanotherhumanbeing,letalonearidiculouslyattractivehumanbeingwiththebodyofagod.Insecuritiesaside,mycuriosityhasspiked,soIswallowmyprideandthrowonmytrustyfloralone-pieceandfluffybathrobe.
TrevoriswaitingatthefrontdoorwhenIemerge,cladinnavy-blueswimtrunks,ablackT-shirt,and…army-greenCrocs.
Ittakesallmywillpowertoresistlaughingandpointinglikeachild,andhecantell,basedonhisdeathglare.He’ssilentlydaringmetocomment,andofcourse,Ido.
“Ididn’ttakeyouforaputtering-around-in-Crocskindaguy,”Isay,followinghimoutthedoor.
Hegrunts,leadingmeupthestairwell.“They’repractical.”
“Iwouldadviseyounottowearthoseinpublic.Especiallyinfrontofwomen,ifyouwanttogetlaid,”Isay,failingtomufflemysnort-laughter.
“DoesitlooklikeIneedhelpgettinglaid?”heasksoverhisshoulder.
Iswallow.Definitelynot
Notthreeminuteslater,TrevorandIarewrappedinflimsytowels,teethchattering,freezingourassesoffontheroof.Thisrooftopisnothinglikeoneofthosefancyhigh-riseswithalushgardenandpergoladrapedwithtwinklelights.It’ssparse,withanancientcoveredbarbecueandsomerickety,cobweb-infestedlawnchairs.Luckily,thebuildingistoolowtotakethebruntoftheharshwind.
I’mshiveringsoviolently,Idon’tevenstoptoadmirethepicturesqueviewofthedilapidatedfour-storydirectlytoourleft.Confusedandwildlyannoyed,I’mabouttofleebackinsidewhenTrevornudgesmetotheright.Behindamassiverustedsquarestructurehousinganexhaustfanissomethingunexpected.
Ahottub.
It’srandomlyplaced.KindoflikethehottubsthatmagicallyappearatopportunemomentsonTheBachelor.Surroundedbyaplasticdeckareaandabench,thehottubitselfistiny.I’dguessitseatsamaximumcapacityoffourpeople,andeventhat’spushingit.Ileanovertoinspect.It’sancient,butvoidofgrosshairsandquestionabledebris.AndifneuroticTrevorseemstothinkit’sappropriateforuse,itmustbeso.
“Hottubtimemachine.It’sagreatplacetooveranalyze,”Trevorannounces,tossinghistowelonthebenchbeforepullingthecoveroffthehottub.Witheverytwistandstride,heemitsacertainbrandofdangerousenergyinhiswide,dominating,UFC-likestance.Iimagineatoxicrockanthempartiallydrownedoutbythunderousapplausefromabloodthirstyliveaudience.
“Har-har,youaresoclever,”Isay,holdingmyrobeclosed.
Trevorlowershimselfchest-deepinthewater,hiseyesclosedasthemistyvaporcoilsupward,disappearingintothebriskairaroundhim.
Ihesitatetofollow.Sure,I’mdesperatetoescapethefrigidwinterairinfavorofthecomfortofawarmbath,buttheideaofsharingapint-sizehottubwithTrevorfeels…intimate.Thenagain,we’remerelyplatonic,opposite-sexroommates,right?
Mylustfulgazetracesthelinesofhisbroadshouldersabovethesurfaceofthefrothywater,ropedwiththedense,effortlessmuscleofamanwhospendshisdaysbustingdoorsdown.Theuncalled-forimageofhiminfullfiregear,emergingfromacollapsingbuildingengulfedinflame,hurtlesthroughmymind.Ayoungwoman’slimpbodyisdrapedacrosshisarmslikeit’snobigdeal.JustanormaldayinthelifeofTrevorMetcalfe.
“Getinbeforeyoufreeze.”Hisordersnapsmebacktoreality.
Reflexively,myfingersclampoverthelapelofmyrobe,pullingittighter,justteeteringontheballsofmyfeet.He’ssurelyjudgingmelikeI’masociallyineptweirdowhodoesn’tunderstandthemechanicsofusingahottub.
Theveryactofdroppingmyrobeinfrontofhimfeelsdangerous,alittleillicit.Idon’tknowifit’sthemixtureoftraumaandalcoholfromearlier,butit’skindofthrilling.Someforgotten,seductivesideofme—myalterego,ifyouwill—takesoverentirely.I’mbasicallyaMissUSAcontestantduringthebikiniround,struttingmyhotboddowntherunwayinfive-inchheels.Themomentthelightshitme,Iwowthejudgeswithasassyyetclassyposebeforeremovingmysarong(robe)withanexpertflickofthewrist.
UnfortunatelyforTrevor,hemissedtheentirething.BythetimeIdramaticallydrapemyrobeoverthebackofthechair,he’salreadyclosedhiseyes,confirmingthatI’manonsexualbeingtohim.Icouldbeentirelynude,nipplesoutandabout,andheprobablycouldn’tbebotheredtostealaglance.Ormaybehe’ssoinlovewithAngie,hecan’tbeartosethiseyesuponanotherwoman’sbody.
Marginallycomfortedbythisconclusion,Isubmergemyselfasthejetsstartinarumbleoffoamybubbles.Theheatenvelopsmybody,contrastingtheharshchill.
Asidefromthehumofthejetsandthefaintsoundoftraffichornsinthedistance,it’ssurprisinglytranquil.ItremindsmeofthattimeIwenttoahigh-classspawithMomandCrystalonMother’sDay.Iwasnearlykickedouttwicebyanemployeewhosesolejobwastowalkaroundandshushpeople.SilenceandIhaveneverbeenmorethandistant
“Ican’tbelieveyoudidn’ttellmeaboutthistopsecrethottub,”Isay.
Trevorsquintsatmethroughthemist,asthoughabruptlyremindedofmypresence.“FiguredScottytoldyou.Andyouneveraskedmeabouttheamenities.”
“BecauseIdidn’tthinktherewereany.Thebuildingdoesn’tevenhaveaworkingelevator.”
“Well,nowyouknow.”Whenhecloseshiseyesagain,I’mtransfixedbythelittlebubblesofvaporonhisunfairlythicklashes.
“Thissucksballs,”Iwhine,unabletostopdwellingonthenight.Isinkneck-deepinthetub,cozyingagainstajet.“Brandonwaseightypercentthere.Ididn’thaveatonofexpectationsforJeff.ButIhadagoodfeelingaboutBrandon.Ikindofexpectedthingstofallintoplace.”
“Hatetobreakittoyou,butBrandonwasn’teightypercent,”hetellsmegruffly.
“Hewas.”Istareupwardtotheinkyblacksky.“HeandIgetalongsowell.Alwaysdid.Backincollegewespenthourstogetherandneverranoutofthingstotalkabout.We’realignedoneverythingwhenitcomestomoralsand—”
“Fifty.Maximum,”Trevorcutsin.“Hedidn’twantthesamethingsasyou,period.Whatwereyougonnado?Travelwithhimformonths,hatingyourlife,onlytorealizehedoesn’twanttosettledown?Itwouldabeenabigwasteoftime.Youcouldbecompatibleaschocolateandpeanutbutter,butwhatdoesitmatterifyoudon’twantthesamethings?”
Idolikechocolateandpeanutbutter.Butthat’sneitherherenorthere.WhymustTrevormakemeconfrontharshtruths?BrandonandIdidn’twantthesamethings.Sure,heandIcouldhavebeenhappytogetherinasnapshotintime.ButafulllifewithhimwouldmeangivingupeverythingIvalueandleavingmyfamilyandfriendsbehind.I’malwayswillingtocompromiseforlove,butuprootingmyentirelifefortravelandzerocommitmentdoesn’tseemworthit
Troubledbytherealization,Ielecttochangethesubjectentirely.“Doyoubringallyourladiesuphere?”
Trevorappearspreoccupiedwithhismountainofbubbles,pushingthemlefttoright.Itakehislackofverbalresponseasayes.
“I’veheardhottubsexsucks,”Isay,mostlytorattlehim.
Thisgetshisattention.“Ibegtodiffer.”Hisvoicecomesoutlowandstrained,whichdoessomethingtomyinsides.
Idry-swallowthelumpinmythroat.AmIturnedonrightnow?Ireadjustmyselfinmyseat,awayfromtheblastofthejet.It’sthejets.Itmustbethejets.Itmeansnothing.Anyonewhosharesatinyapartmentwithadangerouslyattractivemanisgoingtogethotandbotheredeverysooften.It’sbasicscience.
“It’sliketheshower,”Isay.“It’sahotfantasy,butinreality,it’stoomuchfriction.Andthere’sahighriskofurinarytractinfection.Especiallyinhere.Whoknowshowmanyweirdosfromthisbuildinghaveusedit.”
Aslightsmileplaysacrosshislips,buthedoesn’trespond.I’veofficiallymadeitawkward.Perhapsit’stooearlytotalkaboutsexwithTrevor.We’veonlyknowneachotherfortwomonths
“Didyouknowmysocialmediafollowersareobsessedwithyou?”
Hefreezes.“What?”
“Youhaven’tfollowedmeyet?”Isigh,disappointed.“Thattimeyoucameintomyroom,IwasstillonLive.Youwereinthevideoforasplitsecond,andmyfollowerslikedwhattheysaw.”
“Isee.Idon’tknowwhethertobeflatteredorweirdedout,”hesays,unimpressedwithhimself.ItstrikesmethatTrevorexudesauniquebrandofconfidence.Hecarrieshimselfwithaself-assuredgait,yethedoesn’tseemtoknowhowtotakeacompliment.Hishumorisalittleself-deprecating,justlikemine.
BeforeIcanrespond,therooftopdoorcreaksopen.Ashort,stubbymanwithawispywhitecomb-overcomessaunteringaroundthecorner,impossiblytinytowelcurledaroundhisneck.
TrevorgivesmeaclassicJimfromTheOfficelook.Thewide-eyedonehedoesintothecamerawhenMichaelScottsaysordoessomethingobscene.
“Evening.”Themannodspolitelyasheswingsaghostlywhitelegintothewater,testingthetemperature.
Iretractmyoriginalstatement.Thishottubisnotsuitableformorethantwo.
Whentheman’stoenailinadvertentlybrushesmylegunderthewater,IstealthilyshiftclosertoTrevor.Themandoesn’tappearbotheredbytheclosequarters.Hecomfortablyrestsbotharmsbehindhimontheedgeofthehottub,takingupmorethanhisfairshareofspace.
“Gerald,fromfifth,”heannounces,hiseyeshalf-closed.
“TaraandTrevorfromfourth,”Irespond,activelyavoidingTrevor’stight-lippedsmile,becauseI’llburstoutlaughingifIdo.
Itisn’tlongbeforeGeraldisbarelyevenlucid,hisheadtippedback,seeminglyinastateofbliss.IhavenochoicebuttopickupwhereIleftoff,asifhe’snothere.IflickwaterinTrevor’sdirection.“Trev,tellmeyourlifestory.”
Hescrewsuphisface.Itappearshe’dratherdoanythingelse.“I’mreallynotthatinteresting.”
Iletoutanaudiblegrowlanddragmyfingertipsoverthewater,flickingitinhisdirectionagain.“You’resomysterious.I’mbeginningtothinkyou’rea007secretsleeperagent.”
Hecutsmeaslygrin,amusedbymyconspiracytheories.Hegearsuptosplashmeback,butrefrains.Geraldhasperkedupandappearskeentolistenin.“IfIwereaspy,Iwouldn’tbelivinginourshittyapartment.AndImostdefinitelywouldn’tlivewitharoommatewhoneverstopstalking.You’dblowmycoverforsure.”
“You’redeflecting.Steeringthesubjectawayfromyou.That’sclassicspyshit.Whyareyousomysteriousoverthemostbasicthings?”Iurge,circlingbacktomyoriginalquestion.“YouevengetcageywhenIaskwhatyouatefordinner.”
“BecauseI’mnotthatinteresting.IdoubtyoucarewhatIatefordinnerlastnight.”
“Icare,”Iassurehim.
Heshrugslazily.“Allright.You’llregretsayingthatwhenItextyoueverysinglethingIeatanddrink.”Myfingerstingleattheprospectofexclusiveaccesstohisdailylife,howeverinsignificant.“Anyway,whatelsedoyouwanttoknow?Myfavoritecolor?”
“Nah.SomethingIdon’tknow.”LikeAngie’sidentity.
“Inevertoldyoumyfavoritecolor.”
“It’sdarkgreen.Youhavemultipledark-greenT-shirts.”
Hedoesn’targuethatpoint.Instead,heplayswiththebubblesforafewmoments,shakinghisheadinamuseddisbelief.“Whatelsedoyouknowaboutme?”
“You’rereallymakingmedoalltheworkhere,aren’tyou?”Isigh.“Okay,fine.Iknowyou’regoodatfindingdealsatthegrocerystore.”WhenIfirstmovedin,heinsistedIaccompanyhimonaCostcotrip,whereheexaminedtheflyerfordealsforasolidtenminutesbeforesomuchaspushingthecartdownthefirstaisle.WhenIgrabbedabagofprewashedandprechoppedlettuce,henearlyhadaheartattackandwentonatangentabouthowmuchmore“yield”IgetformymoneyifIbuyafullromainehead.Hispenny-pinchingwaysremindmeofDad,whowearshisclothesuntilthey’resowornwithholesthatMomhastopurgetheminsecret.
“You’reagoodcooktoo.Somehowyoumakevegetableslookmarginallylessnauseating.Youhaveaveryparticularwayyoulikethedishwasherfilled.AndIcantellwhenyou’vehadagoodorbaddayatwork.”
“How?”
“Whenit’sabadday,youstomparoundalittleandraidmysnackstashbeforeshowering.Whenit’sagoodday,youstillraidmysnacks,butwhenyoushower,youhumatunethatsoundssuspiciouslylike‘IKnewYouWereTrouble’byTaylorSwift.”
Heappearssemi-amused(anddoesn’tdenyhisshowersong),soIpushalittlefurther.“NowthatI’veprovenmyself,Ireservetherighttoaskyousomethingimportant.”
Heswallowsnervously,bracingforit.
“Whowasyourfirstcelebritycrush?”Iask,liftingmytophalfoutofthewatertogetsomerelieffromtheheat.
Ican’tconfirm,butIthinkTrevor’seyesdriftedtomychestforafractionofasecond.
“HelookslikeaPamelaAndersontypetome,”Geraldchimesin,jabbingathumbinTrevor’sdirection.
Trevorgiveshimalookofsolidarity.“IlikedPam.BritneySpearstoo.”
Ismirk.“That’svery…typical.”
TrevoranglestowardGerald.“Gerald,whowasyourfirstcelebritycrush?”
“MissDollyParton,”herespondsproudly.Hewavesahandtowardme,signalingit’smyturn.
“Ihavemany.ThekidfromCasperwasprobablymyveryfirst.ButI’dsaymyfirstsexualawakeningwasZacEfroninhisHighSchoolMusicaldays.”
“Whatgotyou?Thesweepingbangs?Thepiercingblueeyes?”Trevorasks.
“DefinitelyhisangrydanceinHighSchoolMusical2.”
“Iwon’tevenpretendtoknowwhatyou’retalkingabout,”hesayswithaheadshake.
“Nowadays,I’mprettyintoDwightSchrute,”Iinform.
Trevorchokes.“FromTheOffice?”
“Yup.”
“DoyoumeanJim?”
“Nope.Dwight.”
Heshootsmeadisturbedlook.“ArewethinkingofthesameDwight?Glasses?Ownsabeetfarm?”
“TheonlyDwightontheshow,”Iconfirm.“Okay,hearmeout—”
Helobshisheadbackwithhisdeeplaugh.“AreyoureallygoingtotrytoconvincemeDwightSchrutegetsyourmotorrunning?”
“Hedoes.Youwouldn’tunderstand,”Ishootback,drawingmyshouldersupindefense.
“Whatgetsyouhot?Thepuke-mustardshort-sleeveddressshirts?HisaffinityforBattlestarGalactica?”
“HispurededicationtoAngela,ofcourse.Anyway,you’redistractingme.”Iclearmythroat,eagertokeepthisgoing.“Nextquestion.Whydidyoubecomeafirefighter?”
Trevor’sfacehardenstostone.“It’snotaninterestingstory.”
“You’retheworst.”WhenIreachtoretightenmybun,Inotemyfingersareprunesandmyhairisstartingtofrost.It’stimetogetoutofhere.Istandtoexitthetub.Themomentthefrigidairhitsmyskin,gooseflesherupts.Imakeamaddashformytowelontheloungechair.
TrevornodshischintowardGeraldashestepsoutofthegurglingwater,swimtrunksdripping.“Haveagoodnight.”
Fifteenminuteslater,I’mwarmanddry,star-fishingwithabookinmyusualspotonthelivingroomfloor.I’mbundledinmyflannelpajamas,partwaythroughmychapter,whenTrevoremergesinrespectablesweatpantsandaT-shirt.Iexpecthimtowalkovermeandheadforthetelevision,orsimplyjudgemefromabove,butsurprisingly,hestretchesoutonthefloornexttome.
“Thisisweirdlycomfortable,”headmits,lininghisshouldersupwithmine.
“See?It’samazing.Life-changing,”Isay,keepingmyeyesonthepage.
“Iwouldn’tgothatfar.”
“Ihavesomeofmymostgeniusthoughtsdownhere.”
“I’msureyoudo,”hesays,readingovermyshoulder.“What’sthisbookabout?Lookslikeacowboyromance.”
“You’dbecorrect.”
“Second-chance?”
“Indeed.Andasecretbabytoo.Myfavorite.”Hechucklessoftly,andthere’sabeatofsilencebeforeIturnontomyside,facinghim.“You’reagoodfriendforcomingwithmetonight,”Isay,staringathisdenselashlinewithenvy.MyfatigueiscausingmetoseetwoTrevors,whichislessdisturbingthanitshouldbe.
Atinygrinforms.“I’msureanyoneofyourotherfriendswouldhavedonethesame.”
“Idon’tknow.Idon’thaveallthatmanyfriends.AsidefromCrystalandMel,andrealistically,Crystalhastobemyfriendbydefault.SometimesIfeellikethey’reabitdismissiveofme.WhenItoldthemabouttheexthing,theylaugheditofflikeitwasajoke.”It’snotthatIdon’tloveCrystalandMel.They’remybestfriends.ButsometimesIcan’thelpbutfeellikeathirdwheel.
Hewatchesmethoughtfully.“Idon’tbelieveyouhaveahardtimemakingfriends.”
“It’sharderthanyou’dthink,especiallyatthirty.Ihavelotsofacquaintances.ButclosefriendsIcouldcalluplastminuteandsnugglewith?Notsomuch.”
“Hm.Thatsurprisesme.They’remissingout.”
“Youthinkso?”
“Iknowso.”
Oneglanceathistiny,stubbornsmileandmystomachflutters.Mybodytenseswithnewawarenessofthepressofhisshoulderagainstmine.
Mythoughtsarespinning,achingtounpackmybody’sreactiontohistouch,butmymindispulledelsewhere—tohiseyes.Thekitchenlightilluminatestherichringofdenseforestgreen,surroundedbyanotherloopofgoldinhisirises.
Oursharedgazeholdsforabeatlongerthancasualbeforehiseyesfalltomymouth.Histhroatbobswithaslow,almosthesitantswallow,andhisjawgoessoft.
Basedonmyextensivecatalogofromanceknowledgefrombooksandfilm,thesearesignsofanimpendingkiss.
TrevorMetcalfewantstokissme.?chaptertwelve
MYMINDISfuzzystatic.
IcanneitherdonorthinkofanythingbutthequickenedpaceofmybreathandthedizzyingwayTrevorhaspinnedmeinplacewithjustonelook.
Instinctively,Isweepmytongueovermybottomlip.Electricitycoursesbetweenusinwavycartoonlines.ThementalbarrierI’veplacedtoconvincemyselfheisnotmytypehasvanishedintoapoofofswirlingblackandpurplesmoke.
Idon’tknowifit’stheliquidcourage,thefactthatmydatewithBrandonwentsideways,orthesteamfromthehottub,butIdotheunthinkable.Iinchcloser,pressingmyarmflatagainsthis.Closeenoughthathisfaceblursentirely.Hedoesn’tmove,allowingtheradiatingheatofourlaboredbreathtocollideandpassthrougheachother,inandout.
Myheartthrasheswildly,andI’mconvincedIcanhearhistoo,syncingwithmineinatangled,pulsingrhythm.Encouragedbythecomfortofourproximity,Ipositionmyheadjustso,fortheperfectalignmentofourlips.Heholdshimselfthere,tentative,thetipofhisnosegrazingminelikeawhisper.
Iacheforhimtoputmeoutofmymisery,closethatmillimeterofdesperateair,andbrushhissoftlipsagainstmine.
Butinstead,hiseyessnapopen,widewithfearasIapproach.He’sonhisfeetfasterthantheFlash,dodgingmelikeI’matoothlesssexpredator.
Herakeshishairhaphazardly,wobblyinhisfooting.“Uh,Ishouldgettobed.Earlyshifttomorrow.”Hisgazeisgluedtothefloorashecareensdownthehallway,boltingforhisbedroom.
IfIwereanormalperson,I’dshakethewholethingoffandyellacasual“Goodnight,”likeabsolutelynothinghappened.ButwhenImovemylips,nothingcomesout.MybodyislikemycollegePClaptopInevershutdown.Loud.Disruptivefan.Overheatingwhenmorethantwotabsareopensimultaneously.Poweringdownatthemostinconvenientoftimes.
I’mrigormortisasthestrangleholdofhumiliationpreventsmefromdoinganythingbutwishforaswift,painlessdeath.
LIVEWITHTARAROMANCEQUEEN—AWKWARDKISSES
[Tarawearsanill-fittedfluorescentworkouttopandmessybun.Sheliesonaredmatatthegym.Unlikethepatronsinthebackground,sheisnotdoingphysicalactivity.]
EXCERPTFROMTRANSCRIPT
TARA:Hello,romancebooklovers,welcomebacktomychannel.Todaywe’retalkingaboutkissing.Now,therearealotofawkwardkissesinbooksandfilm.Usually,I’mhereforthemeitherway.ButonethingI’llnevergetonboardwith?Kissingintherain.Sure,theallureofapassionate,wetlip-lockmaybewhatsomeconsiderspontaneous.Marginallysexy,even.Naturemakespeopledoweirdshit.Butistheshort-livedthrillworthresemblingadrownedsewerratandgettingpneumonia?Unlikely.
Andevenworsethanrainkissesareupside-down,Spiderman-stylekisses.Whodoesthis?Arethemechanicsofanormal,uprightkissnotstressfulenough?IhaveahardenoughtimedecidingifI’mgoingrightorleftorifI’mtop-orbottom-lipheavy.
Haveyoueverexperiencedanawkwardkissthatmadeyouwanttodissolveintodustandnothingness?Tellmeaboutitinthecommentsbelow!
???
FROMTHESWEATrainingdownmyface,onewouldpresumeI’vebeenwaterboardedbyahostilegovernmentormurderousterroristgroup.
Nope.I’mjusthereinmyownspeciallittleringofhell,sweatingoutmyregretinCrystal’sMuscleFitclasswithtwentyotherred-facedpatrons.Inthelastfewmonths,shestartedteachingin-personclassesatthegym,whichareinsuchhighdemand,peoplebookweeksinadvance.
Crystalobservesmypoorbicepscurlformlikeadrillsergeant.“Keepengagingyourcore.Justtenmoresecondsandwe’redone,”sheinstructsinherencouraging-trainervoice.
Besideme,Melisholdingstronginthoselastfewcurls,barelybreakingasweat.
Beadsofsalty,alcohol-infusedsweatseeppastmylashline,stingingmyeyeballs.I’mnowhalf-blind,andthepoptuneblastingoverthesoundsystemcertainlyisn’tdoingmuchformystamina.Whenmysweatyfingerslosetheirgriponthebarbell,Iknowit’sgameover.Itlandswithathudatmyfeet,turningtheheadsoftheotherladiesinclass.
Melhandsmemywaterbottle,andIrefrainfromdousingmyselflikeaheroicOlympicdecathletecrossingthefinishlinetovictory.I’veneversweatsomuchinmylife.Thiscan’tbenormal,orhealthy.
I’ddounspeakablethingsforashowerrightnow—preferablythetypewhereI’ddonothingbutstandthereinthesteam,criticallyevaluatingmylifedecisions,lettingthewaterwashawaytheglaringmemoryofthedumpsterfirethatwaslastnight.
Beingturneddownbytwoseparatemeninthespanoftwohoursisafirst—withtheexceptionofNewYear’sEvecircaninthgrade,when,drunkofftwowinecoolers,Ivaliantlyconfessedmylovefornotonebuttwocrusheswhilerockingadistressed-denimvest.
Butatleastteenagedmewasn’tstuckinatiny,eight-hundred-fifty-square-footapartmentwiththem.AvoidingTrevorMetcalfe,myoff-limitsroommatewhosebedroomisamerefivefeetfrommine,isnotsosimple.
Ihaven’tseenhimsincelastnight,afterhelurchedawayfrommelikeIwasanailingtroll.Immediately,IhauledasstobedbeforeIcouldmakemattersworse.BythetimeIwokeupthismorning,Trevorwaslonggoneforhisearlyshift.
Inthelightofday,theweightoflastnight’serrorinjudgmentisstaggering.Tothepointofindigestion.Sure,ourshouldersandnosestouchedforahotsecond.Wemayhaveevenflirtedalittle.Hemayhavegazedlonginglyatmylips.ButflirtingisTrevor’sdefaultmode.Hecan’thelphimself.AndforallIknow,maybehewassimplystaringatazitonmyface.
Theblunttruthremains—noneofitmeantathing.Wedon’twantthesamethings,acrucialconsideration,ashepointedouthimself.Besides,there’sstillthismysteriousAngiepersoninthepicture.
Whydidmytraitorousbrainventureintotheforbiddenandunavailable?WhydidIletmyfollowerscoercemeintothinkingTrevorwouldbeagoodidea?WhymustIbesoovereagerineveryaspectoflife?
IcontemplatemyoptionsasCrystalconfidentlyleadstheclassthroughaseriesofcooldownstretchesonthemats,whicharemoreonmylevel.I’mgratefulforthechancetobehorizontal.
Oncetheclassisover,MelandIstickaroundonthemats,watchingCrystaldoaquickabworkoutonherown.
“Ihavesomethingtotellyouguys,”Crystalannounces,mid-crunch.“ButbeforeIsayit,youhavetopromisenottofreakout.”
“Imakenopromises,”Ideclare.
“You’repregnant,aren’tyou?”Melasks,retyingherponytail.Shequicklyadds,“Notthatyoulookpregnantoranything.ButI’vebeengettingamaternalvibefromyou.Andyou’vebeenpinninghousedécorideasonPinterest.”
Crystalclapsherpalmstogether.“ScottandI…”Hervoicetrailsoff,andshestaresatmelikeshe’sabouttodropsomebadnews.“WedecidedtoelopeinMarch.InSt.Lucia.”
“Elope?”Irepeat,stunned.“Asinnotevenimmediatefamily?”Theregoesmyfantasyofbeingano-nonsense,ball-bustingmaidofhonor.
“Yup.Justus.”Shekeepshereyesonherrunningshoes,whichtellsmeshe’santicipatingprotest.“Iknowyouguyswerehopingforanormalwedding,butI’mjustnotfeelingit.Neitherofusarereallyinterestedintheplanningandthedrama.”
Idon’tentirelyblameher.WhenIwasplanningmyweddingtoSeth,dealingwiththeChensideofthefamilywasnojoke.First,GrandmaandGrandpaCheninsistedoninvitingatleasttwenty“closefriends”theyplaymah-jonggwith.Thisincludesonewomanwhoinsistedonaplus-oneforherdeceasedhusband’surn,whichshebringswithherwherevershegoes.ThenthereareDad’sthreesiblingsandtenadultcousins,manyofwhomarefeudingandrefusetobeseatedatthesametable.
CrystalandMeleyemeexpectantly,noticingI’mstayingtight-lipped.Truthfully,I’mpicturingDad’sface,whichwillbeoneofcuttingdisappointment.He’sbeenwaitingagestohostoneofourweddings.Fatherlyprideaside,helivesforagoodparty,particularlyifhegetsanexcusetobeinthelimelight.
Belatedly,Ishrug.“Icompletelysupportwhateveryouguyswanttodo,solongasyoulivestreamyourceremony.Iwanttolivevicariously,”Iadd.
“DidScottywanttoelopetoo?”Melinquires,deepinadownward-dogstretch
Crystalshakesherhead.“HewasupforwhateverIwantedtodo,aslongaswegetmarriedassoonaspossible.He’smostlyexcitedtogoonahoneymoon.”
Melsitsuprightandgivesherasubduedaww.Afterastringofshortflingsinthepastyear,she’sinaphasewherethesheermentionofcommitmentmakesherfull-bodyshudder.Hercommitmentphobiaaside,Iunderstandherdecision.I’dbeoffmentooifmylastboyfriendrockedanexclusivewardrobeofturtlenecks.
AwareofMel’sless-than-enthusiasticoutlookonlove,Crystaltriestobacktrackwithanunromanticrambleaboutthemeritsofsavingforadownpaymentonahomeinsteadof“frivolously”spendingitallononeday.
“Doyouthinkyou’lleverbeinterestedinsomethinglong-term?”IaskMel.Thelastfewguysshebroughthome,shetaskedwithlaboraroundherapartment(likefixingherleakyfaucet)beforesex.Whataqueen.
Melavoidsmyeyes,strugglingtopickatahangnailonaccountofhersparklyacrylics.“Absolutelynot.Ilikemylifethewayitis.Igettofocusallmyenergyandattentiononmybusinesswithouthavingtofeelguilty.Idon’thavetocompromisewhatIwanttowatchonNetflixorwhatIwanttoeatfordinner.”
“Doyoueverfeel…lonely?”Iasksoftly.
Shestudieshercoralrunningshoes,obviouslynoteagertodwellmuchlonger.“Nope.IhaveDougtokeepmewarmatnight.”
“Hervibrator,”Crystalwhispers.
“Wesupportyouandyourbattery-operatedrelationshipeitherway.”Ileanintosmotherherwithasweatyhug.
Shecracksasmilewhilenot-so-discreetlywormingoutofmyembrace.“Takeitfromme.Menareburdenstobeabandonedatthefirstsignoftrouble.Anyway,someonetellmesomethingfunandscandalous.Ijustkilledthemood.”
Ivolunteermyselfastribute.Shelivesforgossip,andI’mwillingtosacrificemydignityforhertemporaryamusement.“Okay,funstory,ItriedtokissTrevorlastnight.”
Crystalpropelsupwardinahard-hittingcrunch,bewildered.“Whatfreshhell?YoutriedtokissTrevor?”
Melslapsthematenthusiastically.“Isawthatcomingamileaway.”
“Howdidthisevenhappen?Andwhathappenedtoyourexesplan?”
ThepinksintheircheeksdarkentocrimsonwithsecondhandembarrassmentasIrattleoffthegrislydetailsoflastnight.
“Wait,TrevorwentonthedatewithyouandWanderlustBrandon?”Melasks.
“I’mnotsurewhyyou’regettingdatingadvicefromTrevor.He’sagreatguy,don’tgetmewrong.Buthewouldn’tknowarelationshipfromhisass,”Crystalremarks,holierthanthou.
Idon’tknowwhy,butIfeelanoverwhelmingurgetocometohisdefense.“Didn’thegiveyousolidadviceforgrand-gesturingScotty?”Lastsummer,CrystalbrokeupwithScotttemporarilywhenaphotoofthetwoofthemwentviralandabunchoftrollsfat-shamedher.Trevorhelpedherorchestrateagrandapologyrighthereinthegymwheretheyfirstmet.
“Well,yeah,but—”
“Givehimsomecredit.He’snotatotalnimrod.”Mytoneisterse,raisingtheirsuspicions.
“ButwhywouldTrevorgiveuphisnighttosuperviseyourdate?Doyouthinkhelikesyou?”Melasks.
“No.It’snotasweirdasyoumakeitsound.”Ipauseforamomentastheybothwatchme,appalledonmybehalf.“Imean…okay.Imadethingsweirdwiththekiss.ButI’mgonnaapologizetonight.It’llbefine.I’llblameitonthealcohol.Thingswillgobacktonormal,”Isayassuredly,moretomyselfthanthem.
Mel’sconcerntransitionsintoaknowinggrin.“Ithinkyoushouldsleepwithhim.Justonce.Getitoutofyoursystem.”
Ishudderatthethoughtofaone-nightstand.Withmyroommate.Ofallpeople.“God,no.DoyouevenreadtheromancebooksIloanyou?Everytimeromancecharactershavesextogetitoutoftheirsystems,theyenduphopelesslyattached.Andbesides,Trevordoesn’tlikemethatway.”Ilookaway,suddenlyveryinterestedinthewomannearthewindowsquattingwhatappearstobemybodyweight.
Sincemove-inday,I’velivedwiththetruththatIamnotTrevor’stype.Iheldontothatfactwithpride,likealifeline.Withouttheunspokensanctityofourstrictlyplatonicrelationship,myperfectlystablelivingsituationgoesstraightdownthetube.
“Andhe’sdefinitelynotyourtype,”Crystalechoes,withapinchmoreforcethannecessary.
“Well,mytypeistrash,apparently,”Igrumble,thinkingofJeff.“Soitkindofleavesitopentointerpretation.”
“Adie-hard,emotionalromanticandaguywhoonlybelievesinonekindofhappyending?That’sarecipefordisasterifIeversawone.”Sheresumesherbutterflycrunches.
Ifrown.“WhyareyoulookingatmelikeIneedanintervention?”
Mid-crunch,Crystallevelsmewithahardstare.“BecauseIknowhowyouget.Yougetobsessed.Dickmatized,asthegreatAliWongwouldsay.Youwouldfallinlovewithatreebranchifyouspentenoughtimewithit.”
“Okay,rude.Ihavestandards,”Ishootback.
“I’msorry.It’sjust,youhaveatendencytofallhardandfast…Imean,youhadacrushonthemailmanatMomandDad’s.ThestockboyatTraderJoe’s.TheDJatGrandmaFlo’swedding.”Crystalisanythingbutasugarcoater.
Myfirstinstinctistogoonthedefensiveandremindherofherowncrappyexes.Buttobefair,sheisn’tsayinganythingthatisn’ttrue.
I’vebeenthiswaymyentirelife,misinterpretingkindnessforaffection,readytolaunchintofantasymodeatanygivenmoment(Helookedinmygeneraldirection,soitmustmeanhewantsmetobehiswife.Right?).I’mlikeanoverenthusiasticdadonatrampolinewhojumpsalittletoofartotheleftandlandscrotch-firstonthesprings.
PerhapsthemostpatheticpartisthatI’vebeeninastaringcontestwithmyphoneallday,waitingforTrevortotextme.Tosaysomething.Anything.Toacknowledgewhathappened.WhenmyphonescreenilluminatesinmyhandwithanotificationfromInstagram,Icheckmytextsfortheseventy-fifthtime,confirmingIhaveexactlyzero.
Idesperatelyneedtogetmyprioritiesinorder,whichdonotincludeTrevor,whoissofundamentallywrongforme,it’salmostlaughable.Imustkeepmyeyeontheprize,securingmysecond-chancelovestory,definitelynotgettingmyheartbrokenyetagain.
“Trustme,ifIwasthirstingoverTrevor,you’dknow.Iwouldn’tstoptalkingabouthim.Andbesides,he’smadeitquiteclearhe’snotinterestedinme.He’sprobablywithanotherwomanrightnow,”Isay,wincingatthethought.“AndI’mprettysurehe’shavingatorridaffairwithamarriedwomanwho’stheloveofhislife.”
Crystalreadjustshermessytopknot.“Impossible.He’sastraight-upman-whore.Notforyou.You’vecomesofarsinceSethandthewedding.You’refinallyhappyagain,livingonyourown.Ijustdon’twantTrevorbludgeoningallyourprogresstodeath.”
“Don’tforget,menareaburden.Seriously,”Meladds.
They’reright.They’rebothcompletelyright,andIknowit.ThelastthingIneedistopackupmylifeforthethirdtimethisyear.Ineedstability,desperately.
“Iknow.Youdon’thavetoworry.I’mfocusingentirelyonmyexes.”
Crystallooksunconvinced.“Promise?”
“Promise,”Isaywithconviction,despitethestrangebubbleinmythroatasthewordscomeout.?chapterthirteen
TREVORSTILLISN’Thome.It’ssix,andaccordingtohisworkscheduleonthefridge,hewasoffatfive.He’scertainlyavoidingme.He’sprobablyspenttheentiredayplottingtheleastdramaticwaytobanishmefromhisapartment.
I’vespenttheafternooncleaninglikeCinderella.Ievenmadeafreshbatchofcupcakesfromscratch,proudlydisplayedonthekitchenislandforthetaking.It’saflimsyapologyfortryingtoassaulthimwithmylips,butit’sthebestIcouldcomeupwithonshortnotice.
DoingsomebookTikToksistheonlythingthatkeepsmymindfromtwistingintoafrenzy.I’mdoingafifteen-secondbookreviewvideowhenTrevor’smuffledvoicefiltersinfromthehallwayoutsidethedoor.
Isetdownmyphoneimmediately,willingmyselftoloosenup.Playitcool.Icandothis.Icanfacehimlikeagrown-asswoman.Icanbravelylookhimdeadintheeyesafterheblatantlyrejectedme.It’sfine.THISISFINE.
Hisdeepvoicecarriesoverthejingleofhiskeys.Hashebroughthomeanewconquest?IstraintolistenforasecondvoicelikethemassivecreepIam.
“You’reokay,though,right?”heasks.
Silence.
“Okay,good.Igottagonow,but—”
Silence.
“Yup.Loveyou,Angie.”
Angie.ThesameAngiehesentabasketofcandyto.TheAngieheloves?
IthinkabouthowCrystallaughedhystericallyattheideaofhiminaromanticrelationship,andmystomachpinchesharderthanitshould.I’mastatue,holdingmybreathsoIcaneavesdropontherestoftheconversationwhenthedoorfinallyopens.There’sadustingofsnowonhisbeanie,whichheshakesoffwhilekeepinghisphoneinbetweenhisearandshoulder.He’snotreadyforeyecontact,laserfocusingonunlacinghisboots.
Iwitheralittleinside,secretlywishingtofallintoawormholeandneverreturn.
“Yup,sleeptight,”hesaysintothephone,givingmeavaguelydismissivechinnodasheendsthecall.
Beforehecanevenshrugoffhiscoat,I’mhoveringoverhiminthedoorway,readytolaunchintoanalreadypreparedspeech.
“Hi,”Isay,notsocasuallyleaningawristonthewall.It’saveryawkwardstancethatIdon’trecommend.
“Hi,”hesaysdistractedly,meticulouslyrollinghishatintothesleeveofhiscoat.There’sasmallashysmudgeonhisleftcheekfromwhatIimaginewasaneventfulshift,beingaheroandwhatnot.
Ibrandishabogussmile.“Imadecupcakes.Usedthesamerecipeyoushowedme.Ithinktheyturnedoutlumpy,butfeelfreetotrythem.”
Heglancesatthemontheislandandnodsappreciatively.
Westandinaface-offforatorturouslengthoftimebeforethewordvomitpoursout.“Trev,I’mreallysorryaboutlastnight.IwassuchamessafterBrandon,andthehottubmademeloopy.I’vereadsteamandalcoholcanreally—”
“It’sfine.”Heholdsupahandtostopmebutstilldoesn’tmeetmygaze.He’sbusyscrutinizingtheheapofbooksinthemiddleofthelivingroomfloor.
“I’llpickthoseup,”Ipromise,plowingforward.“IhatethatI’vemadethingsweirdbytryingtokissyou.IswearI’mnotharboringsomeweirdobsessionwithyou.”
“Really?Youmeanyoudon’thaveashrinetomeinyourcloset?”hedeadpans.
Didhejustcrackajoke?Surelythisisapositivesign.Ijumpatthechancetoplayalong.“Notashrine,exactly.Ihavebeencollectingyourhairsfromthebathroom,though.Ialmosthaveafulllocknow.”
Heappraisesme.“Afulllock?Youcoulddoalotwiththat.”
“Yeah.I’mthinkingofsplittingithalfandhalf,atuftforthevoodoodollandasprinkleforthelovepotionI’vebeenlacingyoursmoothieswith,”Iexplain,matchinghissternexpression.
Heclearshisthroat.“Ihavebeencoughingupalotofhairballsrecently.”
Neitherofuswantstobreakcharacter,butherelents,thecornersofhislipsunabletosuppresshisamusement.It’sonlywhenhischestvibrateswithadisarming,heartylaughthatmypostureeases,thankfulforagrainofnormalcy.
“I’mbeingserious,though.I’mnotintoyouthatway,”Irepeatforgoodmeasure.“Butafterlastnight,Iconsideryouagoodfriend,andIdon’twanttolosethat.Iknowyoumaynotthinkofmeasafriendyet.But—”
“OfcourseIconsideryouafriend.”Histoneiswarmyetfirm.
“Really?”
“Yup.Igottakeepyouonmygoodside.Youknowtoomuchaboutmeandmysecretspyidentity.AndnowthatIknowyouhaveavoodoodollofme…”Hegivesmeasmallnudgewithhiselbowasheinchesaroundme.
“Let’sjustforgetlastnighteverhappened.Please?”Istickmyhandoutforahandshake,desperatetosealthedealbeforehechangeshismind.
I’mrelievedwhenhetakesmyhandinhis,holdingitfirmlyforabeatlongerthanexpected.“Alreadyforgotten,Chen.”
Whilehepickshischoiceofcupcake,Ireturntomyspotonthecouch.Hesettlesnexttome,apparentlytooexhaustedtoargueovermychoiceofentertainment:TheBachelor.
Hesquintsatthisseason’slatestmediocrewhiteboy,WyattfromTexas,ashetakesashirtlessjogthroughatranquilmeadowtogethisheadinthegameforhisgroupdatewithtwentywomen.“What’ssogreataboutthisshowanyway?Isn’titallfake?”
“Definitelyfake.I’mnotsurehowmanypeoplearereallyontherefortrueloveanymore.”
Trevorwatchesthegroupdatewithintensecuriosity.Thisoneinvolvesthegirlsgettingdownanddirtyatsomerandomfarm,shovelingmanureandpretendingtoloveeverysecond.Whenthisseason’sfront-runner,Bethan,popson-screen,Trevordeemsher“hot.”
Irollmyeyes.“Meh.She’soneofthosetypeswhothinkslikingsportsovergirlythingsisapersonalitytrait.”
Bythetimetheone-on-onewithshygirlPipercomesaround,Trevorishooked.“IsWyattreallygonnasendherhomebecauseshedidn’ttellhimherlifestoryonthefirstdate?Theyhardlyknoweachother.”
“OnTheBachelor,unloadingdarksecretsandrehashingchildhoodtraumaisthekeytogettingtherose.Youneedtogetpersonal,andfast.”IdashtothekitchentograbafreshbagofBBQchipsfromthepantry.
WhenIreturntothecouch,heabsentmindedlyreachesforahandful.“Oh,lookslikehe’skissingheranyway.”
“Yousaythatlikeyouhaven’tkissedhalfthewomeninBoston.”
Hestopstolookatme,mid-bite.“Well,notinfrontofabunchofpeople,atleast.ImaginemakingoutwithalltheTVcrewaround.Knowingit’llbebroadcasttotheworld.”
“WhydoyouhatePDAsomuch?It’skindofcute,todeclareyourloveforsomeoneinfrontofothers.”
“Nope.Kissingandcuddlinginpublicisweird.Noonewantstoseethat.”
“Maybenotfull-ontonguemake-outs.Butpecksandcuddlesinpublicareadorable.”
Heshudders.“No.”
“Letmeguess,you’renotintoaffectioningeneral.”Iside-eyehim.“Youhatecuddles,don’tyou?”
“Idon’tmindcuddling.ButonlywithwomenIhaveseriousfeelingsfor.”
Inearlyswallowapotatochipwhole,springboardingofftheopportunitytopryaboutAngie.“Womenyouhaveseriousfeelingsfor,huh?Likeyourgorgeousexes,NatalieandKyla?Or…someoneelse?”
Hekeepshislipstightandshrugs,obviouslyenjoyingmyburningdesiretoknow.“You’realwaysaskingquestionsaboutme,butInevergetthechancetoaskaboutyou.”
Mybrowsknittogether.“Youalreadyknoweverythingaboutme.”
“Noteverything.YouneveractuallytoldmewhathappenedwithyouandSeth.”
Damn.Ididn’texpectthat.Iexaminemysplitends,suddenlyunnerved.“Sethis…just…Idon’tknow.Hesucks.”
“Whywereyouengagedtohimifhesucks?”Histoneisn’tjudgmental.Morecurious.
“That’salongstory.”
“Ihavetime.”
Ikeepexaminingmyhair,musteringupalogicalexplanation.“Okay.Fine.WhenIfirstmetSeth,hewasfinishinghispediatricresidency.Hewasstilltechnicallyastudent,gettinghiscertificationsatthesametime.Hewasshy,sweet,almosttimid.Wickedsmart,atthetopofhisclassbutdidn’tbrag.Iwassoattractedtohimbecauseofhis
“Whatchanged?”heasks,reachingforthechips.
Ipasshimthebag.“Afewthings.Hewas—technically,heis—agreatdoctor.Andthatwenttohishead,fast.Status,aswellasthemoney.Oncehegotthatfirstpaycheck,hejustchanged.Startedbuyinglavishthings.Showeredmewithgifts.He’soneofthosepeoplewhowillmakeyoufeellikethecenteroftheuniverse.Butwhenhe’snotshininghislightonyou,youmightaswellbeafrozen-tundradwarfplanetinthedarkest,mostinhospitablecornerofthegalaxy.”
“Musthavebeentoughseeinghimchangeintoadifferentperson.”
Istretchmyarmsovermyheadandyawn.“Yeah.Wefoughtaboutitallthetime.Iwasdesperateforthingstogobacktohowtheywereinthebeginning…soIpanickedandproposed.”
Twoyearsintoourrelationship,Iplannedanelaborateproposal(ifMonicaGellercoulddoit,whycouldn’tI?).Withhimasamanwho’djustdiscoveredpower,Imayaswellhavecastratedhimwitharustyspoon.
“Andhesaidyes?”
“Yup.Hesaidhefeltpressuredbecausehisparentswerepushinghimtosettledownsincehewasfinallydonewithschool.Hewasneverinvolvedinweddingplanning.Hegotsupercrankyaboutanythingtodowithit.”
Theresentmenthadbeenaslow,demoralizingbuild.Iburiedmyselfdeepinweddingplanningwhilehedecidedtospendtheremainderofhisunmarriedtimelikesomeonewithjustonemonthlefttolive.Whileheworkedhard,healsoplayedhard.Onhisdaysoff,hegambledcarelesslyatthecasino;wentonrandomtripswithhisnew,wealthyfriends;andimpulse-purchasedaluxurysportscar.
IhandledthisnewsideofhimaboutaswellasIhandleallotherchange:likeajellyfishtryingtodoballet.Iaccusedhimofhavingaquarter-lifecrisis.HeaccusedmeofbeingatwentyoutoftenontheRichterscaleofcrazy.Andthenweweredone.Justlikethat.
“Anyway,whenhefinallybrokethingsoff,hetoldmeIwastoomuchforhim.Tooneedy.Andthathedidn’tlovemeanymore.Wasn’tsureifheeverhad.”Ihangmyhead.Thememoryofthosewordsstillstings.“YouthinkI’mpathetic,don’tyou?”
“No.”Trevorshakeshishead,hiseyeslockingtomine.“Theopposite.Ithinkmostpeoplewhogothroughsomethinglikethatwouldgiveuponloveentirely.Andyouhaven’t.”
“Believeme,I’vewantedto.It’swayeasiertosettleforapaperbackprincethanitistoputyourselfoutthere.ButI’magluttonforpunishment,Ithink.”Ihuffawearybreath.
“Youdefinitelyare.Butthat’swhatmakesyouyou,”hesays,catchingmeoffguardwithadisarminglysinceresmile.
IblinkitawaybeforeImeltintoapuddle.“Anyway,myturntoaskyousomething.”
Hesitsupalittlestraighter,preparinghimself.“Allright,shoot.”
“Who’sAngie?”?chapterfourteen
TREVORHASYETtoadmitAngieexists,asidefromjokingaboutherbeinghisspyhandler.I’velonggivenuppesteringhimforthetruth.Technically,it’shisbusiness.Ifhedoesn’twantmeinit,whoamItopush?
Eitherway,duringourlimitedtimetogetherovertheholidays,I’velearnedit’sallaboutthesmallvictorieswithTrevorMetcalfe.Forexample,he’snowweirdlyintoTheBachelor.TheothernightwhenIwaswatchingLittleHouseonthePrairie,heaskedwhyIwasn’twatchingTheBachelorandwhendidthenextepisodeair?He’salsostartedreadingonthecouchwithmeduringtheevenings,borrowingthethrillersIhaven’thadthehearttoreadbecauseIdon’ttakeplottwistswell.
EversinceIaccusedhimofbeingsecretive,hetextsmephotosofeverythingheeatswhenwe’renottogether.Today,it’sasparagus-stuffedchicken(becauseofhisNewYear’sresolutiontoeathealthy).Inresponse,IsenthimaphotoofmyprizedboxofRainbowChipsAhoy!cookies,whichIimpulse-purchasedaftercrossingex-boyfriendnumbernine,Mark,offthelist.
MarkandIhadbeenmembersofabookclubwebothdidn’tlikebutdidn’tknowhowtopolitelyleave.Weonlydatedforamonth,butitgotseriousfast.Heevenintroducedmetohisparentsandhisailinggrandfather,whichiswhyIwasshockedwhenhebrokeupwithmeafterIcasuallymadeacommentaboutafriend’sengagementring.
WhenImessagedMarkrandomlyonthedayafterChristmas,hetoldmestraightuphewasn’tinterestedinmeetingbutthathewantedhisoldBeatlesT-shirtback.IdutifullyexcavateditfromtheEx-Filesboxanddroppeditoffinthemailthismorning.
TREVOR:Youbettersavemesomeofthosecookies.
IsnickertomyselfasIduckintothehospitalstairwell.Usually,Ispendmybreaksinthenurses’lounge,butaftermycolleaguescaughtwindofmyex-boyfriendsearch,Ican’tgoaminutewithoutoneofthempesteringmefordetailsaboutmydatesandtheremainingexes.That’ssomethingCrystalwarnedmeabout:whenyou’reopenwithyourpersonallifeonline,peoplefeelentitledtoknoweverythingaboutyou.Andifyoudareprefertokeepsomethingsprivate,youneedagoodexcuse.
IsnapashotoftwoemptycookiecontainerrowsandsendittoTrevor.
TARA:Nocando.SomeonestolemyGreekyogurtagainfromthecommunalfridge.IneedallthenutrientsIcanget.
TREVOR:Itoldyoutowriteyournameontheyogurtcontainer.
TARA:Idid!Indouble-thickSharpie.
Theellipsessignalinghe’stypingpopupandstopnumeroustimesbeforehefinallyresponds.
TREVOR:Tara,willyouacceptthislink?ThetextisfollowedbyalinktothecastingcallforthenewBachelorseason
TARA:I’mnotevengoingtoaskhowyoucameacrossthat.
TREVOR:Yeah,bestnottoask.Soareyougonnaapply??
TARA:Noway!Ididn’tlikeKurtinTheBachelorette.He’stoomuchofaplayboyforme.Idon’tthinkhe’sreformedhisrakishways.HowwouldIknowhe’stherefortherightreasons?
TREVOR:Isanyone?Asidefromthousandsofnewsocialmediafollowers?Itcouldbegoodforyourbookstagram.Andyou’dmakeforsomegoodTV.
TARA:I’dbethegirlwholoseshermindtwoweeksinbecauseshe’salreadyfalleninloveandcan’thandlethefactthathehas30othergirlfriends.
TREVOR:Nvm.Youmaynotactuallyqualifyanyways.
TARA:I’mperfectlyeligible!NotthatI’mapplying…
Hesendsascreenshotoftheeligibilitysmallprint,whichspecificallystatesApplicantsmustneverhavebeenconvictedofafelonyoreverhadarestrainingorderenteredagainstthem.
TREVOR:Ifthecarvandalismdoesn’tcountyouout…
Isendhimaselfieofmydemoniceyes.
Trevorrespondswithashotofhisfaux-scaredface,anditgivesmelife.He’sinhisBostonFireDepartmentT-shirt,andhishairisperfectlytousledasusual.He’satwork,basedonthepartiallyobstructedbodyofanotherfirefighterinthebackground.
TARA:FYIIwasnevercharged.AndI’veneverhadarestrainingorderagainstme,thankyouverymuch.
TREVOR:…Yet.Btw,I’moffat6today.Wantmetopickyouupfromwork?It’sNewYear’sEveandIwouldn’twantyoutogetmuggedonthesubwayagain.
TARA:Yesplease!Textmewhenyou’rehere
AssoonasIhitSend,thestairwelldoorlurchesopenbehindme.
“Cyber-stalkingyourexes?”Sethaskseversocasuallyashepassesbyme.He’soneofthosepeoplewhotakethestairsinsteadoftheelevatoronpurposeandbragsaboutit.Evenwhenweweretogether,heneverbotheredtohidehisdisappointmentthatI’dtaketheelevatorinstead.ItgottothepointwhereIwasthankfulnottobeonshiftwithhimsoIcouldtakethedamnelevatorinpeacewithouthimshamingme.
Ipullmyphonetomychestprotectively.“Noneofyourbusiness.”
BasedontheglintinSeth’seyesandtheupwardturnofhisthinlips,he’sdefinitelyseenmysocialmedia.“You’remakingiteveryone’sbusinessbyblastingitonline.”He’snotwrong.ButbeforeIcanrespond,headds,“You’reactuallydoingit,huh?Thewitch-hunt?”
Thefactthathe’skeepingtabsonmysearchisaninterestingdevelopment.Infact,he’sconsistentlyoneofmyfirststoryviewers.Melthinksitmeanshe’sstillhunguponme,butIknowSeth.It’spurelyacontrolthing.“Pleasedon’tcallitawitch-hunt.AndareyoureallythatshockedI’vemovedon?”
Sethleansagainsttherailing.“Imean,let’sbehonest.Youdon’tletgoofthingseasily.”
Ishoothimdaggers.“Excusemeforbeingalittleupsetthatyoucanceledourwedding.”
Withouteyecontact,hearrogantlysmoothshishandoverhisgelledhair.“CanIofferyouabitofadvice?”
“Nah,I’mgood,thanks.”Inearlyshoveanentirecookieinmymouthandavertmyfocustomyphone.
“Whoa,attitude.Youdon’thavetobesorude.I’mtryingtobenice.”
KnowingSeth,he’llarguewithmeallday,soItreathimtoapainfullyfakesmile.“Sorry,butI’mgood.Really.ThoughIappreciatetheconcern.Bye,”Isayprimly,simplytomakehimdisappear.
Mytacticworks.Withoutanotherword,hecontinuesondownthestairs,outofsight.
???
WHENTREVORTEXTSattheendofmyshift,I’malreadyinthelobby,itchingtogettheheckoutofhere.I’meagertospendmyquietNewYear’sEveplottingmystrategytoreunitewiththeremainingexes.DanielandCodyhavebeenconsistentlyleadinginthepollsasmymostpopularexes.Myfollowersaresuckersforachildhoodlovereunionromance.
TREVOR:Hey,cometothe6thfloor.
TARA:What?Why?
There’snosignofhiscaridlinginthefrontentrance,soIdoublebacktotheelevatorandpressthebuttonforfloorsix.Despiteworkinginthishospitalforyears,I’veneverventuredtothesixthfloorbefore.
Whentheelevatordoorsswingopen,Trevorispacingtotheleftofthereceptiondeskinfrontofaglasscaseholdingframedphotosoftiny,colorfulhandprintsformedlikebutterflies.He’sunknowinglyturningtheheadsofeveryonewithinatwenty-footradiusinhisfittedfiredepartmentT-shirt.Whenheseesme,hegivesmeanupwardchinnod.Histensestancetellsmehe’sinoneofhiswithdrawnmoods.
Behindhimisamassive,vibrantwallmuraloflushjunglegreeneryandasignthatreadsBostonChildren’sHospitalHeartCenter
TrevorwatchesmetepidlyasItakeitallin,stunned.
“Whatis—?”Istart.
“Beforeyousayanything,youshouldknow—”
Atinybrunettefigurezipsoutofaroomtotheright.It’sagirl,noolderthaneight.Abaggypurplehoodieandstripedpajamapantshangoffherwaiflikefigure,furtheremphasizingherdelicateframe.Herfaceisgauntandhollow,juxtaposedbyanunexpectedtoothysmilethatsomehowremindsmeofTrevor’s.Withabountifulgiggle,shelaunchesherselfintoTrevor’sarms.
WhenTrevorpicksherupandspinsherlikeawholesomeninetiessitcomdad,myovariesthreatentoerupt.“Jeez,Angie.You’regettingheaviereveryweek.”
Angie.
ThisistheAngie.Themysterygirlheloves.
Mytheorywassowrong,it’salmostlaughable.Angieisachild,notawomantrappedinalovelessmarriageofconvenience.Thebasketofcandymakessomuchmoresensenow.Ifighttoworkdownamassivelumpinmythroatasagroupofchatteringnursespassby.
PlayboyTrevorhasachild…withaheartcondition?
Themomentmybrainsettlesonthatconclusion,Angiedropsanotherbomb.“Igainedapound,UncleTrev.”
Uncle.
I’mrenderedmute,frozen,mymouthhangingopenasIdigestthenewesttwist.Angieishisniece.Throughmyshock,mystomachflips,guttedthatAngieisapatientintheheartcenter.WhywouldTrevorchoosetorevealhisniecetomelikethis?Insuchaheavy-handedmanner?Itstrikesmeasuncharacteristic.
Angiecastsaskepticalglanceatme.“Sheyourflavorofthemonth?”sheasksbluntly.
Iletoutanembarrassinglyloudhoot.Youknowyou’reaplayboywhenyourkidniecetakesajabatyourlifestyle.Thisgirlspeakshertruth,andI’mhereforit.“I’mnothisflavorofanything.”
“She’smyroommate,”Trevorexplains,givingheragentlepatonthehead.“Anddon’tlistentoeverythingyourmomsaysaboutme.”
Igiveanawkwardjazz-handwave.“I’mTara.It’sreallynicetomeetyou,Angie.”
“MyrealnameisAngela,buteveryonecallsmeAngie.”Sheextendshersmallhandinasurprisinglystrongandpurposefulshake.
“I’mTara.EveryonecallsmeTara.”Irealizemyjokefellflatonitsfacewhensheside-eyesmetoTrevorbeforeturningaround.
Trevorlaughsatmyexpenseaswefollowherintoherroom.It’smeantfortwopatients,althoughthebednearestthedoorisvacant.Angiehasaprimespotnexttothewindow,thoughithasaratherunfortunateviewoftheparkinglot.
Angiehopsontothebedwithease,pullingthehot-pinkcomforterbacktorevealfloralsheetstuckedwithmilitaryprecision,likeTrevor’sbedattheapartment.Trevorgesturesformetotakethechairbythewindow,whileheparkshimselfontheedgeofherbed.
Heasksaboutherday,howshe’sfeeling,whetherhermomcamebyyet,andifthey’llbedoinganythingspecialforNewYear’sDaytomorrow.Hedoesn’taskaboutherdad,whoI’massumingishisyoungerandonlysibling,Logan.He’smentionedLoganjustonce,duringaconversationaboutchildhoodTVshows,describinghowheandhisbrotherusedtowatchAreYouAfraidoftheDark?religiouslyonNickelodeon.Imakeamentalnotetoconfirmthefamilydynamicslater.
ThedrabwallacrossfromthefootofAngie’sbedisproudlycoveredwithwhatappearstobeherownartwork.Mostofthepaintingsdepictcozyhouses,blueskieswithbright-yellowsuns,andbig-petaledflowers.
Trevorextendshisarmsoverhisheadinalaboredstretchbeforestanding.“I’mgonnagograbacoffee.Wantsomethingfromthecafeteria,kid?”
“I’lltaketheusual,”sherespondswiththeconfidenceofaforty-year-old
Beforeheadingout,heglancesatmeoverhisshoulder.“CanIgrabanythingforyou?Morecookies?”
“IfIeatanothercookie,Imighthurl,”Iadmit,offeringaweaksmile.
I’majumbleofnervesundertheweightofAngie’sMafia-bossstarewhenTrevorpeacesout,footstepsgrowingfaint.It’slikeI’mbackinmiddleschoolattheheightofpuberty.There’snologicalreasontobeanxious.Angieisachild.AndI’matwork,inmyownelement,technically.
“You’reanurse?”Angieinquires,breakingthesilence.
Inod,gesturingtomyscrubs.“Iam.”
Shegivesmeacomicallyskepticalsquint.“Whyhaven’tIseenyouaround?Iknowallthenurses.”Foramoment,herconfidenceshakesme,andIalmostquestionmyownidentity.
“Idon’tworkonthisfloor.Iworkwithverysicknewborns,actually,intheNICUacoupleoffloorsdown.”
Ianticipateasass-filledresponse,butshegivesmeasilentnod,likesheunderstands.
“Whatkindofstuffdoyouliketodo,Angie?”Iimmediatelycringeatmyownquestion.Whatcanshereallydowhileinthehospital?“Imean,whenyou’renot…”OhGod.I’mnotpreparedforthis.NowonderIworkwithbabies.Theydon’ttalk.IinwardlycurseTrevorforspringingthisonme.
Acoysmiletugsatherlips.“WhenI’mnotinthehospital?”
Imeethersmileandrelaxmypostureeversoslightly.“CanIaskwhatyouhave?”
ShereachesfortheDisneycoloringbookatopthesidetable.“DORV.”I’monlyvaguelyawareoftheacronym.IknowtheDstandsforDoubleandtheVisVentricle.ButIcan’trecallthemiddleletters.AttheriskofsoundinglikeafoolandlosingallcredibilityinfrontofAngie,ImakeanotetoGoogleit.
Shecontinues.“IgotanewheartwhenIwasababy.ButnowDr.LamsaysIneedanewone,”sheexplainsmatter-of-factly.
“You’reverybrave”isallIcanthinktosaywithoutbeingpatronizing.She’stoomatureforthebullshit.
Shewatchesmeforabeatbeforesettlingonafreshpageinthecoloringbook.It’sSnowWhite’senchantedforest.“Iwatchalotofprincessmovies.”
Iperkup.“Who’syourfavoriteprincess?”
“Rapunzel.”
“She’smyfavoritetoo.IloveTangled.Doyouhaveanyothers?”
“IlikeMoanatoo.AndAnna.ButnotElsa.”
Ilaugh.“WhynotElsa?”
“She’skindofboring.Shelikesbeingalone.Idon’tlikebeingalone.”Isn’tthatthetruth?Herhonestychurnsmystomach.WithTrevor’sdemandingshiftschedule,Iwonderhowoftenhe’sabletovisither.
Ihangmyhead,picturinghersittinginherroomallbyherself.“Idon’tlikebeingalone,either.”
TrevorreturnswithapackageofblueraspberryJell-Oinhand,alongwithacoffeeandavendingmachine–sizebagofCheetos,whichhedropsinmylap.
Ithankhimprofusely.Mydietisofficiallyasmearonhumanity.
AnurseIrecognizefromaroundthehospitalovertheyearsfollowsclosebehindTrevor.Shesmilesatmeanddoesn’tbothertoquestionmyrandompresence.“Timeforyourmeds,”shechirpstoAngie.
WhilethenursefusseswithAngie,TrevorandIgivethemspace,steppingintothehallway.Fromthewayhekeepshisheadducked,hishandsinhispockets,IthinkhesensesI’malittleshook.
“Whydidn’tyoutellmeAngiewasyourniece?Yourniecewho’sapatientatthehospitalwhereIwork?”Ifury-whisper.“Ithoughtshewassomewomanyouwerehopelesslyinlovewith.”
“AwomanI’minlovewith?Really,Chen?”herepeats,sarcasmabundant.It’sasifIthoughtAngiewashisextraterrestrialfriendwhorequiredimmediateassistancereturningtoherhomeplanet.Itreathimtoafrostylookuntilhisexpressionsoftens.“I’msorry.YoujusttookmebysurprisewhenyouaskedmeaboutAngie.Itwasn’tmeanttobeabigsecret.Besides,yourtheoriesweretooamusingtocomerightoutwiththetruth.”
Igapeathim.“Thisishowyoudecidetorevealheridentity?AndyousayIhaveaflairforthedramatics.Ofallpeople,Iwouldhaveunderstood,”Isay,loweringmyvoiceasatinypalechildpassesbywithanurse.
“Iknow,Iknow.It’sjust,Angiedoesn’tlikewhenpeopletreatherdifferently.Ithoughtifyouknewgoingintoit,you’dhaveawarpedperceptionofher.She’sreallystrongforakidofherageandinhercircumstances.”
Ifrown,bracingmyself.“ShesaidshehadDORV?”
“Yeah.Double-outletrightventricle.Inaregularheart,thepulmonaryarteryconnectstotherightventricle,whereastheaortaconnectstotheleft.InAngie’sheart,boththepulmonaryarteryandtheaortaconnecttotherightventricle,causingittocirculateoxygen-poorblood,”heexplains.“WhenAngiewasborn,shehadherfirstheartsurgery.Butitwassocomplex,sheneededatransplant.She’sneverbeenhealthylikemostkids,butlastyear,shestartedgettingreallysickandthedoctorsrealizedherbodywasrejectingtheheart.It’srareforthattohappenaftersolong.Soshe’sonthetransplantwaitinglistagain.”
“That’sawful.Ican’tevenimagine.”Igrimace.“ButI’mstillconfused.Whywouldyouwantmetomeether?”
Heshiftshisweight,hisgazetothefloor.“Iwaskindofhoping…you’dhelpmewithsomething.”
“Withwhat?”Iask.
“Hertenthbirthdayparty,”hesaysearnestly.Angiecertainlydoesn’tlooklikeanalmostten-year-old,givenhertinyframe.Althoughnowherrighteoussassmakesalotmoresense.“Hermom,Payton,iswaytoobusywithwork,soIofferedtodoit.”Pained,heletsouttheremainingairinhischeeks.It’sonthetipofmytonguetoask,Andwhataboutyourbrother?ButIdon’t.“Iknowyou’regoodwithpartiesandevents,”hesays.Overthepastfewdays,I’vebeeninfullplanningmodeforCrystal’sbridalshowerinafewweeks.He’salltoofamiliarwithmyPinterestaestheticboard.
“Iam…”
“Iknowit’salottoask,though,andIcompletelyunderstandifyou’retoobusy—”
“I’min.”GiventhatIcobbledtogetherandrevampedmyformerweddingintoabrand-newweddingforGrandmaFloacouplemonthsago(whileemotionallywounded),I’mcertainachild’spartywillbeapieceofcake.“Whenisit?”
“Notforamonthandahalf.Februaryfifteenth.”
Exactlysevenweeksaway.Idrummyfingers,Mr.Burns–style.Thegearsarealreadyturningwiththepossibilities.
Hissquaredshouldersfallwithrelief.“Thankyou.Seriously.”
Thenurseemerges,signalingwecanheadbackin.Westayforalittleunderanhour,andIwatchinamusementasTrevorlovinglyteasesheraboutanythingandeverything,likeherlatestcrushes(“Youstillinlovewiththekidonyoursoccerteam?”).Shegetshimbackwithsomesizzlingburnsofherown(“Doyoustilleatdinnerallaloneeverynight?”).
Whenit’sfinallytimetoleave,Ipromisetocomebackandvisitonmybreaks,ifshewantsmeto.Thispleasesher.Sheevenasksmetowritedownmyschedulesosheknowswhentoexpectme,whichItakeasthehighestcompliment.
TrevorandIaresilentaswewaitfortheelevator.Thebeepingandthehigh-pitchedlaughterofthewomenatthenurses’stationechobehindus.
Mythoughtsareheavywithawhirlofquestionsandconcernsaswestepintotheelevator.“Whatareherchances?”
“They’rehopefulwecanfindadonor.”Heshoveshishandsinhispockets.“Butyouneverknow.Iwanthertohaveagoodbirthday…justincase.”
There’salongpauseasItakeintheexpressiononhisface.AfteryearsofdealingwithparentsintheNICU,I’drecognizeitanywhere.It’sterror.
NaturallyIwanttofoldhimintoacomfortinghug,butIsettleforareaffirmingpatontheforearm.Hismuscleflexesunderneathmytouch.
“Don’tworry,Trev.She’sgonnahaveakick-assparty.I’llmakesureofit.”
LIVEWITHTARAROMANCEQUEEN—FIGHTCHILDHOODHEARTDISEASESTACKCHALLENGE
[Taralookssomberlyintothecamera,dressedinaredsweaterwithtinywhitehearts.]
EXCERPTFROMTRANSCRIPT
Tara:Hello,romancebooklovers,welcomebacktomychannel.Todaywe’retalkingaboutsomethingnon-bookish.
Didyouknowapproximatelyoneoutoffourchildrendiagnosedwithcongenitalheartdefectswillrequiresurgerywithinthefirstyearoflife?Andpotentiallymoreinthefuture?
Inhonorofallchildrendiagnosedwithcongenitalheartdefects,@Emilybooklover,@MeganReadsRomance,@CurvyFitnessCrystal,and@Melanie_inthecityhaveteamedup.Wewillbedonatingonedollarforeveryred-and-whitebookstackanyofourfollowerspostthroughoutthemonthofJanuarytosupportlocalBostonfamiliesofchildrenwithheartdefects.
Further,mygrandma(followherat@LoopsWithFlo)isdonatingcrochetdollstothechildren’shospitalforeveryfifthstack.Don’tmissout!They’readorable!
COMMENTS:
Wowthisissuchanamazingcause!
YouareamazingTara.
Thisisacauseclosetomyheart.MysonwasdiagnosedwithCHDattwoyearsold.Hehadsurgeryandhe’sperfectlyhealthynow.I’mpostingmystacktomorrow!?chapterfifteen
IT’SABLINDINGLYsunnymid-Januaryafternoon,orsoTrevortellsme.Iwouldn’tknow,becauseI’mcloakedinshadowonthecouch,curtainsdrawnlikeacomicbookvillain,GrandmaFlo’safghanhikedtomyneck.Inadditiontocraftingscenariosinmyheadthatwillnevercometofruition,I’mtwohoursdeepinYouTubemontagesofshirtlessChrisHemsworthinalast-ditchefforttoboostmymorale.
“You’regonnamakeapermanentimprintinthecouch,”Trevorwarns.
“Don’tjudge.I’veneverbeenbetter.Infact,I’mthrivinghere,”Icroak,peekingathimoverthebackofthecouch.He’sdoinghisbiweeklykitchendeepclean,furiouslyscrubbingthestovetop.Thechemicalscentoftheindustrial-strengthcleanerneverfailstorendermelight-headed.
“Yup,you’rethepictureofwellness.”Hepauseshisscrubbing,silentlyjudgingmystatickyhair.“Youneedtogetoutofthisapartment.Getsomefreshair.”Heslantsaneartowardthekitchenwindow.Tothefickle,chaotic,unpredictableworld.
It’sbeenaroughstarttotheNewYear,tosaytheleast.Afterspendingtheholidaysastheonlysingletoninmyfamily,Idecidedtogohardonmyexsearch.
SinceDanielisstillunsearchable,ItriedmyhandatZion,thecampusbookstoreguyIwentonafewdateswith.Wewalkeddogstogetherattheanimalshelterandbondedoverbooks.He’dplaytheguitar(terribly)formewhileIawkwardlynoddedandpretendedtoloveit.Thingsendedwhenhedecidedheneededtostopdatingandfocusonhis“studies.”
Idon’tfollowhimonsocialmediaanymore,butalittlelightGooglestalkingrevealedhisconsultingfirm’sphonenumber.WhenIcalledhim,weendeduphavingahalf-hour-longchat.Heseemedhappytoreconnectbutmadeitclearhewas“toobusy”withhisbusinessforromance.Iguesssomethingsneverchange.
AfterZionandafewglassesofwineatMel’s,wedidsomediggingonCodyVenner,myhighschoolsweetheart.Turnsouthe’snowabig-shotrealestateagent.Judgingfromhisphotosandshortbioonthebroker’swebsite,hehashisshittogether,despitethefactthatthetrousershe’swearinginhisprofessionalfull-bodyshothugeverycreviceofhisundercarriage.Thankfully,Ihadenoughself-awarenesstopreservehimforafuture,lessintoxicatedversionofme.
BecauseIcan’tleavewellenoughalone,Iscrapedthebottomofthebarrelandreachedouttonumbereight,LinusBatton.LinusandImetthroughacollegefriend.Healwaysmispronouncedmyname,callingme“Taw-rah”insteadof“Tare-uh.”Iletitgoinitially—franklybecauseitmademesoundmoresophisticated—andbyourthirdhangout,itwastoofargonetocorrecthim.ThingsfizzledoutbetweenusnaturallywhenIstartedworkingfull-timeatthehospitalwhilehepursuedhismaster’sinengineering.Sincecollege,he’sbeendesigningbridges,aswellasdabblingintriathlons.
LinushassincebeenaloyalLikerofmypostsonmynon-bookishInstagramaccount,whichIinterpretedasasurefiresignhewouldbedowntofathermychildren.
AsperTrevor’sadvice,Iinvitedhimforadateataboardgamecafé,despitethefactthatIdon’tlikeboardgames.Ievenlimitedmyselftogenericconversationinsteadofgushingsoliloquiesfullofintensefeelings.ThroughacoupleofroundsofRisk(probablymyleastfavoritegameofalltime,butLinus’sfavorite),webondedoversongswemutuallydespise(Maroon5’slatest),notablebookswe’veread(allromanceforme,alltechno-thrillersforhim),andtherecentseasonofDeadliestCatch(hisguiltypleasure).
Iwasflyinghigh,sopleasantlysurprisedathowwellthingsweregoingthatIcasuallymentionedmyfailedengagementwithSeth.Ihitawound—afresh,gaping,infectedoneatthat.Hetearfullyconfidedthathetoocanceledhisweddinglastyearwithhisboyfriend,Zach.Hethenbeganwedginghimintoourconversationateveryopportunity.Zachalwayslovedthatmovie.Oh,ZachandIweresupposedtotakeahot-airballoonrideforouranniversary.EvenwhenIseguedintowhatIassumedwasthesafetopicofaYouTubevideoofasheepstuckinatireswing,hiseyeswelledupbecauseitremindedhim(somehow)ofZach.
WhileIunderstandtheheartachealltoowell,thelastthingIwanttodoisgettangledupinsomesortoflovetrianglewhereI’mtheevilnewgirlfriend,theroadblockbetweenLinusandthepersonhe’strulypiningfor.Soweendedthenightonfriendly,platonicterms.
Daniel(childhoodlove)
Tommy(ninth-gradeboyfriend)
Jacques(StudentSenateboy)
Cody(highschoolsweetheart)
Jeff(froshweekfling)
Zion(campusbookstorecutie)
Brandon(worldtraveler—theonethatgotaway)
Linus(Brandonrebound)
Mark(bookclubintellectual)
Seth(ex-fiancé)
“Sinceyou’remylifecoachnow,doyouhaveanysuggestionstoturnmydayaround?”IavertmygazefromtheswellofTrevor’sripplingbicepsasheattackstheislandcountertopwithasteelsponge.
“WhosaysI’myourlifecoach?”
“Me.Obviously.”
Hehuffs.“Thattitlecomeswithtoomuchpower.Besides,youdonotwantmegivingyoulifeadvice.AndevenifIwerequalified,youwouldn’tlistentomeanyway.”
Ipout.“Ilisten!Mostofthetime.”
“Sureyoudo.”Hesnickers.“Whydon’tyoudeclutteryourroom?Orbetteryet,burntheEx-Filesitemsofthedudesalreadycrossedoffthelist?”
Iperkup,perchingmyelbowsonthebackofthecouch.Itmightbetherapeutictogetridofsomeofit.“Likeburningtheminacleansingritual?Wouldyouhelpme?”
“No.I’mjustkidding.Ican’tsupportopenfires.Whydon’tyougositinacoffeeshopandtalktopeople?”hesuggests.
“That’sapossibility.Idolikecoffeeshoppeople.They’realwayswillingtospillthetea.”Idrummychin,considering.“Whatareyouuptotoday?ItriedtextingMelandCrystal,butthey’rebothbusy.”
Hecockshisthickbrow.“SoundslikeI’myourthirdchoice.”
“You’dbemyfirstchoiceifyoudidn’tgivemesomuchattitude.”Igivehimapointedlook.“Picturethis:Wepeople-watchontheCommon.Maybegototheplantstoreforanewsucculent.Icouldevenbuyyouasnack,aslongasit’sunderfivedollars.I’mbroke.”
“Whoa,you’rereallythreateningmewithoutrightfun,”hesaysdryly.
“Oh,comeon.Youneedfreshairtoo.You’regoingtopoisonusbothwithchemicalsifyoukeepcleaning.”
Hefinallyliftshisgazefromthecountertop.“I’dlovetofreezemynutsoffwithyououtside,withnosnacks,butIhavetogettoworksoon.”
Ipointtoourside-by-sideschedulespostedonthefridge.“You’renotonthescheduletonight.”
“Iknow.Ihavethefooddrivetonight.”
“Fooddrive?”
“Wedoiteveryyearatthefirehouse.Goaroundinthefiretrucksandpickupdonationsaroundthecity.”
Thatsoundsheapsmoreappealingthanlyingonthiscouch,staringintothevoid.Thenagain,justaboutanythingtrumpsthat.“CanIcome?”Iaskmeekly.
“Youreallywanttocometoworkwithme?”Hesquints,confused.
Ibarrel-rolloffthecouchandshimmyontothestoolinfrontoftheisland.“Iswear,Iwon’tgetintheway.Manuallaborisn’tmystrength,but—”
“Weleaveinanhour.”
???
MYTOESTAPinmybootsasIendeavortofindahalf-decentradiostation.Trevorislaserfocusedonthesnowyroad.I’mtemptedtoprodhimalittle,askwhathe’sthinkingabout,butIrefrain,recallinghowannoyedSethusedtogetwhenIaskedhimthatsamequestion.
Curiosityaside,I’mhesitanttodisturbthepeacefulambience.Trevor’squietbringsmeasenseofcomfort.Inthepresenceofanyoneelse,Iusuallyfeelanunspokenobligationtomaintainlivelyconversation.ButwithTrevor,Idon’tfeelthepressuretodoanythingbutjustexist.
ThesilencecannolongerbesustainedwhenShaniaTwain’s“AnyManofMine”filtersthroughthespeakers.Withoutpermission,Icrankthevolumeandbelttheintrowithabundantsoul,churchchoir–style.
Trevorcastsmeaconcernedsideeye.Hismouthisfixedinasternline,buthiskneeisbouncingalongwithhisfingersdrummingthesteeringwheel.EvenamachodudelikeTrevorisn’timmunetothemood-boostingmagicofaShaniaTwainclassic.
“Youlikethissong,”Iconclude,pleasedwithmydiscovery.“You’retappingyourkneetothebeat.”
Hepurposelystopstappinglikeamiserablecurmudgeon.“Nope.”
Ireachovertheconsoletoshakehisbiceps.It’smorelikeapatheticattemptatashove,becausemypalmdoesn’tcomeclosetospanningthatsolidmassofmuscle.
Myheadtiltslikeaneagerpuppylisteningtothesoundofkibbletricklingintoanemptydish.Iexpectedhimtodefendthisuntiltheendtimes.“CanIask—”Istopmyselfbeforehecancutinandsayno.“WhydoyouhatewhenIaskifIcanaskaquestion?”
“Becauseitfreaksmeout.”
“Why?”
“There’snoquestionmoreanxiety-inducingthanCanIaskyouaquestion?Itcouldbeanything.Youcouldbeaskingmetodivulgeallmydarkestsecrets,orwhatIateforlunch.”
“Ninetimesoutoften,I’maskingwhatyouateforlunch.Anyways,Iwasgoingtoask,whydon’tyousingsongsyoulike?YouonlyhumyourT.Swiftshowersong.Whynotbeltthelyricstoo?”
Heletsoutasinglelaugh,checkingoverhisshoulderbeforeseamlesslymergingintothelane.“Yeah,that’snotmything,sweetheart.”
Iignorethewaymystomachflipswhenhesayssweetheartinthatthick,sexy,I-just-woke-upvoice.Logically,Iknowit’spuresarcasm.Butthathasnobearingonmyphysiologicalresponse.I’mveryawareofthemanylayersI’mwearingunderneathmypeacoat.Mycream-colored,chunky-knitsweatersuddenlyscratchesagainstmyskinlikeanitchyheatedblanket.WhenIreachtoclosethevent,Trevornoticesandpromptlyturnstheheatdowntwonotches.Healsoturnsoffmyseatwarmer.
Therestofthedriveissilent,saveformysinging.Ithinkhe’sgratefultoescapethecarwhenwepullintotheparkinglotoftheredbrickfirehouse.It’swidewithfourmassivegaragedoors,eachhousingaredtruck.AsIstepoutofTrevor’scar,I’mhitwiththescentcombinationofgasoline,rubber,andafainthintofsmoke.
Scottcomesmarchingaroundthecorneroftheenginebay,fullysuitedinfiregear,hishelmettuckedunderhisarm.Hedouble-takeswhenhespotsme,runningahandthroughhisthick,overgrownhair,whichhe’sveryproudof.“Hey,whatareyoudoinghere?”
“Sheneededsomesun.Shewasslowlyturningintoavampire,”Trevortellshimnonchalantly.“I’mjustgonnagogearup.Berightback.”Hegivesmeaplayfulnudgetothebackoftheshoulder.
ScottwaitsforTrevortobeoutofearshotbeforegivingmeaquizzicalexpression.“Thatwasweird,”hemuttersunderhisbreath.
“Whatwasweird?”
“Oh,nothing.”Hedropshiseyestohisboots,quicklychangingthesubject.“Hey,didyouknowTrevorgotpromotedbeforetheholidays?”
Islow-blink.“What?Apromotion?”Whywouldn’thetellme?
“He’sthenewlieutenant.”Scott’sexpressionsoftens.“Don’ttakeitpersonallythathedidn’ttellyou.Hedoesn’ttellanyoneanything.”BeforeIcanrespond,heushersmealong.“Comeon,I’llintroduceyoutotherestofthecrew.”
MeetingtheteamdistractsmefromangstingoverTrevor’ssecrecy.Notably,there’sKevin,whoisthefirsttotellmethatundernocircumstanceswillheliftafingertoday,duetoabackinjury.Paulaisoneofthreewomenatthestationandisgratefulformypresence.SheeveninsistsIneedtorideinhertrucktodebriefaboutthelatestseasonofEuphoria.Everyoneislaid-back,boastingfriendlydemeanorsthathitmelikefreshoceanair,comparedtothepollutedsmogthatisthehospital,withitsendlessdrama.
Andthenthere’sCameron.He’sbuiltlikealumberjack,toweringoverevenScott,who’swelloversixfeet.
Cameronintroduceshimselfwithaburlyhandshake.“Howyoudoin’?”heasksinaJoeyTribbianiNewYork–styleaccent.“You’reScotty’ssister-in-law,huh?”
“Soon-to-besister-in-law,”Icorrect,shootingScottalook.“Althoughthey’reelopingtotropicalparadisewithoutme.Leavingmebehindinthedeadofwinter.”
CamerongiftsmewithaCalvinKleinmodelsmile.“Hey,it’snotsobad.I’mhereinBoston.”
BeforeIcanreacttohisblatantconfidence,Trevormaterializesbehindme.“Readytogo?”heasks,eyeingCameron.
Igotorespond,butthevisualofTrevorsuitingupchangeslifeasIknowit.Meninuniformhaveneversparkedthefannyflutters,untilnow.Eveninacompletelyshapelessjacket,hissexappealhasskyrocketedtonewheights.Thewholethingplaysoutinmymindinslo-mo.Flexingtendons,strainedforearms,alldippingandtwistinglikeartinmotion.
Thecornerofhismouthquirksupwhenhenoticesmeblatantlyoglinghimlikeatigerawaitingahunkofraw,bloodymeattobetossedintoitsenclosure.IthinkImayhavejustovulated.
“Whyareyoustaringatmelikethat?”
Mycheeksburn,andIdoaone-eightytobeelineforthefirstavailabletruck,whichhappenstobeCameron’s.
AsItakemyfirststep,Trevorgivesthecollarofmypeacoatasofttug.“Nope.Notthatone.You’remyresponsibilitytoday.”Histoneisneutral,althoughIcan’thelpbutfeelasifI’mburdeninghim.Likehe’sobligedtobabysitme.
Ishrugitoff,followinghimintothecorrecttruck.Therearetwoface-to-faceseatsoneithersideinadditiontoarowalongtheback.Hepromptlypointsmetowardaface-to-faceseat,takingthebackwardone.Kevinisourdriver.Sadly,I’mnotinPaula’struck,orScott’s.Buttheothertwoguys,ErnieandJesse,aresupportiveofmysuggestiontocrankthemusic.
EveryonebutTrevorbeltsaQueensongasthetruckbarrelsdownthecitystreetstowardthefirstpickuplocation.ErnieevenoffersmearedTwizzler.Ithankhim,peelingoneoutbeforepassingthebagtoTrevor.Whenhereachesforit,Icatchthetailendofatattoothatextendstohiswrist.
“Whendidyougetyourfirsttattoo?”Iaskthroughastickybite.
“WhenIgraduatedhighschool.ImovedtoArizonaforawhileforcollege.IwasmissinghomewhenIgotthisone.”Hepullsbackthesleevetorevealanartfullydesignedcompassontheinsideofhiswrist.
“Youwereincollege?”
“Yup.Hadascholarshipforrugby.”
Morebreakingnews.YetanothermajordetailaboutTrevorMetcalfeIwasunawareof.Itrytoignorethepressofourkneestogetherasthetruckslantsdownhill.Trevordoesn’tseemtonoticeorcare,becausehedoesn’tshiftaway.
“Ihadnoideayouplayedrugbyatthecollegelevel.”
“Idroppedoutafterthesecondyear.”Hecatchesmyconcerned-motherreactionandquicklyadds,“CamehomeandjoinedtheBFD.”
“Whydidyouleave?”
Heliftsashoulderinashrug.“Lotsofreasons.Igotinjuredafterthesecondseason.ButmostlybecauseIhatedbeingawayfromhome.AndAngiewasbornduringmysecondyear.Iknewmybrotherwasn’tsteppingup,soitdidn’tfeelrighttobesofaraway,”hesays.“Mygrandmapassedawayinthatsameyeartoo.”
“Shemusthavebeenreallyproudofyouforgettingascholarship.”
Hisjawtics,andheavertshisstaretohislap,clearlydonewiththeconversation.
OnelayeratatimewithTrevor,Iremindmyselfaswearriveatourfirststop.It’salocalgrocerystore.TheownerandstaffwaitintheentranceasTrevorandthecrewretrievethefooddonations.Areporterinavibrantemeraldjackethoversonthesidelines,snappingphotos.Trevorblinksawaytheflashashesquatsdowntoliftaboxofcannedsoup.
“Youdon’tlikethepaparazzi?”Iprod.
HepassestheboxtoKevin,whogrumpilyagreedtotakeontheroleofstackingtheboxesinthetruck.“Nah.I’dratherdoitwithoutallthefanfare—”Hepauseswhenastout,baldingmanapproaches,hishandextended.
“Iwastoldyou’rethemaninchargehere.I’mYoni,thestoreowner,”hesays.
Trevormeetshishandshake.“Goodtomeetyou,Yoni.I’mTrevor.”
“Ijustwantedtothankyouguysbeforeyouheadout.Itmeansalot.”
“Wecouldn’tdoitwithoutthedonations.Sothankyou,”Trevortellshim.
Yoninods,castingaproudgazeatthestackofboxesinthetruck.“Thefoodbankisacauseclosetomyheart.Asayoungboy,myfamilyreliedonit.IdowhatIcantogiveback.”
Trevorgiveshimatersenodandaslapontheback.“Minedidtoo,man.Fullcircle,huh?”
Ibowmyheadattherevelationaswereturntothetruck.IfeelterribleforallthetimesIteasedhimforbeingcheap.Anapologyisnecessary,thoughnowdoesn’tseemtobeanappropriatetime.
Werepeatthepickupatfivemorelocations.Oneisanothergrocerystore,whiletheotherfourarerandomneighborhoodcheckpoints.Andbythetimeourrouteisover,thetruckisstuffedtocapacitywithdonations.Witheachpickup,Trevor’smoodlightens.Atonepoint,IevencatchhimmouthingthewordstoaBonJoviclassic.It’snotmuch,butI’lltakeit.
Thelaststopistodroptheboxesoffatthefoodbank.EvenIpartakeinthelabor,takingmostlytheboxeswithpastaandotherlightgoods.
Bythetimeit’sallover,TrevorandIareflat-outexhausted.Inthecar,Ifindmyselflazilystudyinghisprofile.Inevernoticedbefore,butthemanhasabeautifulnose.Perfectlystraight.Proportionatetohisface.It’sslightlypointed,almostprettyboy,contradictingtherestofhisgruffexterior
Whenheside-eyesme,Iblink,stoppingmyselffromstaringathim.
“Hottubwhenwegetback?”heasks,movingahandoverhisrightshoulder.Hewincesslightlyashereachesforhisseatbelt.
“Yes.Ineedit.Isyourshoulderokay?”
“Yeah,allgood.Itactsuponceinawhile.Idislocateditinrugby,andagainacoupleofyearsbackduringafirecall.Ithasn’tbeenthesamesince.”Hereachesovertheconsoleandnudgesmyarm.“Hey,thanksforcomingtoday.”
“Thanksforbringingme,evenifIannoyedyou.”
Hepinsmewithasmallsmileaswepulloutoftheparkinglot.“Notatall.Everyonelovesyou.EspeciallyCam,”headds,hisexpressionunreadable.
IsnortatthememoryofCameronflirtingwithmewhenwereconvenedatthefoodbank.Hestrategicallypositionedhimselfnexttomewhileweunloadedtheitems.Andwhilehe’salittletoobro-ishformyliking,theattentionwaskindofnice,especiallyaftermyshitdatingluck.“Youthink?”
“Youmakeeveryonesmile.”
Ibeamlikeachildinatoystore.Ishouldn’tgetsuchasoaringhighfromasimplestatementofaffirmationfromafriend,butIdo.MelandCrystalcomplimentmeontheregular.ButpraisefromnoncomplimentaryTrevorfeelshard-earned,likejunkfoodafterworkingoutversusjunkfoodafterlazingaboutonthecouchallday.
Wedriveacoupleofmilesinsilence.Thesteadysqueakofthewipersnearlysoothesmetosleep.Witheveryswipe,mylidsgrowheavier.Whenmyeyesclosecompletely,hisvoicesnapsmebacktofullconsciousness.“MymomdiedwhenIwasthirteen.Inafire.”
Ipauseforamoment,soastoensureI’veheardhimcorrectly.“What?”
“YoukeepaskingwhyIbecameafirefighter.”
Isitupinmyseat,pinstraight,crackingthewindowforsomemuch-neededfreshair.
HisfaceflickerswithannoyancewhenIopenthewindow,soIsavortheblastofcoldairforabrieffewsecondsbeforeclosingitagain.“Summergoingintoeighthgrade.Mymomwasnappinginsideafteradoubleshift.MybrotherandIwereoutsidewithsomeneighborhoodkids.Awomanwholivedinourbuildingcamerunningout,screamingaboutsmokeinthebuilding.Thefirehadblockedalltheexits.Twofiremenhadtogointhroughthewindowtogether.Shepassedawaylaterthatdayfromthesmokeinhalation.”Histoneisemotionless,buthisfaceispained.
Mygutclenches,unabletoimagine.“I’msosorry,Trevor.”
“It’sfine.Itwasalongtimeago,”hesays,hiseyesontheroad.“LoganandIwenttolivewithmygrandmaafterthat.Theonewhotaughtmehowtobake.”
“Wereyouclosewithyourgrandma?”
“Yeah.Thatwomanwasnobullshit.WealwaysjokethatAngieisherreincarnation,”hesayswithasmallsmile.“Whenshetookusin,shehadtotakeonanotherjobtosupportus.Shewasalwaysworriedabouthowwe’dgetthroughthemonth.Ifeltlikeshitaboutthat.SometimesIwonderifit’sourfaultshekickedthebucketearly,youknow?Likemaybealltheextrastresscausedit.”
“Idoubtit.Andevenifitdid,Icanguaranteeshewouldn’thavehaditanyotherway.”Ipause,turningtowardhim.“Thatmusthavebeenreallyhard.Losingyourmomandyourgrandma.”
“Itwas,”headmits.“Anyway,wasthatpersonalenoughforyou?”
“Idon’twantyoutofeelpressuredtotalkaboutthingslikethat.Especiallyifitupsetsyou,”Itellhim.Iletafewbeatsofsilencegobybeforespeakingagain.“Congratulations,bytheway,onyourpromotion.Scottytoldme.”
“Thankyou.”
“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”
“Justdidn’tthinkitwasthatbigadeal,”hesays.
“Itistome,”Iassurehim.Irestmyheadbackagainsttheseat,cursingmyselffortheshittimingofmyfatigue
“Yougetonemorequestion,andthennomoretalking,okay?”
Thisperksmeupmomentarily.Irackmybrainforajuicyone.“Okay.Ifyoucouldpictureanywomantobreakyournon-relationshipspell,whatwouldshebelike?Hypothetically.”
Hegoesstiffasaboard.“Idunno,Tara.Whatdoyouthinkshe’dbelike?”
MylidscloseasIvisualize.“Hmm…Beautiful.Probablythetypewhowouldwatchsportswithyou.Eataburger.Drinkbeer.Oneofthenot-like-the-other-girls.”
“What’sthat?”
“Exactlyhowitsounds.Thegirlwhodoesn’tcarewhatanyonethinks.Isn’tneedyoranythinglikeastereotypicalgirl.LikeSeth’sgirlfriend,Ingrid.”
Hechuckles.“So…theoppositeofyou.”
“Basically.YouknowhowinHowtoLoseaGuyin10Days,supercoolKateHudsonpretendstobeaclingy,emotional,fern-obsessedgirltomakeMattMcConaugheydumpher?”
Heclearshisthroat.“No,butgoon.”
“Ialwayshatedthatmoviebecausethatgirlwasme.Iwastheannoyingonethatnoguywouldeverwanttodate.Anyway,Ithinkthat’sthekindofgirlyou’dbewith.Thecoolone.”
Hewatchesmeforamoment.“You’retired.Youshouldtakeanap.Saveyourvoicebeforeyoutalkmyearoff,”heinstructs,givingmeanunexpectedyetgentlesqueezeontheforearm.
Icanbarelyevenregisterthedeliciousscorchofhistouch.Hiseyesensnaremineunexpectedly,andforsomereason,Ican’tlookaway.HissmallsmileisthelastthingIseebeforemylidsfluttertoaclose.
???
ALLISEEisbeige.ThefabricoftheinteriorceilingofTrevor’scar.There’sahotsensationpoolinginbetweenmythighs,counteringthecoolnessofthecarwindowsoothingthesideofmyhead.
Myskinisalivewire.Tingly,pulsing,andsensitivetothetiniestgustofair.Softlipsdancepastmychest,makingatraildownthevalleyofmystomach.Ican’tseehisface,butIknowit’sTrevor.Thetiniestscrapeofhisstubblesendsaripplethroughme.I’mcountingmybreaths,becauseifIdon’t,I’llsurelypassout.Andwitheachinhale,hisspicyscentoverpowerseverythingelse.It’sallaroundmeandIwanttobaskinitlikealoadofwarm,freshlydriedlaundry.
Mybreathquickensashislipsmovepastthecurveofmybellybutton,overthegrooveofmyhipbone,anddown.Onehandgentlypalmsmybreastswhilesmoothingovermythigh,partingmylegs.
Somehow,I’malreadyundressedfromthewaistdown,sweaterbuncheduparoundmystomach,andforsomeoddreason,I’mnotsurprisedaboutit.There’spressureinmythighsasroughfingersdigintothesoftnessofmyflesh.
Ianglemyselfupwardtorunmyfingersthroughhishair,pullinginalighttug.HeteasesthepatchofskinabovewhereIdesperatelywanthim.Likethepainintheassheis,hetakeshislipsoffmyskinandmeetsmyeyesinaseductivechallenge.
“Keepgoing,”Iwhisper,archingmybacktopushagainsthiscompliantmouth
Myvisionisablurofstarsasthepressurecrescendoshigherandhigherand—
Click,click.Ding.
Myeyesflyopen.Aharshfloodoffluorescent-yellowlighthitsmestraightintheeyeballs,renderingmenearblind.Thesweet,chemicalaromaofgasolinefloodsmysensesasIforce-blinkmyspottyvisionaway.
Iletoutamuffledcry.Forthebriefestofseconds,IthinkI’vebeenkidnapped—untilItakeinthefinger-drawnlopsidedheartinthefogonthewindshieldIdrewearlierinthefirehouseparkinglot.Pastthewindow,there’sapaintednumber35ontheconcretewallthattellsmeI’mintheapartmentparkinggarage.
Trevorgruntsashehaulshimselfoutofthedriver’sseat.
AbriefglancedownwardtellsmeI’mstillinmyclothestoo,bundledinmycoat.Layeredleggings,woolsocks,andbootslacedtight.
Trevoriscertainlynotinbetweenmylegs.Andhismouthcertainlyisn’tdownthere,despitethewarm,tinglysensationIfeel,asifhereallywere.
Realitysettlesaroundme,likepixelsslowlybutsurelyfillingascreen.
Hello,bleakreality.
Itwasadream.
IshouldbegratefulthatIhaven’tbeentakenbysomepsychowhoplanstoholdmecaptiveasoneofthreewivesinhissecrettorturedungeontobirthanarmyofoffspring,butI’mpissed.Frustrated.Likeakidreachingforadecadentpieceofchocolatecakeonthecounter,onlytohaveitsnatchedawaybyahealth-consciousparentattheverylastsecond.
I’vereceivedmyfairshareoforalsex,butnoonehasmademefeellikethat.LikeheknewexactlywhatIwanted,withoutwords.Sure,itwaseroticanddangerous,buttherewasacomfortthat’sunexplainable.Ididn’taskquestions.Ididn’tfretabouthowIlooked,orsounded,ortasted.Thenagain,itwasn’treallyme
Itwasjustadream,Iremindmyself.Itwasn’treal.Thefeelingwasn’treal.TrevorandIareplatonic.Friendsonly.Wedonotseeeachothernaked(exceptaccidentally).Andwearemostcertainlynottogether,despitehowperfectitfelt.
Iclutchmythroat,practicallychokingmyselfasIcometotermswiththehorror.IhadasexdreamaboutTrevor.AndIlikedit.Reallylikedit.
Thismeansnothing,Itellmyself.Dreamsarenothingbutrandomcompilationsofsubconsciousthoughts,aslogicalMelwouldsay.Don’tputtoomuchstockinit.Whowouldn’thaveanaughtydreamortwoaboutapersonthey’veheardhavingsexthroughverythinwalls?
Animpatienttaponthepassengerwindowsnapsmeoutofmyspiralingthoughts.“Youcoming?”Trevor’sdeepvoiceismuffledfrombehindtheglass.
Nope.Notanymore.Thanksforremindingme.
Ineedanintervention,andfast.?chaptersixteenLIVEWITHTARAROMANCEQUEEN:THEHIGHSCHOOLSWEETHEART
[Taraissurroundedbygreenfoliage.Shelooksatpeacewithnature,despiteapeskybranchthatkeepsgrazingherface.]
EXCERPTFROMTRANSCRIPT
Tara:Hello,romancebooklovers,welcomebacktomychannel.Todayisthemuch-anticipatedHighSchoolSweetheartepisode.I’vegottenatonofmessagesbeggingmetoreachouttomyveryownhighschoolsweetheart,Cody.
Highschoolsweetheartsaremyfavoritebookboyfriends.EversinceIwasinmiddleschool,Idaydreamedaboutmeetingmyfuturehusbandinfrontofmylocker.He’dbethepopular,slightlydumbjockinalettermanjacketwhodiscoversmysecret,nerdycharm
Peoplescoffatmisguidedadolescentlove,butIthinkthere’ssomethingspecialaboutnothavingtonavigatetheminefieldthatisadultdating.First,you’veprobablyknownyourhighschoolsweetheartyourentirelife.You’vewitnessedeachother’sawkwardbracesstage,theacne,andthehackedbangs.Therearenosecrets.Nosurprises.
MypersonalfavoritehighschoolsweetheartofliteratureisPeterKavinskyfromToAlltheBoysI’veLovedBefore.PeterKistheultimate,andyoucan’ttellmeotherwise.He’stheadorablepuppy-facedboynextdoorwho’snicetoeveryone.Yourparents.Yourgrandma.Thelonerkidinschool.He’scute,innocentenough,althoughIdosuspecthemaycrushLaraJean’sheartincollege…
Anyways,backstory.IfellforCodyintenth-gradescienceclasswhenheenthusiasticallyofferedtopartnerwithakidnamedBruce,whonoonewantedtositwithinathree-seatradiusofbecausehehadBO.CodyandIhadnearlyeveryclasstogether,whichgavemeampleopportunitytotalktohim.
ThingsreallyrampedupduringasciencefieldtripinVermont,wherewespenthourswalkingthroughthewoodslearningthedifferencebetweenconiferousanddeciduoustrees.Wesnuckawayintothebushesandsharedourfirstkiss.Askarmawouldhaveit,webothgotpoisonivyrasheslaterthatday.
I’mabouttoseehimforthefirsttimesinceourbreakupbeforecollege.Wishmeluck!
???
I’MSTANDINGINabush,andI’mnotproudofit.
Forthepasthalfhour,MelandIhavebeencreepingacrossthestreetfromanoutrageouslypricedVictorianhouseforsaleintheupscaleneighborhoodofBackBay.ThankstomydailysocialmediastalkofCodyVenner’sRealtorwebsite,Idiscoveredhe’shostinganopenhousetodayforoneofhislistings.
AftermyR-rateddreamaboutTrevor,andaftercomingtothestarkrealizationthatIonlyhavetwoexesleftandthreemoreweeksuntilthegala,Idoubleddownonmysecond-chance-romancequest.AnythingtodistractmyselffromthefactthatmyattractionforTrevormayormaynotbebloomingintoanall-outcrush.
Forthepastweek,we’vebeenvergingondangerousterritory.Oneveningswe’rebothoffwork,wesitsidebysideonthecouch,bingingTVorreading.Eachnight,westayupalittlelater,knowingfullwellthatbreakingsleeppatternsisadeathwishforshiftworkers.Hismerepresencesmoothsallmyswirlingthoughts.Everytimehesmilesorlaughs(or,Godforbid,both),Iloseallcirculationinmylimbs.Witheveryaccidentaltouchorbrushofskinwhenwe’reonthecouchorinourtinykitchen,I’mspellboundtothepointofdoingjustaboutanythingheasksofme.
Twonightsago,Iwasonmytiptoes,tryingtogrababagofchipsfromthetopofthefridge.BeforeIknewit,Trevor’sentirechestwaspressedagainstthewidthofmybackashereachedovermetoassist.WhenIspunaround,startled,oureyessnaggedforafewbeatslongerthannormalbeforehehandedmethechips,rufflingmyhairlikeanannoyingolderbrother—anactthatharshlyremindedmeofournonsexual-roommatestatus.
FindingCody’sopenhouselistingwaslikediscoveringasinglediamondinasteamingpileofhorseshit.IlaunchedoutofbedthismorningandputinsomeseriousworkpaintingmyfaceusingMel’sPinkPeachyGlammakeuptutorial.MelandIevenpreparedanelaboratebackstory—thatshemysteriouslycameintoalargesumofmoneyandisembarkingonanewquesttofliphouseswithherownbarehands.
Isitdesperatetorandomlycrashmyex’sopenhouseafternotspeakingtohimforoveradecade?Onehundredpercent.AmIshamelessenoughtoriskthehumiliationanyway?Beyond.
JustthinkingaboutCodyVennerfeelslikeslippingonafavoritetried-and-truesweater.Amongahundredothersweaters,yougravitatetowardthisoneforeveryoccasion,anticipatingtheblissofthatfuzzy,plushfabricagainstyourskin.Thefreshlylaunderedyetfamiliarscentofhome.Justtherightamountofwearandtearforoptimalcomfortandmovement.
“Hewastheperfectboyfriend,”I’dexplainedtoTrevoronmywayoutthedoortomeetMel.“Hewasambitious,greatwithmyparents,involvedineveryclubandsport.Ididn’tseeitcomingwhenhebrokeupwithmebeforecollege.HewasgoingtoPennState,andIwasstayinghereinBoston.Hedidn’tthinkwecoulddolong-distance—”
Trevorshookhishead.“Nah.Codybrokeupwithyoubecausehewantedthefreedomtofuckothergirls.”
“Youdon’tevenknowCody,”I’dsnapped,offendedonCody’sbehalfwhilesimultaneouslyburdenedbythememoryofcryingformultipledaysstraightinmybedroomafterourbreakup,combingthroughmyboxfullofthreeyears’worthofhandwrittennotesanddrawingshe’dsentmeduringclass.ThereweremomentsIwasconvincedmylungswerecollapsing,thatmychestwascavinginonme.ThatIquiteliterallycouldn’tlivewithouthim.AsidefromSeth,Codywasbyfarmyworstbreakup.
Trevordoubleddown.“Idon’thavetoknowhim.Iknowthewaymenthink.”
WhetherornotCodyintendedtosowhiswildoatsincollegeisneitherherenorthere.Holdingadecade-oldmistakeoverhisheadwouldbeshortsighted,particularlyifourconnectionwasasstrongasIremember.
I’veevenperfectedhowI’lllookwhenwelayeyesoneachother.I’lldomybrows-to-hairlineshockedexpressionandwhimper,“CodyVenner,isthatreallyyou?”inatransatlantic,old-school,black-and-white-movieaccent.
ButnowthatI’mhere,I’mparalyzedwithfear.WhatifCodythinksI’mnutsforshowingup?Whatifhelaughsinmyface?Whatifhefull-outrejectsme,likeallmyotherexes?Orworse,whatifhedoesn’tevenrememberme?
I’llstayinthisbushforever,IthinktomyselfasMeltriestocoaxmeoutwiththepromiseofsnacks.Itsmellsdivineinhere,likeaChristmastreefarm.It’sthickenoughtoshieldmefromtheunforgivingwind.I’mfinallyconvincedtoemergewhenshedanglestheprospectofborrowinghershoeswheneverIwant.
Afterthreesteps,Ithinkbetterofitandscamperbackintothebusheslikeaskittishrodent.“Nope.Can’tdoit.Thiswasabadidea.”
Melyanksonmycoatsleeve.“Look,Ididn’tspendhoursperfectingmysexyprospective-house-flipperlookfornothing.Aslongasyousticktothescript,everythingwillbefine.Remember,you’rejusthereforasecondopiniononmyhouse-flippingbusiness.It’sallbutastrangecoincidencethathejustsohappenstobethesellingagent.”Shechargesacrossthestreetatanalarminglyfastpaceforsomeoneinthree-inchheelbootsthatshedeems“house-flipperchic.”ShedefinitelywatchestoomuchHGTV.
BeforeIeventakeastep,Iclosemyeyesandsuckinadramaticbreath.
Relax.You’vegotthis.Thiscouldbeyoursecond-chanceromance.Theveryoneyou’vebeenwaitingfor.Hecouldbeinthatveryhouseandyou’rewastingprecioustime,younitwit!
Mymentalscoldingworks,becauseIstrutforthlikeMissCongenialitySandraBullockpost-makeover,pre–twistedankle.Hairblowing.Hipssashayingsidetosidetothebeatof“She’saLady.”IfonlyIhadaviatorstowhipoffwithfierceattitude,revealingmysoulfulbrowneyes.IimaginemygazesomehowensnaringCodyfromadistance,weakeninghimtohiskneesuntilhedissolveslikeaniceberginthemiddleoftheSahara.
Afoghornpiercesmyears,rudelyinterruptingmyfantasy.Abright-yellowschoolbuslurchestoastopafewfeetfromme,brakessquealing.Mysadlittlelifeflashesbeforemyeyes.Theelderlybusdrivershakeshishead,fury-motioningformetogetthehelloutofthemiddleofthestreet.
Melpullsmeontothesidewalkandbrushesthenonexistentdirtoffmycoat,asifI’vefallenonthegroundorsomething.“OhmyGod.Youalmostgotcrushed.”
“See?It’sanomen.Asignthatthisisaterribleidea,”Iwhine.
Shetugsmetowardthedecayingporch’speelingnavy-bluestairs.“Comeon.You’refine.”
Theporchstepssagunderourweight.Ourinitialassessmentwascorrect.Thisplaceisaseriousproject,butitsoriginalVictoriancharmisstillevident.Thewoodbeamsaroundthepostsarecarvedintointricatecurvesandlittleswirls.Thesameswirlsareembeddedintothewoodaroundthedoorsandwindows,allofwhichlookoriginal.
WhenMelopensthewoodendoubledoors,astrongwaftofeucalyptusinstantlyclearsmystuffednose.Thefoyerisnarrow,withanelaboratewoodenstaircasejuttingfromthemiddle,flankedbyawintergarland.AheavilyaccentedBostonianvoiceboomsfromthebackofthehouse.
Andthat’swhenIhearit.“…thepreviousownersknockeddownthewalltocreateanopenlivingarea…”It’sCody.I’msureofit.Ihaven’theardhisvoiceinyears,butthere’safamiliarcadenceandrhythmtoitthatalwaysremindedmeofaTVnewsanchor.
Behindthestaircaseisanentrancewaytotheoutdatedkitchen.AsMelstepsforward,ayoungcoupleandamaninacrispgraysuitpassthedoorway.Iinstantlyrecognizethepronouncedslopeofhislinebackershoulders.
Melpointsmetothekitchentojointhetour,butIhightailusupstairstodelaymyfate.
Forsuchalargehouse,thebedroomsareminuscule.Bothbathroomsareseverelyoutdated.I’mramblingaboutallthethingsI’dchangeaboutthehouse,momentarilyunderthegranddelusionthatI’mactuallybuyingitmyself,whenMelshushesme.“Ithinkthey’releaving.”
“Thankyoufortheshowing.We’llbeintouch,”adeepvoicesoundsfromdownstairs.
Thedoorcloses.Footstepsascendthestairs.Panicensues,andMeltriestokeepmeinplace,herhandovermymouthlikeakidnapper.I’mlikeamousecaughtinatrap,justwaitingtobediscovered.Ittakesasolidmoment,butImanagetowrenchmyselffromhergrip,readytomakeabreakforit.AndIdojustthat.Heartpounding,ImakeitallofonestepbeforeslammingintoCody’schest.
“Whoa.Whereareyougoing?”Heplaceshislargehandsovermyshoulders,stabilizingmeasheleansback,hiseyeswideninginrecognition.“Tara?”
“Hi,”IsqueaklikeI’veinhaledhelium.It’safarcryfrommyrehearsedfacialexpressionandscript,butatthispoint,I’mjustthankfulherecognizesme.
Awidesmilespreadsacrosshisface.“Nofreakin’way!”hesaysjovially,goinginforafull-bodyhug.HeusedtosmelllikeDovesoapandthelaundrydetergenthismomused.Butnowhe’swearingastrong,mustycologneIdon’thate.
FromhisRealtorphotos,Iknewhe’dgrownintohisteeth.Iknewhenowboastedawide,angularjawlinethatshouldprobablybeconsideredacrime.Iknewhispreviouslylong,skater-boyblondhairwasnowcoiffedtoperfection.
Butwhatwasn’tevidentfromhisprofessionalheadshotswashisheight.I’dforgottenhowtallhewas,nearlysixfeet,thoughnotquiteTrevor’sheight.IknowthisbecauseTrevorhuggedmeexactlyonce,whenIsurprisedhimbycleaningtheentireapartmentafewdaysago.Whenhepulledmeintohishardchest,mycheekmoldedperfectlyinbetweenhispecs,thetopofmyheadjustskimminghisneck.Andyes,Iwasontheprecipiceofkeelingoverrightthenandthere.
“Ican’tbelieveit’syou,”Imanage,half-strangledinCody’sembrace.
Hereleasesme,hiseyesflickeringovermychest.ThankGodIworemypush-upbratoday.“Whatareyoudoinghere?Inthemarketforahouse?”
Juststalkingyoualittle.Hopeyoudon’tmind.“Oh,no.Imean,yes.Kindof.MyfriendMelanieandIarejustcheckingout—”
“I’mlookingforaninvestmentpropertytoflip,”Melcutsinwithsharpconfidence,savingmefrommyself.“I’vecomeintoalargesumofmoneyfrommylategreat-aunt.”
Codybuysherstory.“Nicetomeetyou,Melanie.TaraandIactuallywenttohighschooltogether.Datedfor,what?Twoyears?”Heflashesmeanenchanting,confidentsmilethatremindsmeofwhyIwassoobsessedwithhim.
I’mabouttopointoutthatwedatedforexactlythreeyearsandfivemonths,butMelmakesatheatricalshowofsurprise.“Noway!Youdated?Whatasmallworld.”
Codyturnstome.“StillinBoston,huh?”
“Yup.Stuckaround.I’manurseatthechildren’shospital.”
“Andyou’restillanavidreader,Isee?”Heeyesthebookjammedintomypurse.
“Yup.Thathasn’tchanged,”Icrownervously.“I,uh,didn’tknowyougotintorealestate.”Lies.
“Actually,you’retheonewhogavemetheideatodorealestate.”
“Really?”
“Yousaidyoucouldseemesellinganything.ThatI’dmakeagoodsalesman.”
Imatchhiswidesmile.“Itcertainlylookslikeit.”Myheartleaps.I’mthereasonCodyfoundhisdreamcareer?
CodyrefocusesonMel.“Yousaidyou’relookingforapropertytoflip?You’reintherightplace.Thispropertyisreallyspecial.Somuchhistory.TheoriginalownerwasactuallythegranddaughterofoneofthefirstPuritanswhofoundedthecity.”
Melpretendstorubherchinpensively,studyingtheornatewroughtironlightfixturehangingoverthestairs.“I’mnotsurethisistherightone.Idon’tlovehistory,andit’salittlegrandforwhatIneed.Ithinkmypetgerbilswouldgetlost.”Shehastakenthisrole-playingalittletooseriously.
Codyisn’tsurewhattosaytothat.Butluckyforhim,anelderlygentlemanandawomanwholookstobeinherthirtiesinhead-to-toeChanelenterthefoyerbelow.They’realreadyexaminingtheoriginalcrownmolding,andtheyhaven’tevenremovedtheirshoes.Iassumethey’refatheranddaughter,untilthemangivesheraplayfulsmackontheass.Codyglancesdownatthembrieflywithknowingrecognition.“Oh,thoseareagencyclients.I’mscheduledtogivethematourrightnow,butlet’scatchup,Tara,”hesuggests.
“I’dlovethat.Areyoufreethisweek?”Iblurt,unabletokeepmycool.
Hetiltshisheadhesitantly.“It’sabusyweekforme,butgivemeyournumberandwecanfigureoutatimetograbadrink.”
“Great,”Ichirp,barelyabletostopmyselffromjumpingupanddownlikeafool.Myinsidesexplodewithmulticolorconfetti.
HehandsmehisphoneandflashesacharmingsmileatMel.“Ifyouchangeyourmindaboutthehouse,givemeacall.”Hesmoothlyslipsherhiscardinbetweentwoextendedfingers.
I’mstillholdingCody’sphone,blankingonmyownnumber.Whenheanxiouslypeeksdownstairs,Ipanic,typingitatwarpspeed,addingalittlepinkheartnexttomyname.ThemomentItypetheheart,Iregretitandgotodeleteit.ButbeforeIcan,Codysnapshisphonebackandshovesitintothedepthsofhispocket,clearlyitchingtogetto?chapterseventeen
THETHINGABOUTbeinganavidromancereaderiseveryoneassumesyou’reeitherareclusewithelevencats,tryingtoescapeyourlonely,patheticlife,orasex-crazedfiend.Noinbetween.
AfterfourdaysoftextingbackandforthwithCodyVenner,he’sassumedI’mthelatter.Caseinpoint:
CODY:Whatareyouwearingrightnow?
TARA:Myhospitalscrubs!Justgotoffwork
CODY:Icanworkwiththat.Easytotakeoff.
CODY:I’mjustabouttohopintheshower.Wishyouwerehere.
I’mnotentirelysurehowweseguedfromaG-ratedconversationaboutouroldteacherstoNSFWsexting.Thisisunchartedterritory.SweetteenageCodycertainlyneversenttextsofthisnatureinhighschool.Thisistheguywhotimidlyapologizedoverandoverlikeabrokenrecordduringourfirsttime.Asaself-declaredborn-againvirgin,IcansaythatsextingwithCody(howeverhorribly)isthemostactionI’vehadinoverayear.
Withoutnotice,Trevorappearsovermyshoulder.
Igasp,red-faced,fumblingtolockmyphonescreen.
“Youallright?”Trevoreyesmecautiously,peekingintomybasket.He’sjoinedmeforathriftshopvisittosearchforarainbowleopard-printunitardIspottedheretheotherday.Itstackinesshadmadesuchanimpactonme,I’ddescribedittoTrevoringreatdetailandheconcludeditwasperfectforScott’sbachelorpartyintwoweekends.
WhileCrystalhasatranquilspaday,Trevorandafewbuddiesplantosneakintotheirapartmentattheasscrackofdawntopretend-kidnapScott(withblindfoldandrope).They’regoingtotosshiminthetrunkofTrevor’scarandtreathimtoanartery-cloggingbreakfast,followedbyanafternoonattheNinjaWarriorgym.Ihavenoideawheretheunitardfitsintotheequation,anditdoesn’tmatter,becauseanemployeesadlyinformedusthatsomeonehadthegumptiontopurchaseit.
Inordertoshakeoffhisdisappointment,IchallengedhimtoafriendlycompetitionofFindtheweirdestshitandhe’sacceptedthetask.Sofar,I’vecollectedahand-paintedbustofE.T.(yes,thealienfromthefilm),aswellasamint-conditionceramicpiggybankoftworabbitsgoingatitwithallthey’vegot(becauseitremindsmeofTrevor).
WhenIspinaround,heturnsaway,shieldingthediscolored,half-disintegratedboxunderhisarm.
“Showme,”Isay,poppingontomytiptoes.
“Youritemsaren’tevenclosetobeatingthisfind,”hegoads,loweringthebox.ItlookslikeaboxofChristmasornaments,onlyinsteadofbeautifulglassbulbs,petrifyingdecapitateddollheadssitsnugintheholes.Ienvisionthemsidebyside,arrangedinvariousstraightlines,formingapentagramaspartofanelaboratesatanicritual.
Iyelpandlookaway.“Thosedementedlittlefacesaregonnahauntmydreamstonight.”
Hedanglesaparticularlydistressedheadbyitspatchytrollhair.“Thisonebearsastrikingresemblancetoyou,don’tyouthink?MaybeIcanhaggleagooddealforyou.”
Iwhackhiminthechest.“Youaresomeantome.WhenIdie,you’llregretit.”
Heshovestheboxofdollheadsontoasparseshelfnexttothenonfictionbooks.“Why?Willyoucomebackandhauntme?”
“Yup.MyCrazyEx-Girlfriendfacewillbethefirstthingyouseewhenyouwakeupinthemorning.”Iblesshimwithashort-livedpreviewofmywide-eyedJokersmile.
Thelightfromthewindowcastsanorangeglowoffhisamusedface.“Thatwouldn’tbesobad.”
Itwouldn’t?Heletsthatstatementlingerforafractiontoolongbeforemymindshort-circuitsandI’mcompelledtofillthesilence.“I’dalsoturnyourpillowstagsup,rearrangeyourspicerack,putthetoiletpaperrollupsidedown,andmoveyourkeysaround.MaybeI’devenplayShaniaontheradiowheneveryou’reinthecar.”
“I’mflatteredyou’dspendyourafterlifetauntingme.”
WouldIreallywastemyghostlypowersonTrevor?Cometothinkofit,theabilitytopeeponhimwhilehe’sintheshowerwouldn’tbetooshabby—Ohdear.I’mofficiallyahumungoperv.
Ibanishthesexualshowerthoughtsaway,mentallysecuringthemwithacouplelayersofducttape,justtobesafe.
MyphonevibrateswithanewtextfromCody.
CODY:Youshouldsendmeaphoto.
“WhatareyouandCodytextingabout?”Trevorasks,pullingarandombookoncupcakedecoratingofftheshelf.Heflipsthroughwithpretendinterest.
“Well…”Iturnmyscreen,revealinghistexts.
Hiseyesflareashereads.“Wow.He’sreallygoingforit,huh?Imean,Iguesshe’salreadyseen”—hewavesalazyhanddownward,towardmylowerhalf—“itallbefore?Right?”
“Hehas.Buthewasneverblatantlysexuallikethis.Idon’tknowwhattosayback.Idon’tdonudes.”
Trevorcontinuesdowntheaisleinfrontofme,scrutinizingtheirbook-filingsystem.Thelackofalphabeticalorderinthisthriftshopistroublinghim.“Sorry,Chen.Igotnothing.”
“Really?I’mshockedyoudon’thaveastockpileofnudes.”
“I’llhaveyouknowI’veneveraskedawomanforanudeinmylife.Anddirtytextsaren’tmystyle.”Heturnstofacemeagain,hiseyessmoldering.
“Hm.Ithoughtyou’dbethetypewho’sintosextinganddirtytalkandallthat.”Myneckeruptswithpricklesatthememoryofmyillicitcardream.
Heavertshisstareentirely,deflecting.Yup.He’stotallyadirtytalker.“You’retheonewhoreadshundredsofsexbooksayear.Whydon’tyoupullalinefromoneofthose?”Hegesturestothetwowornbodicerippersinmybasket.
“Dirtytalkinromancenovelsdoesn’ttranslatetoreallife.Ican’ttellhimIwanttoridehisthrobbingmemberwithastraightface,”Ipointout.
Anelderlywomanpushingafullcartnearusclutchesherbosomandspeedsoffintheoppositedirection.
IwaitforTrevortochidemeforutteringthetermthrobbingmemberinapublicplace,buthedoesn’t.Instead,heletsoutadistressedgroan,hiseyesclosed.“ThatwasamentalimageIdidn’tneed.Thisissoweird.”
Somethinginsideofmediesalittleashechargesaheadofme.Splendid.Irepulsehim.
IspendsometimeregroupingbeforeIfollowhimintothemystery/thrillersection.“Sorryfordisturbingyou.ButIhaveonelastquestion.Isitappropriatetosuggestanalternativelocation?Idon’twanttohavevirtualshowersex.”
Inearlysmashintohischestwhenheturnsaround.“Istilldon’tunderstandyourgrudgeagainsttheshower.”
“Itoldyou,Idon’tdowatersex.Talktomeaboutsexbetweenthestacksinalibrary.Oranywherewithbooks.”Themomentthewordscomeoutofmymouth,Iregretthem.
Herecognizesmyslipup,becauseheclearshisthroatawkwardlyandleansbackagainstabookdisplay,topplingmultiplebooksontotheirsides.“Books,huh?”Heclumsilyrightsthebooks,notbotheringtoalphabetizethem.
I’mverymuchawareofhowsmalltheseaislesare.Thebooksareclosinginonme,pagesthreateningtoswallowmewhole.Trevor’ssizzlingstaremanagestopenetrate.I’mparanoidhecanreadmymind,whichisaflurryofblatantlysexualthoughts.I’mcontemplatingpeelingoffmypinkcable-knitforsomeairwhenCodytextsagain.
CODY:Boo,don’tforgettopickupthekidsatmymom’stodayonyourwayhome
IrereadthetextatleastthreetimesbeforeIshowittoTrevor,whostaresatit,confused.“WhothehellisBoo?Ishetryingtorole-playwithmeorsomething?”
Heopensandcloseshismouth,pressinghislipstogether,likehe’sunsurewhethertoofferhisopinion.“I…haveafeelingthattextwasn’tmeantforyou.”
Anothertextcomesin.
CODY:Woops.Meanttosendthattosomeoneelse.
TARA:Who?Yourwife?
Littledotsappearinstantly,andthendisappear.Proverbialcrickets.
Daniel(childhoodlove)
Tommy(ninth-gradeboyfriend)
Jacques(StudentSenateboy)
Cody(highschoolsweetheart)
Jeff(froshweekfling)
Zion(campusbookstorecutie)
Brandon(worldtraveler—theonethatgotaway)
Linus(Brandonrebound)
Mark(bookclubintellectual)
Seth(ex-fiancé)
???
“DON’TBEATYOURSELFupoverhim,Tara.He’sadog.”Trevor’sfaceispartiallyobstructedbythebillowofsteam.
AfterIstruckCody’snameoffthelist,leavingmewithonlyDanielasmylasthopetwoweeksbeforethegala,Trevorurgedmetorelaxinthehottubbeforemakinganyrashdecisions,likecallingCody’swifetotellhimherhusbandisacheater.
Unwindingfromlifestressinthehottubhasbecomesomewhatofaritual.I’vecometolookforwardtothesemoments.I’mnotsurewhetherit’sthefreshairorthelackofdistraction(asidefromthetimesGeraldjoinsus),butTrevortendstoopenupmorethanusualuphere.
Afewdaysago,heconfidedinmeaboutanotherroughdayatwork.Heandthecrewwerethefirstonthesceneofafatalcaraccidentthatleftthedrivermarredbeyondrecognition.Brutalashisdescriptionwas,it’snicetohavesomeonetotalktoabouteventheworstaspectsofthejob,likeblood,gore,andbodilyfluids.Asfirstrespondersandmedicalprofessionals,we’renotsupposedtotalkinsuchdetail.Itmakespeoplesquirm,understandablyso.ButasI’vecometolearn,speakingthewordsoutloudreleasesthemfrommyhead.Talkingaboutitistherapeuticinaway,especiallywithsomeonewhounderstands.
TheonlydownertoTrevor’sandmyhottubhangoutsisthattheydolittletostopmyillicitdreams.I’vehadatleasttwomoresincethecardream.Andsomehow,they’vegottensteamier.Oneeveninvolvedthehottubitself,whichisprovingtobemoreawkwardthanI’danticipateditwouldbe.
Isinkintothewarmwateruntilthebubbleshitmychin.“Hispoorwifeandkids.Codywasn’tthecheatingtypeinhighschool.Hewasdedicatedtome,basicallyahumangoldenretriever.He’schangedsomuch…Thenagain,Iguessthat’smenforyou.”
Trevorpokesmyshinunderthewaterwithhistoe.“Don’tlumpallofusinwithhim.Noteveryguyisacheater.”
“Enoughofyouare.Andthenuswomenarecalledcrazyforbeingparanoidaboutit.Sethwaslikethat,”Inotebitterly.“HeandIngridwerefriendswhileheandIweretogether,actually.Theywerealwaystextinginthoselastthreemonths.WhenI’dlookattheirconversations,theywereovertlyflirty.WhenIcalledhimout,heactedlikeavictim,likeIwassomemonsterfornottrustinghim.Andthentheyweredatingrightafterwebrokeup.Thisiswhymendeserveless,”Igrumble,glaringintothenight.
“Thinkofitthisway:youdodgedyetanotherbullet,”Trevorconcludes.“Andnowyoudon’thavetoworryaboutsexting.”
“True.ButIwon’tlie,itwaskindofexciting.”Ibitemylip,shiftingawayfromtheblastofthejet,whichisn’thelpingtheperma-tensionbetweenmylegs.“Don’tlaughatme,okay?ButIhaven’thadsexinoverayear.”AndI’mhavingveryinconvenientsexdreamsaboutyou.
Heclearshisthroat,restinghiselbowsbackontheedgeofthetub.“Really?Anentireyear?”
“Yup.Actually,morelikeayearandahalf.SethandIweren’thavingsexregularlyinthelastfewmonths.”
Hewincesinsympathy.“That’srough.”
“We’dbeentogetherforthreeyears,”Isaydefensively.“Attheone-yearmark,thingstendtojustgodownhill.”
“Howso?”heaskscuriously.
Iswallow,alltooawareI’mdiscussingmypitifulsexlifewithmyroommate,ofallpeople.“Well,actuallythat’snotaccurate.Itwasneverallthatamazingtobeginwith.Hejustlikedtodiverightinthere.Nowarm-up.NeverreallycaredtoaskwhatIliked.”
Heslapshishandoverthesurfaceofthewater,disturbinghispileofbubbles.“That’sfucked-up.Makingsureyouweresatisfiedshouldhavebeenhisnumberonepriority.”
“IguessIcan’treallyblamehim,”Isay,shiftinginmyseat.“Hewasabusyguy,beingadoctorandall.”IwithholdthefactthatSethalsohadafierygrudgeagainstsextoysforsomereason,becausethepoorbuggerthoughtIwassupposedtogetoffonhisskillsetalone(lol).
Hegivesmeahorrifiedlook.“Um,no.Beingbusyisn’tanexcusetobeselfishinbed.”
Itossmypalmtothesky,growingincreasinglyfrustrated.Notoverthisconversation,necessarily,butoverthestarkrealityofwhatIputupwith.WhatIthoughtwasnormal.“Idon’tknow,Trevor.MaybeIjustwasn’tgreatinbed.Maybehejustwantedtogetitoverwith.”
Trevor’sjawticsashestaresmoodilyintothemiddledistanceinthespacebehindmyshoulder.“Isincerelydoubtthat,Tara.”Thatstatementrollsoffhistonguewithsomuchease,adulltensionthrumsbetweenmythighs.
Ishiftinmyseat,remindingmyselfhe’sjustbeingnice.Asusual.“Eitherway,mypointstillstands.Afterawhile,passionfades.”
Heshakeshisheadinhaughtydisagreement.“No.Nope.Justbecauseyou’reinalong-termrelationshipdoesn’tmeanyoustophavingsex.”
“Itabsolutelydoes.Askanystable,long-termcouple.Lackofregularsexispracticallyariteofpassage.”
“Wow.You’remakinglong-termrelationshipssoundsoappealing,”hequips.“Signmeup.”
“Thecuddlingmakesthelackofsexworthit,”Iassurehim.“Wouldn’tyourathercuddlewith…say…Kylathanbangsomerandom?”
Hiseyeswidenatthementionofhisflightattendantex-girlfriend.AfterkeepingtabsonherInstagramonTrevor’sbehalf,whichisfullofallherextensivetravels,Idiscoveredshe’sreturningtoBostoninafewdays.IbroughtthistohisattentionandspentthebetterpartoflastnightconvincinghimtoDMher.Finally,hecavedandtypedHi.Luckyforhim,Iwastheretopeer-reviewhistextstoensurehedidn’tusetoomanyperiodssoastocomeacrosstooharsh.
Theyagreedtomeetupfordrinkswhenshecomesbacktothecitynextweek.It’shardtotellwhetherhe’sexcitedaboutitornot.
“It’snotasbadasyou’remakingitseem,”Icontinuewhilehedistractshimselfwithbubbles.“It’skindoflike…IfyoueatPop-Tartsforbreakfasteverydayforyears.YoustilllikePop-Tarts.You’restillattractedtoPop-Tarts.Butyoudon’tfeelthiscarnalurgetodevourthemeveryday.”
Hesmirks.“ThisiswhyIswitchitup.Smoothies,cereal,omelets.Maybeyoushouldtryitsometime.Breakoutofyourcomfortzone.”
I’mabouttoscrunchmynoseatthethoughtofastranger’snakedbodyovermine,butIstopmyself.MaybeTrevorhasapoint.Whythehellshouldn’tIswitchthingsup?MaybeameaninglesshookupwithatotalstrangerisjustwhatIneedtodistractmefrommylackofsuccesswithmyexesandthisridiculouscrushonTrevor.
Crystalusedtoswearbycasualsex,claimingTinderhookupsweretherapeutic.Ineverbelievedher,butmaybeI’vebeenoverlystubborn.BasedonthesoundsI’veheardcomingfromTrevor’sroom,perhapsit’shightimeIfindoutwhatI’mmissing.
“Youknowwhat?I’mgonnadoit,”Isay,abruptlylaunchingfromthewater.
Trevorblinks.“What?HavetoasttomorrowinsteadofaPop-Tart?”
“No.I’mgonnahaveaone-nightstand!”?chaptereighteen
TREVORBALKSATthemeresuggestion,hislaughechoingintothecoldnightairinaplumeofvapor.“Iwasjustkiddingaboutthebreakfastmetaphor.”
“No.Youmakeagoodpoint.”Iretrievemytowelwiththerenewedenergyofabadbitchonamission.“Idon’tswitchitupenough.I’veneverhadaone-nightstandbefore.I’venevereventouchedthepenisofadudewhosemiddlenameIdon’tknow.ButIhearit’sliberating.”
Hefollowsmeoutofthehottub.“Itis…Butyoudon’tlikenewthings.Yousaidyourselfyouhatetheideaofcasualsex.”
“Imean,I’veneveractuallytriedit.HowcanIproclaimtodislikesomethingI’venevertried?”
“Butwhataboutyourexes?YoustillhaveDaniel.Whatifhe’stheOne?”
“Danielisalong-termplay.I’mstilltryingtofindawaytotrackhimdown,”Isaywithadismissiveeyeroll.Asofyet,Danielisentirelyunsearchableonline(notevenadeceasedgrandparent’sobituarytobefound).I’veactuallycontemplateddrainingmymeagersavingstohireaprivateinvestigator.“Ineedsomethingmoreimmediate.”
“Iguess—”
“We’regoingontheprowltonight.You’remywingman.”Thebadass,empoweringbeginningof“WAP”playsinmymindasItossmytowelovermyshoulderslikeacape.
Hegroans,shiveringashepatshimselfdrywithhisowntowel.“Asingoingout?Whydon’tyoujustuseahookupapplikeanormalhuman?”
“Because.Itrieditanditwasn’tforme.”
“DoIevengetasayinthis?”Trevorasks.
“No,”IcallovermyshoulderasIheadinside.“Butit’llbeworthyourwhile.I’lldoallthecleaningforthenexttwoweeks.”
“I’veheardthatbefore,”hegroans.
Turnsout,plottingyourwardrobeandmakeupchoicesistentimesharderwhenyouplantoendthenightgettinghotandheavywithastrangerinsteadofapintofBen&Jerry’s.Thehalfhourspentintheshowercarefullyshavingandexfoliatingbetterbeworthit.
BythetimeIfinallyemergefrommyroom,club-ready,TrevorisstilllyingonthecouchwhereIlefthim,hiseyesclosedlikehe’sdreadingimpendingdoombutiswillingtogivein.Atthecreakofthefloorundermyfootsteps,hecracksalid.
Mouthagape,hegivesmeajudgyonce-over,takinginmytrustylittleblackdress—theonlycollege-eradressthatstilllooksremotelyflattering.It’sshort,manyfingersabovetheknees,withadaringlylowscoopbackthatpreventsmefromwearingarealbra.Hiseyeslingerovermybarelegs,towhichIgenerouslyappliedavanillashimmercream
“Youlook…uh,nice,”hesays,histoneobligatoryashefightstosummonthewords,likesomeonecomplimentingtheirgranny’snewlivingroomlamp.Thisonlyservestounderscoretheimportanceofthismission:tostophavingerrantsexualthoughtsaboutTrevor.And,ofcourse,sexualliberationandallthatjazz.
“Thanks,”Isaydryly,chuckingmyduffelbagontothefloor.Igetonhandsandkneestosearchthebowelsofthefrontclosetformyblackheels.Ofcoursethey’rehidingintheverybottom.
“What’swiththeduffelbag?”
Istand,trustyheelsinhand.“It’sanovernightbag.Broughtsomemakeupandachangeofclothes.”
“Whywouldyoubringachangeofclothestotheclub?”
“Justincase.Whatifmyhookupwantstohangouttomorrow?”
Herunsbothhandsdownhisstubbleinexasperation.“Tara,thisisabadidea.Youdonot,underanycircumstances,hangoutthenextday.Thatdefeatstheentirepurposeofaone-nightstand.”
Iscrunchmyfaceinsilentprotest.
“Areyousureyouwanttodothis?”
“Yes.Completelysure,”IsaywithmoreconvictionthanIactuallyhave.
“Thenputtheovernightbagaway.”
???
THEZOOCLUBreeksofeaudeteenageboyafterahardgymclassundertheswelteringsun.Theburningsmellofthefogmachinecertainlydoesn’thelp.Ihaven’tbeenheresincecollege,butI’mwellacquaintedwiththeglitteryblackrubberdancefloor,havingonceface-plantedwhiletryingimpressadudewearingabeaniewithadancemoveIsawinamusicvideo.
Tonight,thefloorisbarelyvisiblewiththeseaofpeoplebumpingandgrindingtothebeatofanelectronicJustinBieberremix.Everysquareinchofthisclubispackedwithdesperadoessearchingforsomeonetokeepthemwarmonthisfrigidwinternight.AsIwatchfromthesidelines,IcometothestartlingrealizationthatIamadesperado.
Forme,dancingwithstrangersforfreedrinksincollegewaseasy.I’dmakecasualsmalltalkaboutthemostrandomoftopicsbeforeslinkingawaytomycircleofgirlfriends,longbeforetheguyaskedtotakemehome.Butsearchingforapotentialmantosleepwithisawholedifferentballgame.Theloomingrealityofswappingbodilyfluidswithasweatyrandowithshiftyeyesandabadhaircutfillsmygutwithimpendingdoom.
I’minundatedwithflashbackstomiddleschoolhealthclasswarningsofpossibledeathviasexuallytransmittedinfections.Evenmygagreflexistriggered,althoughitmaybethescentofhundredsofpatrons’bodyodorscombined.It’shardtosayatthispoint.
ParanoiaofSTIsaside,Ineedthis.Mybodyneedsthis.
IclaspthethinyetsoftfabricofTrevor’splainwhiteteeasheleadsmethroughthecrowdlikehe’smybodyguardandI’macelebrityVIP.ThoughI’mcertainlynottheoneturningheads.
Womenandmenalikeareeyeinghimupanddownlikehe’sasnack.No—afullsix-coursemeal.Theappetizer,soup,maincourse,dessert,cheese,andcoffee.Andtheywouldberight.Trevorisobjectivelyflawless.Thebest-lookingmaninthisclub,andtheassholeisn’teventrying.Hedidn’tevenstylehishairafterhisshower,andyetit’simpeccable.
Despitehisthirstyonlookers,heremainscoolasacucumberasIbuyourdrinks(beerforhim,vodkacranforme).Themomentweshiftintoanopenspaceadjacenttothebar,awomaninatightpython-printdressmakeshermove,introducingherselflikeaconfidentqueenbee.Trevordoesn’tseemtomindtheattention,soIshovedownmyjealousyandgivethemsomespace,inchingforwardtoeyeupthedancefloorforpotentialmates.
It’schallengingtoaccuratelyassessthepossibilitiesunderseizure-inducingstrobelights.JustwhenIspotacuteguyinaballcapbobbinghisheadontheperimeterofthedancefloor,Trevorpullsmebackbytheelbow,shufflingmeintoadarkenedcorner.
Ifrown.“Where’dyourfriendgo?”
“Areyousureyou’llbeabletohandleit?”heasksoverthemusic.Idon’tknowifhe’signoringmyquestionorifhesimplydidn’thearme.
Ilevelhimwithastubbornstare.“Metcalfe,stoptreatingmelikesomedelicateflower.I’manindependent,progressive,sexuallyliberatedbeinglivingmytruth.Andifwejustsohappentoconnectonadeeplevel—”
“See,that’syourproblem.Youcan’texpecttoconnectonanylevelwithaone-nightstand.That’stheentirepoint.Nocuddling.Noemotionalattachment.”
“Iwon’tgetattached.Relax.”
He’sgearinguptoarguewithmewhenaheavilytattooedwomanwholookslikeKatVonDrocksupnexttohimandshootshershot.Sidebyside,theyjustlookliketheybelong.Ipicturethemrippingaroundontheirrespectivemotorcycles.They’dspendtheirdaysdoinghard-corethingsliketattooingeachother’sbodiesorrockingouttoKurtCobain.ThemomentIcatchhimstaringatthethornyrosetattooonheramplecleavage,Ican’tbebothered.
Takingitasmycuetoleave,IpirouetteontotheedgeofthedancefloorwhenanArianaGrandejamcomeson.Eyesclosed,armsintheair,Isolodance,feelingthebeat.SurelyIlooksexyandcarefree,maybealittlemysterious.Justthetypeofchillwomanalltheguyswant.Theidealtype:withzeroemotionsandmostdefinitelyzerobasicneeds.Comeatme,eligiblebachelors.
BythetimeArianaGrandeabruptlytransitionstoaDrakesongthatdoesn’tinspireme,notasoulinthecrowdhasaskedmetodance.
Trevor’swarmhoneyeyesbrieflymeetminefromthesideofthedancefloor.He’sstillincasualconversationwithKatVonD,buthe’snowwearinghiscrooked,irresistiblysexysmile.Theonehewearswhenhe’stryingnottolaughinmyface.
Hisamusementatmyexpensesparksaflameinsideme.Ipromptlymotortotheothersideofthebar.HalfasonggoesbybeforeTrevorfindsme.Hisnewfriendhasn’tfollowedhim.
“Whyareyoulookingatmelikethat?”Idemand,myhandonmyhip.
“Youweredancinglikeaninjureddaddylonglegs.Whydidyoutakeoffonme?”hedemands.
“Youwerelaughingatme.Andyouweretoodistractedtobeofanyvalueasawingman,soI’mgoingsolo.”
HeleansinclosetomyearwhenthebeatdropsonanotherEDMhit.“I’msorry.Really.Ididn’tmeantohurtyourfeelings.I’mreadytowingmanforyounow.”Hecastshishawkeyesaroundtheclub,surveying.
“Whataboutthatguy?”Ipointtoapleasant-lookingdudestandingnearthebar,timidlywaitinghisturntoorderassomedrunkoafpushesinfrontofhim.“Helookslikehehasakindheart.”
Trevorshakeshisheadwithfartoomuchauthority.“No.Helookslikeayouthpastor.”
“What’swrongwithayouthpastor?Idon’twanttohookupwithanasshole.”
Hiseyescuttome.“You’relookingforagoodfuck,Tara.Notanangel.Andletmetellyou,thatguyisn’tgoingtosatisfyyou.”Hisvoicevibratesagainstmyskin,sendinganelectricthrillripplingdownmyspine.
Beforethebuzzbranchestootherplaces,Ishakeitoff.“Satisfyme?Howwouldyouknowwhatwouldsatisfyme?”
Hesighstowardtheceiling,asifI’veaskedhimatrickquestion.“Ihavealotofexperience.”
Igouponmytiptoes,brutallyfailingtomatchhisheight.“Notwithme.”I’mnotentirelysurewhatI’mtryingtoaccomplishwiththatstatement,buthiseyesblazeforthebriefestofmoments.
“Obviously.Butthatguyiswrongforyou.Trysomeoneelse.”
Iassessahard-coreduonearthebar.Onewearsaleatherjacketwhiletheotherisinaliteraldenimvest,whichaccentuateshistattoos.Neitherofthemisremotelymytype.Butmaybethat’sthepointoftonight.MaybeIneedtoventureoutsidemycomfortzone.“Whataboutthem?”
HisexpressionscreamsHaveyoulostyourmarbles?“Theylooklikehitmen.”
Thisisthestatusquoforthenexttwentyminutes.Trevorisabottomlesspitofcontradictorycritique.
Helookslikeadouchebag.
He’swearingavelourtracksuit.Next.
Lookathisshirt.Doyouwanttosleepwithamanwhopopshiscollar?
Hisheadisweirdlyshaped.
Waytooshort,evenforyou.
Definitelyamurderer.
Igroanwhenherejectsthelasthalf-decent-lookingguyinthisjoint.Atthisrate,findingasuitablehookupisaboutaslikelyasSethsuddenlyturningintoagoodperson.Ormegivinguppotatochips.“Look,Iappreciateyourhelp,butIthinkIshouldcarryonalone.You’rekillingmyvibehere.Besides,let’sbereal.I’madowdy,flat-chestednerdwhostillgetscardedattheliquorstore.Notsomesupermodel.Timeisticking.Ican’taffordtobepicky.”
Heblinks,aggrieved.“Ithoughtyousaidyouweregoingtobepickybecauseyouhavestandards.”
“Yes,butyourstandardsareimpossibletomeet.”
Hetosseshishandsintheair.“I’mnotjustgonnaleaveyouhere.”
“Yes,youare.Thisisn’taDatelineepisode.You’retreatingmelikeachild.Idon’tneedyourhelp.Gobacktothatwomanwiththetattoos.Orbetteryet,giveKylaacall.”Truthfully,thepinpricklesreturnatthethoughtofhimbringinghomesomeoneelse.ButIcan’tdwellonit.Ihavetopushthegreenmonsterbackinside.Wearen’tgoingtobeanythingmorethanroommates,ashemadeveryclear.ThisisTrevorMetcalfe,afterall.Himhookingupwithsomeonenewisjustafact,assureasthesunrisingtomorrow.
Hisjawistense.“Okay.Fine.Ifyouwantmetoleave,I’llleave.”
“Iwantyoutoleave.”It’stherightcall.Ifhestays,thisentirenightwillbeawash,whichiswhyIremainstone-facedwhenhelingersforafewmomentsbeforefinallydisappearingintothecrowd.
Hisdepartureislikethechillofheavycloudswhenyou’redesperateforsunatthebeach.I’veneverbeeninaclubalonebeforewithoutmyfriends.Itfeels…vulnerable.BeforeIstartpanicking,theyouth-pastorguyatthebarcatchesmyeyes,invitingmeoverwithasimplesmile.
“Hey,gorgeous,”hesayswithaslightSoutherndrawlasIadvance.Innocentandneighborhoodpastor–ishashemaylook,he’sdefinitelynotugly.Semi-squarejaw.Softhazeleyes.Slenderbuild.Plaidflannelshirt.“Whatareyoudrinkingtonight?”
“Vodkacran,you?”Iyelloverthemusic.
Heholdsuphisglassandclinksitagainstmine.“Metoo.Arewethesameperson?”
“Let’sfindout,”Isay,bravelyclosingthedistancebetweenus.
???
ITTAKESMITCHhalfanhourtoaskifIwantto“getoutofhere.”
Icanbarelysuppressmydelightattheprospectofgettingstraighttobusiness,especiallyafterlisteningtohimdroneonabouthismaster’sdegreeineconomics.
Intheyellowhallwaylightoftheapartment,Mitchisn’tasangelicasI’doriginallythought.Infact,he’snotmytypeatall.Itrytoremindmyselfitdoesn’tmatter,solongashe’sgoingtorockmyworld.However,IbegintodoubthisabilitytodosowhenhedrunkenlyleansallhisweightonmeasIunlockthedoor.
EventhoughTrevorleftthestovelightoninthekitchen,Istillmanagetostubmytoeontheovernightbagheforcedmetoleavebehind.Mitchattemptstosteadymebutendsupnearlytopplingoverhimself.
Trevor’sbedroomdoorisclosed,andhislightisoff.Iexpectedtoheartheecstasy-filledcriesofKatVonD,butit’sdeadsilent.Therearenowomen’sshoesatthedoor.Hehasn’tbroughtanyonehome.WhileIknowhedoesn’thavetoworktomorrow,Ifeelatingeofguiltforpotentiallyruininghissleep.
Mitchhangsoutinthelivingroomforafewminutes,checkingoutmysucculents(Louisaismynewestaddition)whileIdartintothebathroomtoswishsomelast-minutemouthwashandensuremyarmpitsarestubble-free.Onmywayout,Icatchmyreflectioninthemirror.Mymakeupisflirtingdangerouslyclosetoraccoonchic.IresemblethatmemeofD.W.fromArthur,ominouspurplecirclesshadowinghertired-AFeyes.
Mitch’slipsgreetmethemomentIexitthebathroom.He’slikearabiddumpsterdweller,pouncingoutofnowhere.Hiskississohardandfast,hisfronttoothstabsagainstmytoplip.
Itrytoignorethestingasheslideshissopping-wettongueintomymouth.AllIcantasteisthebitternessofthevodkacranashebacksmeintothewall.I’vealwayswantedtobebackedintoawalllikeinallthehottestsexscenes.Butwhatthosescenesleaveoutistheimpactofyourshouldersandtailbonehittingthedrywall.
“Sorry.”Hestiflesalaughashistonguecomesinforthekill.
Idartleft,narrowlydodgingit.“Everythinggood?”
“Morethangood.You?”Hiseyesarekind,concerned.
Inodawaythedoubtcloudingmymind,kissinghimbackaswestumbleintothedarknessofmyroom.
Wefallonthebedtogetherinastrangemessoflimbs.Insteadofholdinghisweightup,hequiteliterallybellyflops,knockingthewindoutofmewithhisdeadweight.Igaspforairlikeanawkwardteenagerlosingmyvirginityalloveragaininmytwin-sizebed,myBeanieBabycollectionbearingwitnesstothesweatyproceedings.EvenanapologeticteenagedCodyVennerwastentimessmootherthanthisguy.
“Doyouhaveacondom?”Mitchwhispers,ticklingmyneckwithhismoistbreath.
Myeyessnapopen.Assomeonewhodoesn’ttypicallysleepwithguyswhoaren’tmylong-termboyfriend,Ihaven’tpurchasedcondomsinyears.“Oh.Damn.No,Idon’t.”
“Shit.Meeither,”hemutters,leaningbackontohisknees.Whatguydoesn’thaveaten-year-oldexpiredcondomfoldedinhiswallet?Really,Mitch?
Clearlyhe’snotexactlyaproatthisrandomhookupthing,either.Andthat’swhenIremember.Iknowsomeonewhois.Ileapoutofbedlikeatrapezeartist.“Holdon.Myroommatewillhaveone.”Ijogacrossthehallandknock
Throughthedoor,there’saheavysigh,followedbyfootsteps.WhenTrevorpullsthedooropen,he’sshirtless,hishairdisheveled.“Youokay?”
“Superb.Neverbetter.Actually,Ijustneedacondom,”Itellhimwiththecasualairofafratbrowhofreeloadscondomsontheregular.
Hisfacehardens,evidentlyirkedIwokehimupforthis.
Icrossmyarms,refusingtolethimguiltmeafterthethreetimeshissex-capadeswokemeoutofmypeacefulslumber.“WouldyoupreferIhaveunprotectedsexwithastrangerandcontractanSTI?”
Hesighsandstompstohissidetabletograbtwocondoms.“Here.”Hethruststhemintomyhand.Then,withoutanotherword,heslamsthedoorinmyface.
Ipeeratthecondomsandworkdownthelumpinmythroat.I’mdoingthis.I’mgoingtohavesexwithMitch.
Thisisfine.No.Thisisgreat.Marvelous.Perfectlysplendid.
Orisit?
Mycurrentstance(palmstoknees,hyperventilating)tellsmeotherwise.
IremindmyselfwhyI’msohell-bentonaone-nightstandtobeginwith.I’msexuallyfrustrated.Andmorethanthat,Iwanttoloseallinhibitionandhavecasualsex,likeeveryoneelsemyageseemstodowithoutacareintheworld.There’snothingwrongwithitmorally.Andyet,Ican’tignoretheoverwhelmingurgetoslamthebrakes.Stat.WillsleepingwithsloppyMitchbeanybetterthantakingcareofbusinessallbymyself?Atthisrate,probablynot.
“Didyougetthem?”Mitchasksfromtheendofthebed.
“Yeah.”Iholdthemuplikeasadcarnivalprizefromthedoorway,keepingmydistance.“Mitch?I’mreallysorry,but…Idon’tthinkIcandothis.”
Hisbrowsdip.“Oh,okay.DidIdoanythingtomakeyoufeeluncomfortable?”
“No.Definitelynot.You’vebeengreat.Ijustdon’tknowifI’mcutoutforone-nightstands.”
Hescratchesthesideofhisheadlikehe’sindeepthought.“I’mkindofthinkingthesamething,ifI’mbeinghonest.Imean,you’rebeautiful.Ijust…”
“It’sjustnotright.”Myshoulderseaseinrelief.
Wenodinmutualunderstanding,andIseehimout.WhenIclosethedoorandturnaround,Trevorissittinginthechairinthelivingroom,oneofmythrillerbooksinhand.
Imuffleascream,claspingmypalmtomychest.“Holyshit,Metcalfe.Whyareyousittingouthereinthecloakofdarknesslikeaweirdo?”
Hesetsmybookonhislap.“Couldn’tsleepafteryouwokemeup.FiguredI’dtryfinishingmybook.”
“Oh.”Myhandisstillpressedtomychest,feelingthethrumofmyheartbeatingwildlyfromtheeventsofthisstrangenight.
He’slookingatme,hisexpressionunreadable.Idon’tknowifhe’sgoingtochewmeoutforwakinghimuporsayItoldyouso.Hedoesn’tdoeither.Hestandsandcomestowardme,makingacomeheremotion.“Youokay?”heasks,pullingmeintoahug.
Isighintothewarmthofhisbare,solidchest,whichismorereassuringthanI’lleveradmit.Myheartratesettlesimmediatelyathistouch.IwishIcouldclosemyeyesandstayhereuntilthesuncomesupandgoesbackdownagain.“I’mnotcutoutforthatlife.Idon’tknowhowyoudoit.I’mexhausted,andIdidn’tevengetitin.”
“Pleasedon’tsaygetitin.”
“Doyouprefergoingtobonetown?”
“No.”
“Bumpinguglies?”
“No.”
“Boinking?Bruisingthebeefcurtains?”
Hecloseshiseyes,pained.“Neversayanyofthoseagain.”
“Nopromises.”
Therumbleofhislowchucklegivesmeanoverwhelmingsenseofcomfort.“Youarejust…”
Ipeekupathim.“I’mjustwhat?”
Abriefsmileplaysacrosshislips.“Nothing.Wannagogetagreasytwenty-four-hour-dinerbreakfast?”
“Yes,please.”?chapternineteen
AREYOUANDUncleTrevanitem?”Angiesobluntlywantstoknow.Shecastsasuspiciouseyeatthefoldedredconstructionpaperinmyhand.ArtsandcraftswithAngieduringlunchbreakhasbecomearegularroutine.We’remakingValentine’sDaycardstoday.
I’mparticularlythankfulfortheopportunitytopretendI’machildforanhour.Priortolunch,wehadourbimonthlyNICUall-staffmeeting.Sethusedtheopportunitytolaunchanumberofpetty,non-job-relatedclaims.
PeoplehavebeenstockpilingthegoodKeurigpods.
Peoplehavebeencloggingthekitchensinkwiththeirlunchcontainers.
Whenthemeetingwasadjourned,Ioverheardhimupdatinganotherdoctorintheloungeaboutmyex-boyfriendsearchaftermylatestsocialmediaupdate,boisterouslydelightinginthefactthatIonlyhaveoneexleft.HewentontorambleabouthowembarrassingandunprofessionalitistopostthesethingsandhowImusthave“scaredofftheothernine.”
IhaveaworkingtheorythatSethsuffersfromyoungest-childsyndrome.Histhreeolderbrothersareabunchofbullieswhoseimmediateinstinctistopretendtowrestleinanygivensocialsituation.Asthesmallest,healwaysgotbulldozed.Hewasrelegatedtothescraps,theleftovers.Henevergottochoosewhattowatchontelevision.Andbecausethepoorlambmissedoutonsomanycartoons,he’llwieldhispoweranywayhecanhaveit.
Crystalpickeduponthisstraightaway.ThefirsttimeIbroughtSethhometomeetthefamily,hedebatedheronavarietyoffitnessandnutritiontopics,brushingoffhercredentialsbecausehewasadoctor.TheentirefamilywasoutwardlydisturbedwhenIproposed.Whenwebrokethingsoff,CrystalsatmedownwithapreparedlistofeveryreasonSethwaswrongforme.
Forthelongesttime,Iwasconvincedshewasjusttryingtomakemefeelbetter.Shedidn’tknowtherealSeth,theonewhosavedthelivesofnewbornbabiesontheregularandshoweredmewithaffectioninthosefirstfewmonthsofourrelationship.Butthemoreheshowsoffwhohereallyis,theeasieritgets.
I’mgratefultohaveAngietooccupymymindandpreventmefromspendingmylunchhourinthestairwell,plottingrevengescenariosI’llneverhavethegutstocarryout.
MylipspartinablendofshockandamusementatAngie’squestionaboutheruncle.“Meandhim?Anitem?Asindating?Noway.”IstaredownatmycardforTrevor.It’stotallynon-romantic,orsoIassumed.I’vecutoutaminisucculentinaflowerpotwithasmileyface.Foradudewhowasvehementlyopposedtomysucculents,Ithinkthey’vegrownonhim.Infact,he’sbeenwateringthemforme,single-handedlykeepingthemalive.
I’vewrittenMyLifeWouldTotallySuccWithoutYouacrossthetopofthecardinfauxcalligraphy.Thiscardscreamsfriend-zone.Atleast,Ithoughtitdid.Technically,I’vemadetheeyestinyhearts.UnderAngie’scriticaleye,I’mnowparanoidTrevorwillmistakeitforadeclarationoflove,whichisthelastthingIneed.
“Butyoulivetogether,”Angieremindsme,carefullycuttinghernextredheartalongthepencilline.
AsIdrawoverthehearteyes,transformingthemintoinnocent,totallycasualcircles,IremindmyselfI’mattractedtoTrevorpurelyonaphysicallevelonly.It’sjustaminuscule,microscopic,basicallynonexistentcrush.IfIrepeatthatenoughtimes,itmustbeso.Besides,TrevorMetcalfedoesn’tdolove.
“Welivetogetherasplatonicfriends.”MytoneisclippedasIpressdownaloosecornerofoneofthesucculentleaveswherethegluedidn’thold.
Whenshescruncheshernoseandaskswhatplatonicmeans,I’mremindedI’mspeakingtoanine-year-old,despiteherdisgruntled-adultvibes.Timeforacrashcourseinthebleakrealityoflove.
“Platonicmeansstrictlyfriends.Noromanticfeelings.Atall,”Iexplain,holdingthebookletofconstructionpapertoobstructherviewofmyflamingcheeks.“Doyouhaveanyfriendswhoareboys?”
Shesmothersacutoutheartwithwhiteschoolglue.“MybestfriendDylanisaboy.He’snotcute.AndheonlyshareshissnackswithSally.”Shegrimaces,apparentlydispleasedwiththisSallyperson.
“Aw,givehimabreak.He’sprobablyinlovewithher.”Iletoutanostalgicsigh,abandoningTrevor’scardtostartonCrystal’s.“Myfirstcrush,Daniel,gavemebutterflies.EveryyearonValentine’sDay,I’dgiveDanielthebiggest,mostextracard.He’dgivemeafull-sizechocolatebarwheneveryoneelsegotminis.”Ifthat’snottruelove,Idon’tknowwhatis.
DanielandIhadanadorablemeet-cuteonthefirstdayofkindergartenI’dbeproudtotellmygrandchildrenabout.Hewaswearingdenimoverallsandanoversizeredballcap,whichIlaterlearnedcoveredthebotchedbowlcuthismotherhadgivenhim.Hewassittinginthesandbox,uglycryingandbeinganoverallmiserablelittletwat.
Danielnevergrewtolikeotherkids.Ididn’tmindhisantisocialtendenciesintheslightest,mostlybecauseIdidenoughtalkingforthebothofus.ItalsomeantIhadDanielalltomyself.Webondedoveroursharedloveofboxedsugarysnacks,readingallthebookswecouldgetourstickyhandson,andamorbidobsessionwithpretendingtobeghostsinhisattic.Wewereinseparable,somuchsothatMomandDadreferredtoDanielasthesontheyneverhad.
Bypassingthecootiestageentirely,wegraduatedtoawkward,prepubescenthand-holdingandclose-lippedpecksbyageten.Accordingtomydoodle-fillednotebooksanddiaries,IwasthefutureMrs.Nakamura.Itwasdestiny,orsoIthought,untilDaniel’sparentstookagranddumponmylifeplanandmovedthefamilyacrossthecitypartwaythroughmiddleschool.Wesentemailsbackandforthforayearandahalf,buttheirfrequencyfizzledthelongerwewereapart.Welosttouchentirelybyhighschool.
Angieisn’tbuyingit.“Butterflies?”
“Imaginarybutterflies.Inside.”Ipointtomystomach.“Imagineabunchofbutterfliesflutteringaroundinthere.”
Angiegigglesandscruncheshertinynose.“Thatwouldtickle.”
“Exactly.That’showitfeelswhenyoulikesomeone.Likeallthebutterfliesareflappingtheirwingsinsideofyou,readytospreadtheirwingsandsoar.”Iprobablysoundlikeanoldkook,butAngieseemstounderstand.
“Whydidn’tyoumarryDaniel?”sheasks.
IwoefullyexplainhowhemovedawayandhowI’vebeenunabletolocatehimsince,whichisunfortunategivenhe’stheloneexleftonmylist.FartoomanyhourshavebeenloggedsearchingallthevariationsofDaniel’snameIcanthinkof,withzerosuccess.I’mbeginningtowonderifhewastheunfortunatebystanderofaMafiahitandhadtogointowitnessprotection.
“IgetthebutterfliesaroundMatty.AndOliver,”Angieadmitsshyly.ShetellsmeallaboutMattyandOliver,twoboysinherclasswhoare“cute”fordifferentreasons(oneisabadboywhogetsalotoftime-outs;theotherisadependablenerd).Sheremindsmeofmyyoungself,hopelesslyrotatingbetweencrushingonliterallyeveryboyinclass.
“Exactlymypoint.Attractioniskey.I’mnotattractedtoyouruncleTrevor,”Ipointout.“Imean,he’shandsome,butnotmytype.”Myeyetwitchesagain.I’veliedtoachild.Ahospitalizedchildwaitingforahearttransplant,noless.I’mofficiallygoingtohell,andmypermanentresidencyiswelldeserved.Atthesametime,comingcleanaboutmycrushwouldonlyresultinamyriadofquestions,allofwhichIcan’tanswer.ThelastthingIwanttodoisexplaintoanine-year-oldthatherunclehasdeep-rootedcommitmentissues.
Angiegivesmeasassyheadtilt.SheknowsI’mfullofshit,butshe’sallowingmetoliveindenial.Bless.
“Why?Hasyourunclesaidanythingaboutme?”Iask,pretendingtobewhollyfocusedonCrystal’scard.IcutoutalittlecontainerofproteinpowderandwriteI’mWHEYintoyoualongthetop.
Adevioussmilespreadsacrosshertinyface.“Hesaysyouhavetheworstsingingvoicehe’severheard.Helikestotalkaboutyou.”
Ilurchforwardinmychair,readytodemandaplay-by-playoftheentireconversation,starttofinish.Contextiskey.ButImanagetoreinitin.
“MymomcallsUncleTrevoraspinnydoor.”Shetwirlsherfingeraroundinaclockwisecircle.
“Aspinnydoor?”Irepeat,riflinginAngie’spencilcasefortheglitterglue.
“Liketheonesdownstairsthatspinaround.Becauseofallhisgirlfriends,”shesaysmatter-of-factly.“Hehaslots.Buthedoesn’tletmemeetthem.”
Ilaugh,realizingshe’sreferringtotherevolvingdoorsinthehospitallobby.Angie’smomisn’twrongaboutTrevorhavingarevolvingdoorofwomen.Thoughinhisdefense,hehasn’tbroughtanyonehomesinceGabbyovertwoandahalfmonthsago—backwhenmyfeelingstowardhimweresimpleandnotachaoticshitstorm.NowI’dratherundergoanunnecessaryrectalexambeforehearinghimandarandomrockingeachother’srespectiveworldsthroughthetissue-thinwallsofourapartment.Andstill,emotionallyunavailablemenlikeTrevoraretoberegardedaspotentiallylethalplagues,tobeavoidedatallcosts.
“So,Angie,”Isay,clearingmythroat,eagertochangethesubjectfromTrevor’ssexlifetomymainobjective—partyplanning.“IsRapunzelstillyourfavoriteprincess?”
Distractedbytheglitterglue,shenods,slightlylessenthusiasticthanthelasttimeshetoldme.
“Doyouwanttodressuplikeherforyourbirthday?”Iask,spreadingglitterglueoverCrystal’scard.
Herbrowneyeslightupforasplitsecond,beforedarkeningindisappointment.“MarissasaysIcan’tbeRapunzelbecauseI’mnotblond.”
Myheartachesatheradmission.WhoeverthisMarissais,Iwanttogiveherapieceofmymind.
“That’snottrue.”Imovefrommychairtotheendofthehospitalbed.Itcreaksundermyadditionalweight.“WhenIwasgrowingup,therewasonlyoneDisneyprincesswholookedlikeme.AndMulanwasgreat,don’tgetmewrong.ButjustbecauseIdidn’thaveblondhairliketheotherprincessesdidn’tmeanIcouldn’tbewhoIwantedtobe.”
Shestaresatmeforamoment,likeshe’snotsurewhethertobelieveme.“Doyouthinkthat’strue?”
“Ofcourse.ThinkaboutRapunzel.She’sfunny,right?Brave?”
Angienods,holdinghercompletedcardanarm’slengthawaytoexamineit.“She’snicetoanimalstoo.Shehasapetchameleon.”
“Exactly.Pretendalltheprincesseslookedthesame.They’dstillhavetheirownuniquepersonalities.Whoever’spersonalityyoulikethemostistheprincessyougettobe,nomatterwhatyoulooklikeontheoutside.Rapunzelisstillthesameprincessevenwhensheloseshermagichair.”
Beforeshecanrespond,hereyeslightupatthepresenceofawomaninapowder-bluebombercoatinthedoorway.“Hi,Mom.”
Uponfirstlook,theredoesn’tappeartobemuchofaresemblancebetweenAngieandhermom.Angiehassoft,roundfeaturescontrastinghermother’sangular,sharplines.Butthemomentsheopenshermouth,it’sevidenttheresemblanceisinthemannerisms.Theleftwardcurveofherlips.Theslightindentthatisn’tquiteadimplebutwantstobe.
Hermomgivesmeacurioussmile.“I’mPayton,Angie’smom.Areyouoneofthenewnurses?”Hervoiceislowandabitgritty,almostworn.
Istandandextendmyhandinafriendlyshake.“Oh,um,no,actually.Iamanurse,butnotonthisfloor.I’mTrevor’sfriend…androommate.”
Shelightsup.“Oh!Taryn,right?”BeforeIcantellhermynameisTara,notTaryn,shepullsmeintoherbonyembrace.“Hetoldmeyouwerehelpingwithherparty.Andaboutthemoneyyouwereraisingonyoursocialmedia.Seriously,Ican’tthankyouenough.Youhavenoideahowmuchweappreciatethis.Really.”
“Iloveplanningparties.Ihavealotofideas,”Isay,smilingatAngie.
Paytonlookssolemnforamoment,wavingmeintothehallway.Ifollowherout.“Honestly,sometimesIfeellikeashitmom.Imean,whatkindofmomcan’tevenplanherownkid’sbirthdayparty?”shewhispers.
“Amomwhohasherprioritiesstraight,”Ioffer.IknowfromTrevorthatshe’sworkingtwojobstopayforAngie’streatment.Sheprobablydoesn’tevenhavetimetosleep,letaloneplanabirthdayparty.
Sheblowsherovergrownbangsfromherface.“Trevortoldmeyouweregoingtheextramile.Wereallyappreciateit,especiallywithherdadoutofthepicture.”Shesaysitsononchalantly,likeit’sjustastraightfact.Nothingtobeweirdabout.
“Whereisherdad?”Iask.
Herheavyeyesnarrow,likeshe’sconfused.“Trevordidn’ttellyouaboutLogan?”
“No.He’snotexactlyanopenbook.”
Shenodsinknowingagreement.“Loganlefttwoyearsago.Hasn’tevencomebacksinceAngiegotsickagain.He’sworkingoutinLouisianaontheoilrigs.”
Ifrown.“Oh,I’msosorry.”
Sheshrugs.“Hewasn’tallthatinvolvedwhenhewasinBostonanyways.It’snotmuchdifferent.ThoughTrevorwasragingmadwhenheleft.WentallthewaydownSouthtotrytogethimtocomeback.Theygotinaprettybadfightoverit.”
Myheartaches.NowonderTrevorgetsalltensewhenIaskaboutLogan.
Paytonsensesthedropinmymoodandgivesmeareassuringsmile.“It’sallgood,though.We’rejustthankfulTrevor’sbeenthereforus.Eversincethebeginning.Withallthemedicalappointments…God,he’sevenhelpedusfinancially.He’sagoodguy,”shesays,likeshe’stryingtoconvincemeforsomereason.
AsmuchasIwouldlovetodenythatfactformyownself-preservation,she’sentirelyright.Sure,Trevorisn’tyourstandardcinnamon-rollniceguy.He’sgrumpy.Blunt.Rougharoundtheedges.I’veheldontothosefacts,tryingtoconvincemyselfthosequalitiesautomaticallycounthimout.Thathe’ssomehownotgood,formeatleast.
Butcontinuingtodenyitisbecominganimpossibility,especiallyaftereverythinghe’sdoneformethepastfewmonths.Allthedatingadvice.Thecompany.EnsuringI’veeatenonanygivenday.Themostendearingpartaboutitallisthatheisn’toneofthosesmugpeoplewhowaltzesaroundbeingado-goodertomakethemselvesfeelbetter(*cough*Seth*cough*).Hedoesn’tdothingsforgloryorstatus.He’sneveroncebraggedabouthisjoborhowmanyliveshe’ssaved.
He’spure,authentic,andgood.
Howmaddeninglyinconvenient.
???
“WHATTHEHELListhatsupposedtobe?”ScottpointshistubeofschoolglueinthevaguedirectionofTrevor’soddlyshapedcardboardstructure.
“It’sahorse,dick-wad.”Fromhiscross-leggedpositiononthefloor,TrevorcastsanenviousscowlatScott’ssurprisinglywell-executedoutlineofCinderella.ThethreeofusareatCrystalandScott’s,constructinglife-sizecardboardcutoutsforAngie’sDisneyparty.Crystalisonpartystoreduty,pickingupplates,cups,balloons,andgoodybagitems.
EversincemylunchwithAngiefourdaysago,whereIconfirmedthevisionanddirectionforherpartyinlessthantwoweeks,I’vebeeninfullDisneyplanningmode.Ievenbookedtheloungeinthehospitaltohostthefestivities.Thelounge’sdécorisavagueattemptatcheerwithitscanary-yellowwalls,butacoupleDisney-themedplatesandhatswon’tchangethefactthatshe’scelebratingherbirthdayinahospital.Life-sizecutoutsofherfavoriteDisneyprincessesmaybeextra,butI’mdeterminedtogiveheranescapefromreality,ifonlyforanafternoon.
ScottsquintsatTrevor’screation,tiltinghisheadasifadifferentperspectivewillhelpitscause.“Lookslikeasad,mangledgiraffe,man.”
“Itkindofdoes.”Inodinagreement.“Maybenexttime,thickentheneckabit?”
“Istilldon’tgetwhywegotstuckwithcraftduty.”Disgruntled,Trevortossesthecardboardfigureintothegrowingtrashpile.
“BecausegrownmenwhowearCrocscan’tbetrustedtomakegooddecisionsatapartystore,”Iretort,shootingdaggersattheirfeet.EversinceIcalledhimoutforthearmy-greenatrocity,Trevorhasbeenwearingthemaroundtheapartmentandatworklikeasecond,terror-inducingskin.
Turnsout,Scottrecentlypurchasedhisownpair.WearingCrocsisthisbizarrejokethatallthecrewatthefirehousehaveadoptedlikeabadgeofhonorduringtheirofftime.I’mcurrentlydevelopingaplottostealtheminthecloakofdarkness(Grinch-style)andburnthematthestake.I’lldropthemintothefire,onebyone,usingbarbecuetongstoavoiddirectcontact.They’llemitwitchysquealsandmaybeevenrefusetoburnasIdousetheflameswithgasoline.
Scottstretcheshisbright-blueCrocstowardme,givingmeagentlekick.He’snotevenmyofficialbrother-in-lawyetandhe’salreadyfindingwaystoantagonizeme.“I’llnevertakethemoff.You’llhavetoburymeinthem.”
“NotintheChenfamilyplot.”Isnort,mygazefallingoverTrevor,whoapparentlycan’tbebotheredtotakethetaskathandseriously.He’stoodistractedadmiringhishideousfootwear.Ilaunchapencilathischest.“Stopwastingcardboard.Youneedtooutlineitbeforeyoustartcuttingatrandom.”
“Sorry.It’sthismusic.HowamIsupposedtoworkundertheseconditions?”Trevorcastsatroubledlookatmyphone,whichisblastingabombDisneyplaylist.
“Oh,comeon,you’repracticallyitchingtobreakoutintosonganddance,”Itease,noddingatScott,who’stappinghisCrocmerrilytoHercules’s“IWon’tSay(I’minLove).”
Trevorrewardsmewithadead-eyedstare.“Don’tcomparemetothat.”
“Youcan’ttellmeyouneverwatchedthesemoviesasakid?”Scottchucksaballed-upwadofconstructionpaperathishead.
Trevorcatchestheballofpaperbeforeithitshim,likehe’ssomegeneticallymodifiedsupersoldier.Hetossesitintohispersonaltrashpile,neatlystackednexttohim.“Notbychoice.Therealquestionis,whydidyou?”
“Igrewupwithtwosisters,man.”
IswingawarningglareatTrevor.“Youbetterlearnsomeofthesetunesifyou’regonnabeahalf-decentprinceattheparty.Allthegoodprincessinganddance.”
Trevorscoffs.“Forthehundredthtime,I’mnotdressingup.”
“Youare.”
“I’mnot.”
Scottsnickers.“Iwouldpaymoneytoseethis.Goodmoney.”
IscrutinizeScottupanddown.“Oh,you’llbetheretoo.You’regoingtobePrinceCharming.”
Scottpondersthatforamoment.“Worksforme.”
“See?Scott’sgonnadoit,”Igoad.
Trevorglowersathimlikehe’sjustbrokensacredbro-code.“Becausehe’sasucker.Andhelikesattention—”
“Hey,fuckoff.”Scottchucksanotherwadofpaperathim.Thisonehitshimcleanontheforehead,bouncingontothefloor.
Trevorcontinuesonvaliantly,likehedidn’tjustgetsmokedinthehead.“AndevenifIweregoingtodressup,whichI’mnot—”
“Youare—”Iinterject.
“Nope.”
Ilevelhimwithapoisonousstare.“DoyourealizehowhappyAngiewouldbeifyoudressedup?Besides,Ialreadypromisedheryouwould.Youcan’tbackoutnow.She’llbeheartbroken.”Truthfully,InevermadesuchapromisetoAngie.Buthedoesn’tneedtoknowthat.
Hiseyesmeetmine,softeninginstantly.Bingo.I’vepiercedhimstraightthroughtheheartwithmyarrowofguilt.Heslumpshisshouldersingrumpyresignation.“Okay.Fine.Butnopictures.AndwhydoesScottygettobePrinceCharming?”
“Becausehe’scharming,”Iexplain,toScott’sdelight.Normally,Ihavenointerestinfeedingmybrother-in-law’salreadyinflatedego,butI’mwillingtotakeonefortheteamifitmeansgrindingTrevor’sgears.
Trevorplacesahandoverhischest,offended.“AndI’mnot?”
Itrymybesttokeepastraightfacewhiledenyinghisnaturalcharm.“You’recertainlynotawholesometypeofcharming.”IletmygazeflitovertheintricateCelticknottattooadorninghisrightarm.
TrevormutterssomethingunintelligibleunderhisbreathandstartsslicingintothecardboardwithhisX-Actoknifeasthesoothing,instrumentalmelodyfromthelanternsceneinTangledfillstheroom.
Suddenly,I’mhitwithamomentarystrokeofgenius.“You’regoingtobeFlynnRider.”
“Idon’tevenknowwhothatis.WhydoIhavetobesomeoff-brandprince?”
BeforeIcanexplainthatFlynnRiderisanythingbutoff-brandandhappenstobeAngie’sfavorite,Crystalburststhroughthedoorwithaheftyloadofplasticbagsoneacharm.
“Whattookyousolong?”Idemand,poppinguptoinspectthebags.
“Theroadsarebad.Ihadtodriveslow,”Crystalexplains,kickingoffherslushyleatherbootiesintheentryway.ShesetsthebagsonthefloorandshufflesovertoadmiremyRapunzeltower,whichwilldoubleasaphotoshootprop.“Iwasalsobusywithalittleresearch.”
“Whatresearch?”Iask,smirkingwhenScottnot-so-subtlychecksoutherbackside.
“FoundoutwhereDanielworks,”shesaysnonchalantly,likeit’snobigdeal.Likeheisn’tmyverylasthope.
IdropmySharpieandlurchforwardonmyheels.“What?HowdidyoufindDanielbeforeme?”Iask,thoughitprobablycomesoutmorelikeHOWDIDYOUFINDDANIELBEFOREME?Iwaitwithbatedbreathastherushofadrenalineplungesmybodyintoall-outchaos.
Fordramaticeffect,Crystalwaitsafewsecondsbeforerevealingherfindings.“Heworksatthatbigtechcompanydowntown.Flopify.ThatonethattookovertheoldMacy’sbuilding.”
“Howdidyoufindhim?I’velookedeverywhere.”
“Ihavemyways,”shesays,hereyesglinting,keepingthemysteryalive.“Justkidding.IfoundhimonLinkedIn.Itreallywasn’tthathard.Itextedyouthelinktohisprofile.”
“I’mforeverindebted.Seriously,though.Iwouldlickyourgymshoesifyouaskedmeto.”Ithrowmyarmsaroundmysister’sshoulders,onlynarrowlyavoidingsteppingonthehot-gluegun.
Sheinchesawayfrommysmotheringhug.“Reallynotnecessary.”
“AreyougonnaDMhim?”Trevorasks,notlookingupfromhislatestattemptatahorsecutout.
Ishudderatthethought.“Oh,no.Ican’treunitewithhimviaDM.Ionlyhaveaweekandahalfbeforethegala.It’snotenoughtimetoreestablishourrapport.Ineedtorunintohimnaturally.”
Trevorsighs.“You’regoingtostakeoutthefrontofhisworkplace,aren’tyou?”
“Correction:weare.”?chaptertwenty
EVERYSTATIONISrunningads.Posturepedicmattresses.Cardealerships.
TrevoremitsatorturedsighasIfiddlewiththeradiodial,finallylandingonanoldWilsonPhillipssong.
“Iwillturnthiscararoundifyouchangethestationonemoretime,”hewarns,alarmedthatI’mmessingwithhispresetchannels.
“Sheesh.Yousoundlikemydad,”Isaywryly.“It’snotmyfaultyoudon’thaveBluetooth.I’mjusttryingtoenhanceourexperience.Nowsmileandwavetoyourfans,”Iorder,anglingmyphonetohim.
Whenheseesit’sonLivevideo,hegrumbles,promptlycoveringmyphonewithhisfreehand.“No.You’redistractingmewhileI’mdriving.”
“Oh,comeon.Givethepeoplewhattheywant.Justaquickhello,”Iurge.
Herollshiseyesandgivesafrostyhibeforefixinghisstaretowardtheslush-coveredroad.Itakethisasasigntoendthevideo.
Unsurprisingly,TrevorhadtobebribedwithFiveGuysmilkshakestoaccompanymetoDaniel’sworkplaceduringasnowstorm.ThewindshieldwipersareworkingovertimetocleartheflurryofsnowstreamingofftheSUVahead.Trevorisaggrieved,mutteringsoftlyaboutthelegalitiesofwipingthesnowoffone’scar.He’sdrivingturtleslow,simplytomakethepoint.
He’salsotakentoposinghypotheticals:
Whatifheworksfromhome?
Whatifhe’ssicktoday?
Whatifheexitsthroughanotherdoor?
Whatifhealreadyleftthebuildingforameeting?
Whatifhe’sonvacation?
Whatifhegotfacialreconstructionsurgery,renderinghimvirtuallyunrecognizable?
WhileTrevormakes(some)validpoints,atleastIwillbeabletosayIexhaustedeveryavenuebeforedesperatelyslidingintoDaniel’sLinkedInDMs.
“You’rekindofkillingthemoodhere,”Isay,droppingmyphoneinthecupholder.“Thisismyverylastandmostpromisingex.Theonlyoneonthatlistwhoknowstherealme.IwouldregretitforeverifIdidn’tpulloutallthestops.”
Hepeelshiseyesfromtheroadtomeetmygaze.“I’mjust…worriedyou’llbecrushedifitdoesn’tworkoutwithhim.”
Oof.Irestmyheadagainsttheseatasthestiflingwaveofrealitywashesoverme.Inalltheexcitementofthisex-boyfriendgoosechase,Ihaven’tfullyconsideredthepossibilityofnoneofthemworkingout.Myhandsclenchinmylap,envisioningSeth’ssmugfaceifIfailinmypursuitandshowupatthegalaalone.Andworse,IthinkaboutthecrushingpainofscratchingDaniel’sname—theverylastname—offthelist.Ican’tletthathappen.AfterSeth,myheartsimplycan’twithstandmorecarnage.
Iavertmystareoutthewindow,avoidingTrevor’sworrywartexpression.“Iknowit’sdumb.Iknowthewholeexthingseemsfrivolous.ButhowpatheticwoulditbeifI,thebiggestromancenovelfanever,failedtofindbook-worthyloveinreallife?”
“Tara—”
“Inevertoldyou,butthistimelastyear,afterSethbrokeofftheengagement,Iwasatareallowpoint.Icouldbarelygetoutofbed.Ithoughtnoonewouldeverwantme.Evenayearout…Istillcan’thelpbutthinkthatsometimes.”
“Ifthisisaboutgoingtothegala,I’llgowithyou.”Hisofferissocasual,I’munsureI’veevenheardhimcorrectly.
“Really?You’dwasteyourValentine’sDaytocometoarandomgalawithme?”
Heliftsashoulderinashrug.“Yeah.Whynot?It’sfortheheartcenter.AndwhatelsewouldIbedoingonValentine’sDay?”
Ifiddlewiththeheatvent,consideringthisproposition.“Maybe.Ifthingsdon’tworkoutwithDaniel,Iguess.”
“Right,”hesays,distractedasheparallelparksinfrontofthebuilding.“Hereweare.”
IexpectedDaniel’sworkplacetobeanall-glassmodernskyscraper.Butuponarrival,it’saRomanesquemedium-risewithornatelydetailedwindowsanddoorways.It’sbougie,kindofold-school
Theprospectofcomingface-to-facewithDanielafternearlytwentyyearsishotflash–inducing.Iimaginehiminacorneroffice,thumbingthroughurgentfiles,dressedinaperfectlytailoredsharkskinsuit.HechannelssomeDevilWearsPradaenergy,icingouthisstaffwithjustoneglance.EveryoneknowsDanieldoesn’tdosmalltalk.Hisreceptionistonlybothershimwithimportantstuff,althoughhewilltakecallsfromhisbelovedmother.
AsIgawkupatthebuilding,Trevornudgesmyarmovertheconsole.“Look,threeo’clock.Pale,six-foot,brownhair.Isthathim?”
Iscrunchmynose,watchingthepimply-facedteenwithanoversizebackpackasheshufflespastthepassengerwindow.“Mr.Metcalfe,youneedyoureyeschecked.Thatkidislikefourteen.Atmost.”
“Idon’thavealottoworkwithhere.Youdidn’thaveaphotoofhimonyourhitlist,”heretorts.
Thisishowitgoesforthenextfifteenminutesaswewatchpeoplefilterinandoutofthefrontdoors.Trevorhas,somehow,transformedfrommiserabletwerptoJamesBond.He’scheckinghismirrors,murmuringphysicaldescriptionsofpassersby,noneofwhomareDaniel.HemightaswellbeaManinBlackwithoneofthosefancyearpieces,speakingintohiswatch.
Sincethisisn’tmyfirstrodeobeingacertifiedcreep,I’mwellawarethatsurveillanceinthemoviesismuchmoreexhilaratingthanitisinreallife.Butitdoesn’tmakeitanylessdull,especiallyforanimpatientsoullikeme.
Outofnowhere,Trevorreachesovertheconsole.Isuckinasharpbreathathishand’sproximitytomylegs.Forsomereason,themereprospectofthesplayofhispalmspanningmythighfloodsmewithheat,likeawaveofcaffeineorstraight-upsorcery,joltingmealive.
Somethingheavydropsovermyknees.Itisn’thishand.It’stheglovecompartment.BeforeIcanevenreconcilemydangerousthoughts,heextractsoneofmypaperbackthrillers.Ignoranttothehammeringofmyheartandthecrimsonshadeofmyentireface,hecasuallyflipstothemiddleofthebook,silentlypickingupwhereheleftoff.
DidIreallygetthatexcitedattheprospectofmywomanizerroommate’shandinchesfrommyleg?AmIthatdesperateforhumanaffection?Maybemyfollowers’commentsadvocatingforaroom-ancewithTrevorhavesomehowwormedtheirwayintomysubconscious.
Iwillthoseerrant,nonsensicalthoughtstoadecrepit,condemnedcornerofmymindandpadlockitforgoodmeasure.ButnowI’mfartooawareoftheheatblastingthroughthevent.Infact,I’mswelteringundermylayers.Trevor’scar,whichwasperfectlycomfortabletwosecondsago,isnowaclaustrophobic,shrinkingcloset.
“Wannagositinthelobby?Ineedtostretchmylegs,”Isay,rollingthewindowdownforsomemuch-neededair.
Trevorisalarmed,likeI’veproposedamassatrocity.WhenIunbucklemyseatbelt,signalingI’mgoingwithorwithouthim,herelentswithaheavysigh,followingmeinside.
Thelobbyitselfisyourstandardcorporatespacewithshinymarblefloorsandgoldelevatorsliningthebackwall.Anoakreceptiondeskblocksourabilitytoreachtheelevators,althoughthere’scurrentlynooneoccupyingthedesk.Nexttoitisarowofthreeturnstileswhereamaninadowdysuitscansabadgetoenter.
Trevorparkshimselfonaleathertuftedbenchnexttotheturnstiles.It’stheperfectview,directlyacrossfromtheelevators.
Iplopdownnexttohim,kickingthesnowoffmyboots.“Bytheway,Iforgottomention,guesswhoImetatthehospitaltheotherdaywhenIwasvisitingAngie?”
“Mysister-in-law?”
“Yup.”
“Shelookokay?”Ahintofconcerntingeshistone.
“Shelookedalittleworndown.ShekeptcallingmeTaryn.”
“Yeah.She’sbeenworkinghernormaljobatthebankandwaitressingatnighttokeepupwithAngie’smedicalbills.”
“Ican’timagine.Soundslikeshecoulduseabreak.”
“SometimesIthinkstayingbusyistheonlywayshecancope.Otherwise,she’dworryherselfsickatthehospital.I’mprettysureAngiewouldgetsickofhertoo.”Aflickerofasmileisvisible.
“DoesPaytondate?”
“Shehadaboyfriendlastyear,butwhenAngiegotsickagain,hebailedtoo.”Hisbrowfurrows.“Guessakidwithheartdiseasewasadealbreaker.”
“Forassholes,”Ipointout.Selfishly,Iusethisasaspringboardtoposemyburningquestion.“What’sthisdramawithyourbrotherallabout?”
Iexpecthimtotenseupandshirkmyquestion,buthenodslikeheexpectedit.“It’scomplicated.LoganandPaytonweren’ttogetherwhentheygotpregnant.Theymovedintogetherrightafter.ThatwentaboutaswellasaJerrySpringerepisode,”heexplainssarcastically.
“DoesheknowtheextentofAngie’sheartproblems?”
“Ikeephimupdated,eventhoughhedoesn’tbotherasking.IthinkhejustexpectsI’lltellhimifthere’sanythingimportant.He’snoDadoftheYear,that’sforsure.”
“Whataboutyourdad?”
“Heandmybrotherarealotalike,”headmits.“Hewasbarelyaroundbeforemyparentssplit.MoveddowntoTexasforsomeconstructionjobwhenLoganandIwereingradeschool.Weneversawhimexceptfortheoddholidayvisit,evenaftermymomdied.”
“Ican’tbelievehedidn’tstepupafterthat.”
Heletsoutabittersighasaboisterouscrowdofpeoplemaketheirwaythroughtheturnstilesinfrontofus.“Itwasprobablyforthebest.HewaskindofadickwhenLoganandIdidn’twantmuchtodowithhim.Didn’tunderstandwhywewerestandoffish.HemovedbackherewhenIwassixteenandrandomlystartedpickingusupfromschoolonFridays.He’dtakeustoBurgerKingbecauseitwasallhecouldafford.Itwasweird.Itwaslikehewastryingtomakeupforlosttimeorsomething.Loganwasalwaysabitindifferent.Hewasatthatagewherehedidn’twanttospendmuchtimewithanyone.SomydadandIhadalotofone-on-onetime.Wegotprettyclose,actually.”
Istaysilent,tryingtoavoidspookinghimwithanygivenreaction.
“I’daskhimforadviceongirlsandmoney.Hewasacheapbastardtoo.That’swhereIlearnedit.”Hechucklessoftly.“Afterafewmonths,Iforgavehimforbeingashitdad.Andthenhemovedforanotherjobanditkindoffeltlikethefirsttimeheleft,alloveragain.Butitwasalmostworse,becauseIblamedmyself.Ididn’tunderstandwhyIwasn’tgoodenoughforhimtostickaround.”
Instinctively,Iplacemyhandonhisforearm.Whenhismusclesclenchundermytouch,Iremoveit.“Himleavinghadnothingtodowithyou.”
Hishardeyessearchmine.“Youeither.”Withoutexplaining,Iknowhe’sreferringtoSeth.
Iunzipmycoat,myneckpricklingwithbeadsofsweat.“Doyoustilltalktoyourdad?”Iask,shiftingthespotlightbacktohim.
Herakesatiredhandthroughhishair.“Ihearfromhimeverynowandthen.Buthaven’tseenhiminyears.Loganisexactlylikehim.Notproactive.Doesn’treallybotherunlessit’sconvenient.”I’msilentforafewbeats,justlettingitallsinkinwhenhenudgesme.“NowdoyouseewhyIdon’tdorelationships?”
“IsthatwhyyoubrokeupwithKyla?”
Hepicksatatinyleathertearonthebench.“Iguessso.WedatedforoverayearwhenIcamebacktoBostonafterdroppingoutofcollege.IbrokethingsoffwhenAngie’shealthgotreallybad.ThethoughtoflosingAngiewassofuckingterrifying.Iwasn’tinanyshapetobethereforanyoneelse.Youprobablythinkthat’sridiculous,huh?”
“No.It’snotridiculousatall,”Iassurehim.
Hisgriefmakesmyheartache.IthinkIfinallyunderstandtheglaringdifferencebetweenus.Thedifferencethatrendersusentirelyunmatchable.WhileTrevorandIarebothwoundedbyabandonment—himmoreseverely—wehandleitinoppositeways.He’slockedhisheartentirely.It’shiddenbehindanimpenetrablefortress,surroundedbyshark-infestedwaters.Ontheotherhand,I’veleftmyheartwideopen,agaping,onlypartiallyhealedhole.Andtobehonest,I’mnotsurewhichtacticismoreadvisable.
“IstillthinkyoushouldgiveKylaanotherchance,”Isay.“Hey,didn’tyoutwoplantohavedrinkssoon?”
Beforehecanrespond,theelevatordings,swingingopen.Sixpeopleinvariousshadesofblackandgraywoolwinterwearfilterout.I’mimmediatelydrawntoafamiliarfaceintheback.
PartiallyblockedbyaHulk-sizeman’smassiveshoulderisDaniel.Mylong-lostchildhoodlove.
Ihaven’tlaideyesonthisfacesincehewasaprepubescentteen,butI’dknowthoseglass-cuttingcheekbonesanywhere.Hestillhasthatdark,silkyhairandever-so-seriousexpression.Buthe’sgottenbroader.Hisneckisthicker.Hisshouldersarewiderunderneathhisblackjacketandbrowncorduroys.AdultDanielcouldsurelyhandlehimselfinaboardroomofhigh-poweredexecutives,returnhomeatareasonablehour,rollthesleevesofhisdressshirt(exposinghisveinyforearms),anddutifullyassisthiswifewiththechildren’snighttimeroutine.
WhileI’vemissedhimterribly,comingface-to-facedoesn’tgivemeanysenseofcomfort.Quitetheopposite,infact.Mybodygoesintoflightmodeasheheadsfortheturnstiledirectlyacrossfromus.
Panicked,Iletoutahacking,drycoughashestopstopullhisbuildingpassfromthefrontflapofhismessengerbag.Beforehegoestoscanit,IwhipmyheadtowardTrevor’schest,shieldingmyfacewithmyhands.“Shitballs.He’scomingthisway!He’sgonnaseeme.”Foronce,I’mnotoverexaggerating.Thisbenchisdiagonalfromtheturnstiles.There’sabsolutelynohiding.
“Isn’tthatthepoint?”Trevorwhispers.
“Ididn’tactuallythinkhe’dbehere!Hideme!”I’mabouttocurlintoaballorhideundermyowncoatlikeacowardwhenTrevorclaspsahandaroundthebackofmyneck.Hisgripisfirmanddemanding,butnotaggressivelyso.
There’safireinhiseyesastheysearchmine.It’slikehe’saskingforsilentpermission.Ihavenoideawhatfor,andfrankly,Idon’tcare.
I’min,myblazingeyestellhim.
Hereceivesmysilentcueandconcealsmecompletely.
Withhisface.?chaptertwenty-one
WHENTREVOR’SSOFT,pillowylipssettleagainstmine,mysoulexitsmybody.
Nothingcanresuscitateme.HereliesTaraLiChen.AtleastIhadadecentlife.
TrevorMetcalfeiskissingme.He.Is.Kissing.Me.Thereisnothingelse.Thereisnolife,norealityoutsidetheconfinesofthisbench.Danielwho?
Hishandsarestrongandurgentoneithersideofmyhead.Hedoessomethingwithhisthumb,likeaminimassageagainstmytemple.It’ssuchasmallthing,butitfeelslikeaffection.Itbringsmetolife.
Mypreviouslymotionlesslipstraitorouslyfollowhislead.Histonguesweepsacrossmybottomlipandmeldsagainstminesoexpertly,Iforcemyeyesopenmomentarilytoconfirmthatthisisreal.Thisishappening.Myhandsslinkuphismuscledshouldersandthroughhissoft,thickhair.Withbothhands,Ipullhisfaceclosertominealittlemoreaggressivelythanintended.
Whenhislowgroanvibratesintomymouth,mybodydescendsintochaos.Bloodcoursesthroughmelikeariptide.Myheartisthrashingsohard,I’mconvincedsomeonehasbroadcastedtheaudiooverthebuilding’sPAsystem.
Hishandisstillclaspedaroundthebackofmyneck,hisfingersmovinginpossessivecircularstrokesthatdolittletosuppressthecavewomaninsidemeIdidn’tknowexisted.
JustasIcontemplateaside-aerialontohislap,heripshislipsfrommine.
Foraspanoffartoomanyprolongedseconds,ourfacesareinchesapart.Hischestrisesandfallsrapidly,insyncwithmine,heavyandlabored,asifwe’vejustcompletedaSpartanrace,notmadeoutforamerefewseconds.Orwasitminutes?Anhour?Whoknows?
Hishorrifiedeyesfusewithmine.Lipspartedeversoslightly.Headtiltedlikeadog.Expressionofpureanguish,asifthatwasthesingleworstmomentofhisentirelife.
Hebreakseyecontact,peeringoutthelobbywindowbehindus.IfollowhisgazetoDaniel,strollingdownthesnowysidewalkoutside,hisnoseburiedinhisphone,nonethewiser.
“Whatareyouwaitingfor?”Trevorurges.Whenheleansin,Iholdmybreath.Ihalfexpecthimtokissmeagain,butallhedoesisshovemeoffthebench.“Go.”
Mylegsarenolongerattachedtomybody.I’mlikeashakynewborndeer.Alllimbs,nobalance.Nosenseofdirection.
BythetimeIactuallyreachthesidewalk,Icanbarelyseetenfeetinfrontofme.Trevorwasn’twrongaboutthesnowstorm.Everyonerushesby,headsdown,hoodsup,desperateforshelterfromtheharshelements.Ajuicysnowflakepeltsmestraightintheeyeball.
Half-blind,IcanonlyvaguelymakeoutthebackofDaniel’sheadapproachingtheintersection.Imakeaweakattempttocallhisname,butallthatcomesoutisamuffledretchmarredbythehowlofnature.I’mhelpless,frozen,watchinghimdisappearintothewhite,icyvoid.
IshouldbepursuinghimwiththegustoIhadallofanhourago,butI’mtoostunnedtogoon,thankstoTrevorMetcalfe.
BythetimeIhavethewherewithaltoreturntoTrevor’svehicle,he’salreadyinside,seeminglydazed,staringstraightaheadoutthewindshield,intothevoid.
Theclickofmyseatbeltquellsthedensesilence.“Icouldn’tdoit.”
Hegivesmeasidewaysglance.“Really?Wecameallthewayhereandyou’rechickeningoutnow?”
IfI’mbeinghonest,mymindisnotinthisconversation.It’sstuckonloop.Ontheeventsofliterallyafewminutesprior.“Youkissedme.”MystatementcomesoutharsherthanImeantitto.
“Idid,”hesays,asifhecan’tbelieveithimself.
Ittakesalottoleavemespeechless.Andhe’ssucceeded.“Why?”Ifinallydaretoask.
AsifhecansenseI’mdescendingintoaninternalspiral,hepresseshisfingersoverthebridgeofhisnose.“I’msorry.Itwasashittythingtodo.Iwasn’tthinking.YouaskedmetohideyouandIthoughtpeoplewouldlookawayand…”Hisexplanationisentirelylogical.He’stoldmethisbefore,howPDAmakeshimcringeandturnaway.“Pleasedon’treadintothis,”hebegs.
Thekisswasn’treal.Nofeelings.Orrainbows.Orbutterflies.Realistically,Ishouldbegratefulhehadthewherewithaltotrytoconcealmystalking.Hewasbeingagoodfriend,helpingmeindirestraits,right?WhyamIsodisappointed?
“I’mnotreadingintoit.”Imightbe.
“Areyousure?”heasksslowly,likehe’sexpectingmetoconfessmyobsessionwithhimrighthere,rightnow.
Ihatethatheseesmeinsuchapatheticlight.“Relax.I’mnot.Imaybeinthemarketforasoulmate,butevenI’mnotnaiveenoughtothinkitwouldbeyou.”
Hewatchesmeforamoment,hisexpressionstony.“Good.”
“Andyourkissleavesalottobedesired,”Iaddforgoodmeasure.Ifoldmyarmsandglareoutthepassengerwindow.It’salie,ofcourse.It’sthebestkissI’veeverhad.Buthecan’tknowthat,lesthisegoexplode.
Hisstareburnsthroughmyprofile,likehe’swaitingformetocrackandadmithisexceptionaltalent.“Excuseyou.I’magreatkisser.”
“I’vehadbetter,”Isay,suddenlyveryfocusedonthelintfrommycable-knitstickingtomyjeans.
“You’relying.Infact,myskillshavebeencorroboratedbyhighlyreliablesources.”
Ishrug.“Sorry,Metcalfe.Itiswhatitis.Maybeyou’rejustoutofpractice.”
WhenIdon’trelent,hesighsandsquintsatthewindshieldlikehe’stryingtosolveariddle.“Anyways.Wecan’tdothat.Everagain.”?chaptertwenty-two
WEDON’TTALKabouttheKiss.
Wedon’ttalkaboutitonthetreacherouslysnowydrivehome.Wedon’ttalkaboutitaswehoofitupthestairs.Wedon’ttalkaboutitwhileTrevormakesusanutritiousgrilledchickendinner.Andwedefinitelydon’ttalkaboutitwhilewewatchTheBachelor,himseatedsafelyinthearmchairinsteadofhisusualspotonthecouch.
Evendayslater,Trevorstilltakespainstakingeffortstoavoidlookingmeintheeyes,likeI’mahumansolareclipse.He’salsoextrabroodyandgrump-tastic,withhisclippedone-syllableresponsesandgeneralskulkingabouttheapartment.
Meanwhile,I’mstillstrugglingtounderstandwhatthehellhappenedinthatlobby.HaveIreallyhadalifetimeofrustedHondaCivic–equivalentkisses?Becausecomparatively,Trevor’skisswaslikebeingbehindthebutteryleatherwheelofMel’sTesla.Isithumanlypossibletokisssomeonelikethat—thefervent,suppressedpassionofourbreathcolliding,himclaimingmeentirely—withzeroauthenticemotionspurringiton?
It’stakeneverymorselofself-restraintIhave(whichisn’tmuch)nottocrumblelikearainbowchipcookieanddemandadetailedexplanation.ButIdon’t.WhatiftheanswerissimplerthanIwantittobe?Maybeit’sexactlyashesaid:anunexpectedlyeffectivewaytoavoidattention.Andifthat’sthecase,wherethehelldoIgofromhere?
Itdoesn’thelpthatmyfollowershavedoubleddownontheroom-ancething.Nowthatthey’veseenTrevor’sannoyinglyhandsome,perfectfaceonvideotwice,it’sgameover.Infact,noonereallycaresaboutmyexesatall.AndI’mlefttowonder(inaCarrieBradshawvoice),doIreallycareaboutthem,either?
DidIreallygotoDaniel’sworkwiththeintenttostagearun-in?Ifso,whydidtherealityofseeinghimturnmeintoafleeinggazelleatthesightofalionatthewateringhole?Infact,hasthisentireendeavorbecomesoall-consumingbecauseItrulywanttofindlovewithmyexes,oramImerelybaskinginTrevor’sassistance?
Luckily,IhaveCrystal’sbridalshowertodistractmefromemotionalruin.Wespentthemorningpamperingherandourselvesatthespawithmanis,pedis,andfacials.Nowwe’reatourchildhoodhomefortheshower.Originally,AuntLisa,theeldestsisteronDad’ssideofthefamily,offeredtohost.ButeversinceshehostedaLunarNewYearcelebrationlastweek,whichallegedlyresultedinapermanentradishstaininherbrand-newcarpet,sherefusestoentertainmorethanfiveadultsinherhomeatatime.
MomisaballofanxietywhenMel,Crystal,andIarrive,clutchingatremblingHillaryoverherboob.Hillaryisonefierceabominationofacreaturetodayinherwhitecashmeresweater,snarlingateverywomanwhodaresgetwithinatwo-footradiusofMom.
“Justputherupstairs,”Itellher,reachingtograbhermyself.Hillarypracticallyfoamsatthemouthwhenmyhandgrazesherpointedleftear.Momturns,shieldingherlikeI’mtheWickedWitchoftheWest.
“Wejusthavetomakesurewekeepherawayfromthewomen,”Momsayscasually,likeit’stotallynormalforadogtobeamisogynist.SheflashesMelafakesmileovermyshoulderbeforeheadingupstairstoadministerHillary’sdailydoseofjointinflammationmedication.
ThekitchenisatcapacitywithDad’ssideofthefamily.GrandmaMeistandsattheisland,meticulouslyarrangingthefood,cladinbothaleopard-printblouseandaleopard-printapron.She’salwaysbeenextra.Vibrantprints,randompopsoffluorescent,thebrighterthebetter.Withherturquoiseeyeshadowandmauvelip,she’sstraightofftheCrazyRichAsiansmovieset,sansrich.
MyfamilyalwayssaysIlooklikeayounger,happierversionofher,minustheweatheredskincreasedbetweenhereyes,givingtheillusionshe’sperma-scowling,evenwhenshe’snot.
EveryonecheerswhenCrystalentersthekitchen.BeforeMelandIfollowherin,Idirecthertothemudroomtoremoveourcoatsonaccountoftheswelteringheatemanatingfromthesteamingpotsonthestove.Itremindsmeofchaoticsummersworkingintherestaurantasateen.Thestaff,eventhosewhoaren’tliteralfamily,feellikefamily.Onanygivenday,nomatterthetime,everyonecanbeheardsingingandtossinglovingyetscorchingburnsbackandforthinamixofEnglishandMandarin,allwhileworkingdiligentlytopreparemassivevatsofdeliciousfood.
“Explainthefamilydynamicstome,”Melrequestsonourwaybacktothekitchen.
“Okay,soDadisthesecondeldest.He’sthefavorite,tothedismayoftheauntiesandUncleMichael,whoisn’there.See,theyallworkattherestaurant,exceptDad,andhestillgetspreferentialtreatment.”IpointtoAuntLisaandAuntRachel,whoarehoveringaroundMeiasshechopswaterchestnuts.“Thosetwohaveanunspokenrivalrygoingon.Theyliketoone-upeachotherwithmaterialpossessions.LikewhenAuntLisagotaLouisVuittontote,AuntRachelhadtogettwo.”
Melgivesherbestattemptatalaugh,afarcryfromhertypicalenthusiasmforjuicygossip.NowthatIthinkofit,she’sbeenuncharacteristicallyquietallday.
“Youokay?”Iask.
Shefusseswiththeruffledcollarofherblouse.“Yeah.It’sjust…you’rereallyluckytohavesuchacloseextendedfamily.Onbothsides.”Idon’tknowmuchaboutMel’sextendedfamily,asidefromthefactthatsheisn’tclosewiththem.
“You’realwaysmorethanwelcomeatourfamilygatherings,”Ipledge.
“I’mfairlycertainyourfamilydoesn’twantsomerandoattheirholidays.”
“Youwouldbewrong.”InodtowardDad,who’sbarrelingaroundthecornertogiveMelahigh-fivegreeting.
Heslapsherdelicatehandfartoohard,barelynoticingherwince.“Mel!Goodtoseeyou.MaybetodayIcanfinallyteachyouhowtousechopsticks,”heteases.
Shecracksasmile.Acoupleofmonthsago,shedroppedamassivefishballontheflooratfamilyhotpotnight.HillarylungedoutofMom’sarmsandgobbleditupbeforeMomcouldwrenchitfromherteeth.“I’mnotthatbad,amI?”WhileMelisChinese,shewasadoptedasaninfantandraisedbyherwhiteparents,whomshedoesn’ttalkaboutmuch.Shedoesn’tknowalotaboutherroots,asidefromwhatshepicksupfrommeandCrystal.
“Terrible.”Dadshakeshisheadsolemnlyandgivesherafatherlyarmpat.“Butnofear.We’llgetyouintip-topshape.”
“See?”Isidehugher,nuzzlingmyheadagainsthershouldereventhoughIknowshedetestshugs.“You’restuckwithusasyourfamily.Sorryaboutyourluck.”
Foronce,she’snotentirelydisturbedbymylackofboundaries,acceptingmyhugwithoutafuss.“Iloveyouguys.”
InpureChenfashion,GrandmaMei,AuntLisa,AuntRachel,andmytweencousins,KendallandMaddie,descendonusthemomentourbuttstouchthestoolsontheisland.
AuntLisa,themostdirectsibling,quicklybecomesboredwithAuntRachelsolicitingMel’sadviceoneyebrowmicrobladingandanglesherselftome,braceletsclinkingagainstthegranitecounter.“Isawonlineyou’redatingyourex-boyfriends?”
I’mtakenabackasMeipassesmeafullplateofcarefullyselectedappetizerssheknowsI’lleat.She’soneoftheonlyfamilymemberswhodoesn’tsnarkonmypickyeatinghabits.“Ididn’tknowyouknewaboutmybookaccount.”
“Yourdadlinkedme.”SheregardsmelikeI’masadlamb,asshehassincemyweddingwascalledoff.
“Ialwayslikedtheskinnylittleonewiththebowlcutwhocametotherestaurantwithyou,”AuntRachelcutsin,stealingafriedwontonfrommyplate.
“DanielNakamura?”
AuntLisanodsvigorously.“Oh,Ilikedthatboytoo.Neverspokeaword,thelittlething,”shesayswithanevilgrin,turningtoAuntRachel.“YouknowIlikeamanwhocanbeeasilycontrolled.”
AuntRachelmakesawhipmotionwithherhand,followedbyaswishsound.“IthinkTaraneedsanequal.Amanwhocanmatchherpersonalityandenergy.Someoneoutgoing,extroverted,notafraidtotakeupspace.”
AuntLisadisagrees.“Oh,no.Itneverworkswhenbothpartiesaretalkers.Onlyleadstofrustrationandresentment.Oppositesareideal.”
Imovemyfriedricearoundmyplateabsentmindedlywhiletheybickeraboutwhichexisleastlikelytogrowtiredofme.MymindtrailstoTrevoragainandhowheexplicitlystatedhenevergetssickofmystories.Thatwasweeksago.Iwonderifthat’sstillthecase.
AuntRachelclaspsbothhandstogether,prayer-style.“Oh,IhopeyourtrueloveisCody.Ialwaysadoredhim.Suchalittlegentleman.”
Isigh,dippingmysesameball.“Turnsout,CodyVennerishappilymarriedwithkids.”Isayhappilysarcastically,thoughmymeaninggoesoverAuntLisa’shead.
“You’retellingmehe’smarried?Happily?Nonsense,”shesays,wavingmywordsaway.
AsMeipushesabasketofdumplingsinfrontofMelandme,myphonelightsupwithatext.
TREVOR:Hey.Hopeyou’rehavingagoodbacheloretteday.ScottalmostthrewupattheNinjaWarriorgym.Toomanypancakesthismorning.
TARA:Lmao!Ohno.Hopehe’sokay!YouwouldnevercatchmedeadattheNinjagym.Thingsaredandyoverhere.Crystalgotpamperedthismorning.Nowwe’reeating.
Isendhimaphotoofthetablespread.
TARA:Areyouguyshavingagoodtime?Headingtotheclubtonight?
TREVOR:Ya.
TARA:Havefun!!
TREVOR:Thx.
TARA:I’vebeenmeaningtotellyou…Ithinkyoustillneedsomehelpwithyourtextinggame.YoubetternotbetextingKylalikethis
TREVOR:Mytextsareperfectlyfine.
TARA:Forthe39434thtime,yousimplycannotpunctuatewithaperiod.It’samarkofdeath!You’reanemotionalperson’snightmaretexterTREVOR:THEHORROR!!!!FromnowonI’llmakesureIendallmytextswithexclamationmarksokay?!Justforyou!
TARA:Ifeelsospecial
TREVOR:Youshould!I’monlydoingthisforyou!
“Isthataheart-eyeemoji?ForTrev?”Crystalpeeksatmyscreenasshereachesforadumpling.HerBridetoBesashnearlydipsontomyplate.
Idisposeofmyphoneinthebackpocketofmyjeansandleanagainsttheisland.“Yes.Butdon’treadintoit.There’snothinggoingonwithus.”
“Figuredasmuch,”shesayscasually.Idon’tknowwhyherknowingtoneirksmesomuch,butitdoes.
Melanalyzesme,herexpressionmarginallylesscritical.“You’renottellingussomething.”
Ibuckleimmediatelyunderthepressureofhercallout.“Fine.Hekissedme.WhenwedidsurveillanceatDaniel’swork.Oneminute,Danielwascomingoutoftheelevator,andthenext,Trevorwaskissingme.Withtongue.”Ielegantlygnawatachickenwing,awaitingmycrucifixion.
Crystal’seyesbulge,asifI’veregaledthemwithatalltaleaboutrunninga10K,orsomethingequallyunbelievableandoutlandish.
Irehashourhot-and-heavymake-out,explaininghisjustification—howhewasdivertingattentionawayfromus.WhenIsayitoutloud,itsoundsweak.Surely,hecouldhavetakenlessdrasticmeasures,liketossinghiscoatovermyfaceorpushingmyheaddown.
Crystalscrutinizesme,shiftingoutofthewayasAuntLisainchesbehindustotheperimeterofthekitchen,eagertoserveherlemoncake.“You’renotoverthinkingthis,areyou?”
“No,”Isayquickly,myeyesturningtomychickenwingbone.
“Youare.Icanseethewheelsturning,”shesaysleerily.
“Okay,fine.Ican’thelpbutwondersometimes.Wehavethebestconversations.He’sopeneduptomealotinthepastmonth.There’sactuallyalotmoretohimthanmeetstheeye.He’ssensitiveandhelistens,like,reallylistens,”Igush.
Crystalgivesmeapitifullook,likeshedoesn’twanttohurtmyfeelings.“Ishestill…sleepingwithotherwomen?”
“Idon’tknow.”Ihangmyhead.“ThelastgirlhebroughthomewasGabby.Fromyourgym.Thoughheiscasuallytextingonegirlheusedtodate.Kyla.”
“Hasheevergivenyouanyhinthehasrealfeelingsforyou?”Melasks.
“Hesmilesatmealot,mostlywhenhethinksI’mnotlooking.Oh,andhefeedsme,”Iadd,graspingatstraws.“HeeventriestomakefoodI’lllike.”Justafeweveningsago,hemademeaflatbreadpizza.Halfwasloadedwithveggies,whiletheotherhalfwasplainsauce,pepperoni,andcheese,justforme.
Crystal’sdoubtfulexpressiontramplesmytheorytodust.“Imean,thesmiling…he’sabitofaflirtingeneral.”
Ifrown.“Maybe.Buthypothetically,whatifI’mnotreadingtoomuchintothings?Whatifhedidcatchfeelingsforme?”
“ExpectingtobetheexceptiontotheruleislikeeatingTacoBellandbeingshockedwhenyougetmaddiarrhea,”Crystalsayspointedly.
Momhuffsatusasshepassesbywithbeady-eyedHillary.“Crystal!Peopleareeating.”
CrystalmouthsalazySorryandlookstoMelforsupport.“Iloveyou.ButthelastthingIwantisforyoutogethurtagain.”Shewatchesmeforafewmorebeats.“DoyoumindifIconsultScott?”
IbarelyhavetimetoagreebeforeScott’sfacetakesupCrystal’sphonescreen.HetellsheraboutthetraumaofbeingkidnappedandnearlypunchingTrevorintheface.Crystallaughs,herfaceaglowatthesightofhersoon-to-behusband,asifthey’vebeenapartfordaysandnotmerehours.“Canyoustepawayforaminute?Ihaveaquestionforyou.”
“Aboutwhat?”Scottasks,takingrefugeawayfromtheguysinthegymchangingroom.
IpressmycheekagainstCrystal’ssoI’mvisibleoncamera.“Weneedyouradvice.Abehavioralanalysis,ifyouwill.”
“WeneedyourhelpwithTrevor,”Crystalclarifies,givinghimabriefrundownofmysituation.“HashesaidanythingaboutTaratoyou?”
Heraisesacontemplativebrow.“Hetalksabouthersometimesatwork.”
“Whydidn’tyoutellmebefore?”Crystalwavesahand.“Thisisimportantinformation,babe.Caretoelaborate?”
“Ididn’tthinkitwasahugedeal.”Scottfrowns.“He’lljustlaughattextsshesendsatwork.Nothingtoomajor.”
“He’syourfriend.Couldyouaskhimforus?Gettheintel.Whateveritisthatdudesdo,”Crystalrequests.
Scottismildlytakenaback,likewe’vejustaskedhimtocommitacrimeonourbehalf.“Youwantmetoflat-outaskhimifhelikesTara?”
“Yes,”wesayinunison.
Heleansagainstthehanddryer,accidentallyturningiton.“Fine.Buthe’sgonnaknowsomethingisup.Wenevertalkaboutfeelings,”heshoutsoverthefan.
MylipstwistlikeI’vejustsuckedalemon.“Seriously?Neverinyourdecadeoffriendshiphaveyoutalkedaboutfeelings?”
“Unlessyoucountourfeelingstowardhockey,Crocs,orfirecalls,no.”Whenweshakeourheadsinderision,hegetsdefensive.“Hey,it’snotlikeI’venevertried.He’sjustnotaveryopenguy.”
Isigh.“That’s…pathetic.”
Crystalscoffsinsolidarity.“Gottalovetoxicmasculinity.”
“Yeah,yeah,Iknow.”Scottrollshiseyesandleansinclosetothecamera,suddenlychannelingFBIagentvibes.“Okay,I’llaskhimtonightwhenwegooutoncehe’sliquoredup.HowshouldIplayit?Casual?OrlikeI’manoverprotectivenewbrotherwho’llmurderhimifhebreathesamorouslyinyourdirection?”
“Imean,Iappreciatethebrotherlysupport,butdefinitelynotthelatter,”Iwarn.“Justbecasualandreportback.”
“Deal.”
TARA:Hello??Ihaven’theardfromyouinlikeanhour.Youpromisedaplay-by-play.
SCOTT:Sorry.Atclubnow…Trevorderedabeer.He’shangingoutwithagirl.
TARA:Agirl?Who?
SCOTT:Shemethimhere.Ithinktheyalreadyknoweachother.HernameisKaylaorsomething.
TARA:Isshetall?Smileswithhermouthopen?
SCOTT:Yeah.
Kyla.It’sKyla.
Trevor’sex-girlfriend.
LIVEWITHTARAROMANCEQUEEN—THEPLAYBOYTROPEANDWHYIHATEIT
[Tara’sfaceispartiallyobscuredbypoorlighting.Sheisneck-deepinahottub,herhaircrunchyandpartiallyfrozen,lookinglikeastraight-upmess.]
EXCERPTFROMTRANSCRIPT
TARA:Hello,romancebooklovers,welcomebacktomychannel.Ifyou’vefollowedmeforanounceoftime,you’llknowI’mabsolutetrashformosttropes.I’lltakeanything:secretbabies,lovetriangles.Butforsomereason,Ican’thandleplayboyslately.Now,I’mnotagainstpeoplesleepingaround.Youdoyou,boo.ButIhaveaproblemwiththedoublestandards.
Theplayboyheroisoftenrichandpowerful,maybeaduke,aCEO,orthefirstbornsonofacrimefamily.Asacommitment-phobicman-child,hesleepsaroundtocopewithhisovertemotionalproblems(duetoatragicbackstory).He’scruisingthroughlife,anemptyrobotuntiladoe-eyed,virginheroineunexpectedlypiqueshisinterest.She’sonlyimmunetohischarmforahotsecondbeforefallingforhisrakishlyhandsomelooksandsecret,trueselfthatonlysheknows.
Moreoftenthannot,theseheroesarehyper-controlling,brooding,andpossessive.Theypracticallybreathefireifanothermanlooksinhergeneraldirection,eventhoughthey’vejustsleptwithanotherwomananhourbefore.
Now,it’sknownthatheroinesareheldtoamuchhigherstandardthanheroes.Butwhydoweletourheroinesfallforscumforthesakeofthehero’scharacterarc?I’mallforaredemptionstory,butifIwouldn’tchoosethisguytodatemybestfriend,Ijustcan’trootforhim.
Thoughts?
COMMENTS:
Noooooo.RakesareTHEBEST.ThepayoffisalwaysthemostsatisfyingwhentheyinevitablychangetheirwaysforTHEONE.
Ilikemyplayboysfictional.Ihavenotimefortheminreallife!?chaptertwenty-three
LIKETHEEMOTIONALLYbalancedmillennialIam,copingwithmyproblemsbybeingpettyonsocialmediaismygo-to.Unfortunately,oneofthemostbelovedromancetropesgotthebruntofmypassive-aggressivecallout.
ImakethewisedecisiontodeletethevideoentirelyasIstompdownthestairsfromtherooftopinTrevor’shideousCrocs.Asidefrombeingtensizestoolargeformyfeet,they’redisgustinglycomfortableandconvenientforhottubsessions.Thetiniestsliverofmepartiallyunderstandsthehype,butI’drathercommittoanexclusivedietofrawvegetablesforlifebeforeIadmitthat.
Thelightsareoffinourapartment,whichtellsmeTrevorisstilloutonthetown.Iimaginehe’sinhisgloryrightnow,surroundedbybeautiful,large-breastedwomen,ontracktobringinghomeanotherInstagrammodelofhischoosingtoravage.Maybefive.Thoughhe’llconcentratemostofhiseffortsonKyla.
IseethewithjealousyatthemerethoughtofhimwithKyla.Howdoesoneproperlypreparethemselvestoheartheguytheylikehavingsexwithanotherwomanacrossthehall?
Perhapsthiswasinevitableallalong.Asidefrommovingoutandtakingupresidenceinacardboardboxonthestreet,whatelseamIsupposedtodobutsuckitup?Maybeit’llgeteasierwitheachsuccessivewoman.
TheacousticsofmytrustyTaylorSwiftbreakupplaylistfilltheapartmentasIawaitmyfateinthelivingroom,engulfedindarkness(tomatchmymood).LikemyEx-Filesbox,thisplaylisthasbeenwithmesincemybreakupwithTommyinninthgrade.Witheachnewalbum,Istrategicallyaddthegloomiestsongsinadvanceofsuchatimeasthis.
I’msevensongsdeepwhenTrevorreturns,interruptingtheemotionalbridgeof“AllTooWell”(theten-minuteversion,obviously).BracingmyselfforKyla’sinevitablehigh-pitchedgiggle,Idragmyselfintoaseatedposition,takinginTrevor’smassiveoutlineinthedoorway.Itappearshe’sreturnedalone.Kylaisnowheretobeseen.Idothementalrunningman,followedbyacoupleofairpunches.I’mfarmoreelatedabouthistemporarylone-wolfstatusthanIshouldbe.
“Hey,”Iraspthroughthedarkness,hittingpauseonTaylorSwift.
“Whyareyoulyinginthedarkalone?”Histoneislazyandslurred,afarcontrastfromhistypicalterse,rushedcadence.Hewobblesatad,gropingatthewallforsupport.Heisdefinitelynotsober.
DrunkTrevordoesn’tcarethathe’skickedhisshoesintoamessypile.Orthathiscoatslippedoffthehangerthemomenthewalkedaway.DrunkTrevorevenpropshisfeetonthecoffeetablethemomentheslouchesontothecouch.
Achunkofhisusuallytamed,ashywavesbranchesupward,Alfalfa-style.Istandtopatitdownbeforemybrainsoundsthealarm,remindingmehe’slikearescuedogwearingoneofthoseDoNotTouch,IBitevestsbecausehecan’tbetrustedyet.AndneithercanI.
“I’veneverseenyouundertheinfluencebefore.IhopeyouUber’d,”Isay,forcingbothhandsatmysideswheretheybelong.
“CourseIdid.What’dyoudotonight?”
“Hottub.Self-loathing.Theusual.”
Hischuckleislightandeasy,almostgiddy.Herunshishandthroughhishair,inadvertentlymakinghiscowlickworse.Hefishestheremotefromthecrackbetweenthecushions.Withoutnotice,hetossesittome,thoroughlyentertainedwhenIdazedlyfumbleitlikeaslowloris.“WannawatchTheBachelorwithme?”
“You’regoingtowatchitwithoutmeeitherway,aren’tyou?”Iventure.“Whoknewyou’dbecomesuchaproudcitizenofBachelorNation.”
Heswingsmealazy,resignedgrin.“WhatcanIsay?I’minvestedinWyatt’slifenow.Comeon,sitwithme.”
“Spoileralert:hewillchooseabrideandthey’llsplitupsixmonthslater,”Iinformhim,notbudging.IfIknowmyselfaswellasIthink,spendingmorequalitytimewithaguyIhaveunrequitedfeelingsforcanonlyendinatsunamioftears.
Hepatsthemiddlecushionnexttohimforemphasis.Liketheweak-willedindividualIam,Iconcede,settlingonthefarcushion.Myentirebodyisengulfedinflames.I’vebasicallyjustagreedtoaTVdatewithSatan.
I’mprofuselysweatinginmyflannelsthroughoutWyatt’sgroupdate.Thegirlsarequiteliterallyboxingandtakingpunchestowinhisaffection.Onegirlishard-core,nearlybreakinganotherwoman’sveneers.
Trevornudgesmeonthethighwithhisknuckle.“Icouldseeyoubreakingsomeone’snose.You’relikealittlescrappyhamster.”
“IoncebitanothergirlwhotriedtokissDanielatrecess,”Iadmit.
“You’reabiter?”Hepretendstorecoiltohissideofthecouch.
Ipeelmyeyesfromthetelevisiontoshoothimmybestfaux-evillook.“It’smysecretweapon.”
“That’sofficiallymynewfavoritethingaboutyou.”Whenhebeamsatme,IhavetoavertmygazebacktomuchlessdesirableWyattontheTV.Icouldn’tlookintoTrevor’seyesandnotfeelalittlesomething.Onemoresecondofeyecontactandmypoorlittlesoulwouldshrivel,unabletocopewiththebeauty.
“Youhaveotherfavoritethings?”Ipry.
“Ohyeah.”Hedoesn’tbothertoelaborate.He’stoodistractedbysexygradeschoolteacherMona,hisfavoriteBachelorcontestant.
Aftermanybeatsofcruelsilence,TrevorshiftshisattentionbacktomewhenthehostmoseysintothemansiontogiveWyattapointlessheart-to-heart.“YoumusthavereallylikedDanieltobiteanothergirl.”
“Hewasmybestfriend.Ever.Inthewholeworld.”
“Umm,ouch.I’msittingrighthere.”Hefoldsahandoverhisheartandpretendstowinceinpain.“IthoughtIwasyourbestfriend.”
“Ididn’trealizewe’dadvancedtothatlevel.AmIyourbestfriend?”
“Maybe.Youknowallmysecretsnow.Mostofthem,atleast.”
Idon’trespond.I’mplaguedwithfartoomanyfeelingsoverthisstatement.Ontheonehand,I’mmush.BeinglabeledasTrevorMetcalfe’sbestfriendisthehighestofcompliments.Ontheotherhand,theonlythingmoreunromanticthanfriendstatusisbestfriendstatus.
He’sstillwatchingme.“IfyourbestfriendDanielhadn’tmoved,doyouthinkyou’dhavedated?”
“Ahundredpercent.Iwasinlovewithhim…thoughtobefair,Iwasinlovewithalltheboysinmyclass.Butnoonetoppedhim.”
Trevorsmileslazily.“Thinkyou’llgobacktotryanotherrun-in?”
“Forsure.”Ihavenospecificplanstostageanotherrun-in,butthegalaisinaweek.Ineedtofiguresomethingout.“Ijusthopeheremembersme.”
“Hewill.”
Throughtheroseceremony,Trevorsinkshorizontallyonthecouch,unexpectedlyrestinghisheadinmylap.I’mfrozenasheadjuststheweightofhisheadevenlyovermythighs.Mysensesmagnify.I’malltooawareoftherhythmofhisbreath,afewbeatsslowerthanmyown.Thepokeofhishairthroughthefabricofmyflannelpajamabottoms.Thedelectableyetnotoverpoweringsmellofhisaftershave.
Myfingerstwitch,unsurewhattodowithmyhands.DoIkeepthemlikenoodlesatmysides?Restonehandonhishard,impeccablyhonedpectorals?Givehimaheadmassage?Cradlehisheadandsinghimtosleeplikeanyperfectlynormalbestfriendwoulddo?
Imakethesafedecisiontokeepmyhandstomyself.
Hedoesn’tevenbataneyewhenImaketheexecutivedecisiontoputonTangled
Throughoutthemajorityofthemovie,Trevoristheonlyonepayingattention.Mymindisarush-hourtrafficjamduringthewinter’sworstsnowstorm.Hurriedthoughtscollideandcuteachotheroff.Sittingontheoppositeendofthecouchwasnerve-inducingenough,butthisupcloseandpersonalviewofhisfaceishazardous.HavingfeelingsforTrevorMetcalfeislikedrivingintheoppositelaneonabusyfreewayasoncomingtrafficbarrelstowardyou.
WhenTangledends,hepeersupatmethroughthedenseforestofhislashes.Itakeintheperfectslopeofhisnose.Themixtureofdarkandlightstubblealonghisdefinedjaw.Thelittlehalf-inchscaroverhislefteyebrow,whichIknowhesustainedfallingface-firstintoacoffeetableatagefive.Eventhroughthedarkness,theTVlightcastsareflectionoffhiseyes,makingthemshinelikecracklingsparksinthewildfireragingthroughme.
“Tangledwasn’tawful,”headmits.
“AreyoutellingmeyouactuallylikedaDisneymovie?”
“Ididn’tmindFlynnRider.Hewascool.”
“See?Itoldyouhewasn’toff-brand.YoushouldbehappyIassignedyouhimandnot…theBeast.”
Hechucklessoftly.“Thiswasfun.”
“Yeah.Beatslyingherealoneinthedark,self-loathing.”
Hemakesatsksoundandfrownsupatme.“Iwishyouwouldn’tdothat.Thereisabsolutelynothingaboutyoutoloathe.”
“It’sactuallyhealthierthanitsounds—gettingrealwithmyself.Havingcatharticcrieseverynowandthen.Mytherapisthighlyrecommendedit.”Iworkdownaswallow,nearlycrossingintothespiritworldwhenherunshisindexfingerovermyknee,catchingapieceoflint.
“Youseeatherapist?”heasks.
“Iusedtoseeoneonandoffsincehighschool.HernamewasWendy.Icalledhermybreakuptherapist.MymomforcedmetoseeherafterCodydumpedme.Iwasinconsolableinmyroomforweeks,andnooneknewwhattodowithme.I’dseehereverytimemylifewentofftherails.WentbackrecentlyaftermysplitwithSeth,butsheretiredlastspring.Ihaven’ttriedanyonenewsince.”
Hepresseshischeekagainstmythigh.“Youshould.Spillingyourgutsontheregularseemslikeitwouldbehealthyforyou.”
“Probably.I’drecommendtherapyforanyone,actually.”Iabsentmindedlypatdownthesectionofhishairthat’sstickingout.Workingmyfingersthroughhisdense,silkymaneshouldn’tfeelsocomfortable,soritualistic,likeI’vedoneitamilliontimesbefore.
“Idon’tknowabouttherapyforeveryone,”hedecidesafterafewmomentsofsilentenjoymentofhisheadmassage.Hiseyesareclosednow,whichisprobablysaferforeveryoneinvolved—mainlyme.
“Youdon’tthinkitwouldbehealthytotalktosomeoneaboutyour…baggage?”
Hecracksalidandsmilesupatme.“YouthinkIhavebaggage?”
Ilevelhimaseriouslook.“Metcalfe,youhaveafullluggagecartofbaggage.You’vegonethroughalotwithyourparents,yourbrother,andAngie.Iknowyoudon’tlovetalkingaboutthem,oryourfeelingsingeneral,butmaybeitwouldhelp.”
“Ithinkit’sthetalking-to-strangerspartIhaveanissuewith.”Hepeersupatmeagain.“Maybeyoucanbemytherapist.Iliketalkingtoyou.”
Imeethisgaze,holdingmybreath.Somehow,thatseeminglyinsignificantstatementmeanseverything.Regardlessofwhetherhehasfeelingsforme,hefeelscomfortabletalkingtome,ofallpeople.“Iliketalkingtoyoutoo.”
“Youliketotalktoeveryone,though.”Hepauses,lettingoutaone-syllablelaugh.“You’regonnabethedeathofme,Chen.”
Ihavenoideahowtointerpretthis,nordoIhavetimeto,becausefromthesoundofhislaboredbreathing,he’sfallenasleeponmylap.AsmuchasI’dlovetobehispillowforthenight,thisdoesnotbodewellforeitherofus.HestirsasIgentlyshifthishead.
“Whereareyougoing?”heslurs.
“Bed.Webothneedtogotobed.”
Heopenshiseyesandfrowns.“Can’twestayhere?”
“IfIletyousleeponthecouch,you’lljustcomplaintomorrowabouthavingasoreneck.”
“Yeah…You’reright.”Withalongsigh,hestands,stretchinghisarmstowardtheceiling,allowingmethebriefestflashofhisdeliciousabswhenhisshirtlifts.
Headdown,Ifollowhimintothedarkhallway.Iexpecthimtoheadstraighttohisroomandclosethedoor,buthelingersinthemiddleofthehalloutsidemybedroomdoorway.AsIpassthroughthetightspacetowardmyroom,hisfingersjustbarelygrazemine.
“?’Night,”hesays,eversoformally
Ismile.“Goodnight.”
Abeatofsilence.
Hedoesn’tgotohisroom,andneitherdoI.We’restandinginourrespectivedoorwaysinaweird,nonconfrontationalface-off.
Whyisn’thegoingtobed?
Whyaren’tI?
Myheartthumpswildlyagainstmychestwalllikeasteeldrum.JustlikethatmomentofintensetelepathyinDaniel’slobby,rightbeforehekissedme,Iholdhisstare,mentallydaringhimtoapproach.
Andhedoes.?chaptertwenty-four
SWEETCHRIST.Iamnotequippedforthis.
Panicked,Iwetmybottomlip,readyingforanotherearthshakingkiss.
Isthisreallyhappening?WhyamIwearinguglyflannelPJs,ofallthings?Iaskmyselfashishandcupsmycheekwiththelightesttouch.Histhumbdoesagentlesweepovermybottomlip,sendingashiverhurtlingdownthebackofmyneck.Inastartlingwhoosh,thatsamehandreachesdownward,towardmywaist.
“Goodnight,”hewhispers,reachingforthedoorknob.Hepullsitshut,cruellyseparatingus.
Foranindeterminateamountoftime,Iblinkinthedarkness,intheconfinesofmyownbedroom.Ipressmypalmagainstthedoor,royallydumbfounded.
Whattheactualfuckwasthat?
???
INTHELIGHTofdaythenextmorning,Trevor’sshoesarearrangedinastraightlineandhiscoatisnowsafelybackonthehanger.WhenIemergefrommyroominmyscrubstoeatmymorningPop-Tart,he’salreadyparkedatthekitchenislandeatinganomelet.Hegreetsmewithashychindip.
“You’relookingsuspiciouslyhealthyafteranightofheavydrinking,”Isay,waitingformyPop-Tarttotoast.Unliketherestofusmeremortals,Trevordoesn’tresembleacorpseafteranightout.No.Helookslikeanangelwithhisbrighteyesandperfect,hydratedcomplexion.HecouldprobablyhiketheDolomitesrightnowifsomeoneaskedhimto.
Heshrugs.“Idon’treallygethangovers.Youofftowork?”heaskscasually,asifeverythingistotallynormal.Asifthatheatedencounterinthehallwaylastnightdidn’thappen.
Iblink,wonderingifIdreamedtheentirescenario.BeforeIheadtowork,wetalkaboutamyriadoftopics,likefinalpreparationsforAngie’sparty,Trevor’sdisappointmentthatScottdidn’tgetdrunklastnightathisownbachelorparty,andmyunwaveringpositionthatheshouldbeindictedonafederaloffenseforsmotheringhisomeletinketchup.Wetouchonliterallyeverythingexcepthisbizarrobehaviorfromlastnight.
There’slittletimetooveranalyzetoday,becauseworkisinsanelybusy.Wegetaninfluxofpatients,includingaweek-oldpatientwithaseverecaseofsepsiswe’reparticularlyworriedabout
Sethcatchesmeonafive-minutebreatherinthenurses’loungeanddecidesit’sanopportunetimetoinquireaboutmypersonallife.
“Hey,”hesays,sidlingupbesidemeinfrontoftheKeurig.Thefancycoffeemachineinthedoctors’loungehaslongbeenrepaired,butinanunfortunateturnofevents,Sethhasconcludedheprefersthemachineinhere.“How’sthesearchcomingalong?”
“You’vebeenactivelykeepingupwithmysearchonline,”Isay,makingitclearIknowhe’swatchedeverysinglestory.“I’msureyou’realreadyaware.”
Heignoresthisfact.“Thinkyou’llbringoneoftheseluckyguystothegala?”heasks,eventhoughheknowsfullwellthere’sonlyoneleft—Daniel.
“Yeah.IthinkImight.”Imakeaconcertedefforttosoundoptimistic.Thegala(Valentine’sDay)isnowonlydaysaway.Itwouldbenicetohavesomeonebymyside,likeDaniel.
“I’mproudofyou,youknow?Ithoughtthiswasallalittleridiculousatfirst.ButI’mgladyouhavesomethingelsetofocuson.”Idon’tmissthecondescensioninhistone.
I’mtemptedtostrikehimintheforeheadwithacoffeepodasadistractivemeasureandrunaway,butalas,I’maprofessional.Instead,Ijustforceasmile,takemycoffee,andGTFO.
WhileinteractionswithSethareneverpleasantandoftenrequirespiritualrecuperation,maybethiswasthekickinthepantsIneeded.FartoomuchenergyhasbeenexpendedoverTrevorinthepastweek,andforwhat?
Withalltheconfusionwithmyroommate,I’venearlylostsightofmyoriginalgoalofsecuringmystorybooksecond-chanceromance.Ican’tletthesestrangelittlemomentswithTrevorknockmeoffcourse.
Ithinkaboutallmyfollowersandhowinvestedtheyareinmyrelationshipjourney.It’slikeI’maromanceheroinethey’rerootingfor.ThelastthingIwanttodoisreporttothemthatit’sallbeenacompleteandutterfailure.
IalsomadeavowtoCrystalandMelmonthsagothatI’dfocusonmyexes,andIamnotthekindofpersontobreakapromise.
???
WEDNESDAY,FEBRUARY8
TaraChen???5:46P.M.
HiDaniel,
Thisisgoingtoseemrandom,butweusedtobebestfriendsaskids.IncaseyouforgotwhoIam(andIdon’tblameyouifyoudid,I’mforgettable),I’mthegirlwhousedtomakeyouembarrassinglygushyValentine’sDaycards.TheonewhousedtoeatmostoftheDunkarooicingandleaveyouwiththedrybiscuits.YougavemeapinkFurbyformysixthbirthdayparty,andwenamedherRoxy.
Welosttouchaftermiddleschool,whichisprobablyforthebest.Ididnotthriveinhighschool.Nowwe’re30.I’vespentalotoftimemourningouryouthsandImissyou.ItappearsyouarenotonlineanywhereexcepthereonLinkedIn.Ofcourse,I’vethoughtaboutemailingyouatdragon_ball_z_is_kewl@xmail.com(LOL),butIassumeyouarenolongerusingthatemailaddress.
Anyway,nopressure,butI’dlovetohearfromyou.Itwouldmakemyday(no,mylife!).
—YourBestFriend,Tara
???
“THISISPROBABLYamassivewasteoftime,”IgrumbletomyselfasIhitSendonmysubwaycommutehome.ImakeapactwithmyselfthatifheignoresmyLinkedInDM,I’lltakeitasasigntogiveuponloveentirelyandpurchasearescuedogwhowon’tbreakmyheart.
Luckily,Ihaveabrand-newaudiobooktodistractmewhileIawaitaresponse.Thisoneisanothersecond-chancereunionromance,aboutShelley,aNewYorkCitysocialitewhogoesbacktoherdown-homerootsafterascandal.Uponreturn,shediscoversherex-boyfriend,Kent,amusclycattlerancher,hasbeenrunningherlatefather’sfarm.
WhenIreturntotheapartment,IhitPlaywhileIprepareasophisticateddinnerofchickennuggetsandcurlyfries.Thenarrator’sbutterysmoothvoicedrownsoutthenoiseofmyexcessivethoughts.
WhileI’mwaitingfortheoventopreheat,Trevoremergesfromhisbedroomandquietlybeginsrootingaroundthekitchenforhisownfood.Thesultry,late-night-radio-showvoiceofmyaudiobookfillsthedeadairbetweenus.
“Shelleygrippedthebaseofhiscock,feelingitspulseagainstherpalm…”
Heclearshisthroatbehindme,chuckingaheadofbroccoliontohiscuttingboard.“Whoa.Whatareyoulisteningto?”
Theboldvoiceplowsforwardwithgusto,entirelyshameless.“Kentletoutalow,hungrygrowlashiseyesfeasteduponherglistening..”
“Myaudiobook,”Isay,mytoneclippedasIarrangemynuggetsonthepanintheshapeofaheart.
HesnickersandmutterssomethingIcan’thear.
Nofail,listeningtosexscenesviaaudiobookispainfullyawkward,evensolo.Doubletheawkwardwhensomeoneelseisintheroom.IgotohitPauseandshriek.
IhaveaLinkedInnotification.It’saDMresponse.FromDaniel.
Ifthiswereamovie,anupbeatpopsongwouldfadein.Somethingwithaheavypiano.Maybe“AThousandMiles”byVanessaCarltonor“BrighterThantheSun”byColbieCaillat.Regardless,it’sthesoundofeverythinginmylifefinallycomingtogether.TheweightofmyfailedengagementwithSeth,movingtwotimes,myexes,andtheemotionalturmoilthatisTrevorhaveseeminglydissolvednowthatI’vefinallymadecontactwithDaniel.
Trevor’stoobusychoppinghisbroccolitonoticemyreactiontomyphone.Eitherthatorhedoesn’tcare.
Islinkawaytotheprivacyofmyownroomtoreadit.
WEDNESDAY,FEBRUARY8
DanielNakamura???7:13P.M.
HiTara,
Areyoukiddingme?OfcourseIrememberyou.Incaseyouforgot,Idon’tlikemanypeople.Youwereoneofthefew.Ifyoucanbelieveit,Itoowasveryuncoolinhighschool.Itmighthavebeenniceifwecouldhavebeenuncooltogether,don’tyouthink?
You’redefinitelyright—Idonotusemyoldemailaddressanymore.ThoughDragonBallZisstillKEWL.Ithoughtaboutwritingyouaswell,butIfiguredyouweren’tstillatexesandohs93@xmail.com.
Ipluckedmyfirstgrayhairtheotherday.Howdidwegetsoold?Let’scatchupfordinnersoon?Thingsarereallybusywithwork,butIcouldmakemyselfavailablethisFridayorSaturdaynight,ifyou’refree?
—YourBestFriend,Daniel
Ps.Iamsogladtohearfromyou.
Youandmeboth,Daniel.?chaptertwenty-five
ILOOKRIDICULOUS.”TREVORpoutsathisreflectioninthefull-body-lengthgildedmirror,tuggingatthefabricofhiscostumelikeit’samonstrosity.
We’reatacostumerentalstoretryingonourrespectiveDisneygetups,oneofthelastremainingbirthdaypartyplanningtasks.DespitehisadmittedenjoymentofTangled,Trevorisnotenthused.
Ipullthevesttocenteronhischestwithahardtug,takingamentalpictureforsafekeepingondaysIneedaninstantmoodboost.“Shutup.Itlooksamazing.Instantpanty-dropper.”
LikethedashingandeffortlesslycharismaticFlynnRiderfromTangled,Trevorliberallyfillsouthisimpossiblytightpairofcamel-coloredpants.I’mtemptedtobounceacoinoffhisass.Likethemonsterheis,hesomehowmanagestopullofftheornategreenvestbetterthancartoonFlynn.
Hegrunts,fussingwiththefrontclasp.“Thisisapanty-dropper?Maybeinmedievaltimes.”
“Stopmessingwithit,”Iorder,swattinghishandaway.“AndFYI,thevestisbasicallythehistoricalversionofaHenley.It’sastapleintheromanceherowardrobe.”
“What’saHenley?”
Iglareathim.“YoudidnotjustaskmewhataHenleyis.”
“Neverheardofit.”
“Furtherproofyouarenotromanceheromaterial,”Iconclude,moreformyownbenefit,lestIslipupandcontinuetoforgetthatglaring,indisputablefact.
Shockingly,hedoesn’tdebateit.Hegoesquietforamomentbeforeconceding,“Istilldon’tknowwhataHenleyis.”
“It’soneofthosecottonpullovershirts.Roundcollarwiththelittlebuttons?Scottywearsthemallthetime,”Iexplain,softeningmytone.
Hecheckshimselfoutagaininthemirror.“Icouldrockthose.”
“Iwouldn’tbesosure.Theyrequireacertainkindofswagger.”Truthfully,I’mbothstartledandaffrontedbythementalvisualofhistattooedbiceps,cordedforearms,andbroadchestdoingovertimeunderanunbuttonedHenley.He’sgoingabouthisday,doingthenormalthingsromanceheroesdo.Rollinguphissleeves.Leaningonvarioussupportivestructures,armscrossedtoaccentuatesaidbiceps.Beinganoverallwalkingthirsttrap.I’dfollowhimstraightintoapyramidschemeinthisgetup.
“Swagger.Pft.”Hewavesmyblatantlieaway,unbothered,probablybecauseheknowshelooksflawlessinjustaboutanything(andnothingatall).HeeyeshisDisneycostumeinthemirroroncemoreandwhineslikeasmallchild.“CanIpleaselosethetightsatleast?”
Deprivingtheworldofhisassinthosepantswouldbeaninternationalwarcrime.“First,thosearenottights.Andyoucan’tgetanyworsethanme.I’mbasicallyagiganticbumblebee.”Igesturetomyill-fittingyellowBellegown.IfIneededanyproofthatyellowdoesnothingforme,it’srighthereandnowinthemirror.
Hemakesnoattempttosparemyfeelings.“WhywouldyouchooseBeautyandtheBeastofalltheprincesses?She’sprettydamnboring,fromwhatIremember.”Hewavesadismissivehandatmyexcessivelypoofydresslikeit’sasteamingpileofshit.
“Ithoughtyousaidyoudidn’twatchDisney?”
“Notasanadult.I’veseenalltheoldones.”
Iglowerathim,myhandonmyhip.“Well,ifyoumustknow,BelleandIarethemostalike.We’rebothbookworms,wetrytoseethegoodinpeople,wedon’tlikebeingtoldwhattodo.Ifyoucallherboring,you’recallingmeboring.”
Hetiltshisheadlikeadog,givingthedressanothergander.“Ijustmeantheroutfitisalittle…much.Withthebowsandallthefabric.Whydidn’tyougowithLittleMermaid?”
“WehaveanArielcostume,”Glenda,thecrotchetystoreowner,informsusfromacrosstheroom,whereshe’ssteamingaCaptainAmericasuitI’mtemptedtorentforScott,givenhisuncannyChrisEvansresemblance.
“We’regoodwithBelle,thanks,”Isaygratefully,andturnbacktoTrevor.“Youjustwanttoseemeinashellbikinitop.”
“Nobodywouldcomplainaboutthat.”IsthisTrevor’swayofadmittinghewouldn’tmindseeingme,hisbestfriend,inaseashellbra?
Itugattheitchysleeveofmyballgown,unabletodiscernwhetherhe’sbeingseriousorsarcastic.“Myboobsarenotappropriateforyourinnocentniece’stenthbirthdayparty.”
“Ifyousayso.”He’sdistractedbyhisphone.Ican’thelpbutpeekatthescreen.MyeyeszeroinonanopentextconversationwithKyla.
“So,howwasyourhangouttheothernightwithKyla?”Iask,tryingtomakemyvoiceascasual,sweet,andDisneyprincess–likeaspossible.“Wassheasamazingasyouremember?”
Hepauses,hisbrowraised,evidentlyperplexed.“How’dyouknowImetupwithKyla?”
“Scottytoldme.”
“Isee.”Hetuckshisphonebackinhispocket.“Itwasgoodtocatchupwithher.Wemightdodrinksorsomethinginthefuture.”
Thisnewsdoesn’tsitrightwithmyspirit,soItakecoverbehindtheheavyvelvetdressingroomcurtain,whereit’ssafe.
“Whatareyouuptotonight?”heasks
“Oh,uh,Ihaveplansactually,”Itellhim,sweatingasIstumbleovertheinnerlayerofthisgodforsakengown.
IttookafulldaybeforeDanielrespondedtomyenthusiastic,all-caps-lockDMaboutbeingfreeonFriday.CrystalandMelhadtotalkmeofftheledgemultipletimes.IthoughtforsureI’dscaredhimoff.
Trevorclearshisthroat.“Youhaveplans?”
I’mtoodistractedbymyhairtangledintheclaspofmybratoenlightenhimonmyplanswithDaniel.Afterasolidminuteofbendingandcontortingmybodylikeapretzel,farbeyondmynaturalflexibility,Iletoutastrained,cowlikegroan.“Help,”Iplead.
BeforeIgetthechancetohikethegownbackuptocovermyself,thecurtainripsopen.WhenIyelp,Trevor’seyesrivetdirectlytomycleavageburstingovermydouble-push-upbraanddownwardtothetinytriangleoflacefabricbetweenmylegs.
Heswiftlyclampsahandoverhiseyeslikehisretinashavebeenscorchedandbacksoutofthechangingroom.“Damnit,Tara.Youcouldhavetoldmeyouwerehalf-naked.”
“Ididn’tknowyouwererightoutsidethestall.Anddon’tactscandalized.Youseemeinabikinialmosteverynightinthehottub.It’sthesamething,”Ihiss,stillstruggling.“Getbackhere.Ineedyourhelp.”
“Seriously?”
“Myhairisstuckinmybraclasp.Ineedyoutountangleit.”
Heletsoutatorturedsigh,likeateenagerbeingforcedtofinishtheircalculushomework.Whenhefinallypeelsbackthecurtainagain,hishandsarestillsnugoverhiseyes.It’snotalargespacebyanymeans,butitfeelsinfinitelymoreclaustrophobicwithaThor-sizemanbehindme,alongwithmymassive,fifty-pounddress.MaybeTrevorhasapointabouttheexcessivefabric.
Hisproximitybehindmeinstantlydriesmythroat.I’mdesperatetochugagiganticwaterbottle.Hisstrained,mintybreathsoothesthesensitivefleshonthebackofmyneck,whichisbentatanoddanglefromtheweightofthetangle.Whenhisroughfingertipsgrazemyback,ahumofelectricitycomesalive,circuitingtoallmynerveendingsfrommyfingertipstomytoes.
Hetugsmytanglefree,littlebylittle,carefulnottoripmyhairout.Theodd,gentlegrazeofhisknucklesbrushingagainstmybackisenoughtosendanystraightwomanintoaboutofunconsciousness.Afteracoupleofdeepinhalesofhisscent,I’maragdoll.Pliable,floppy,andanall-aroundhotmess.Whenhetugsonestubbornsectionofhairalittleharderthanexpected,Itipintohim,relyingonhisbodyforsupport.Hesplayshismassivehandovermybarehipbonetosteadyme.
Mybreathhitchesthemomentthesmallofmybackpressesflushagainstsomethingveryunexpected.Andhard.Mymindsplitsintofragments.TrevorMetcalfeisinsanelyturnedon.
“Whyareyou…?”Idon’tdaremove,backward,forward,sideways,orotherwise.
Heinstantlybacksuphalfastep,whichdoesn’tmeanmuchinthetinychangingroomstall.Heletsoutafrustratedhuff.“Canyoublameme?You’rehalf-nakedandpressedagainstme,”hequips,evidentlyoffendedandentirelybrokenupaboutit.Iwhiparound,abouttodescendintomaniclaughterwhenhewagshisfingeratme.“Donotlaugh.”
Holdingmydressovermyboobsinonehand,Islaptheotherovermymouthtosuppressmyreactionwhiletryingnottolookdirectlyatit.“Okay,okay.It’sforgotten.”No,it’snot.
Pained,hepointedlystaresattheceiling,probablywishinghecouldejecthimselfoutofhere,straightthroughtheroof,IronMan–style.HelooksaboutasuncomfortableasDadwhenMomforcedhimtobepartofourbirdsandthebeestalkwhenIwasthirteen.
“Whatexactlyareyourplanstonight?Girls’night?”heprobes.
Ishereallytryingtohavearidiculouslycasualconversationafterthat?Nowonderthemandoesn’tdosmalltalk.Ilogthisasavictory,nomatterhowscientific.Thenagain,Ihaveheardofmenpoppingbonersoverless.
“I’mgoingonadate,actually,”Isaythroughacough,inadvertentlyrippingtheremaininglockofhairfreefrommybraclasp.Ihaveabaldspotnow,I’msureofit.
Heperksupwithrenewedcuriosity.“Adate?Withwho?”
“Daniel.”
“What?Youdidn’ttellmeyougotintouchwithhim.”
Iliftmybareshoulderwithadismissiveshrug.“Sorry.Imeanttotellyou.”IdescribeourLinkedInDMreunioningreatdetail.
Heclearshisthroat,awkwardlyrestinghisarmonthewallbehindmyhead.“So…you’regoingtodinner?Tonight?”
“I’mtakinghimtothatItalianplaceItoldyouaboutafewblocksfromourplace.MammaMaria’s.GrandmaFlohadherengagementpartytherelastyear.Theirfettucciniisonawholedifferentlevel,”Isayovertheechoofmyheartbeat.“SorryifI’mrambling.I’mjustnervous.It’sbeensolongsinceI’veseenhim.Whatdoyouthinkthechancesarethathe’llalsobedowntobemygaladateonTuesday?”
Hiseyessearchmine,buthedoesn’trespond.Thesilenceispalpableasthewallsofthechangingroomthreatentocloseinaroundus.
“YouthinkI’mgettingmyhopesup,don’tyou?Beingtoointenseaboutit?”Iventure.
“Idon’tthinkthatatall.”Hecatchesaloosestrandofmyhairthroughhisfingers.Hisjawissotense,he’satriskofcrackinghisbeautifulteeth.He’sliterallyinchesawayfrommyface,andifIwentonmytiptoes,Icouldprobablyclosethatgap.Ithinkhemightevenwantto,untilhesays,“You’regonnamakesomeguyreallyhappyoneday.AndIhopeforyoursakethatit’sDaniel.”
Iflinch.Hiswordssolidifytheharshtruth.Regardlessofwhetherornothewasturnedonbymeinanenclosedspace,hesureassugarisnotmyhero.
ThesoonerIcometotermswiththatglaring,indisputablefact,thebetter.
There’sastretchofsilenceasheexitsthestall,closingthecurtainbetweenusyetagain.?chaptertwenty-six
CANIOFFERyouadrinkyet,ma’am?”Rogan,thewaiter,asksforthethirdtimeinafauxQueen’sstyleBritishaccent.Forthepasttwentyminutes,he’sbeensilentlyjudgingtheshitoutofmefromafarasIdemothehousebreadsticks.
“I’dstillliketowaitformydate,thanks.”Igivehimmybestbreezy,unbotheredsmile,likeI’mperfectlycontentaloneatthistablefortwo.Justmeandmybreadsticks.
Rogangivesmeatight-lippednodandshufflesawaytoobservefromafarwiththeotherwaitstaff.I’mconvincedthey’retakingbetsaboutmebasedontheirnot-so-subtleglancesandwhispers.Afteryearsofworkinginmygrandparents’restaurant,I’mpainfullyawarethatmakingdumbbetsoncustomersissometimestheonlysourceofentertainmentinanotherwisemonotonousshift.
Tenbuckssaysherdatewon’tshow.
Let’swageraguesswhenthewaterworksstart.
Whyisitthatsittingaloneinafancyestablishmentissomuchmorehumiliatingthaninyouraveragechainrestaurant?NoonewouldjudgemeifIwereeatingthesebreadstickssoloatOliveGarden.
Idrumthetoesofmyheelsagainstthelushcarpet,tryingtoblockouttheclassicalmusic,whichprobablywouldn’tbesogratingifIweren’tlanguishingallbymylonesome.Danielislate,andI’mstartingtowonderwhenit’sappropriatetophoneitinandorderasliceofthetwelve-layerchocolatecakeonthemenu,togo.Icursemyselffornotconfirmingthedateandtimeaftermyfittingatthecostumeshop.
Whenmyphonelightsup,ajoltofelectricityripsthroughme.IthastobeDaniel,tellingmehe’sonhiswayposthaste,followedbyalong-windedexplanationoftheharrowingincidentthatcausedhistardiness.
Butnosuchluck.ThetextisfromTrevor.
TREVOR:How’sdinnergoing?
I’mhalf-temptedtoignorehistext,simplytoavoidthepity.
TARA:IthinkI’mbeingstoodup.Goingtoleavesoonprobably.Dowehavechipsathome?I’mgonnaneedthem.
TARA:*GIFofSadPabloEscobarallbyhislonesomeonuglypatioswing*
Atthehalf-hourmark,IshootDanielaDM,lettinghimknowI’mwaitingattherestaurant.Hehasyettorespond.
Atthefrontoftheroom,Roganwhisperstothehostess,whohasvacanteyesandfuchsialipstickonherteeth.Theysimultaneouslycastgrimexpressionstowardme.IfIhadtoguess,they’restressingaboutthelackoftablespace.Ican’tsayIblamethem.MammaMaria’sisafullhousetonight.Thelineupisoutthedoor,spillingdownthebrown,slushysidewalk.I’mtheannoyingcustomerneedlesslywastingatable,throwingeverythingoff.
Iholdmybreathasthehostesssashaysover.“Doyouknowiftheothermemberofyourpartywillbeheresoon?”sheasks,brandishingafrighteninglyfakelopsidedsmile.Hernametagisonlyhalf-visiblebehindherblondcurls,allowingmetomakeoutthefirstfewletters(Mer).“Wehaveanotherreservationinhalfanhour.”
“He’llbehere.Intenminutes,”Isayreassuringly,thoughmoretomyself.
Shegivesmeapitifulexpressionandsighsdramatically,likeshe’sdoingmeamassivefavor.“Tenmoreminutes,”shewarns,likeawearyparentgrantingtheirchildextraplaytimeatthepark.
Ipictureanancient,hand-carvedhourglassemptyingwithjusttwomeaslygrainsofsandstubbornlyholdingon.Atthenine-minutemark,Roganstridesforthtoofficiallykickmeout.Heclearshisthroat,cruellyforcingmetolookhimintheeyeswhilehedoesso.“Ma’am,Iapologize,butI’mgoingtohavetoaskyouto—”
“Hey,I’msosorry,babe.Igotheldupinameeting,”aboomingvoicesoundsoverhisshoulder.
It’snotDaniel.
It’sTrevor.
Hiseyesarewarm,almostamber-coloredfromtheglowofthecandlelight.Andhe’sdressedinasuit,noless,casuallytakingagooddecadeoffmylife-span.
Agoodsuitcanelevateanymanatleasttwonotches.Somemenarejustborntowearsuits,liketheChristianGreyorChuckBasstypes,theoneswhocommandrespectwhentheirsuaveselvesstrideintoaboardroom,theirbrowsraisedinquisitively.Theysmelllikemahogany,radiatingstatusandsexappealwithadashofsociopathictendencies.Themerefasteningofacufflinkisenoughtomakethepostmenopausalsecretaryshiftinherchair.Onrareoccasions,theymaybespottedinthewildincasualwear,andit’sjarring,likeseeingyourfirst-gradeteachernexttoyouinthecondomandlubeaisleofthelocalpharmacy.
ThentherearemenlikeTrevorMetcalfe.Therugged,emotionallydamagedtypeswhowouldratherwearliterallyanythingelse,preferablytheirripped,distressedjeansandleatherjacketthatsmellslikedanger.Butinexceptionalcircumstanceswhentheywearasuit,it’sgameoverforhumanity.Personally,I’moffendedI’vebeendeprivedofsuchamagnificentsightuntilnow.
Adark-charcoaljacketspansTrevor’sbroadshoulderslikeaglove,thefabricstrainingalittleoverhisphysique,accentuatinghistaperedwaist.Hiswavyhairlookslikeshaveddarkchocolate,slightlydamp,freshfromasteamyshowerstraightoutofmydreams.
RoganfrownsasTrevorsettlesintotheseatacrossfrommine,relaxedandself-assured.
Ibumbleoutsomegarblednonsense,unabletospeakEnglishthroughmyshock.
Trevorgivesmeaneasywinkoverthemenuthatmakesmyheartdolphin-flip.Inreturn,Iflashhimahalf-terrified,half-thankfulsmilewhilestuffingaquarterofabreadstickinmymouth.
“WhatcanIgetforyoutonight?”Roganasks,callouslyreachingtoswipethebreadbasket.
Tohisshockandhorror,Trevorsnatchesitwithsuperhumanspeed,settingitbackonthetablewhereitbelongs.“Sorry,sir.Wearen’tdonewiththebread.AndI’mgoodwithwhateveryouhaveontap,please.”
Hecertainlydidnotrequesttokeepthebreadforhimself.Onedoesnotsimplygetahardbodylikethatbymindlesslyshovelingemptycarbsdowntheirthroat.Hesavedthatbasketofbreadforme,knowingdamnwellI’llgodowninablazeofwheatygloryinthenameofcarbs.MaybeI’vebeenwrongaboutTrevor’sromanticleadpotentialallalong,becausethatwassomerealheroshit
Roganshootseyelasersatthebreadbasket,mentallyturningittoapileofashycrumbs.“Andtoeat?”
“I’lltakethetwelve-ouncesteak,mediumrare,veggiesontheside.”Trevorpauses,regardingme.“Iassumeyouwantmybakedpotato?”
“Um,helltotheyes.Twicebaked,please.Ifyou’renothavingit,Imean,”Iadd.
Trevorsmilesandfoldsuphismenu.“Whatareyouhaving,sweetheart?”Forthesecondtimetonight,atermofendearmentrollsoffhistonguesonaturally,I’dassumewereallywereareal-lifemarriedcouplewithplansforabrightfuturewithtwokids,ayellowLab,andmaybeabetafishI’llinevitablyforgettofeed.
Ohdear.I’mintoodeep.Irequireabright-orangeliferaftandacoupleofflares,stat.
IsnapmyfocusbacktoRogan,who’sbouncingonhistoes,probablyitchingtoreportbacktohiscolleagues.“Uh,I’lltakethefettuccinialfredo?”
“She’lltakeaglassofmerlottoo,please.”TrevorgentlycollectsmymenuandhandsittoRogan.Whenherunsofftohisminions,Trevorgivesmeadazzling,mischievousgrinovertheglasscandelabra,whichistoolargeforatwo-persontable.“Hasn’tanyoneevertoldyou?Pastaistheworstdatefood.”
Iholdhisstare.“Hasn’tanyoneevertoldyou?Idon’tplaybybullshitrules.”
Hechuckles.“That’smygirl.Youlookgreattonight,bytheway.Thatdressisjust…”Hewavesahandatmytightbluedresswithaplungingneckline.
Ididn’trealizetheextentofTrevor’sactingabilities.Hedeservesanawardforpretendingtobeasupportive,sweetboyfriend.Ishouldercheck,expectingoneofthewaitstafftobestandingbehindme,observinghisperformance.Thereisnoonethere.“CanIaskwhattheheckyou’redoinghere?”
Trevorshrugs,likegivinguphisnightandbustingoutfancyattirefromthedepthsofhisclosetdidn’tputhimoutintheslightest.“Youtoldmeyoucan’tstandthethoughtofeatingalone,right?Thatdepressingstoryabouttheguyatyourgrandparents’restaurant.ButIfiguredyou’dneedsomemoralsupport.Iwantedtobehereforyou.Justincase.IknowI’mnoDwightK.Schrute,but…”
Aflamelightsupmyinsides,fillingmewithaliquidwarmthsocomforting,Idon’tknowwhattodowithmybody.Infact,Idon’trealizeI’msmilinguntilthemoisturethreatenstopoolovermylashline.Thisisthesinglemostthoughtfulthinganyonehaseverdoneforme.
“Hey,youokay?”Trevorasks,readingmyexpression.Heevennudgesthebreadbaskettowardme.Whymusthebesodamnthoughtful?
Isuckinadeepbreath,willingbackthefloodgatesastheblurofRoganbringsourdrinks.“Yeah.Ireallyam.Thankyouforcoming.I’msureyouhadbetterthingstodowithyournight.”
“Likewhat?”
Igivehimaknowinglookwhileshamelesslydippingabreadstickinthetinytrayofwhippedbutter.ThatisdefinitelynotsomethingI’dbedoinginfrontofDaniel.“LikehavingsomehotsexwithanInstamodel?”
Hesmirks.“I’meatinganexpensivemealwithanInstamodel.That’sgottacountforsomething.”
Imakeapftsoundathisflattery,swirlingmywine.“I’mnoInstamodel.Idon’tphotographwell,remember?”
“Right.TheSataneyes,”hesaysthroughasnort.“Youreallymissedyouropportunity.Whenyourmemewentviralinhighschool,youshouldatrademarkedthatshit.StartedaCrazyEx-Girlfriendmassfollowingorsomething.”
Idrummyfingerstogether.“Youmakeanexcellentpoint.Icouldhavebeenacharismaticcultleaderofallcrazygirlseverywhere.”
AsTrevorandIcontemplateallthewaysIcouldhavemonetizedthatmemeandreclaimedtheterm,ourfoodarrives.Tothewaitstaff’shorror,TrevorandIeatslowly,notoutofspite,butbecausewecan’tstoptalkingaboutrandomthings,likewhatwe’ddointheeventofanapocalypse(him:headforfreshwater;me:curlupinaballandsuccumbtoinevitabledeath)orwhatwe’dchoosetoeatforourlastmealondeathrow(him:thissteak;me:abagofCheetos).
Acoupleemittingsomeseriousfirst-datevibesisseatedatthetablenexttousasIdevourmypastabeforeitgetscold.“ThisisexactlywhyIrefusetodateonline,”Iwhisperasthemanawkwardlyremarksthatthewomanlookstotallydifferentinpersonthaninherprofilephoto.
Weeavesdropasthewomanasksthemanwhetherthat’sa“goodthingorabadthing”andproceedstogrowvisiblyannoyedandunderstandablyoffendedwhenhechangesthesubject.
TrevorgivesmehisJimfromTheOfficelook,hischestrisingandfallingwithsilentlaughter.“Yeah.Thatguymightaswelljustgiveupnow.”
“Ithinkshe’sabouttoleave,”Imouth.
“Sorry,Iwasjustbeinghonest.Youdon’tlooklikeyourphotos,”themansays,hispalmsup.
Miffed,thewomantossesherclothnapkinonthetablewithano-nonsensegrumble.“Well,yourvoicedoesn’tmatchyourface.Haveagreatnight,Richard.”TrevorandI(andprobablytherestofthepatrons)watchinstunnedsilenceasshewrencheshercoatfromthebackofherchairandleaves.I’mtemptedtoapplaudherforhavingstandards,butI’vealreadypeevedthewaitstaffenoughtonight.
“Ouch.”Trevorwincesfromsecondhandembarrassment,scrutinizinghisnapkinbeforehepatsthecornerofhismouthwithit.
“Somethingwrongwithyournapkin?”
“Ireallydon’tlikeclothnapkins,”heexplains.
Ileanforward,restingoneelbowonthetable.“Meeither.Imean,Iknowthey’remoreenvironmentallyfriendlyandall.”
Hesetsthenapkinbackonhislap.“WheneverIlookatthem,Ithinkaboutallthepeoplewho’veusedit.Blowntheirnoseinit.They’realwaysfulloflinttoo.Andweirdscents.Likehoteltowels.”
“Thisisawonderfuldateconvo,”Isay,unabletostopgrinning.“Veryromantic.”
Heliftshisshoulders.“Hey,youalwayswanttoknowmoreaboutme.”
“Haveyoualwaysbeenagermophobicneatfreak?”
Iexpecthimtogruntandignoreme,buthelowershisgazetohisemptyplate.“Mymomworkedalotanddidn’thavetimetoclean.Ourplacewasalwaysashitshow.Wehadoneofthosehousesyou’dwanttowearsocksin.LoganandIweretooembarrassedtohavefriendsoverbecauseofthemess.”
Ialmostreachtoplacemyhandoverhis,butIstopmyself,settlingforafrowninstead.“Idon’tblameyou.NowIfeellikeadickfornotwipingmycrumbsoffthecounters.Althoughmycrumbsarenothingcomparedtonakedwomenonthekitchenisland,”Itease.
Heshakeshishead,partiallyburyinghisface.“Ithoughtyouweregonnaleaveandnevercomebackthatday.”
“Trustme,Icontemplatedit.ButIwasprettydesperateforaplacetolive,”Iadmit,takingthelastsipofmywine.“WasitweirdtohaveastrangerlivingwithyouafterroomingwithScottforsolong?”
“No,actually.Thatfirsttimewetalked—”
“WhenyougavemeCheetosinthebathroom?”
“Yeah.IfeltlikeIalreadyknewyou.Itwaslikewe’dbeenfriendsforyears.”
Womp,womp.There’sthatwordagain.Friends.Ideflatealittle.“Really?Itstilltookyouforevertoopenuptome.”Thefactis,Trevorisagoodfriend.Anamazingfriend.Whilehemaynotseemeromantically,Ishouldbeentirelygratefulforhissupport.
Hewavesawaymystatement.“Oh,comeon.ItoldyouaboutAngiefairlyquickly.”
“Youalreadyknewallmyemotionaltraumabythen,”Iremindhim.“Inallseriousness,though,Ican’timaginelivingwithanyoneelse.”
“Yeah,you’dbehard-pressedtofindsomeonewhotakescareofyoulikeIdo.”Hegivesmethatdisarmingwinkagain,accompaniedbyalighttapwithhisshoeunderthetable.“Actually,speakingoftakingcareofyourself,Igotcalledoutwesttohelpwiththewildfiresforafewdays.I’mleavingtomorrow.”
Istraightenmyspineagainstthepaddedchair,caughtoffguard.“Really?Isn’tittherainyseasoninCalirightnow?”
“Itis.Butthisyearisoneofthedriestinhistory.Ishouldbegoneacoupledays.Butit’llbegoodmoney.Lotsofovertime.”Hepausesandlowershishead.“I’mtryingtomakesureI’llbebackforAngie’sparty,though.”There’sanunmistakablesombernessinhistone.
“Trev,it’sokay.Wecouldswitchittoadateyou’rehomeforsure?”
“No.IalreadytalkedtoPaytonaboutit.We’regonnakeepitasis.You’vedonetoomuchworktoswitchitall.”
Inodsilently.“Angiewillunderstandifyoucan’tmakeit.She’llmissFlynnRider,though.”
Heletsoutalaboredsigh,hisexpressionpained.“I’mgoingtomakeit.Whatifit’sherlastbirthday?”
“Itwon’tbe,”Ipromise,immediatelywishingIcouldtakethewordsback.They’recrueltosayoutloud,becausethere’snowaytoknowforsure.“I’llbetheretomakesureeverythinggoesperfectly.”
“Thankyou.”Puregratitudeiswrittenalloverhisface.Unexpectedly,hishandbrushesmykneecapunderthetable.It’sthelightesttouch,butthewarmthofhisfingerssendsaflurryofsparksdancingthroughme.
“Everythingwillbeokay.”
Hiseyescatchmineagain,andI’mlostinthemuntilmyphonehasthenervetovibrateonthetable,rattlingthesilverware.
It’sDaniel.
Hey,Tara.IamSOsorry.I’llprobablybeattheofficeallnight.Hugeproject.Canwepostpone?
Logically,Ishouldfeelangry.Betrayed.Sad.ButTrevor’spresencecushionsthefall.IfIknowmyselflikeIthinkIdo,thepainwillhitmelater,onceI’mathome.Alone.Inmybed.
Trevorwinces,pluckingmyphonefrommyfingers.Heturnsitfacedownonthetable.“You’renotgonnareschedule,areyou?”
“Imean,Ican’tfaulthimforworking—”
“Forgetabouthim,”heurges.“Yoursoulmateisn’tgonnastandyouup.”
Mycheeksburnathisdeclaration.“He’smylastex.”
Trevor’shardexpressionsoftens.“Hedoesn’tdeserveyou.”
Itrytobrushitoffbysmoothingmyfingeroverthebaseofmywineglass.“Iwouldn’tgothatfar.”
“Iwould.”
Ihaveenoughself-awarenesstoacknowledgemytendencytooveranalyze,obsess,anddrawgrandconclusionsbasedoncompletelyinnocuousclues.ButasInotehisstiff-backedpostureagainstthechair,hishandinafistonthetabletop,theclenchofhisjaw,andourweirdmomentinthechangingroom,I’mcertainthere’ssomethingbehindthis.
Imimichispostureandhisstare,holdingitforafewfranticheartbeats.Bright-redfiretruckwarningsirensinmyheadbedamned.Ipolishofftherestofmywineandgoforit.
“Trev?”
“Mm-hmm?”heaskscasually,oblivioustowhat’scoming.
Irestbothforearmsonthetable,myhandsfolded.“I’mabouttoaskyousomething,andyouneedtobetwohundredpercenthonestwithme,okay?”
Heshiftsfartheragainstthechair,hisAdam’sappledipping.“Itakeitit’snotaboutwhatIatetoday,isit?”
“No.”
“Tara.Don’t.”Hiseyespleadwithme,likeheknowswhatI’mabouttoask.Andlikeachildwho’sbeentoldnottotouchthebutton,Ihavenochoicebuttodoso.
“Istheresomething…”Igesturetothespacebetweenus.“Goingonhere?”
Hisgazeshiftstotheguywhosedatepeacedout.He’smostcertainlyeavesdroppingonourconversationwhilehepolishesoffhisspaghettiBolognese.Trevor’sjawclenches,andheeyesmeasifsilentlywarningme.
“Please,”Ibeg,loweringmyquiveringvoice.“You’vebeenactingweirdlatelyandI’mconfused.IknowI’mprobablyjustreadingintothings…butIjustneedayesorno.AndIswearI’llneveraskagain.”
Hewatchesme,silent,andIcanseethegearsturninginhishead.Ontheplusside,hehasn’tsaidno.Thathastocountforsomething.
AsIwaitwithbatedbreath,mysensestunneltohim.Idon’theartheclassicalmusic.Themurmurofconversationaroundus.Idon’tevenregisterRogan’spresencerightawaywhenhebringsthebill,savingTrevorfrommyburningquestion.
Ireachtosnatchthedebitmachine,butTrevorgetsitfirst,tappinghiscardbeforeIcanprotest.Surelyhe’spayingoutofpity,tosoftentheblow.
We’restonesilenttheentiredrivehomeinsomeunspokenface-off.
Whowillcrackfirst?Whodarestobethefirsttospeak?CertainlynotTrevor,who’sgrippingthesteeringwheelsohard,I’mafraidhemightripitrightofftheconsole.Theentireclimbupthestairwelltoourunitismuchthesame,withonlytheechoofourfootstepstoquellthesilence.
Itisn’tuntilTrevorclosesthedoorbehindusthatIloseit.?chaptertwenty-seven
MYFIRSTORDERofbusinesswhenwereturnhome:updatetheex-boyfriendboard.
MylipsquiveratthefinalityofstrikingDaniel’snameout.Theverylastname.ThoughifI’mbeinghonest,I’mnotconvincedit’sthesolecauseofmydisappointment.
WhenIheadbackintothekitchen,Trevorisstillinhiswintergear,hiseyeswide.He’strackedslushontothefloor,whichishorrificallyoff-brandforhim.Whenheseesthedevastationinmyeyes,hefoldsmeintoafull-bodyembrace.Isinkagainsthischest,defeated.
Hepullsbacktostudymyface,whichistwistedintoanuglycry.Hisfingerstrembleagainstmycheekashebrushesmytearsaway.“Don’tcry,please,”hewhispersashislipslightlybrushmycheekliketheharshesttease,asifkissingawaymytears.Takingmypain,builtupoverthepastfourmonths.
TrevorisawalkingsignthatreadsDoNotEnter,wrappedtwelvetimesoverincautionarytape.Iknowthis,andyetIbargethrough,liftingmychin,brushingmylipstohis.It’sthelightestillicittouch.
ArushflowsdownmybackwhenIfeelhisbodystiffenagainstme,asifhe’sjustrealizedthatthecarefullyconstructedfortressaroundhishearthasbeenbreached.
“AmIactuallycrazy?AmIimaginingallofthis?”Iaskagain.
“Tara…No.”
“Whyareyoudoingthistome?Whycan’tyoujusttellmehowyoufeel?”I’malltooawareofthesinglejuicytearslidingdownmycheek,abouttosplatterontohisjacket.
Hewipesmytearsagainandlaceshisrighthandthroughmyhair,massagingthebackofmyhead.“BecauseIcan’tbeanotherassholewhobreaksyourheart.Ican’tdothattoyou,ofallpeople.Youdeserveeverything.Every.Thing.”
Istepback,outofhisembrace.“No.Ithinkthepersonyou’rereallyscaredofhurtingisyourself.”
Hispained,crumpledexpressionsaysitall.
“Iknowyou’rescared.You’reterrifiedoflosingthepeopleyoulove.EspeciallyAngie.AndIgetit.Butyoucan’tjustbottlethingsupuntiltheyeatyoualivetothepointwhereyou’renotlivingandpursuingwhatyoureallywant.”
Hescoffs.“AndyouthinkyouknowwhatIwant?”
Itossmyhandsintheair.“No.Idon’t.Idon’tpretendtoknow.Idon’tknowwhatyou’rethinkingaboutatanygivenmoment.Idon’tknowifyouwanttokissmeortellmetofuckoffentirely.Idon’tknowthesethingsbecauseyourefusetotellme.Andit’sdrivingmenuts.”
“Irefusetotellyoubecause—”
“Becauseyou’retheemotionallyconstipatedplayboywhocan’tovercomehisbaggage.Theguywhoscrewstheheroineoverbeforeshemeetstherealhero.”
Mywordscomeoutlikebullets,andIimmediatelyregretbeingsotrigger-happy.
Basedonhismenacingstare,I’vehitanerve.“Mylifeisn’tsomekindoftrope.I’mnotastereotypeforyoutopickapartandmock.”
“I’msorry.Ididn’tmeanthat.”Ifeelliketheworsthumanbeingintheworld.ButI’malsothankfulI’vegottenaniotaofemotionoutofhimatall.
“I’mnotlikeyou,”hesays.Hiseyesglistenwithmoisture,andforasplitsecond,Ithinkhemightbeonthevergeoftears,untilhesucksitallback.“Ican’tjustgoaroundgettingmyheartbroken,puttingmyselfbackinthecrossfireateveryopportunity.”
“Youthinkgettingmyheartbrokenoverandoveriseasyforme?”
Hecloseshiseyes,likehe’ssayingasilentprayer.“No.That’snotwhatImeant.”
“Sothat’sjustit,then?You’regoingtoavoidyourfeelingsforeveranddodgethetruth?”MybreathhitchesasIawaittheverdict.
Hedoesn’trespond.
“Fine.Youdothat.Butdomeafavorandleavemeoutofit.”Iripmygazeaway,unabletolookathim.Desperateforspace,Istompoutofthekitchen,downthehall,andintomybedroom,slammingthedoorbehindme.
MyhandstrembleatmysidesasIleanbackagainstthedoor.Thismanissingle-handedlythemostfrustratingpersonIhaveevermet.ImeantwhatIsaidtohim,thoughInevershouldhaveverbalizedit.Anotherapologyisinorder,thoughatthismomentintime,Idon’thavetheenergy.
AsIcontemplatecurlingintobedtoescaperealitywithatrustybook,there’sasoftknockatthedoor.“What?”Igrumble.
“Tara,pleaseopenthedoor.”
Againstmybetterjudgment,Iopenitthetiniestcrack.Trevorisstillinhiscoatandboots,hischestheaving,hishairdisheveledlikehe’srunhisfingersthroughitathousandtimes.
“I’mnottalkingtoyouuntilyoutellmethetruth,”Iwarn.
Hetipshisheadback,asiftoseemefromadifferentperspective.“Youwantthetruth?”heasks,hisvoicestrained.
“That’sallIwant,”Iwhisper,myhandsoneithersideofmycheekstocovertheredness.
Hesighs.“Youwereright.I—havefeelingsforyou.”Thedeclarationknocksthewindoutofmychest.Itampdowntheurgetoaskamillionquestions,lettinghimcontinue.“Bigfeelings.TothepointwhereIdon’tevenknowwhattodowithmyselfhalfthetime.I’vetriedtogetyououtofmyheadformonths,butyourstubbornassjustwon’tleave.”
“Really?”
“I’vewantedtotellyousobadly.EverysingledaysinceIrealizedit.”
“Whyhaven’tyou?”
“BecauseI’mscaredthatIcan’tgiveyouwhatyouneed.”
“WhatdoyouthinkIneed?”Iask,myvoicebarelyaboveawhisper.
“Youwantafull-onfairytale.Theperfectguyfromyourbooks.Marriage.Kids.Everything.Andyoudeserveitall.ButwhatifI’mnotcapableofgivingthattoyou?”
Iconsiderthat.Ithinkaboutalltheexeswho’vemademesimilarpromisesinthepast.Howemptytheirwordswere.Howitallmeantnothing.Becauseintheend,theyallleft.
“Butwhatifyouare?”Icounter.“Idon’tneedanothermanwhomakeselaboratepromiseshecan’tcommitto,Trevor.Ineedsomeonewho’sgoingtobeopenandhonestwithme.Iwantsomeonewhoiswillingtotry.”
Asighthatsoundslikereliefescapeshislips.“Ifthere’sanyoneinthisworldIwanttotryfor,it’syou,”hewhispers.
Mychestcaves,andmyeyesmist.Somehow,thosewordsmeanmoretomethananyelaboratedeclarationoflovefrommyexes.“We’rereallydoingthis?”Iconfirm.
“I’mgoingtogivethiseverythingIhave.Ijust…Imightneedtotakethingsslow.Slowerthanyou’reusedto.”
Inod.“Icandoslow.”
Heregardsme,hisliptiltinginasmirk.“Canyou,though?”
“Yup.”Icovermyfacetohidemyhalflie,andhelaughs.
“You’vealreadycomeupwithbabynames,haven’tyou?”
Myheartswells.We’vebeeninarelationshipallofaminuteandalreadyTrevorknowsmebetterthananyguyI’veeverbeenwith.“Maybe.Butyou’reright.We’llgoslow.Glacialslow.Nomarriageorbabytalk.Andjustkissing.We’llkeepitG-rated.”Ipressmyhandovermychestinavow.
He’squietforafewbeatsashiseyessearchmine.Forasplitsecond,I’mcertainhe’sabouttowalkitallback.“MaybenotG.”
“No?WouldyoupreferPG?Justlightpecksandhand-holding?”Itease.
“AtleastPG-13,smart-ass.Getoverhere.”BeforeIhavethechancetopounce,hepushesthedooropen,crossesthethreshold,andpullsmywristsfrommyface.Andthenhislipscollidewithmine.Hard.
Theintensityisoverwhelminginallthebestways.Breathragged,hecradlesmyheadwithbothhands,anchoringmesoclose,apieceofpapercouldn’tslipbetweenus.He’sabsorbingmewitheverythinghehas,andIdon’taskquestions.
Histongueskirtsmybottomlipandslidesagainstmineeffortlessly,liketwopiecesofthesamepuzzle.Mymindtakesafewmomentstocatchupwithmybody,takingitallin.Theflutterofhislashesagainstmybrowbone.Thewayhisfingersmassagethebackofmyheadwhiletheotherhandglidesdownmyback,vertebrabyvertebra.
Imimichismovement,slippingmyhandsunderhiscoatanduphisback,tracingeachofhismanymusclesonebyoneastheyflexagainstmytouch.WhenIgentlyscrapemynailsagainsthisskin,hegroansintomymouth,hisenthusiasmforthesituationevidentagainstmystomach.Hegrindshardagainstme,pressingmebackintomydresser.Theroughnessseemstobringhimbacktothemoment,becausehepullsawayeversoslightly.
I’dbetonmylifethathe’sgoingtoturnaroundandwalkaway.Instead,hemovesastrandofhairbehindmyear,moregentlythanIthoughtpossible,breathcomingdowninpulsingwavesagainstmyneck.
“Areyouokay?”hewhispers.
“Morethanokay.”
Hesmoothshisthumbovermybottomlip,hiseyessearchingmine,asifsilentlyaskingwhetherI’msure.Itightenmygriparoundhim,andheswiftlykissesmeagain.It’stender,sweet,andlacedwithsuppressedpassion.Itlastsforsolong,IthinkI’mgoingtopassoutfromeuphoria.It’soverwhelming,howgooditfeelstobeheldanddesired.
Ourlipsfinallypart,andIburymyfaceinthecrookofhisneck,takinginhisintoxicatingscent,tryingtomemorizehowthisfeels.Apparently,myfeethaveanagenda,becauseit’smewhowalksusbackwardtomybed.
Whenmyshinshitthemattress,Imakeitamissiontostripawayhismanylayers—hiswintercoat,suitjacket,anddressshirt.I’mlikeanimpatientRegency-eraherofinallypeelingawayhislady’sdress,onlytofindaslipandacorsetunderneath.IcatchonlyaglimpseofthemasterpiecethatishisabsandthedustingofashyhairdisappearingintohisdresspantsbeforeIgoforhisbelt,hungry.
Heplacesatremblinghandovermine,suckinginalaboredbreath.
Imeethisheatedgazeinachallenge,mybreathquickening.“YousureyouwanttokeepthisPG-13?”
Hisexpressionisgrave,likeamobstertormentedoverorderinganexecution.“No.Iwanttodowaymorethanthat.”
“Iwantyouto.Please,”Iwhisper.
“Areyousure?”
“Yes.”IthinkIwouldsellmysoultohavemoreofhim,inanywayIcan.?chaptertwenty-eight
TREVORISAmagician.It’sanundisputablefact.BythetimeI’vefiguredoutthatthetattooonhisribsreadsAliceMetcalfe—1969–2006,inmemoryofhismom,he’smanagedtostriphisbootsandmydress.
“Thatdresslookedsofuckingperfectonyou,”hetellsme,tossingthebluefabricaside.
Ishiverasheunhooksmybra,trailingkissesalongtheundersideofmyjaw.“Myfollowerswantedthis.”
“Noneofyourfollowerswanteditmorethanme.”Inoneswiftmotion,heliftsme,pullingmeoverhimonthebedinaseatedposition.
Iwigglecloser,lockingmylegsaroundhisthicktorso.Myhandsroamdowntheplanebetweenhismuscledshoulderblades,overtheswellofhisbiceps,everywhereIcanmanage.Aftermonthsofpining,he’smine.I’ddiebeforeI’dlethimoutofmyreach.
He’ssolidunderneathme,likeabrickhouse,asIclencharoundhimagain.IkisshimeverywhereIcanreach,savoringeveryinchoffleshIcanfind.Cheeks.Nose.Neck.Forehead.Chin.Shoulders.Itakeeverylocationasavictory.Anewdiscovery.Acheckpoint.
“Holyshit.”Hisvoicecomesoutlikeastrainedwhisper,leaningmebacktotakemeinwiththatincineratingstareI’vegrowntolove.Hesucksinabreathbeforelettinghisthumbbrushtheundersideofmybreast,followedupbythemostintricatedanceofhistongue.Isuckinalonginhale,memorizingthescentofhisbodywash,thesameoneIinhaledlikeadrugonmove-inday.
Imoanintohisneckasherocksmeagainsthim,strainingagainstthezipperofhispants.Imakeanimpatientmotiontoundothebutton.Helaughs,liftingmewithlittleeffortashestands,strippingbothhispantsandbriefsinonesmoothmovement.
Ialmostchokeonmyownsaliva.Heisgeneticallygifted.Blessed.Exactlyzeroflaws—tome,anyway.Notevenalazyeye.Oraslightlywarpedtoe.Howunfair.
Hestandsinfrontofme,andhissmilemakesmewanttomeltintonothingness.“Whyareyoulookingatmelikethat?You’veseenitbefore.”
BecauseIwanttogropeeveryinchofyouwithheedlessabandon.
Withafeatherlighttouch,myfingerstracetheartworkthatadornshischest.Icurveovereverydetailofthestrikinggrayphoenixthatcoverstheleftsectionofhischest,sweepingontohisshoulderandbiceps.
“Ilovethisone,”Imurmur.“Whendidyougetit?”
“Itwasacelebratoryone.RightafterIgotacceptedtothefiredepartment.”
Stilldancingmyfingersoverhischest,IcatchthesetofRomannumeralsonhisforearmthatI’veneverbeenabletodecipher.“Whataboutthisone?”
Heswallows.“ThisoneisAngie’sbirthday.”
Iinwardlygroan.Musthebesounexpectedlysentimentalandadorable?Isqueezemyeyesshut,pressingfirmlyintohisflesh.Hismusclesclenchandflexateverytouch,hisbreathcomingoutinhot,quickbursts,likehe’sabouttoloseallpatiencethelowermyhandtravels.
Evilly,Isweepapainfullyslowcircledangerouslyclose,aroundhisinnerthigh,beforesnappingmyhandaway.
“Youokay?”heasks,liftingmychin.
“It’sjust…Ihaveaquestion.”
Histhroatbobswithaswallowashekneelsonthemattressinfrontofme.“Okay.”
“What’syourmiddlename?”
Hismusclesrelax,andthecornersofhiseyescrinkleeversoslightly.Therumbleofhislaughtervibratesintomymouthwhenhislipstouchmineagain.“Whyareyousorandom?”hemuttersbetweenkisses.
Igiggleintohim,kissingthetinypatchofskinbehindhisear.“Ineedtoknow.Ihaveabitofapersonalrule…with…”
“Right,youcan’ttouchmydickunlessyouknowmymiddlename.”
“Hey,Idon’thavetotouchitifyoudon’twantmeto,”Itease.
“Oh,Iwantyouto.Solongasyoudon’tbiteme,”hewarns,pressingthesoftestbiteintomyneck.“Ihearyouhaveahistoryofbiting.”
“Deal.Ipromise,”Ipant,desperatetospeedthingsalong.“Nowmakewiththemiddlename.”
Withonesmoothmove,heclimbsoverme,pressingmybackflatagainstthemattress.Hisforearmscagemeinonbothsides,bracinghisweight.“It’sJames,”hewhispersashepullsmyrightthighoverhischiseledwaist.
“TrevorJamesMetcalfe,”Irepeat,lovingthewayitrollsoffmytongue.
“Saymynameagain,”heorders,hisvoicelowandgravelly.
IdoasI’mtold,threetimesover.
“Thereisnoonelikeyou,TaraLiChen.”Thewarmthofhisbreathticklesagainstmyneckashishandsweepsdownthevalleybetweenmybreasts.
Gently,hepushesmyotherthighopen.Thecoolnessoftheairsendsatinglethroughme,settlinginmybelly.Withouthesitation,hetugsthelaceofmythongaside,notbotheringtoremoveitcompletelybeforesmoothinghisfingersovermewiththeprecisionofaheartsurgeon.HeletsoutagarbledstringofcurseswhenhefeelshowmuchIwanthim.
“Yes,”Isaythroughasharpintakeofbreath,fightinganembarrassinglydramaticquiver.Allmythoughtsburstintomistandnothingness.I’mgone.Downtherabbithole.Alreadylostinwonderlandasthefrictionbuildswitheachswipeofhisfinger.
“Doesthatfeelgood?”hewhispers,easingonefingerin,followedbyasecond.
“Mm-hmm,”Imanage,clipped,asIclencharoundhim,rockingagainsthiminaslowrhythm.Mynailsgripintohisback,probablyleavingscratchmarksonhisperfectskin
He’smumblingabunchofthingsIcan’tfullyheardownthere,abouthowsensitiveIamtohistouch.HowtightIam.HowwetIam.Howmuchhewantsme.Andwhenhesays,“Tellmewhatyoulike,”henearlysendsmeovertheedge
I’vehadexeswho’veaskedmeforinstructionsduringsex,almosttothepointofruiningthemood.ButitdrivesmewildwhenTrevorasksinthatrough,primitivevoicethatgrabsholdofmyinsides.There’sanairofconfidencethattellsmehedoesn’ttrulyneedinstruction.Heknowsexactlywhathe’sdoing,movingattheperfectpaceandangle,cherishingme,takingcareofmelikeI’veneverbeencaredforbefore.
“Ithinkyoualreadyknow.Somehowyouknow.Maybeyou’reapsychic,”Isaythroughahalfmoan,halfgasp.
“No,”hemutters.“I’vejusthadmonthstoagonizeoverit.Overyou.Walkingaroundtheapartmentinthoselittlesweaterdresses.RunningfromthebathroomtoyourroominyourtowelwhenyouthinkI’mnotlooking.It’sbeenalotoflong,coldshowers.”
“Really?”
Hisgazeincineratesmeonthespot.“DidyounotnoticehowlongIhavetowaitbeforegettingoutofthehottubafteryou?You’vebeendrivingmefuckingwild.”
Athiswords,Ibuckunexpectedlyagainsthishand,clenchingaroundhim.“Trevor,thatfeelssogood.Sogood.”
“Youhavenoideawhatyoudotome.”
“I’vehadacoupledreamsaboutit,”Iadmit.Orten.
Hesmiles.“Dreamslikethis?Caretoelaborate?”
Inod.“Inthefirstone,wewereinyourcar.Youhadyourmouthonme.”
“Diditfeelgood?”Hepicksupthepace,meetingmyeyes.
“Thebest,”Ipant.“Exceptyoudidn’tmakemecome.Becausetherealyouwokemeup.”
Hissoftlaughvibratesintomyneckasherunshisfingeroverthebandofmythong,finallytuggingitdownalltheway.“Trustme,thatwon’tbeaproblemthistime.”Hegivesmeonemorecockysmilebeforeloweringhimselfbetweenmylegs.
Seamlessly,hismouthtakestheplaceofhishand.Justlikeinmyillicitdream,we’reconnected.HeknowswhatIwantbeforeIcaneventellhim.Everylanguidswipe,turn,press,neverlingeringfortoolongbeforetellingmehowgoodItaste,howhecanfeelmepulsingonhistongue.
Mylegstremble,andheholdsthemwideopen,takingcontrolentirely,windingmeupuntilI’mconvincedI’mfacingimpendingdeath.Everynerveendingisalivewire,onfire,multiplyingwitheveryswipe.
Unexpectedly,Icryoutasitallsurgesintoonepowerful,unrelentingrelease.Idon’thearathingaswaveafterwavesizzlesthroughme.I’mstilltremblingwhenhisgazelockswithmine,visiblytakingpleasureinhowhe’smademefeel.Rightbeforehiseyes,I’munspoolinglikeIneverhavebefore,liketwinepulledtighttothepointofsnapping.Theaftershockleavesmebreathless,floored,motionless.
I’monlybroughtbacktoearthwhenhemovesbackoverme,pressingasoftkisstomytemple.
Ican’tfindthewordstoexpressmygratitude,soIslipoutfromunderneathhim,shiftingmyweightontopofhim.Forthefirsttime,herelinquishescontrol.Heletsmeholdhimdown,asmiletuggingathislipsasIretracealltheartworkadorninghischestwithmylips.I’mtakingmysweettime,savoringthemoment,movingovereachlineofhisabs,onebyone,likehe’sagourmetfeast.
BythetimeIfinallytakehislengthinmyhand,heshudders,lettingoutanunexpectedgroanthatdoessomethingtomyinsidesinthebestway.It’soddlygratifyingtohavesuchanimpactonhimwithoutreallydoinganythingatall.
“Youdon’thavetodothis,”hesays,liftingmychinwithasinglefinger.
“Iwantto.”There’snothingIwantmorethantohearhowhesoundswhenItakehiminmymouth.Iwanttoseewhathelookslikewhenhecomesundone.
“Ican’tbelieveyou’rerightinfrontofmelikethis.”Hiswordsquiverwithrawemotion,lettinghishandroamdownmyback.
“Howmuchhaveyouthoughtaboutmedoingthistoyou?”
“Morethanyouwanttoknow,”headmits.
Isqueezehimalittleharder,feelingthepulseofhisbloodpumping.“Tellmeexactly.”
“Sincethedayyoumovedin,Iwantedyou,”hemanages.“I’veneverwantedsomeonesobadinmyentirelife.You’vewreckedme.”
WhenIgivehimateasinglick,heletsoutastringofbreathycurses.“Holyfuck.”
Ireleasehimforasplitsecond.“Isthatgood?”
“I—Ican’tspeakrightnow,”hesays,breathless,whichtellsmeallIneedtoknow.HeletshisheadfalltothepillowasIsettleintowhatIcantellistheperfectspeed.Evensubmitting,he’sstilldominating,threadinghisfingersthroughmyhair,holdingmeinplace,howhewantsit.
Iwatchhishandtwistthesheetsforgripasmypacepicksup.Giventheearth-shatteringorgasmhejustgaveme,I’meagertopulloutallthestops.Apparently,he’sfoundthestrengthtospeakagain.Andjudgingfromallthefilthythingscomingoutofhismouth—howmuchhelovesmymouth,howwetheimaginesIam,allthingsthatcouldmakeeventhemostseasonedromancereadersblush—I’mconfidentinmyabilities.
Whenhe’sdone,hepullsmeupwardbythebicepsandfoldsmeoverhim.Welaylikethatforafewmoments,skintoskin,chestsheavinginunison.
“CanIaskyousomething?”Iblurtout.
“No,”hechuckles,runninghisfingersupanddownmyspine.
Iaskanyway.“Wasitokay?”
“Waswhatokay?”
Igivehimasidewaysglare.“Youknow.”
IcantellbythedevilishsmirkonhisfacethatheknowsexactlywhatI’mtalkingabout.“You’rebadatalotofthings.”Heletsthatstatementlingerintheairforafewbeatstoolong.“Butbelieveme,blowjobsaren’toneofthem.”
Inuzzleintohischestandpeekupathim.
“Youneverlistentome,”hesays,hislipscurledintoaboyishgrin.“IthoughtItoldyounevertoletmekissyouagain.”
Abubbleoflaughterescapesmeashetracesthepadofhisfingerovermyshoulder.“That’syourideaofkissing?”
Hesqueezesmetighteragainsthim.“Wasitasbadasyouclaimedthefirsttime?”
“Wow,Ireallybruisedyourego,didn’tI?”Iswinghimasideeye,contemplatinglettinghimoutofhismisery.
“Imean,yeah.YousaidIwastheworstkissyou’deverhad.”
Irunmyhandoverhischeek,curvingathisjaw.“Metcalfe,youwereaperfectlyfinekisser.Icouldn’tletyourheadexplode,”Itellhim.“Listen,I’mnotagoodjudge,becauseforme,it’slessaboutthemechanics.It’sallabout—”
“Theemotion,”hecutsinknowingly.
“Exactly.So,whileyourkissthatdaywasfine,Ithoughttherewasn’tanythingbehindit.Nodeeperfeelingsoranything.”
“Well,nowyouknowthatwasn’ttrue.”
He’stellingthetruth.Iknowitinthewayhissoftlipsmirrormineatjusttherightangle,featheringlightkissesoverthecornerofmylips.Unlikethehungrycollisionofourlipsinmybedroomdoorway,thiskississoft,unrushed,butnolesspurposeful.Witheachtinyinhale,eachpressofourlipscloser,everyslideofourtongues.
Imeltlikebutteragainsthim,thighspartingoneithersideofhistorsoashemovesunderme.Everytouchandtasteofhimdrivesmewildwithneed.Myteethgrazehislip,givingthesoftestbite.I’mnotsurewhattoconcentrateonashishandswandermybackside,grippingmyass,grindingmetohim.
Helosesallcontrolatonepoint,sittingupward,capturingmylips,myneck,mybreastswithurgency.Myskineruptsingooseflesheverywherehetouches.Ireachtofeelhimunderme,pressingagainstme,teasing.HetensesasImovemyhandoverhim,guidinghimcloser.
Hepresseshisforeheadtomine.“Wedon’thavetodoanythingelseifyoudon’twantto.”
“Idowantto.Ireallywantto,”Iwhisper,meetinghiseyeswithurgency.
Hisgazesearchesmineforanysignofdoubt.Whenhefailstofindany,heshiftsmeasidetoretrieveacondomfromhiswalletinhispantspocket.Iwatchasherollsitonwithease,quicktoresettleusexactlyaswewere.
Heallowsmetosetthepace,takinghissizeingradually,inchbyinch.Halfway,Ipause,shudderingattheoverwhelmingfeelingofhimstretchingme,fillingme.“Idon’tknowifthisisgoingtowork,”Imanage.
Hecupsmycheek,pressingasoftkissintomyneck.“It’sokay.Justgoslow.”AlowgroanescapeshimasIlowermyself,hisvoicedrivingmewildwithneed.“Youcantakeit,baby.That’sit.”
“Fuck,”Imoan,tippingmyheadbackasIfullysinkontohim,feelinghimhitmeexactlywhereIwantit.Whenwefindtheperfectrhythm,chestsmeldingtogether,Ican’tbelievewe’vewastedsomanymonths.
“God,youfeel…Ineverknewitcouldbethisgood,”hewhispersagainstmylips,givingmybottomlipthesoftestbiteasIrockagainsthim,increasingmyspeed.
I’msurelyabrokenrecordofcriesashemoveshishandbetweenmylegs,thumbswipingexactlywhereIcravethepressure.Icurlmynailsintohisneck,hishardback,hisshoulders.EverywhereIcanreach.
Wewatcheachotherclimbhigherandhigher,exchangingslow,shallowbreaths.We’reinourownstrangebubble.We’refloatingaboveearth,awayfromallreality,intrinsicallyconnected.
Hisroughfreehandworksitswayovermywaist,settingthepaceinthefinalstretch,flexingandworkingagainstme.Hiseyespinmeinplacewhenhefinallydetonatesinme,sendingmeplungingintoanotherdimensionalongwithhim.
Whenit’sallover,I’mnotevensureIhavecontrolovermyownbody.Theaftershocksripthroughme,renderingmylimbsJell-O.Oureyessnaginthedark,andheholdsmygaze.AlltheseeminglyinsignificantstripsofhimI’vebankedslowly,onebyone,inmymemoriesmakeupthemanrighthere,holdingontomelikeI’mabouttodisappear.Thetinyarchofhisbrowwhenhelooksatme.Thewayhelookstotheceiling,pretendingtobehopelesslyannoyedwithmewhenIknowheisn’t.Thewayhe’llgooutofhiswaytohelpmeinallmyridiculoussituations.AndthewayhecaresforAngie.Thewayhecaresforhersomuchthathecan’tfathomlosinganyoneelseinhislife.
“Youhavetoleaveinafewhours,”Iwhisper,collapsingoverhischest.“Idon’twantyouto.”
Hesqueezesmetighter,meldingustogether,savoringthemoment.“Idon’twanttoleaveyou,either.”
“Willyouwakemeupbeforeyougo?”Iplead.“Idon’twanttowakeupalone.”
Herespondsbykissingthetopofmyhead.Iburrowintohisneck,takinginhisscent,fightingtostayawakeinthedarkness,wishingIcouldslowdowntime.Maybestopitaltogether.
BeforeIfallasleep,holdingontohimfordearlife,therealizationpoursovermelikeabucketofcoldwater.There’snocomingbackfromthis.?chaptertwenty-nine
TREVORRUNSTOWARDmethroughalush,green,tranquilfield.ThesleevesofhiswhiteFlynnRiderdressshirtbillowinthebreezewitheachstrongyetgracefulslow-motionstride.Sunlightbatheshisskininliquidgold.
He’shalfafootballfieldlengthawayanditmightaswellbeacontinent.Thesundoesn’textendtomyhalfofthefield,whichiscold,slate-gray,andshroudedinmiserabledecay.Acruelcloudhangsdirectlyaboveme,ominous,inky,andfull,threateningtoburstatanymomenttodrenchmeinanicysheetofrain.
DesperatetosprintintothewarmsafetyofTrevor’sarms,Ireadymyselfforthefirststride.Butmylimbsrefusetobudge.I’mstuck.Immobile.Icanbarelyevenexhaleabreath.
ThemoreIstruggle,themorepressurebuildsagainstmyribs.Somethingblack,shiny,andthickhascoileditselfaroundmyentirebody,squeezingtighterandtighter,intentonsuckingthelifeoutofme.Strangely,itsmellslikeamixtureofsweetandsoothing,likemyWhiteStrawberryHerbalEssencesshampoo.
It’smyownhair.I’mbeingstrangledtodeathbymyownRapunzel-likehair.
Agray,frizzy-hairedMotherGothel–likefigurewithSeth’ssharkfacetransplantedoverthetoploomsbehindme,runningitsbony,shriveledhandsovermyshoulders.Hervillainouseyesglint,delightinginmydistress,jaggedyellowfingernailsscrapingmyskin.
“Letmego.Ithinkhelikesme,”Irasp,mythroatasdryastheSahara,staringlonginglyatsunlitTrevor.He’sstillrunning,butsomehow,he’snotgettinganycloser.
MotherGothelreleasesawitchycackleintotheshellofmyear.“Likesyou?Please,Tara,that’sdemented!”
???
MYCHEERFUL,CHIRPINGbirdalarmsnapsmetoawelcomeconsciousness.Yellowstrandsoflightpokethroughtheslatsinmyblinds,confirmingIamindeedsafeinmybed,notinasketchyfield.
Thatenthrallingcinnamonscent—Trevor’sscent—groundsmewiththecomfortofhome.Likeadrugaddict,Iattempttoflopontomysidetowardthesource,cravingmore,butI’mstillstuck.
Unlikeinmydream,mylimbsarenotboundbymyownhair,whichisbothrelievinganddisappointing.Havinglusciouslythick,long,glossyshampoo-commercial-worthyhairalaMel’swouldn’tbetooshabby,solongasitdoesn’ttrytostranglemetodeath.
Inreality,it’smysheetsthathavecocoonedmelikeanEgyptianmummyinanancienttomb.They’repulledtightallaroundme,military-style.Theotherpillowissmoothedandplumped.Forthefirsttimeinyears,mybedismade…withmeinit.
ThisisasurefiresignthatTrevorMetcalfewashere.Thatlastnightwasn’tanotheroneofmyelaborate,R-rateddreams.
Myalarmisstillgoingoff.Bleary-eyed,IstruggletofreemyselffromthetightlywoundsheetstohitStop
It’seightthirty.Trevor’sflightwasatsixforty-five.
Ilugmyselfoutofbedandtiptoeacrossthehalltocheckhisbedroom.JustasIsuspected,hisbedismade.Everythingisinitsplace.Exceptforhim,ofcourse.
He’sgone.Heleftwithoutsayinggoodbye.
Ireturntobed,smoothingmyhandovertheemptyspacewherehefellasleepnexttome,replayingeverythinghesaidtomeyesterdayabouthowhewantedtotry.Howhewasgoingtogivethisrelationshiphisall.HowIagreedtotakethingsslowwithhim,emotionallyatleast.
IwishIcouldmagicallysummonhimbacktotalkthroughitallagaininmoredetail.Toconfirmitwasallreal.IwishIcouldsummonthefeelingofthepadsofhisfingershypnotizingmewithsmallcircularstrokes.Thetingleofmyskinashislipsdancedovermeinanintricate,privateshow.ThefeelingofbeingmoreinsyncwithanotherhumanbeingthanIeverthoughtpossible.
Ifallbackasleep,myheartfilledwithhopebutalsofear.
DANIEL:Pleasecallme.I’msosorryaboutFridaynight.
ThisisDaniel’sthirdapology.
Ihaven’trespondedyet.
AsMelleadsusthroughthemallinsearchofadressforthegalaintwodays,Crystallecturesmeontheartofforgiveness.“Iknowyouholdameangrudge.ButDaniel’sonlyhuman.He’sobviouslyreallysorry.”
“Buthelit-ral-lyforgotaboutme.Whoforgetsaboutdinnerwiththeirlong-lostchildhoodbestfriend?”I’mstillfeelingsometypeofwayaboutbeingstoodupatMammaMaria’s.Andfrankly,doesitevenmatteranymore,nowthatIhaveTrevor?
“He’syourverylastex,right?”Melasksbluntly,remindingmeofthatsadfactasweveertotheside,avoidingatrioofadorableelderlywomendoingsomegentlemallwalkinginmatchingvelourtracksuits.
Asexpected,theSundaypre–Valentine’sDayatthemallisall-outanarchy,packedwithbumblingfoolslast-minutegifthuntingfortheirspecialsomeone.Today’scrowdsareevenworsethantheBostonsubwayatrushhourandthegranniesatthegrocerystorecombined.Melevensustainedabrokenacrylicnailbattlingforthelastbaby-bluecashmeresweater.RIPnail.
“Heisthelastone,”Isay,barelymaskingmyneutrality.NeitherCrystalnorMelknowswhathappenedwithTrevor,mostlybecausemicdroppingthisplottwistthatwe’resuddenlytogethernowviaouriPhonegroupchatjustdidn’tseemappropriate.I’mwaitingfortheopportunemomenttospringitonthemtoday.
Asweenteracuteformalwearboutique,Melgesturestoamannequininthewindowposingbrokendoll–styleinaseventiesneon-yellowfeathercocktaildress.“Isthattoomuchforyourgala?”
“Honestly,Idon’tknowifIwanttogo.MaybeI’lljustfakesick,”ItellCrystalandMel,rootingaroundarackfullofgorgeousyetout-of-budgetdresses.FurtherconfirmationIshouldsitthiseventout.
TheexistentialdreadofgoingtothegalaalonewithoutTrevorhitsmelikeawreckingball.Imisshim.Terribly.Andit’sonlybeenadaysinceheleft.
Itdoesn’thelpthatwe’vebarelytexted,asidefromaquickmessagewhenhisplanelanded.Myentirebeinghasbeenitchingtoaskhimhowhe’sdoing,howthefiresare,whathe’sbeenthinkingabout,andifhestillfeelsthesamewayaboutmeashedidonFridaynight.I’mdesperatetounpackourbriefconversationfrombeforewehadsex.Sure,weagreedweweregivingthisashot.Butweneverdiscussedthelogisticsofhowourrelationshipwouldchange,whetherwewerean“official”couplenow.
Lastnight,Ievenwokeupatthedevil’shour,openedmyNotesapp,andstartedtypingahalf-bakeddeclarationoflovesoatleasthe’dknowwhereIstood.WhenIrealizedmytextwasnearlyafullscreenlengthlong,IrememberedwhatTrevortoldmethatnightwhenIwastextingBrandon.
Hewillrunfar,farawayifyousendthis.
ThelastthingIneedistoscarehimoffwithmyobsessiveself,onlydaysbeforeValentine’sDay.There’salsothefactthathespecificallytoldmeheneededtotakethingsslow.Ipromisedhimwewould,notjustforhimbutformetoo.Iwanttodothingsdifferentlythistime.Idon’twanttocannonballheadfirstlikeinmypastrelationships,allofwhichcrashedandburned.Iwanttobemeasured,sureofmyself,notdesperatelikeIusuallyam.
“Butit’sValentine’sDay.Youshouldn’tbealonewithyourthoughts.Dowereallywantarepeatoflastyear?”Crystalgivesmeapointedstare.IspentlastValentine’sDaycryingonCrystal’scouchwhileshepettedmyhairlikeadestitutestrayinaSarahMcLachlananimalwelfarecommercial.
Ipressmyhandovermyheart.“IsolemnlyswearIwon’trequireemotionalsupportthisyear.”IturntoMel,who’sexaminingagoldsequinnumberthatcostsonemonth’srent.“ThisisyourfirstValentine’sDayaloneinyears.Wantcompany?Icansupplythewine,excellentcompany,andcuddles,”Ioffereagerly.
“Sorry,Tara,”Melsayssympathetically,likeshefeelssorryforme.“It’stempting.Really.ButIalreadycommittedtoaLivemakeuptutorialwithoneofmyinfluencerfriends.”Shepointsmetowardthedressingroomarea.She’sselectedanarmloadofoverpricedgownsformetotryon.
“Yousure?Icouldevenhangoutinthebackgroundandwatch.Iwon’tgetintheway,”Isuggest,desperate.
“Maybeyouwouldn’thavetobealoneonValentine’sDayifyoutextDanielback,”Crystalremindsme.
Melholdsablackcocktaildressinfrontofme,oneeyeclosed.Shefrowns,likeI’madisgracefulcontestantonAmerica’sNextTopModel.“Idon’tthinkIlikeblackonyou.Toogothic,”shemutters.“Anyway,Idisagree.Don’tcallDaniel.Hedeservestosufferalittleaftermakingyousitaloneattherestaurantlikealoser.”
Yeah,untilTrevorshowedupandproceededtochangelifeasIknowit.
Meldropsaheapingpileofgownsonthebenchinthedressingroom,oblivioustomyinternalfreak-outoverwhethernowisagoodtimetocomeclean.Onsecondthought,thechaosofthedressingroomhardlyseemslikeasuitableplacetodropthisbomb.“I’llbebackwithmoreoptions.Idon’tknowifIlikesquarenecklinesonyou.Itshortensyourtorso.”
CrystalcomesinasMeldartsoutofthedressingroomonamission.Shestuffsaballofcherry-redfabricthroughthecrackinthedoor.“Trythisone.It’sveryyou.”
Thenexthalfhourconsistsofmesweating,changinginandoutofvariousdresses,mostofwhichareeithertooexpensiveordonothingformyfigure.
MymoodliftswhenItryonCrystal’spick,theredone-shoulderdresswiththesexythigh-highslituptheleg.Admittedly,it’skindofperfect,accentuatingmywaistandelongatingmymiddlewiththeover-the-shoulderbejeweledstrap.AccordingtoMel,theharshestcritic,therichtonebringsouttheolivehueofmyskin.Sheeventhreatensto
Isnapafewmirrorselfies,examiningthedressfromeveryangle,mymouthopenliketheSisterhoodoftheTravelingPantsgirlsintheirmagicjeans,astonishedbytheflawlessfit.Icanalmostenvisionmyselfatthegalainfullglam.Thisdressscreamslove.ItscreamsValentine’sDay.
BythetimewereturntoMel’scondowithtake-outsushi,I’mjittery,mykneebouncinguncontrollablyundertheglasscoffeetable.MybodyisphysicallyrejectingkeepingmyTrevorsecretforsolong.
Crystalnoticesstraightaway.“Whyaren’tyoueatingyoursushi?”sheasks,dippingaspicycrabrollintohersoysauce.
Istruggletoswallowapitifulmouthfulofseaweedsalad,tossingmydisposablewoodenchopsticksonmyplate.It’stimetocomeclean.
Isparenodetailabouttheentireevening,fromnearlygettingkickedoutofMammaMaria’stoTrevorshowingup,savingmyassandmybreadsticks.Iexplainhow,inamomentofweakness,IdemandedtoknowTrevor’sfeelings,whichdirectlyledtoanexplosionofemotions,followedbyapassionatehookup.
WhenIconcludemystory,athicksilencefallsoverMel’sopenlivingarea.Crystallookslikeshe’sabouttochokeonherroll.Acrossthecoffeetable,Mel’smouthiscrookedandpartiallyopen—hertrademarkfacewhenthelogicdoesn’taddupbecauseherBotoxpreventssevereforeheadlines.
“Nofreakin’way.YousleptwithTrevor?”Melfinallyclarifies,breakingthestretchofsilence.Shepretendstofanherself.“Wasitlife-changing?Ibetitwas.Ineeddetails.”
Iburymyfaceinmyhands.“Itwas.”
Throughmysplayedfingers,Crystalpinsmewithahard,judgmentalstare.“Wait,youmeanyoutwoareactuallyathing?Howisthatevenpossible?”
“Nowonderyou’vebeensoblaséaboutDaniel.You’vefallenforTrevor.Hard.Literally,”Meldeclares,eyeingmewithrighteoussuspicion.
“Yup,”Iadmit.
“HaveyoutalkedsinceheleftforCalifornia?”Melasks,strugglingtouseherchopsticksdespiteDad’sfifteen-minutelessonatCrystal’sbridalshower.Shequicklygivesupandeatsherstickyricewithafork.
Iliftmyphonefromthecoffeetabletofindnothing,asIpredicted.“Hetextedoncetotellmehearrivedsafely.”
Crystal’sexpressionisoneofultimatedoubt.“Wait,that’sit?You’retogetherandhe’sbarelyeventextingyou?”
Herquestionislikeagutpunch.Istraightenmyspine,suddenlyfeelingevenmoreinsecurethanIalreadywas.“Isthatweird?Shouldwebetexting?”
“Iwouldthinkso.Scotttextsmeconstantlywhenhe’sgone.”
“Okay,butScottandTrevoraretwodifferentpeople,”Melremindsus,althoughIbarelyregisterherwordsgiventhealarmbellsgoingoffinmyhead.
HeatpricklesmybodyasIstraightenmyspine.“Shit.Thisisabadsign,isn’tit?Doyouthinkhe’sfreakingoutandregrettingeverything?”
Melmakesafaceasiftosay,Don’taskme.“Whydon’tyouaskhimtoFaceTime?Askhimstraightupifyou’restillonthesamepage?”Idon’tknowhowMel’squestioncanbebothsologicalandsohiveinducing.“Orsendhimthesmokin’-hotmirrorselfieinthereddressyoutookinthechangingroom.Seehowhereacts.”
Crystal’seyesgowidelikeFrisbees.“Mel,Iloveyou,butareyouokay?That’stheworstideaI’veeverheard.Amirrorselfiewillsendthewrongmessageforsure.”
“Wrongmessage?Issheanun?She’shotandwantstoshowoffherbodtoherman.”Melscoffsandgivesherakickunderthetable.“Personally,Ithinkit’sgenius.Ifhesendssomesortofsex-relatedresponse,we’llknowhejustwantsyourass.Ifhesayssomethinglame,he’schangedhismindanddecidedtofriend-zoneyou.Andifheoffersasincerecompliment,wecanprobablyguessthingsarestillgood.”
“Youdohaveapoint.”Inmyloomingsushicoma,I’measilysuggestible.IgrabmyphoneandimpulsivelyopenmytextwindowwithTrevor.Myfingersflex,hoveringovertheoptiontoattachthephoto.
BeforeIcanmakeadecisioneitherway,Crystalshrieks,“No!”Inablink,she’srippedmyphonefrommyhandsbeforeIhavethechancetofirmmygrip.Shestuffsitdownhersportsbraforgoodmeasure.
Icockabrow.“Really,Crys?I’mnotafraidtogointhere.”Imakeapretendadvance,andCrystalleansawayfromme,herhandclampedoverherchest.
“Comeon.Thinkaboutthis.I’mnotsureanyofthisisagoodidea.”
“Textinghim?”Iask.
“No.Like,allofthis.Imean,fromwhatyousaid,henevergaveyouanyspecificcommitmentotherthananI’lltry.Areyoureallywillingtoacceptthat?”Whenmyeyesstarttowell,she’squicktoadd,“Iloveyou,Tara,andIwantyoutobehappy.ButIalsowantwhat’sbestforyou.Ijustdon’twantyouwithanotherguyyouhavetofix.Someonewhoneedssomuchmaintenance.Especiallysomeoneyou’reroomingwith.”
“Buthaveyouseenhim?Letthegirllive!”MelmakesasurpriseattackfromacrossthetableandstuffsherhanddownCrystal’sshirt.Sheendsupdippingtheelbowofhersilkblouseinthetinyplasticcontainerofsoysauce,whichnearlydribblesonherplushcreamarearug.
IreachacrossthetabletoassistMelbeforeshestainsanythingelse.Crystalseesthisasanattackandrollsawayintothefetalpositiononthefloor.Itallgoesdownhillfromthere.Meldivesoverher,andIlaunchmyselfontopofbothofthemwithabloodcurdlingbattlecry.
Thethreeofusarescreaminglikechildrenfightingoverthelastsliceofpizzaatabirthdayparty.Someonehasscrapedmyneckwiththeirfingernail(probablyMel),andsomehowCrystal’smessybunhascomeoutandMel’sblouseiswrinkledanddisheveled.We’resecondsawayfromanall-outcatfight.
GivenCrystal’ssuperhumanstrength,ittakesbothMelandmetoprymyphonefromherhands.IevenresorttoticklingherontheribstogiveMelawindowofopportunitytoswipeit.BythetimeCrystalfinallyrelents,we’reflatonourbackslaughinghystericallyonMel’sfloor,ourchestsheavinglikewe’vejustcompletedagruesomespinclass
“Okay,onsecondthought,let’srethinkthis,”Melsaysbreathily.“Arandomphotoofyourselfmaybealittleweird.Ithinkyourbestbetisastraight-upconversationwhenhegetsbacktomakesureyou’restillaligned.Inperson.It’stooimportantaconversationtohavethroughtext.”
“You’reprobablyright.”WithwhatlittlestrengthIhaveleft,Ireachformyphonetoexitthetextwindow.
Andthat’swhenIseeit.
Somehow,throughourtussle,wehavecollectivelymanagedtohitSendonthemirrorselfie.
Notonce.
Nottwice.
Butthreetimes.
No.No.No.
Fuckmylife.
Mouthagape,IshowCrystalandMelwhatwe’vedone.
MellooksidenticaltoTheScream,thefamouspaintingfromthe1800swiththegaunt,skull-likemanwithbothhandsoneithersideofhishead,hiseyeswidelikehe’sjustseendeathitself.
Crystalissodisturbed,shelaunchestoherfeetandstartsspeedwalkingaroundthelivingarea,herhandstohertemples,mumbling,“OhmyGod,ohmyGod,ohmyGod,”whichdoeslittletoquellmynausea.
Neardeceased,IcollapseontoMel’sstylishyetuncomfortablecouch,anarmovermyeyestoblockoutmyreality.It’stimetodefecttothefringesofsociety.I’llliveouttherestofmydaysinruggednature,usingtwigs,stones,andpoisonousberriesforcurrency.
Thenagain,myanimalfriendswouldn’tbeanadequatesubstituteforhumancompany.No.IthinkI’llstayhereinthisveryspotforallofeternity.It’sonlyamatteroftimebeforethebuzzardsdescendtofeastonmyinnards.“Idon’tsupposeyoucanunsendatext?”
“Idon’tthinkso,”Crystalsays,cringing.“ButI’llGoogleittomakesure.”
“It’sokay.It’sfine.Nobigdeal.Youlikehim.Helikesyou.It’stotallynormaltosendhimphotosofyourself,”Melassures.
“Butthat’sthething!Idon’tknowanythingthat’sgoingoninhishead,”Ishriek.Afterall,whatifCrystalhasapoint?IseverythinghesaidtomeonFridayatoddswithhisbehaviorsincehe’sbeengone?Actionsdospeaklouderthanwords.
“Wait!”Melrocketsuptoakneelingposition,hereyesglinting.“TellhimyoumeanttosendittomeorCrystal.”
AsperMel’ssageadvice,Icraftanewtext,whichreads,Sorry,Imeanttosendthattosomeoneelse.
Mystomachdips,roller-coasterstyle,whenthelittleellipsesappearinourtextscreen.Justknowinghe’sseenthephotosmakesmybodyreactinawayitshouldn’t.Thedotsarethereforasolidminuteatleast.IknowbecauseI’vegoneghostlypalefromholdingmybreath.Assoonasthedotsappear,theydisappear.
BythetimeCrystaldropsmeoffatmyemptyapartment,Trevorstillhasn’trespondedtomyTHREEselfies.
Thiscan’tbeagoodsign.?chapterthirty
ADULTDANIELROCKINGabowtieisalevelofdevastatinglyadorablemybodywasnotreadyfor.
Despitethefittednavysuitthatcovershislonglimbs,Istillcan’thelpbutpictureDanielasthatnerdy,unsociablekidwithcowlickedhairandnofewerthantwonoticeablestainsonhisclothes.
Ifinallymessagedhimbackthismorningafterhisfifthmessageaskingforforgivenessforstandingmeup.HewassuperapologeticandaskedtocallmewhileIwasatwork.
InvitingDanieltothegalawasn’tmyintention,butitseemedlikethenaturalthingtodowhenhewishedmeahappyValentine’sDay,recallinghowitwasmyfavoriteholiday.AndI’dbelyingifIsaidSethsmuglyinquiringonlymomentsbeforehandaboutwhetherI’dsuccessfullyscaredoffallmyexeswasn’tasecondaryfactor.
ImadeitcleartoDanielthatIwasinvitinghimasafriend,explainingIwasseeingsomeonewhowasoutoftown.Heseemedperfectlyfinewiththat,reassuringmehewasn’texpectinganythingotherthanplatonicfriendship.
Whenwemetinthelobbyofthetrendyboutiquehotelhostingthegala,hegoofilypretendedtoruntowardme,nearlytrippingoverthelooselacesofhisdressshoesintheprocess.
“Thisremindsmeofhidingbehindthebleachersduringdodgeball,”Danielsays,peeringaroundthedrywallpillarforsignsofhumanlife.We’vespentthebetterpartofthecocktailhourinadarkenedcorner,hidingfrommynosy,overtlycuriouscoworkers,nibblingonfancyappetizers.It’sjustlikemiddleschool,whenwe’dbothfakesickatthesametimetogetoutofgymclass.
Iscrunchmynose,strainingoverhisshoulderforaglimpseintotheballroom.FromwhatIcansee,thereareredballoonseverywhere(veryontheme),ornateredchargerplates,pinksilknapkins.“RememberwhenJasonYardleyhitmeinthefacewiththeball?”
Hewincesatthememory.“OhGod.Theblood.Ialmostpassedout.IrememberyourgrandmaFlocametopickyouupbecauseyourparentswereworking.Howisshedoing?”
“GrandmaFloisgreat,actually.Shegotremarriedlastsummertoherchildhoodsweetheart.She’sstillsuperinvolvedinthechurchandstuff.ShehasamoreactivesociallifethanIdo.”
We’vemanagedtocatchuponthepasttwodecadesofourlives.Justlikeitusedtobe,DanielasksalotofquestionsandIrespondwithlong-windedanswers,allwhilemanagingtoextractsomekeypiecesofinformation.
DanielisworkingasasoftwaredeveloperforFlopify.He’slovingit,althoughhereadilyadmitshisjobispracticallyhislife.Infact,itdoesn’tseemlikehedoesmuchelse,asidefromworkandvideogames.Beingapersonwithoutotherhobbiesasidefromreading,Icanrelate.Themostexcitingdevelopmentinhislifeasoflateishisnewlyadoptedcat,GrandmaWhiskers.
“She’sanorangetabby,”heexplains,showingmeaphotoofherlounginginaplayboypose,soakingupthesuninfrontofawindow.“She’sbeenalittlecrankylatelybecauseshe’sonadiet.MyvetsaidIhadtocutherfoodintakebecauseshewasbecomingobese,thoughIdisagree.Imean,afterbeingintheshelterformonths,Ithinkthepoorgirldeservedsomeextrafood,”hejustifieswithanadorablesmilethatremindsmesomuchofhimasakid.
Hetellsmehowhe’sconsideringpurchasingacatstrollerbecauseGrandmaWhiskersrefusestowalkoutdoors,andInearlydielaughing.Myamusementmakeshimsmile,anditremindsmeofallthedaysafterschoolwhenhe’dcomeoverandplayhousewithmeinCrystal’sandmyplayhouse.Wealwayspretendedtobeamarriedcouple,mimickingourparents,pretendingtoscoldourdollchildren.Asadutifulhusband,he’doffertomakemefakecoffee,whichwasusuallypairedwithabundleofdandelionsfreshlypulledfromthelawn.
ThememoryremindsmeofthebouquetofadozenredrosesthatarrivedatmydoorasIwasonmywaytothegala.IassumedtheywereapologyflowersformissingourdateonFriday.InmyrushtocatchmyUber,Ibarelyhadtimetoevenlookatthem,letalonethankhim.
“Hey,Imeanttothankyoufortheflowers.Youreallydidn’thavetosend—”I’mmid-sentencewhenSethnotsocasuallysauntersbyinavelvetmaroonsuit,champagneinhand.
HeappraisesDaniel,givingmeaconspiratorialbrowraisebeforeextendingahandtohim.“Idon’tbelievewe’vemet.I’mDr.Reinhart.”
Beforeshakinghishand,Danielglancesatmeasiftosay,Whothehellisthisd-bag,andwhyishetalkingtome?
Iclearmythroat.“Seth,thisismyex,Daniel.Daniel,thisismyother…um,ex,Seth.”
Sethsmiles,displayingallhistinyteeth.NowthatTrevorhaspointeditout,itcan’tbeunseen.HegivesDanielacondescendingpatontheshoulder.“Ifyouneedanyadviceonthisone,I’mhereforyou,man.”
Myhandstiffensaroundmyvodkacran.IfIgripitanytighter,I’llsurelycracktheglass.
Danielrightshisposture,hisexpressiondeliciouslyfrosty.“Andwhatkindofadvicewouldthatbe?”
Seth’spatchybrowsnearlyreachhisprematurelyrecedinghairline.“I’mjustmessingwithyou.”Heturnstome.“Yougood?Youlookalittletense.”
“I’mgood,”Isay,looseningmygriparoundmyglass.
Luckily,Sethiseasydistractedbyshinythings.Inthiscase,theshinyobjectisDr.Patel,oneofthemostseniorNICUdoctors,who’sjustwalkedby.WhenSethdartsafterhimtosuckup,Danielleansin.
“Washeoneoftheexesonyourlisttoo?”Danielasks.Earlierintheevening,Ispilledtheteaaboutmyex-boyfriendendeavors,andheadmittedhealreadyknewfromwatchingmystoriesafterIreachedoutonLinkedIn.
Ichortleatthemerethought.“No.IneverconsideredSeth.Onlythegoodones,likeyou.”
Daniel’scheeksturnpink,tickledbythis.“True.Iwasyourfollowers’favorite.Onlysecondtoyourroommate.Theoneyou’reseeing,right?”heasks
“Yeah.Trevor.”Ileanagainstthewall,frowningatthemerementionofTrevor.Hestillhasn’trespondedtotheselfiesIsenthim,whichonlyconfirmsCrystal’sdoubt.
“Youmustreallylikehim,”hesays,hismouthcurvingintoasmallsmile.Afterthislong,Danielcanstillreadmelikeabook.
“How’dyouknow?”Iwhisper.
“Irememberalltheboysyouusedtocrushoninschool.You’dalwaystrytopretendlikeyoudidn’tlikethemaroundme,butIcouldalwaystell,”hesayswithacasualshrugashesipshisdrink.
“Really?How?”
Hestudiesmeforabeat.“You’ddothatthingwhereyoutalkamileaminute,twirlingtheendsofyourhair.Yougetalittleflustered.Andyougetthatglassy,starry-eyedlook,”hetellsme,hiseyesglintingwithcertaintylikehe’ssolvedariddle.
“YousaythatlikeyouknowexactlywhatI’mtalkingabout,”Iventure.
Heblushes.“Yeah.I’vebeenbattlingapatheticcrushonmycoworkerYuaforyears.”
“Years?Tellmeabouther.”
“She’sanotherdeveloper.”
Ibouncemybrowssuggestively.“Ohh,anofficeromance?”
Hemakesapainedexpressionandstaresathisboots.“Notquite.Wewentononedateandshekindoffreakedout.She’sscaredtoruinourfriendship,especiallysincewe’dbestuckworkingtogether.Icompletelygetit,butitsucks.”
“I’msorry,Danny.Haveyoutriedgrandgesturingher?”
“Likedeclaringmyloveforher?Publicly?”heasks,aghastatthesuggestion.
“Ohyeah.Infrontoftonsofpeople,obviously,”Itease.
“No,no,no.Iwantedtorespectherwishestoo.Itdidn’tfeelrighttopushit.WhataboutTrevor?Tellmeabouthim.”
AndIdo.IconfidetheentirestoryaboutTrevor,fromdayonetotheeventsthatfollowedFridaynight.TellingDanieltheintimatedetailsofmylovelifefeelsnatural,becauseI’mtalkingtomyformerbestfriend.I’malsohopefulanotherdude’sinsightmightshedsomelight.
Hecontemplatesforamoment,tiltinghishead.“It’shardformetosaywhatthisguythinksregardingthetexts.ButIwouldn’trulehimout.Fromwhatyou’vesaid,he’sgonethroughsomeshit.Maybehejustneedssomespace.Ormaybeheneedsmorereassurancefromyou.Likeagrandgesture.”
AftersendingTrevorthreemirrorphotoswithzeroresponse,thelastthingI’mabouttodoishumiliatemyselffurtherwithagrandgesture.Besides,thelasttimeIattemptedagrandgesture,IendedupengagedtothelikesofSeth.“No.HeknowshowIfeel.Ithinkthat’spreciselywhatscareshim.”
Hedipshisheadback.“RememberthattimeyoutriedtokissSpencerHayfieldatrecessandhetoldeveryoneyouwereawitch?”
Ifailtosuppressasnort.“HetoldeveryoneIputacurseonhim.Thelittleshit.Thepatriarchyissostrong,evensix-year-oldsbelievegirlswhogoafterwhattheywantarewitches.”
Danielbumpsmyshoulderwithhis.“Mypointis,youwerealwaysfearless.Don’tlosethat.”
“Willyouletmestayonyourcouchwhenitallinevitablybackfires?”
Heextendshisslenderhand,givingmeasupportiveshake.“Deal.”
Beforethedinnerstarts,Iexcusemyselfforabathroombreak,leavingDanielinthegoodhandsofmynursecolleagues.Onmywayout,mynoseisburiedinmyphoneasnotificationsstreaminforaphotoofaredbookcoverIpairedwithmydress.
Outofnowhere,ashiverelectrifiesmyspine.Goosebumpsscatterdownmyarms,asifI’mstandingdirectlyunderthechillyblastofavent.Avelvety,audiobook-worthyvoiceupendseverythinginmyorbit,stoppingmeinmytracks.?chapterthirty-one
MYBODYMALFUNCTIONSlikealaptopdrownedbyaspilledglassofwater,screenflickeringuntilitsurrenderstothevoid.
Forthebriefestofmoments,IconvincemyselfTrevor’svoicewassimplyanaudiohallucination.Nothingbutavividsymptomofmygeneralheartache.I’msureofit,untilmynameslicestheairforthesecondtime.
“Tara.”
Ipivotasfastaspossibleinthree-inchheelsoncarpet,confirmingthatforonce,itisn’tmyoveractiveimaginationpropelledbyemotional,golf-ball-sizehailstones.
Trevorishere.
Intheflesh.
Mychestblazeswithheat,tryingtoreconcilethevisionbeforemyeyes.TrevorisnotfightingfiresontheWestCoast.Heisfivefeetinfrontofme,dressedinthesameperfectlytailoredsuitheworeatMammaMaria’s.He’ssingle-handedlysuckingalltheoxygenoutofthehallway,leavingnothingfortherestofus.“What…whatareyoudoinghere?”
Hepinsmewithhisheatedgaze.“Icamehomeearly.”
Everythingbuthisperfectfaceblurs,likewe’reonamerry-go-roundatdoublespeed.“Why?”Iasksimply.
Heworksdownaswallow,hesitating,hiseyesdippingtohisfeet,thenbacktome.“Youlook”—hegesturestowardme,jawslack—“absolutelybeautiful.”
Trevorisn’tonetobullshit.Hedoesn’tgiveacomplimenthedoesn’tmean.Theearnestexpressiononhisfacecementsit.Thecornersofmylipsthreatentocurveintoashysmile,untilIrecallhisblatantlackofcommunicationoverthepastthreedays.I’mtransportedbacktothatsinkingmomentatMel’s.WhenIaccidentlysenthimthreephotosinthisverydressandhedidn’tevenbothertorespond.
“Whydidn’tyouanswermytext?”
Heworksdownaswallow,hesitating.
Iexpecthimtoofferanexcuse,likehewastoobusydoingheroshit,runningintofieryblazesandsavinglives.Ormaybehehadbadreceptionanddidn’tevenreceivethephoto.WhileI’mfairlycertainthat’snotthecase,givenIspecificallysawhimtyping,I’veheldontothepossibility,howeverremote.
Trevordoesn’toffereitherjustification.“Youdidn’tmeantosendthemtome,Ithought.”
Aswetakeeachotherin,ahandtouchesthesmallofmyback.
“Hey,Iwaslookingforyou.”It’sDaniel.Bythewayhe’slookingatme,blatantlyconfused,he’sentirelyoblivioustotherubberbandbetweenTrevorandme,readytosnapatanymoment.
Trevor’slipsflattenattheinterruption,hissteadygazeturningcold.
“Sorry,Iwasinthebathroom.Gotdistractedonmyphone,”Isay,blinkingawaythewhitedotscloudingmyvision.
“Dinnerisstarting.Theemceeisaskingeveryonetotaketheirseats.”Danielnodstowardtheentrancetothebanquethall.Beforeturningusback,hedouble-takes,holdinghishandouttowardTrevor.“Apologies,Ididn’tintroducemyself.I’mDaniel.YoumustbeoneofTara’scolleagues?”
Trevor’sexpressionisunreadable.Hisjawshifts,andI’mcertainI’dbeabletohearhismolarsgrindingtogetherifitweren’tfortheloudchatterfilteringfromthegalaroom.
“No,he’snotmycolleague,”Icutin,nervesaflutter.
“Oh?”Danielasks,stillnotpickinguponthepalpabletension.
Thesquealingfeedbackofamicrophonepiercestheair,followedbythesoothingspavoiceoftonight’semcee,oneofthehospitalswitchboardoperators,whodefinitelymissedhercallingasastand-upcomedian.“Testing…Please,fortheloveofallthingsholy,caneveryonestepawayfromthebarandtakeyourseats—”
“Shit,”Imutter,flusteredasDanielstartssteeringusback.WhenIlookovermyshoulder,Trevorisalreadywalkingaway.Hislongstrideshavetakenhimthree-quartersofthewayacrossthecocktailroom.Panicked,IraisemyindexfingertoDaniel,signalingI’lljustbeaminute.
I’mafreshbabydeer,wobblingonmyday-old,spindlylegs.MygownishikedliketheclassactIam,dashingafterTrevorasheveersleft,disappearingintothelobby.Inhotpursuit,Itakethecornertoofast,toofurious.Myshouldercollideswiththatofaserver’s,nearlyknockingoverhertrayofchampagneflutes.Isqueakoutamuddledyetgenuineapology,glancingbacktoconfirmshe’srebalancedhertray.BythetimeIzeroinonTrevor’sbackagain,he’snearingthedoors
“Metcalfe,”Icall,loudenoughtoturntheheadsofbystanderswhoprobablythinkI’velostmymarbles.
Hisstubbornselfdoesn’tstopuntilI’mrightbehindhim,yankinghisbiceps.“I’msorry,I’vegottago.”Hesparesmeabrief,heavy-heartedlook,cautiousaboutlookingmedirectlyintheeyes.
“Whyareyourunningawayfromme?”Idemand,louderthanintended.Thestaffbehindthelobbydeskaregivingmecross-eyedglares.
Trevorisdesperatetobolt,basedonhislongingstaretowardthedoor.Herakesafrustratedhandthroughhislocks.“Because—Nevermind.”
“Tellme.”
“Doesitmatter?You’reherewithDaniel.”Trevorisjealous.Hecares.
“Heonlycametomakeupforditchingme.I—Itoldhimfromtheget-gowewerejustgoingasfriends.”Istruggleovermywords,unabletofullyarticulatemyjumbledthoughts.
Helevelsmewithalook.“Justfriends?Really?”
Myeyetwitches.“HowcouldyoueventhinkI’ddosomethinglikethistoyou?”
“Tara,I’velistenedtoyoutalkabouthowmuchyoumissthatguy—tendifferentguys—formonths.HowwasIsupposedtoknowyouweren’tjustsettlingformeasalastresort,untilDanielpulledthrough?”
Iblink,stunnedfromtheemotionalwhiplashofthepastminute.“Isthatreallywhatyouthink?ThatIwasonlyintoyoubecausenootherexesworkedout?”
“Idon’tknow!Youmovedonfromeachofthemjustlikethat.It’slikeyoujust—youjustconvinceyourselfyou’reinlovewitheveryoneyoumeet.”
“SoyouthinkI’vejustconvincedmyselfI’minlovewithyou?”
“HowcanInot?”Hegesturesahandbacktowardthedirectionofthecocktailarea.“Thatguyisexactlyeverythingyou’vebeenlookingfor.Whywouldyousettleforme?”
Itossmypalmstowardthetrendybeadedchandelierdanglingaboveus.“I’mnotsettling.Whyareyoutwistingthistomakeitaboutme,whenyou’reclearlytheonewhohasnoideawhatyouwant?”
“IdoknowwhatIwant.ItoldyouhowmuchyoumeanttomeonFridaynight,”hesays,hisexpressionpained.
“HowwasIsupposedtoknowyoumeantit?Igotnothingfromyouwhileyouweregone.”
Aveinpulsesinhisforehead.“You’retheonewhobarelytextedme.I’veseenthetextsyousenttoyourexes.Comparedtowhatyousentme,itseemedlikeyoudidn’twanttotalkatall.Andwhenyouactuallydidsendmethosepictures,yousaidyoumeanttosendthemtosomeoneelse.”
Ittakesacoupleofmomentsfortherealizationtosettle.Trevoractuallywantedmetotexthimmore?“Itriednottobotheryoubecauseyousaidyouwantedtogoslow.Ididn’twantyoutothinkIwasbeingclingy.”
“Iwouldn’thavethoughtthat.Slowornot,Istillwantyoutobeyou,clingyandall.”
“Theentireexsearch,allyoudidwaseditmytexts,tellingmetheyweretoomuch,”Ipointout.
“Butyouweren’twiththoseguys,Tara.”
“Itdoesn’tmatter.You’restillonetotalk.Youbarelytextedmeyourself.”
“IsentyouValentine’sDayflowers,forChrist’ssake.”
Ifreeze.“What?Yousentmeflowers?”
“Roses,”hesays.“Youdidn’tgetthem?”
Somethingpinchesinmychestattherealization.TheroseswerefromTrevor.NotDaniel.Ididn’thavetimetochecktheaccompanyingnotebecauseI’djustassumed.IneverevenconsideredtheycouldbefromTrevor.“I—Idid.Ithoughttheywerefrom…”
“YouthoughttheywerefromDaniel.Exactly.”Heshakeshishead.
“Trevor…”Hedoesn’trespond.Asilencehangsintheair,likeaninvisiblefogbetweenus.“Don’tleave.Weshouldtalkaboutthis,”Iplead.
Hegivesmeonelasttormentedlook,hispowerfularmspushingthroughthedoor.“Please,justgobackinside.”
Iwatchhelplesslyasheleavesmebehindwithoutasecondlook.I’mtemptedtopursuehim,chasehimintothecoldairinmyheels.Iwanttoscreamintothevoiduntilhecomesback.IwanttotellhimhowbadlyImissedhim.ThatI’mdesperatelyinlovewithhim.Nooneelse.
Theotherhalfofmeisburningred,shakingwithanger.WatchingTrevorgiveupandwalkawaysoeasilycatapultsmetothenightSethofficiallyendedthingswithme.Ourrelationshiphaddeterioratedlongbeforethatnight.AndyetIheldontoitlikealiferaft,regardlessofthefactthatitwaspunctured,draggingmedownintothechoppysea.Ibeggedforhimtotakemebackforweeks,becauseImistookwildemotionalturmoilanddysfunctionforlove,yetagain.
Iwastedmonthstryingtoputthepiecesbacktogether,tryingtopinpointwherethingswentwrong,andIdon’tthinkIeverfullybouncedback.I’vebeenonarelentlesssearchforloveagain,tryingtoprovetomyselfthatI’mworthyofthefairytaleIthoughtIhad,thatwhat’soldcanbenewagain.Andwhatcouldavengemydamagedegomorethansomeonewhooncebrokemyheartcomingbacktome?
MaybeTrevorwasright.There’ssomethingcheapeningaboutchasingallthesemenwhodon’twantme.MaybeI’vefeltmorecomfortableromanticizingmypast,convincingmyselfallthosetoxicrelationshipsweretruelove.Maybethatwasmorecomfortablethanmovingforward.
ButafterFridaynight,I’mnowalltooawarethatI’vespentmyentirethirtyyearslovingintheshallowend.It’sdifferentwithTrevor.It’sahard-hittinggravitationalpullinmyverycore,groundingmetotheearth,fillingineverylastcraterofmyheart.TheonesIneverknewcouldbefilled.TheonesIneverevenknewwereempty.It’sconfirmationthatadifferentkindoflove—loveinthepurestsenseoftheword—isreal.
AndImighthavescreweditupalready.
Someoneclearstheirthroatbehindme.
It’sSeth.
Hestepsforth,bothhandsinthepocketsofhisslacks.“Youallright,T?”Hisbrowsknittogetherinconvincingconcern.
“I’mfine.”Isqueezemyeyesshut,prayinghe’llvamoosebythetimeIopenthemagain.Nosuchluck.
Headvancestoushermetothesmallbenchnearthedoors.“Hey,comesitdown.”
Ifollowhim,toostunnedbymyinteractionwithTrevortoprotest.
WhenSeth’sshoulderbrushesagainstmine,there’snocomfort.Onlyconfusion.Hurt.Anger.“Whathappened?Wasthatoneofyourexes?”heasks.
“No.He’stheguyI’mseeing.Oratleast…was.Idon’tknow.”
“Ah,Isee.”Heleansforwardslightly.“Thingsnotworkingout?”
Iblowtheairoutofmycheeks.“Ha.Youcouldsaythat.Butthat’sthestoryofmylife,itseems.EverytimeIgetclosetofindingsomeone—”
“IfIcouldgiveyoujustonepieceofadvice—”Histoneispompous,andheplowsforwardbeforeIcanevenprotest.“Itwouldbetoloweryourexpectations.”
“Lowermyexpectations,really,Seth?”
“I’vealwayssaidyourbooksandmovieshavefilledyourheadwithunrealisticexpectations.Menaren’tlikethatinreallife.AndIthinkit’stimeyoufinallyacceptthefactthatlifeisn’tafairytale.”IfIhadadollarforeverytimeSethwhinedthatmybooksweretaintingmyexpectationsofrealrelationships,I’dbeaballer.
Istand,refusingtolookathim,myfacestiff,maskingtheemotionoverflowingontheinside.“I’mwellawareofthat,thankstoyou.AndI’msorryyoufeelsothreatenedbydepictionsoffictionalmendoingmorethanthebareminimum.”Forafractionofasecond,theself-righteouslookonhisfaceisswappedformomentarydisbelief.Irelishmysmallvictory,therareopportunitytoshakehimtohiscore.
“Threatened?”Sethretortsinderision.“I’mjusttryingtobringyoudowntoreality.Idoubtthere’saguyouttherethatcouldmeetallyourdemands.”
Ibackaway.“Idon’tconsiderbasichonesty,respect,andhealthycommunicationtobedemands.Andit’sreallytoobadthey’resounachievableforyou.IfeelterribleforIngrid.”
Wellawarethehotelstaffarelisteningin,heletsoutabarkinglaugh.Unabletohandlefeelingsmallerthanme,hestands,toweringoverme.“See,thisisexactlywhywebrokeup.Yougetallcrazy,readingintoeverylittlething,takeeverythingtothenextlevel.”
Thewordcrazyhitsmelikeaspikedwreckingball.I’mbroughtbacktothemomentNickyTannenbaumcalledmecrazyinthesecondgradewhenIgavehimmyhomemadeValentine’sDaycard.AllthetimesIpretendedtolaughitoffwhenthatCrazyEx-Girlfriendmemewentviralinhighschool.Themanymenwho’vetoldmeIwastooclingy.ThethousandsoftimesbeforenowwhenSethwouldcallmecrazywheneverIgottheslightestbitemotional,holdinghisdemeaning,gaslightingstoicismovermelikeadeadlyweapon.
You’reactinglikeamadwoman.
Don’tbesoemotional.
You’reactingsoirrationalrightnow.
I’veknownsincebeforeourbreakupthatSethisamastermanipulator.I’vealwaysdoubtedmyselfinhispresence,second-guessingeveryword,everyaction,wonderingwhyIwasn’tenoughforhim.
Thepainofthememoriesgivesmethestrengthtomeethishawkeyes,onceandforall.Andthistime,Iknowit’snotmewhowasn’tenough.
“Youcaninvalidatemeallyouwant,Seth,butwhenyoucloseyoureyesatnight,youknowthetruth.Youknowhowyoutreatedme.Youknowhowshadyyouwereinthelead-uptothewedding,takingoffwithouttellingmewhereyouwereorwhoyouwerewith.MakingmethinkIwasnutsforevendaringtoaskyouwhoyouwerealwaystexting.Makingmeouttobeapsychowhenyousuddenlylockeddownyourdevicesandrefusedtoletmeuseyourphoneorlaptop.”Ipausetocatchmybreath,notinghisshock.“Andsure,thereweretimesIoverreacted.ButIwillneverapologizeforlovingfiercely,eventhoughyoudidn’tdeserveit.”
Seth’sjawhingesopen,andIimmediatelysnapamentalphotoofthisgloriousmoment.Multiplebystandershavestoppedtotakeinthespectacle.I’veneverroastedsomeoneonaspitinfrontofacrowdinmylife,anddamn,itfeelsfantastic.
Istomppasthim,backtotheballroom,imaginingI’minTaylorSwift’s“BadBlood”musicvideo,struttingoutoftheSethhellfirethat’smarkedtoomanyyearsofmylife.I’mlikethephoenixtattooedonTrevor’schest,reborn,renewed,andreadyforthenextchapter,whatevermaycome.
Forthreeyears,SethmademebelievemyemotionsweremyAchilles’heel.NowIknowbetter.IrememberwhatIlovedmostaboutloveinthefirstplace.Lovehasthepowertostripyouraw,tothebone.Andthat’sthebeautyofit.There’sanimmeasurablebraveryinopeningyourheartandbaringyoursoulwhenallhopeisseeminglylost.Knowing,eveninthefaceofheartbreak,thatthisisnottheend.Thatyou’restillstanding,afteritallcrumblesaroundyou.
Myhearthasnowofficiallybrokenfortheeleventhtime.Andstrangely,I’mstrongerthanI’veeverbeen.
LIVEWITHTARAROMANCEQUEEN—THEEX-BOYFRIENDSEARCHCONCLUDES
[TaraiscloakedindarknessinthebackseatofanUber.]
EXCERPTFROMTRANSCRIPT
TARA:Hello,romancebooklovers,welcomebacktomychannel.Iwantedtohoponandleteveryoneknowthatmyex-boyfriendendeavorisofficiallyover.
Iwantedtobetransparentandtellyouallthatasbraveasmanyofyouthoughtthisjourneywas…itwasactuallyquitetheopposite.Ididn’trealizeitatthetime,butIwasterrifiedtogethurtagainaftermybigbreakup.Icouldn’thandlethethoughtofsomeonehavingthepowertodothattomeagain.AndsoIgravitatedtothisideathatIcouldtrytowinmyexesback.ThemenIwasalreadyfamiliarwith.Themenwho’dalreadyhurtme.IthinkIassumedthatitwouldbeeasiertomoldmyselftobewhattheywantmetobeifIknewthem.AndIthoughtgettingmyheartbrokenbysomeonewhoalreadybrokeitwouldbe…somehowlesspainful.Idon’tknow.
Onthebrightside,DanielandIarestillreallygoodfriends.Andgoingforward,IthinkI’mreadytojumpintothedeependasmyauthenticselfandriskalittlemore.
Inanycase,thankyouallforbeingsosupportiveandforfollowingalong?chapterthirty-two
WHATWASTHAT,dear?”GrandmaFloasksforthefifty-thirdtime.Shecupsherhandaroundhereartheatrically,pretendingshe’slosingherhearing.(Fortherecord,sheisnot,accordingtoheraudiologist.)
“Isaidyoushouldgetaringlightforyourvideos.”ThisisnotatallwhatI’vejustsaid,butfrankly,GrandmaFloisn’tallthatinterestedinanythingelsetodayexceptInstagram.
“What’saringlight?”GrandmaFloasks,finallyclosingheriPad.Shetakeshersweettimemoseyingovertotheentrywayinherslippers.She’sinsistingontakingmetothehospitalforAngie’spartysoshecandropoffthehand-knitdollsandblanketsfrommybookstackfundraiserinperson.
Thepartydoesn’tbeginforafewhours,butI’malreadyalightwithnervesattheprospectofseeingTrevor.Wehaven’tspokensincelastnight,whenheleftthegala.WhenIgothome,hewasinhisroom,doorclosed,lightsoff.Andthismorning,Ilefttogatherthingsforthepartybeforehewokeup.
MychestphysicallyhurtseverytimeIthinkaboutthatlastconversation.I’veagonizedoverallthethingsIcouldhavesaiddifferently,wonderingifanythingwouldhavechangedtheoutcome.
Undernormalcircumstances,nottalkingforalmosttwenty-fourhourswoulddrivemetothebrinkofmentalruin.Idraftedamulti-paragraphtextonmylunchbreakthatIhaven’tsentabouthowmuchIlovehimandhowbadlyIwanttoworkthingsout.Butsincetextinghasn’tbeenthebestmodeofcommunicationforus,I’mremaininguncharacteristicallycalmuntilwegetthechancetotalkinperson,aftertheparty.
TodayisaboutAngie,afterall.Ican’twaittoseeAngie’sfacewhensheseesthedécor,opensherpresents,andblowsoutthecandlesonherprincesscake.ThelastthingIwanttodoisbringdownthemoodwithawkwardnessbetweenheruncleandme.
AsIshovemyfeetintomyboots,IexplainthegeneralconceptofaringlighttoGrandmaFloandwhyitmaybebeneficialforhernighttimevideos.Shedoesn’tneedanyprompting.Underaminutelater,she’spurchasedonefromAmazonwithasingleclick.
Martinhappenstolumberby,arolled-upGlobepapertuckedunderhisarm.Heflashesmeaknowinglookasiftosay,Lookwhatyou’vecreated
He’snotwrong.
Ayearago,GrandmaFlowasyouraveragegrannydownloadingvirusesonherdesktopcomputerandsharingCharlieBrownmemesonFacebook.Andnowshe’sasocialmediainfluencer.
I’mluckyifIcatchherwhenhernoseisn’tburiedinheriPad.WewaitatleasttenminutesinthedrivewayasshefinishesrespondingtothecommentsonherInstagramvideotutorialforher@LoopsWithFloaccount.Sinceshefirststartedheraccount,she’sgainedhundredsoffollowers.IattributetherapidgrowthofherfollowingtoherLivevideosessions.
Inherlatestvideo,she’sparkedinherLa-Z-Boyinapalepinksweaterwithafauxwhitecollar.Fortwentyconsecutiveminutes,shedoesnothingbutknitapairofsockswhilelisteningtoCardiBandMeganTheeStallion,profanityandall.ThisisthewomanwhousedtomakeacrossoverherchestatthewordshitandexclusivelylistenedtoChristianmusic(AmyGrant).
EversincesheandMartingottogether,she’sbeenlivingherbestlife.AnddespiteMom’sconcern,CrystalandIarelovingFlo2.0.
Besides,GrandmaFloismuchthesameinmostways.She’sstillahoarder,madeevidentbytheboxofoldTVGuidemagazinesbustingoutofthedrawerintheentrywaytable(becauseyouneverknowwhenyou’llneedacableschedulefromthenineties)andthepileofOprahmagazinesonthecuspoftopplingoverunderthelivingroomcoffeetable.ShestillattendsSundayandTuesdaysermonsandreadsherBibledaily.Andshe’sstillanexcellenthost.WhenIarrivedtopickupsomepartysuppliesfromherbasement,she’dalreadypreparedacheeseandmeatplate,atrayofblueberrymuffins,andabowlofhardcandies
IgrabtheHolyShithandlewhenshefloorsit,reversingoutofthedrivewayinMartin’smassiveLincolnfasterthangreasedlightning,whilesimultaneouslycrankingthevolumeontheHot96.9radiostation.Nowonderthefamilyhasdiscouragedherasmuchaspossiblefromdriving.
“Didyouseemylatestexvideo?”Iaskoncewe’resafelyinourownlaneontheroad.
Shegivesmeagravelook,nearlymissingthestopsign.Myheadlobsforwardwhensheslamsthebrakepartwaythroughtheintersection.“Idid.It’sashamenoneofthempannedout.”
Igritmyteethaswetakeasharpcorner.I’mhalfcontemplatingaskinghertostopsoIcanUbertherestoftheway.“Ontheplusside,Ididcomeawaywithagoodfriend.RememberDaniel?”
“Thekidwiththebowlcut?”
“Yup.Hedoesn’thaveabowlcutanymore,”Iinformher.“Wedecidedwe’rebetterasfriends.”
Sheeyesmeforlongerthancomfortablebeforeshiftingherfocusbacktotheroad.“Youaren’tasdistraughtasIassumedyouwouldbe.”
“Idon’tknow.Ireallyhypedmyselfupforsomeepic,novel-worthysecond-chanceromance.ButIthinkIwasjusttryingtoplayitsafe,really.Andeventheoneswhoseemedperfectonpaperweren’tquite…right.”
“Spokenlikeawomanwhoknowswhatrightfeelslike,”shesaysknowingly,crankingthewheeltotakealast-minuteleft-handturn.
Trevor’seasysmileinvadesmymind.Itugonthecollarofmyknitsweaterastheheatgatherstomyneck.
We’resilenttherestofthewaythere.Thehospitalparkinglotiscrowdedasusualasshecareensintoarareopenspot.She’sdangerouslyclosetothevannexttous,somuchsoI’llprobablyneedtoexitthroughthedriver’sside.ButIdon’tcomplain.It’strulyamiraclewe’vearrivedwithoutmowinganyoneover.
“Iaccidentlyfellformyroommate,”Iblurt,unfasteningmyseatbelt.Ileanmyheadagainsttheheadrestandclosemyeyes,desperateforafewminutestoregroup.
“Iknow.Yoursistertoldmeyesterdayduringyoga.”GrandmaFloisunperturbedbythisrevelation.
“Ofcourseshetoldyou,”Igrumble,mildlybotheredtheywenttoyogawithoutinvitingme(notthatI’dgo,butaninvitewouldbenice),butmostlypissedthatCrystalhadthegalltotalktoGrandmaFloaboutme.“Anyway,soTrevor…”IgiveherallthedetailsofTrevor’sandmyrelationshipoverthepastfourandahalfmonths.
Sheturnsdowntheradioandlistensintently,smilingtheentiretime.“Isn’titobvious?Hewastryingtodeclarehisloveforyouatthegala.AndseeingyouonDaniel’sarmlastnight,onValentine’sDayofalldays,spookedhim.”
“ButItoldhimhowIfeltandhedidn’tbelieveme.Ithinkthisisthefirsttimeaguyhasaccusedmeofnothavingenoughfeelings.”
“Maybehe’sprojectingbecausehisownfeelingsscarehim,”GrandmaFloposits.“Youmentionedhe’sexperiencedalotofloss,withhisparentsandhisbrother.Andnowwithhispoorniece’shealthcomplications…”
Iconsiderthat.“Maybe.”
“Somepeoplestrugglewithcommunication.Especiallyifthey’reafraidtogethurt,”GrandmaFlopointsout,drummingherthinfingersonthesteeringwheel.
“Still.We’veonlybeendatingacoupledays,andsofarit’sjustbeenmisunderstandingaftermisunderstandingwithhim.AndIhatepointlessmisunderstandingsinromance.Whycan’tpeoplejusthaveconversationslikeadults?Layitalloutonthelineandavoidthenextthreehundredpagesofturmoil?”
“Thentherewouldn’tbeabook,wouldthere?”GrandmaFlosnorts,tossingmeaschoolingbrowraise.“Mydear,youhavealottolearnaboutrelationshipsifyouthinkallproblemscanbesolvedwithasingleconversation.Giveyourselfabreak.You’reinthebeginningofyourrelationship.You’retwoverydifferentpeopleironingoutthekinks.”
“Isolvethingswithconversations,”Ipointoutstubbornly.
“Butyou’veneverbeenonetohideyourfeelings,evenasayounggirl.Sayingwhat’sonyourmindcomesnaturallytoyou.Butwe’retalkingaboutmenhere.Humanbeings.”Shechuckles,fluffinghercurlsintherearviewmirror.“TakeMarty,forexample.He’saboutasemotionalastheycome.Butdoyoureallythinkyourgrandfatherevertoldmehowhefeltatanygiventime?”
Unlikely.GrandpaRogerwascantankerousasthebestofthem,alwayscomplainingaboutsomething,whetheritwastheweather(toohotortoocold,noinbetween),theslowcashieratthepharmacy,VannaWhite’schoiceofdressonanygivenepisodeofWheelofFortune.Momusedtosayhewasunhappywhenhedidn’thaveanythingtocomplainabout.Hewasold-school,upholdingantiquatedgendernormswithhissternrigidity.
“Yourgrandpashowedhislovenotthroughwordsbutthroughactions,”GrandmaFloexplains.
“Irememberhealwayscookedforyouandgotyouflowersfromthemarketonhiswayhomefromwork.”Ismileatthememoryofvisitingonweekends.Therewasalwaysabouquetoffreshflowersproudlydisplayedinthemiddleofthediningroomtable.Thenotealwayssaidthesamething:TOMYDEARESTFLO,inhisall-capsblockhandwriting.
“Hedid.Andhedidn’tlovemeanyless.That’spartofwhatmakesalong-termrelationshipwork.Reallifeisn’taninety-minutemovieorathree-hundred-pagenovel.Ittakestimetotrulyunderstandwhatsomeoneelseneedsandhowtheotherpersoncommunicatestheirlove.”Shegivesmykneecapanotherreassuringsqueeze.
Icrackasmile.Whyisshealwaysright?“Whatwouldyousaytohimifyouwereme?”
Shepressesherfingertoherlips,contemplating.“I’dtellhimhowmuchyoucareforhim.Putitalloutthere.”
“Iwill,”Isay.“Ijusthopehe’llbelievemewhenItellhimhowmuchIlovehim.”
“Andifhedoesn’t?”
“IstillknowI’mgoingtobeokay.”Itfeelssogoodtosaythatoutloud.Iknowinmyheartit’strue,becauseeverytimeI’mheartbroken,convincedI’llneverbounceback,Ialwaysdo.
“Ofcourseyouwill.”Sheplacesherwrinkledhandovermineandsqueezesbeforeadding,“Mydarlinggranddaughterdeservesthebest.Noexceptions.”
“Thanks,Grandma.”Atinyseedbloomsinmystomach,becauseforthefirsttimeinforever,Itrulybelieveit.?chapterthirty-three
PEOPLEARESERVINGmesomeseriouslooks.
Thenagain,IamahumanbumblebeeinmymassiveBelledressinthehospitalelevator.AwomangrumblesunderherbreathwhenIinadvertentlybopherinthefacewithanobnoxiouslylargebundleofpinkgiftshopballoons.Alongwiththeballoons,I’malsojugglingaFlynnRiderpi?ataandoneofMel’scast-ironfryingpanstobreakitwith—likeinthemoviewhenRapunzelhitshiminthefacewithapan.
Thepartyisscheduledtostartinhalfanhour.It’snoDisneyland,butallthebrightlypaintedwhimsicalcardboardstructuresserveasfuelfortheimagination.Pinkandpurplestreamersdrapeacrosstheentireroom,doingtheirbesttomasktheuglyhospitalceilingandwalls.Alongrectangulartablesitsinthemiddleoftheroom,drapedinahot-pinktablecloth,accentedbysparklyconfettiandprincessplates,napkins,partyhats,andgaudyplasticcrowns
Staffmembersarealreadymillingabout,assistingwiththelast-minutesetupofthegoodybags.EvenCrystalandScottarehere,dressedasSnowWhiteandPrinceCharming,respectively.They’rethedesignatedmuscle,movingfurnitureanddoingthemiscellaneousheavylifting.Trevorisnowheretobeseen,whichishonestlymakingmyanxietyevenworse.
Angiespotsmerightawayfromthe“window”ofRapunzel’stower,whichwasabitchtoconstructoutofcardboardgivenitsheight.“It’sBelle!”She’sfullofenergytoday,wide-eyedandgigglyatthesightofthepi?atainmyarms.“Andyoubroughtthepan.”
Paytonenthusiasticallyapproves,dressedinaPrincessAnnadress.“OhmyGod.Youlookfantastic!”Somethingisdifferentabouthertoday.Usually,shelooksweary,worn,andinneedofalongnap.Buttoday,she’sbrightandlively.Shefoldsmeintoahug,althoughmyhoopskirtpreventsclosecontact.“Ididn’texpectallofthis.It’saboveandbeyond,honestly.”
“Believeitornot,Trevorhelpedwiththecardboardconstruction.Ididthepainting,”Irespond,settingthebundleofballoonsinthecorneroftheroom.IdomybesttomaskthesomberlookonmyfaceasImentionTrevor.
“WhereisUncleTrev?”Angieasks.Shetiltsherheadtoseehowfarherbraidedwigextendstotheground.
“He’llbeheresoon.He’salwaysearly,”Paytonguarantees,turningtome.“Thankyou,bytheway.Foreverything,”sheadds.
“Don’tmentionit.Honestly,Iloveparties.ItoldTrevorI’llplanherpartyeveryyear…ifthisoneisuptoAngie’sstandards,”Itease,myvoicecrackingatthepossibilityofnotbeingintheirlivesayearfromnow.SurelyitwouldbestrangeformetocontinuevisitingAngieifTrevorandIarenolongerathing.
“No.It’smorethanjusttheparty,”Paytonassuresme.“Thankyouforallthevisits.AndforkeepingTrevorsane.He’susuallyanervouswreckwheneverhevisitsher.MorenervousthanAngie,even.Butyoucalmhimsomehow.”Sheglancesatherdaughter,andthenbacktome.“I’veneverseenhimlikethis.Ever.”
Ieyehersideways,hoistingthefryingpanundermyarm.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“He’sbeensickoveryou,truly,”sheresponds.
“Who’sbeensick?”Angieasks,herdarkeyesdartingbackandforthbetweenus.
“UncleTrevor.He’sinlovewithTara,”Paytonexplains,fartoocasually.
Inearlychokeonmyownsaliva.Apparently,I’mtheonlyonecaughtoffguardbythisstatement,becauseAngiejustrollshereyeslikethisislastweek’snews.“Oh.Ialreadyknewthat.”
I’mabouttolaunchintoaninterrogationwhenAngie’sstaremovespastmyface,overmyshoulder.Herexpressionbrightensinstantly.
“Ange,”adeepwarningvoicegrumbles
BehindmeisTrevor.InhisFlynnRidercostume,fillingoutthevestandbeigepantslikeafantasycometolife.Exceptbetter,somehow.Thetattoosembellishinghissinewedforearmspeekfromunderneathhastilyrolledshirtsleeves.Inotethatthebuttonsonhisvestarebuttonedunevenly,asifhedidn’tbothercheckinghisreflectioninthemirrorbeforeleavingtheapartment.
SimilartocartoonFlynnRider,he’sgenerallydisheveled.Hishairismessy,likehe’srakedhishandthroughitonetoomanytimes.Hiseyesarebloodshot,indesperateneedofagoodnight’srest.Iidlywonderifhegotanysleepatalllastnight.
Despitehisobviousfatigue,hiseyesstillmanagetoensnaremine,andtheoverwhelmingsightsendsmybodyintoastateofshock.I’matriskofflatliningfromhismereproximity.
IbarelyregisterwhenAngiescoldshim,orderinghimtorefertoheras“Rapunzel.”
Trevorgivesheracocksuresmile.“MissRapunzel,areyougonnaletdownyourhairformeorwhat?”
Angiegigglesandpointsinmydirection.“Nah.ButBellemight.”
Heswallows,tentativewhenhespotsthepi?ataandaccompanyingcast-ironskilletinmyhands.“Erm,I’mnotsosure.Bellemayprefertobashmyfaceinwithcookware.”
Iraisemyfreehandtoproclaiminnocence.“I’mnotinaviolentmood,luckyforyou.”
Helaughs.“That’sarelief.”
I’mnotsurewheretogofromhere,butunderPaytonandAngie’swatchfuleyes,I’mfeelinghellauncomfortableandparanoidthey’llsensetheriftbetweenus.Maybeit’sbesttoavoidhimuntilthepartyisover.“Sorry,I’vegottasetupthepi?ata,”Isay,gatheringthesidesofmydresstowalkaway
Trevor’sfingersclaspmywristbeforeIcanmakemyescape.“Wait.”
WhenIstop,hereleasesmywrist,runningahandoverthebackofhisneck.
Istudyhim,waiting.
“God,I’mreallyfuckingbadatthis.”Hishoneyeyesmeetmine,sincereandearnest.
Ican’thelpbutlaugh.“Whichpart?”
HeliftsbothpalmstotheceilingasPaytonshufflesAngieawaytogreetguests,grantingussomeprivacyinfrontofthecardboardtower.“Allofit.I’mtryingtograndgestureyou.Forthesecondtime.AndI’mtryingnottomakeanassofmyself.”
Iwaitforhimtocontinue.
“I’msosorryforruiningyournightlastnight.Thatwasnevermyintention.Ihadthiswholeperfectsurpriseplannedoutanditjust…wenttoshit.”
“It’sokay,Trevor.Really.Iunderstand.”
Heclearshisthroatoverthesquealofsomeofthekidswhohavejustentered,inaweatthedécor.“Inevershouldhavewalkedawayfromyou.ButafterallthehoursIlistenedtoyoutalkabouthowamazingDanielis…IthoughtIcouldnevercompete.Especiallyafterseeingyoutwotogether.IknowhowspecialValentine’sDayistoyou.IguessIjustthoughtitmustmeanDanielisreallyspecialtoyoutoo.Ifhewasexactlythekindofguyyouwerelookingfor,Ididn’twanttobeinthewayofthat.”
“Fortherecord,youhavenothingtoworryaboutwithDaniel.Ilovehimasafriend,butitdoesn’tevencomparetowhatIfeelforyou.AndIknowit’shardtobelieveafterallmyexes—”
“No,Iwasadickforusingthatagainstyou.”
“Tobefair,Igetit.Youwerekindofright.Ibouncedbetweenthemallsofastbecausethetruthis,Ididn’tloveanyofthemanymore.IjustconvincedmyselfIdid,mostlybecauseIwastryingtoavoidmyfeelingsforyou,”Iadmit,movingoutofthewayasAngierunspastmetogreetmoreguests.
“Iknow.I’matoolfordoubtingthat.”Hegivesahelplessshrug.“It’sjust,I’veseenthewayyouarewithguysyoulike.Sendingmulti-paragraphtexts.Yousentmeone-wordanswerswhileIwasgone,andIthoughtyou—”
“YouthoughtIdidn’tcare?”I’mtemptedtolaughinhisfacewhenhenods.IthinkaboutthehoursIspentclutchingmyphone,willinghimtotextme.“Don’tforget,you’retheonewhotoldmetoreinmytextgamein.Iwastryingnottofreakyououtandsendyourunningfaraway,asyouwouldsay.”
Hewinces.“Myadvicewasdeadwrong.Iloveyourlong-windedtexts.Ijustneverthoughtyou’dactuallytakemyadvice.”
Mycorsetmakesdigestingthisnewinformationmorechallengingthanitshouldbe.Howdohistoricalromanceheroineskeeptheircool?Ifidget,managingtoregulatemybreathing,replayinghiswords.Iinterpretedhislackofcommunicationtomeanhedidn’tcare.Andheassumedthesame.
GrandmaFlo’swordsechothroughmyhead.Youhavealottolearnaboutrelationshipsifyouthinkallproblemscanbesolvedwithasingleconversation.
Hecontinues.“Anyway,Iwantedtoapologizeagainformypartinallofthis.IknowI’vemessedwithyourheadthepastfewmonths,andItakefullresponsibility.AndIknowaskingyoutomoveslowdidn’thelp.”
“I’msorrytoo.Andfortherecord,Ihavenoproblemwithmovingslow.”
Thecornersofhislipstugupward,deepeningintoabriefsmile.“IthinkwetossedoutmovingslowonFridaynight,didn’twe?”
“Technically.”
Hisincendiarylooklocksmeinplace.“Tara,I’vehaditbadforyouformonths.You.Are.Everything.You’rethebestthingthat’severhappenedtome.IwasscaredbecauseIcouldn’tstopsecond-guessingwhetheryouwererealandwhetheryouweregoingtoleavetoo.I’vealwayshadissuesexpressinghowIfeel,especiallyaftermymompassed.Aftereverything,withmyfamilyandAngie,thethoughtoflosingsomeoneelseIcareaboutwastoomuch.Shuttingpeopleoutwaseasier.Ijustgotsocomfortablewiththatreality.Andwhenyoumovedin…”
Ilethimcontinuehistrainofthought
“Youwantedtogettoknowme.Youwantedtoknoweverythingaboutme.Andforthefirsttime,Iwantedtoletsomeonein.AndwhenIdid,itscaredtheshitoutofme.Butthetimeawaygavemesomeclarity.”
“Onwhat?”
“ItmademerealizeImissedyousofuckingmuch.Iwassomiserablewithoutyou,IgotsenthomeearlybecauseIwasbasicallyuselessoutthere.IneededtocomehomeandtellyouthatIwantallthethingsyouwant.ThatI’mcapableofgivingyoueverything.AndIdon’twanttogoslow,becauseIcanbarelybreathewhenIthinkaboutlivingmylifewithoutyou.IwanttocomplainwhileyouwatchDisneymovies.Iwanttoalphabetizeyourbooks.Iwanttoreadwithyouatnight.Iwanttotolerateyourmess.Iwant…”Heletsoutaweakhalflaugh.“Iwantafamily.Oneday.Iwanttodoliterallyanythingaslongasitmeansbeingwithyou,becauseIamsoinlovewithyou,Idon’tknowwhattodowithmyself.”
Theweightofhiswordssendsanelectricthrillrocketingthroughme.There’sahopefulyetvulnerablelookinhiseyesI’veneverseenbefore.Forthefirsttime,there’snoirongate,fortress,moat,orvelvetropekeepingmefromhim.He’srighthere,infrontofme,dressedlikealiteralprince,warmeyesbeaconingmetohim.
BecauseI’mme,mymindblanksentirely,hominginontheonlycoherentstatementechoinginmymind.“I’mreallynotthatmessy.”
Hedoesthatface,themock-disappointedfacehealwaysmakes.“Tara,IjusttoldyouIlovedyouandthat’swhatyoutakeoutofit?”
Icovermyfacewithmyhand.“I’msorry.I’mnotusedtodeclarationsoflovelikethis.”
“Thefactthatnoonehasrealizedhowamazingyouareisjust…mind-blowing.”Hereachestobrushthecrestofmycheekwithhisthumb.Iwanttocapturethisverymoment.Hisgentlelaugh,likemusictomyears.ThesoundofAngieandherfriendslaughing,runningaroundtheroom.Eventheantiseptichospitalscent.Thelookinhiseyesthatfadeseveryoneandeverythingaroundustoamereblur.Likewe’retheonlyoneswhoexistinthismoment.“Iunderstandifyouneedtotaketimetothinkaboutit.IjustneededyoutoknowhowIfeel.”
“Idon’tneedanytimetothinkaboutit.YouknowIloveyou.”Iinchforward,andfinally,we’rechesttochest,nosetonose.Thewarm,welcomecontactstirssomethinginsidebothofus,becausewithinafractionofasecond,he’scuppingmyjawwithonehand.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Iaskinbarelyaboveawhisper.
“Whateverygoodromanceherodoes.”WhenInod,heletsoutasharpbreathbeforehislipsfusetomine,pleadingforentrance.
Thistime,it’snotsoft,sweet,ortentative.It’sdeliberate.He’ssilentlytellingmehe’smineandI’mhis.
Finally.?chapterthirty-four
WHENWERETURNtoourapartment,Trevorpresentsmewithsomethingunexpected.Ashoebox.
“Whatisthis?”Iask.
Hestandsnexttomeatthekitchenisland,teeteringontheballsofhisfeet,nervous.“Lookinside.”
WhenIopenthelid,he’sbehindme,hisstronghandssteadyingmearoundthewaistasmykneesbuckle.
ThegaspIemitisembarrassing.ThefirstitemIpulloutisacrumpledMcDonald’sreceiptforaBigMacandQuarterPoundercombo.FromthenighthetookmeoutforfoodaftermydisastrousdatewithSegwayJeff.
“Youkeptthis?”Iask,mistyeyescatchinghisgazeovermyshoulder.
Hepressesasoftkissonmytemple.“Yup.”
“Why?”
“Yousaidyourparents’firstdatewasatMcDonald’s.IguessIthoughtyoumightlikeitoneday.”
AburningmatchstrikesinmystomachasIexaminethefolded-up,emptybagofBBQchipsfromthefirstnightwewatchedTheBachelortogether,aswellasahandwrittennotewiththecupcakerecipewemade.
“But…thismeans…”Istart,breathlessastheadmissiontakesholdinmygut.Idon’tthinkIcanevenmusterthewordstoexplainwhatthismeanstome.It’snotjustwords.It’sphysicalproof.“Youreallydidhavefeelingsforme…evenbackthen.”
“Fromdayone.FromthemomentIheardyourvoicebehindthatbathroomdoor.Itoldyou,”hesaysasIpulloutadrinkmenufromthebottomofthebox.It’sthedrinkmenufromMammaMaria’s
“Ican’tbelieveyoustolethis.”Thisisn’tyouraveragedisposablepapermenu.It’sencasedinleather.WheezylaughterescapesmeasIholditup,assessingitsweight.“Youhatekeepingjunk.”
“Yup.Thatboxhasbeenkillingme,”headmits.“IkeepitundermybedwhereIcan’tseeit.Outofsight,outofmind.”
Irunmyfingeralongtherimofthebox.“I’mkeepingthisforever.Youknowthat,right?Itmustbedisplayedprominentlybehindprotectiveglass.”
“Wouldn’texpectanythingless.”Hespinsmearoundtofacehim,pullingmeflushtohishardchest.“NowcanwefinallydisposeofthatEx-Filesbox?”
“Helltotheyes.”Ilaugh,alreadyspinningonmyheeltograbitfrommyroom,eagertoputthepastbehindme.
???
THEVAPORFROMmybreathcoilsintothenightairasIsetmybarefeetontothesnow-covereddeck.
Wetossourtowelsoverthebanister.I’veselectedmyfavoritepale-bluebikiniwithalittlefabricbowtyingthefronttogether.Trevordipsinfirst,hisgazeblazingatrailfrommyfaceallthewaydowntomytoes.HisthroatripplesasIfollowhimintothescaldingwaterwithouthesitation.
“I’mreallygoingtomissthatFlynnRidervest.”Ifaux-poutasheextendshishand,tuggingmecloser.
Hesmirks.“Imean,I’mnotsuperintorole-playing,butI’mwillingtomakeanexception.”
Imockshock.“Ohreally?”
“Anythingformygirlfriend.”Hiseyeswiden,asifhe’scaughthimselfinanembarrassingmistake.“Unlessyoudon’twantanofficiallabel,thoughIassumeyoudo—”
“Oh,Iwantthelabel,”Iassurehim.“Butontwoconditions.”Iholdhimatarm’slength,mypalmflatagainsthischest,glisteningwithwater.Aftereverything,Idecidetosetsomegroundrules.
Heindulgesme,noddingrespectfully.“Allright.Hitmewiththem.”
Iholdupmyindexfinger.“One,youwon’twimpoutwhenI’mbeingextra.IfIdoorsayanythingthatfreaksyouout,you’llbemature.You’lltalktomelikeanadultbeforerunningscaredandavoidingconversation.”
Hesetsbothhandsonmywaist,hismouthslantedinasmile.“Justsoyouknow,Iloveyoumostwhenyou’rebeingextra.It’samassiveturn-on.”Hepauses,absorbingmyseriousexpression.“Andyoucansaywhateverisonyourmind,atalltimes,withoutworryingaboutwhetheryou’retoomuch.Becauseyou’renottoomuch.Ever.Okay?AndIswearI’lltalktoyoufirstaboutanythingthat’sbotheringme.Anythingwecan’tresolve,we’llgototherapy.We’llworkitoutinahealthyway.”
“Deal.”
“What’sthesecondone?”heasks,pullingmecloser.He’smereinchesfromme,andI’mlosingmyresolve.Heknowsittoo,basedonhisknowingbrowraise.
Ifighttomaintainmysternlookbystaringatthecondensationfleckinghislashes.“Asmyofficialboyfriend,you’dhavetopromisetoholdmyhandeverytenminutes.”Mystraightfacedoesn’tlastlongbeforebothourchestsareheavinginsilentamusement.“Andyouhavetomakearegularhabitofkissingmeinpublic.IwantallthePDA.”
“IthinkIcanmanagethat.”Hisdeeplaughechoesintothevoidofthenightaroundus.Hestudiesmyfaceforamoment,tracingmycheekwiththebackofhisknuckle.
“Youbetter,”Iwarn.
Hesmiles,pressinghisfreehandtomychest,overmywildlyhammeringheart,audibletomeevenovertherumbleofthejets.“Yourheartisbeatingsofast.”
Ipanicforasplitsecond,willingitintoasteadydrum—theheartbeatofacalm,saneperson.Andasusual,myemotiontrumpsmylogic.
It’slikethefloodgatesofhappinessI’vechasedmyentirelifehaveunleashedandI’mreadyandwillingtodrowninit.
Hetugsmeclosertohim,pressinganothertrailofkissesaroundtheedgeofmylipsashehoistsmeup,wrappingmylegsaroundhiswaist.Hebacksusupthroughthewater,loweringhimselfontotheseat.I’mclingingtohimlikeaspidermonkey,straddlinghislap,onehandinhishair,theotheraroundhisneck,pressingandpulling.
Hedragshisteethovermyskin.Histonguedoessomethingmagicaltothesmoothskinbelowmyear,allwhilehe’srunningthetipsofhisfingersdownmybackatanagonizinglyslowpace,stoppingatthewaistofmybikinibottoms.Hisrightthumbslipsundertheband,inchingalongtheseamtowardthefront,exploringthesensitiveareawheremyupperthighmeetsmyhip.
WhenIarchmyselfagainsthim,heletsoutastringofgarbledcursewords,desireradiatinginhiseyes.
“Whatifsomeonecatchesus?”Iwhisper.“LikeGerald.”
“Pleasedon’tremindmeofGeraldwhenI’mhard.”Hesqueezeshiseyesshutforasecondbeforeliftinghischintowardthedoor.“AndIputthebroominthedoor.It’slocked.”
Thewordshavebarelyescapedhislipsbeforehe’sunhookedmytop,shamelesslytossingitoverthesideofthehottub.
Hebendsdownslightly,histongueslidingagainsttheundersidesofmybreasts.Bothofthemreceivetheirfairshareofattentionandlavishcomplimentsbeforehisfingerstravelbacktomybikinibottoms.
Heisn’tgentlewhenhetugs,signalinghewantsthemoff.Andquick.Westandfranticallytoremoveourbathingsuitbottoms,onlyfeelingwholeagainwhenIsettlebackoverhim,skintoskin.Hesucksonmybottomlipashecirclesmewithhisthumb,testing.Whenhisswipenearlyendsme,heslowsthepace
Thejetunderneathushitsmewiththeperfectamountofpressure,pulsingexactlywhereIwantit.
“Didyouknoweverysecondwewereinthishottubtogetherbeforewastorture?”hewhispersagainstmyneck.“AllIwantedtodowas—”
“Whatdidyouwanttodotomeinhere?”
HiseyesdarkenashesmoothshisthumbwhereIwantit,keepinghistouchlightasheshiftsmylegover.“This.I’dspreadyourlegsapart.”
Atmyshudder,hegroans,slidinganotherfingerin.“You’dbedrippingallovermyhand,justlikethis.AndI’dfuckyouharderanddeeperuntilyouwerebeggingforme.”
Ishudderathiswordsinmyear,doublingthepleasureofhishand.“OhGod.Thatfeelssogood.”
“Fuck,I’mnevergoingtoletyougo.”Hisvoiceisstrainedinmyearashispacepicksup.
Iangleabrowathim.“Nowwho’sthepossessiveone?Ineverwouldhaveguessed.”
“Onlywhenitcomestoyou.”HelookspleasedwithhimselfasIbuckagainsthishand,relishingthecontrolhehasoverme.
“Well,goodluckevertryingtoleavemenowthatI’vesunkmyclawsin,”Imanage.
“True.I’dbeafooltoeverleaveyou.Whoknowswhatkindofmessed-upshityou’ddotomycar.”
Ipretendtosmackhimintheshoulder.
“Seriously,though.Ilovethatyou’remine,”hetellsme,elicitingasingletearfrombeneathmylid.Hepressesasoftkissoverit,absorbingit.“What’sgoingoninthatheadofyours?”hewhispers.
Secondsawayfromlosingallcontrol,Inod,unabletostopmygrinastheemotionrollsoverme.“I’mjust…happy.”
“Evenifyou’renotgettingyoursecond-chanceromance?”
“Trevor,youareamilliontimesbetterthananytropeIcouldeverdreamup.”
Hemeetsmysmile,andIswearhisentirefacelightsupbrighterthanTimesSquare.Hepresseshislipstomine,sealingmydeclaration.Andwhenhetellsmetocomeforhim,hisvoicepushesmeovertheedge,free-fallingintooblivionwithoutfearorhesitation.
HeholdsonehandovermymouthasIcryout,innerwallspulsing.Iunravelinhislap,blindedbyawhitesheetofstars.
“Stillgood?”heasks,kissingmytemple.
Irespondwithagentlescrapeuphisbackandshoulders.
“Good.Ineedyousobadlyrightnow.”Hetapsmeonthebottom,gentlyliftingmeoffhislap.Heleansoverthesideofthetub,fishinginthepocketsofhissweatpantshangingovertherailing.Helocateshiswallet,pullingoutacondom.Iwatchasheunpackagesitandslipsitoverhimself.
Allisrightagainwhenheliftsmebackontohislapandeasesmeontohim,stretchingmecompletely,inchbyinch.HisgazefillswiththeunspokentendernessandaffectionI’vewantedforsolong.Nowthere’snobarrier.Nowall.Nothingstoppingmefromventuringforward.He’slettingmein.Completely.
Imoveagainsthim,takingmoreandmoreofhim.MybodytinglesasIanchormyselftohimwithabandon,thepartofhimI’veonlyseenglimpsesofoverthepastfourmonths.Thepartofhimhe’sneverwantedmetosee.I’mstruckbytherealizationthathe’sgivinghimselftome.Hiswholeself.
HisheaddropsbackasItakeallofhim.Avisibleshudderrollsthroughhisshoulders,hislowgroanvibratingacrossmythroat.Hisbreathhitches,andheholdsmestillforafewbeats,eyecontactunbreaking.
“Areyouokay?”
“Ifyoumoveaninch,thisisgoingtobeembarrassingforeveryoneinvolved.Mainlyme.”
Ishiftslightly,andhemakesapainedface.“Youlooklikeyou’reabouttoperish.”
“Imight.ButI’lldiethehappiestI’veeverbeen.”
Ourforeheadstouchaswelaugh,managingtostayasstillaspossible.Afterafewlongbreaths,heloosenshisgriparoundmylowerhips.Iridehimslowlyatfirst,speedingupinpacewithhisenthusiasm,meetinghislipswithfrantickisses.Heswitcheshisattentionbetweenmybreastsandmymouth,unsurewhichwaytogoashegripsmyass,pressinghardintomyfleshunderthewater.
Withoneswiftmovement,heliftsmeandturnsmeoutward,towardthecity.“Doyouwanttogoinside?”hewhispersfrombehind.
“No.WhywouldI?”
“Thoughtyoudidn’tlikewatersex.”
Ipeekathimovermyshoulder.“I’veneveractuallytriedit.”Whentheadmissionrollsoffmytongue,hiseyesblaze.
“Firsttimeinthewater,huh?ThenIbettermakeitgoodforyou,”hesays,pullingmyhipstogrindmetohimbeforeplacingmyhandonthesideofthetub.“Holdontight.”
Heanchorshiskneeonthebenchashepositionshimselftoentermewithapowerfulthrustthattakesmetoaparalleluniverseofpurebliss.Eachmovementplungesmedeeperanddeeperintoanalternatedimensionwherethecityskylineglitterslikeaseaofgoldanddiamonds.Wherethewinterysmelloftheoutdoorsislikeaburstofnewlife.Forthefirsttime,Irealizemyreallifeistentimesbetterthananyromancebook.
He’ssloweddownnowtofocusonmeandmyeveryreaction.He’sgrippingmetightashemovesinandoutofme,revivingmeeverysingletime.Ourbreathmatches,andsoonsodoourmoans.It’slikewe’vemeltedintoeachother.Absorbingeachother’severysensation.
Andthenthecrashhitsmeunexpectedly,evenmoreintensethanthefirst.Mycryurgeshimonasherocksintomefasterandharder.“Lookatme,”hedemands,turningmyfacetowardhim.Ourgazeslockasheshuddersovermewithagroanthatvibratestomycore,holdingmetighterthananyoneeverhas.“I’myours.Okay?”
“Iloveyou.”Hepressesalingeringkisstomyneck,sealingeverythingI’veeverwanted.
SomeonewhowantsmeexactlyasIam.
LIVEWITHTARAROMANCEQUEEN—ROOM-ANCE
[Taraappearsoncamerainfrontofanoverflowingbookshelf.]
EXCERPTFROMTRANSCRIPT
TARA:Hello,romancebooklovers,welcomebacktomychannel.I’mhoppingonherereallyquicktodaytodiscussatopicthathasbeenrequestedrelentlessly.Andthatisforcedproximityandroom-ances.
Forced-proximitytropesarelikecatnip.Theycantakeplaceonroadtrips,confinedtosmallcars.Workplaces.Andthedelicious“onlyonebed”trope.Butmypersonalfavoritetakeonforcedproximityisroom-ances.
Thethingwithlivingwithyourloveinterestisthatthey’llseeyouatyourweakestmoments.Lateatnightwhenyouhavenomoreshitstogive.Whenyoutakeyourmakeupandbraoff.Whenyou’reflat-outdonewithlife.Themostfunroom-ancesarethoseaccidentalnuditymoments,wherePersonAdecidesit’sagoodideatobenakedinthecommonareaandPersonBjustsohappenstowalkbyatthatverymoment.
Oneofthereasonsit’smyabsolutefavoriteis…well,ithappenedtome.
[Trevorappearsintheframe,albeitbegrudgingly.HeplantsachasteyetlovingkissonTara’stempleandpeacesout.]?epilogue
Oneyearlater—Valentine’sDay
ALMOSTTHERE.JUSTthreemoresteps.”
ThelowvibrationofTrevor’svoiceintheshellofmyearricochetsthroughme.
“Isthisblindfoldreallynecessary?Icouldhavejustclosedmyeyes,”Isayasheguidesmeforward,hispalmssplayedovermyshoulders.There’sanunfamiliarfloralscentintheair,maskingtheusuallemoncleanerscentinourapartment.Allofmysensesareheightenedintheabsenceofsight,whichIamdyingtorectify.“Canyouatleasttellmewhereweare?Areweinthelivingroom?Thekitchen?”
Hesensesmyimpatienceandpreemptivelyfoldsbothhandsovermyblindfoldtopreventmefrompeeking.“Askonemorequestionandseewhathappens.”
“YouknowIliketolivedangerously.”
“I’llhideallyourbooksaspunishment,”hewarns,inchingmeforwardafewmoresteps.
Somethingthatfeelslikestringfeathersagainstmynose.Iscrunchmyfacetorelievethetickle.“You’rebluffing.You’dhavetoalphabetizethemalloveragain.”
“AsifIdon’talreadydothatonabiweeklybasis.”Thetipsofhisfingersgrazemycheeksashegentlyremovestheblindfold.“Okay,youcanopenyoureyes.”
We’reinmyoldroom,whichhasbecomethesparebedroombydefaultsincelastyear.Iblink,unsurewheretolookfirst,becauseit’saliteralValentine’sDayexplosioninhere.Atleasttwentyhelium-filledpinkheart-shapedballoonsofallsizescovertheceilingentirely,curlyribbonsrainingdownonuslikeaweightlesscurtain.
Thelife-sizestuffedbearIfawnedoverinthewindowofadepartmentstoreacouplemonthsago,whichTrevorarguedwasan“obnoxiouswasteofspace,”restsonthebed,proppedagainsttheheadboard.Onthebedsidetablesitsastunninghand-tiedfloralarrangement,vaseoverflowingwithbulbouspinkandwhitepeonies.NexttoitisagiganticKinderSurpriseeggandafreshbagofCheetos.Andthat’snoteventhehighlight.
Thewalltomyrightnolongerhousesmysad,overflowingIKEAbookshelf.Initsplacestandsagleamingwhiteshelfspanningnearlytheentirewidthoftheroom.Strangely,thebooksareartfullyarrangedbycolor,whichTrevorisvehementlyopposedto.Nonalphabeticalordercauseshimanxiety.
Evenmore,thiswallofwonderholdshope.Aftereveryoneofmy(many)brokenhearts,Iwantedtogiveuponlove.Andeachtime,thesetender,unforgettablelovestorieshealedmewiththeirhappyendings,onebyone.Withouttheseblueprintsforepiclove,Iprobablywouldhavesettledlongbeforenow.AndI’msogladIdidn’t.
Myentirelife,IthoughtIneededtoholdontolovewithanironfist.ItwasafeelingIneededtotrap,tosmother,soitwouldn’tslipthroughmyfingers.LittledidIknow,whenyou’rewiththerightperson,beinginloveneverfeelslikethebottomisgoingtofallout.It’ssolid,stable,andindestructible.
Sure,Trevormaybeamassivegrumpwithanirrationalhatredforsinginginthecar.Buthedoeswhatnooneelsehaseverdone.Heacceptsallofme.Thepartsnooneelsehasseen.Helistenstomyeveryword,nevercuttingmeofforrushingme.Heaccommodatesmypickyeatingandmyhoardingtendencies.I’veevenboughtmyownpairofCrocstomatchhis,whichhedeems“CouplesCrocs.”Andthankstotherapy,we’velearnedmultiplestrategiesonhowbesttomeldourdifferentcommunicativestyles.
He’sevenkepthisword,embracingthePDAwithhand-holdingandmovie-worthykissesinrandomplaces,likethefrozen-foodaisleinCostco.Orinthestairwellofourapartment.OreveninfrontofAngie,whomakesadramaticshowofcoveringhereyes,complaininguntilit’sover.
I’vebeenspendingalotoftimewithAngielately,asherdesignatedpartyplanner.Thisyear’sbirthdayextravaganzaisgoingtobesomethingspecial.Shedeservesitafterthesuccessofherhearttransplant,onlyafewmonthsago.She’sinsistingonaboy-band-themedparty—herlatestobsession,becauseshe’s“overDisney.”I’vebeenattemptingtolearnaTikTokdanceforher,apainfulendeavorIdonotrecommendtoanyoneovertwentyyearsold.
“Ican’tbelieveyoudidthisforme,”Iwhisper,runningmyindexfingeroverthebookspines.“Thisispureshelfporn.”
“Figureditwasnecessarytogetyoutostopleavingyourbooksinrandompilesaroundtheapartment,”hesaysthroughalowchuckle.Hewrapshisarmsaroundmywaistfrombehindandplantsasoftkissinthecoveofmyneck.
Izeroinonavibrantpink-and-redbookIdon’trecognize.Itsits,coverout,inthemiddleoftheshelf.
Ipluckitfromitsspot.It’slight,slightlythinnerthanyouraveragetradepaperback.Likeallmyotherrom-coms,thecoverisillustrated.Theheroandheroineareloungingonastackofpillows.Theheroineisstretchedout,herheadrestingagainstthehero’slapasshereadsabook.Heholdshertight,hisarmwrappedaroundher,cherishingthemoment.Artfullyhand-brushedheartsfilltheemptyspacearoundthecouple.Inboldfont,thetitlereads,CanIAskYouaQuestion?
Ittakesamomenttoregisterthetinylittleheartsdottingthewoman’ssweater.Theman’sdark,tousledhairandtattoospartiallyvisibleundertherolledsleevesofhisshirt.And,mosttelling,thewayhe’slookingather,likesheiseverythingheneverknewhewanted.
Theadorablecartooncoupleisus
“Openit,”Trevorurgesgently.
MyhandsshakeasIfliptothefirstpageofthe“book.”Throughthetearsblurringmyvision,Imakeoutanotherillustration.Ofthisverymoment.CartoonTrevorandme,standinginfrontofthisbookshelf,heartballoonsclosinginaroundus,huggingus.AsIletthesuccessivepagesfall,oneaftertheother,theillustrationchangeslikeaflip-book.CartoonTrevorbendstheknee,mycartooneyesenlargelikesaucers,myhandsslowlycomeupovermyfaceinshockandawe.
BeforeIcanevenregisterwhat’shappening,Real-LifeTrevorisonhisknee.“Readthelastpage,”heinstructs.
WhenIflipthepage,thescriptfontreads:
TaraLiChen,
PleaseknowIhatemyselfforthistitle.Butdamn,itwasappropriate.
Thedayyoubargedintomylifeandtalkedmyearoff,yourewroteeverythingIthoughtIknew.I’vetoldyouthisbefore,butIfeltlikeIalreadyknewyou.Ifellinlove,fast,withyourwarmth,passion,andkindness.Somehow,yougotogreatlengthstomakeeveryoneinyourlifefeelspecial,andyoudon’tevenhavetotry.
Mostofall,aftereverythingyou’vebeenthrough,youneveroncegaveuphopeforlove.
Idon’tthinkIcaneverrepayyouforthejoyyou’vegivenmeoverthepastyear.Iknowtherewillbechallengesahead,butIwanttofacethemhead-onwithyoubymyside.Ipromisetospendtherestofmylifemakingsureyougetthehappilyeverafteryoudeserve.
Willyoumarryme?
Tearsspringintomyeyes,andIfumblethebook.Itplummetstoourfeet,facedown.Throughmyblurredvision,IseethatTrevorholdsaredbox.Inthecushionsitsastunningovaldiamondatopathinyellowband.It’sanexactreplicaoftheonefromallmyPinterestboards.
Theweightofhiseyesonmeproducesaninstantsmile.“Thisis…thegrandgestureofallgrandgestures.”
“Youdeserveallofthisandmore,”hesays,histoneunwavering.“IfI’mgoingtokeepupwiththoseheroesinyourbooks,Ineedtoupmygame.”
“Idon’tneedgestures,honestly.”Istareintotheeyesthatcaptivatedmefromdayone.They’rebrimmingwithpurelove,drowningouteverylastbitofdoubtI’veeverhad.“Youaremorethanenough.Justyou.”
“Iloveyou.”Hestands,givingmeatenderkissonthetemplethatmakesmeseestars.“Nowcanyoupleaseanswermyquestion?I’mgonnapassoutifyoudon’tsayyesrightnow.”
Iraiseonebrow.“Metcalfe,didyoureallythinktherewasarealitywhereI’dsayno?”
Agrinlightsuphisentirefacelikepuresunshine,justforme.“Nah.ButIwanttohearyousayitanyway.”
“Yes!”Ishriek,yankingtheringoutofthebox.
Trevor’ssteadyhandhelpstoguideitontomyfinger.
WhenIholdmyhandup,thediamondhitstherayofsunshinestreaminginfromthewindow.Asidefrommynewfiancé’ssmile,it’sthesinglemostbeautifulthingI’veeverseen.IwillnevertakethisoffaslongasIlive.
Igoonmytiptoes,wrappingmyarmsaroundhisneck.“Areyousureyouknowwhatyousignedupfor?Me,alloveryou,talkinginyourear,foreverandever?Swooningovertheotherfictionalmeninmylife?”
“Ican’timagineafuturemoreperfectthanthat,”hesayswithoutanounceofhesitation.“AslongasI’myourfavoriteherointheend.”
Withoutnotice,IleapintoTrevor’sarms,wrappingmylegsaroundhiswaistlikeakoala.Heholdsmethere,tighttohim,laughingsoftlyintomymouth.
ItellhimIlovehim,overandover,plantingfeverishkisseseverywhereIcanmanage,oneforeachoftheinfinitereasonsIamcrazyinlovewithhim.
He’snotjusttheheroofmydreams.He’stheherobeyondmywildestimagination.
Thebestpart?He’snonfiction.acknowledgments
Thestruggletowritethesecondbookisalltooreal(askmehowIknow).ExesandO’stookmemuchlongertowritethanSetonYou,butitistrulythebookofmyheart.Firstandforemost,thankyoutoJohn,whoheldmyhandasIwrote,trashed,andrewrotepartsofthisbookoverandover.Ialsoowesomuchtomysweetgoldendoodle,Albie,whoisalwaysbymysidethrougheverybook.
AsIwritetheseacknowledgments,IamgearingupforthepublicationdateofSetonYou(yes,publishingtimelinesarestrange).Therearesomanypeopletothankfortheirroleingettingmybooksintothehandsofreaders:
Endlessthank-youstomyteamatBerkley,includingKristineSwartz,MaryBaker,FareedaBullert,YazmineHassan,TinaJoell,LindseyTulloch,ChristineLegon,AndreaMonagle,DanielBrount,VikkiChu,AllisonPrince,andAlexCastellanos.Thankyouformakingmypublishingexperienceanabsolutedream.Icouldn’thaveimaginedabetterteamtochampionmywork.
Ahugeshout-outtomyhardworking,upbeat,andfantasticteamatBookSparks,includingKeelyPlatte,GraceFell,andCrystalPatriarche,forallyourworkinspreadingthewordaboutmydebut.Youguysareamazing.
ThankyoutomyincredibleteamatViking/PenguinUK—LydiaFried,HarrietBourton,EllieHudson,FedericaTrogu,OliviaMead,TinekeMollemans,SamanthaFanakan,RachelMyers,andLindaViberg—forallyourworkingettingmyseriesacrossthepond.I’mblownawaybyyourenthusiasmandamoverjoyedtocontinueworkingtogether!
IamsogratefultoPenguinRandomHouseGrupo,EditionsArquerio,BrainfoodPublishing,NemesisYayincilikHizmetleri,Helion,andVerlagsgruppeDroemerKnaurforgettingSetonYouintothehandsofreadersaroundtheworld.
Asalways,thankyoutomyamazingagent,KimLionetti,andthewholeBookEndsteamforallyourpublishingexpertiseandsupport,andforshepherdingmethroughthisprocess.
PilesofgratitudetoJackieLau,SarahEchavarreSmith,DeniseWilliams,LynnPainter,RachelLynnSolomon,KerryWinfrey,JesseQ.Sutanto,AliHazelwood,andHelenHoangfortakingthetimeoutofyourbusyschedulestoreadandendorseSetonYou.I’mveryhumbledandgratefulforyoursupport.
Iwouldn’thavebeenabletogetthroughthelead-uptopublicationwithouttheemotionalsupportoftheBerkletes,allofwhomhavebecomesuchclosefriends.Thankyouendlesslyforallthelaughs,love,andinappropriateGIFs.
ThankyoutoJordyn,whotalkedmethroughtheday-to-daylifeofanurse,andKathleenforinspiringTara’shotsforDwightKurtSchrute—ahighlyunderratedloveinterest.
Mysincerestgratitudetoallofthepassionateandcreativebookstagrammers,BookTokers,bloggers,influencers,journalists,booksellers,andlibrariansforspreadingthewordaboutmybooks.Thesteadfastsupportofreadersandcreatorshasmeanttheabsoluteworld.
Last,butcertainlynotleast,thankyoutoallthecrappyexes(myownandfriends’)whoinspiredthisbook,andthankyoutoTaylorSwiftforinspiringmetoturnmybadexperiencesintosomethingbeautiful.READERSGUIDE
ExesandO’s
AMYLEADISCUSSIONQUESTIONS
Taraisamassivefanofromancetropes.Whatareyourfavoriteandleastfavoriteromancetropesandwhy?WhatisthemaintropeforExesandO’s?
DoyouagreewithTarathatclassicromanticcomedy–stylemeet-cutesare“dead”intoday’stechnologicallydrivensociety?Havetechnology,theinternet,anddatingappsmademoderndatingharderoreasier?
Whatisyourfavoritebreakupsong?
InspiredbyGrandmaFlo,Taradecidestoseekoutherownsecond-chancelovestorybyexploringwhetherthereisrelationshippotentialwithherpastboyfriends.Wouldyoureachouttoanyofyourexes?Whatarethebenefitsofsecond-chanceromances?
ManyofTara’sex-boyfriendsrefertoherasthe“crazyex-girlfriend,”atermthatisoftenusedagainstwomen.Whydoyouthinktheterm“crazy”isusedasaweaponagainstwomeninparticular?Whataresomeexamplesof“crazyex-girlfriends”infilm,television,ormusicthatdepictthisstereotype?Isthisportrayalusuallynegative?DoesTarafitthisstereotype?
HowdidTrevor’schildhoodexperiencesandhisfamilysituationimpactthewayheviewsloveandrelationships?InwhatwaysdidTara’spassionforromance(andromancenovels)changehisunderstandingofrelationships?
InwhatwaysareTara’sandTrevor’soutlooksonloveandrelationshipsdifferent?Inwhatways(ifany)aretheysimilar?Doyoubelievearelationshipcanworkbetweenpolaropposites?
Tara’sexSethbelievesthatreadingromancehasgivenherunrealisticexpectationswhenitcomestolove.Doyouagreethatromancebooksormoviesgivepeopleunrealisticexpectations?Whyorwhynot?
Inwhatwayscouldromancebooksormoviesbebeneficialtoromanticrelationships?KeepreadingforasneakpeekatAmyLea’snextbook
TheCatchATHICKPLAIDFLANNELbutton-downcoversabarrelchestsobroad,IdoubtIcouldwrapbotharmsaroundhimandtouchmyfingertips.NotthatIwoulddaregetwithinafive-footradiusofsomeonewhosehostilebluestareissopoisonous,Ithinkhecouldvanquishallhisenemieswithasinglelook.
Hiscommandingpresencefreezesmeinplace.AforebodingsizzlezipsthroughmeasItakeinthethick,unkemptashybeardconcealinghisjawline,barelycoveringasurly,grimexpression.Dirtyblond,overgrownhairwingsouttheendofhisfadedandfrayedMapleLeafsballcap,whichhasseenbetterdays.
“Whothehellareyou?”Hisvoiceisgruffandterse,likeutteringanythingbeyondasinglesyllableisaherculeanefforthe’drathernotbebotheredwith.
Mybodybetraysmewithabarkoflaughter.Themomentitspillsoutofme,Ihikemytoteovermyshoulder,rightingmypostureinasadattempttomatchhisheight.Fromhispositiononthestaircase,myeyelinehoversathisdistressed,oil-stainedjeans.“Sorry,Ididn’tmeantolaugh.Yourvoicetookmebysurprise.”
Heraisesathick,darkbrow.“Myvoice?”
Iblink.“It’sjustso…deep.”Iwaveahand,tryingtounearththewords.“Kindoflikeanactionmoviebadguy?”
Noresponse.Justascowl.
“Um,isthistheWhalerInn?”Iask,despitetheWhalerInninformationpamphletdisplayedonthedesk.ThoughbasedontheadofferingaquaintBandBthatisn’tinthemidstofbeinggutted,it’safairquestion.
Hewidenshisstanceliketheloyalbodyguardofayoungpopstarattheheightoffame.“Whowantstoknow?”Hisnarrowinggazeissoskeptical,Ibitemyliptostopmyselffromlaughingagain.
“Um,me,obviously.IjustmadeareservationonAirbnb.You’renottheowner,areyou?”Frankly,I’dimaginedafolksy,salt-and-pepper-hairedcoupleinmatchingRootssweaters.They’dbeintheirseventies,thoughthey’dintendtokeeprunningtheinnuntilthedaytheydied(thesameday,ofcourse),becauseitwouldhavebeeninthefamilyformillennia.Uponentry,I’dbeofferedfresh-bakedbananabreadandanassortmentofseniorcitizencandiesfromacrystalbowl.I’dbecharmedbytheirtendencytoaddan“Eh?”attheendofeverysentencewhiledelightingmewithtalesofmercilessNorthernwinterspast.
Conveniently,thePlaidGiantfailstoconfirmordenyownership.“Youdidn’tmakeareservation,”hesaysmatter-of-factly.Thatflannelisreallydoingovertimeundertheswellofhisarms.HestrikesmeasthetypewhogotthoseThor-likemusclesbydoinghonestworkinthewilderness,trappinganimalsandhaulinglogsforthecabinhe’sbuildingmilesfromcivilizationbecauseheclearlyhateshumanity.
“Actually,Idid.Foraweek.”Panicked,Ibendovertopickupmyphone,overturnedontheflooratmyfeet.Crystalhaslonghungup,thoughshe’striedtocallbackfourtimes,alongwithmultipletexts.IpulluptheAirbnbemail,brandishingthescreenathim,asifhecanreaditfromthisdistancewithbionicsight.
Atraceofafrownformsunderthatbushybeard.“Nope.”
“Ihavemyresorighthere.”Iholdoutmyphone,extendingmyarmcompletely,whichonlyresultsinadeeperscowl.It’snotlikeIwanttostandhereandargue,butI’vehadenoughreservationmix-upsforoneday.
Hisfrowndoesn’tbudgeashelumbersdownthestairs,woodcreakingundereachheavystep.Asheroundsthedesk,Icatcharich,earthywhiffofcampfireandmaybeahintofleather.
“Isitpossibleyoudidn’tseemyreservation?Itdoesn’treallylookliketechnologyisyourstrongsuit.”Iwaveahandinthevaguedirectionoftheclunkylaptop.
“Yeah,technologyisrealhardtocomebyforkidney-stealingbackroadCanadians,”hegrumbles,tappinghiscallousedfingeronthecounterimpatientlyashewaitsforthelaptoptobootup.
UneasesettlesalongmyspineasImentallyreplaymycallwithCrystalwhereinItookmysarcasmtoofarandinsultedthisplace.Butwhatdoesheexpect?Andtrust,myexpectationswerenothigh.Butthisisaconstructionzone.Thereareexposedwiresintheparlor.
Iconsideranapology,butbeforethewordscometome,hegrumblessomethingunintelligibleandhunchesoverthekeyboard.Whoeverconstructedthisdeskdidn’ttakesomeoneofhisheightintoconsideration.Hestabsthekeyboardwithhisindexfinger,squintingatthescreenwitheffort.“Yourequestedthereservation,butitwasn’tconfirmed.”
Crap.
Inallthestress,IwasjustsohappytherewasanyavailabilityatallthatIforgotaboutawaitingconfirmationfromthehost,akathismiserableman,whosingle-handedlydisprovesthetheorythatallCanadiansarenice.
“Can’tyoujustconfirmitrightnow?”Iask,flashingmyInstagramsmile,hopingit’llbrightenhismood.
Hiseyesflarewithdeepirritation.“No.We’renotopen.”
“Butyouare,accordingtoAirbnb.”Ipointtothelinkonmyphonescreen,whichhewavesofflikeapeskyhousefly.
“Mustbeaglitch.Sorry,YourRoyalHighness.You’llhavetofindalternativeaccommodations.IheartheRitzCarltondownthestreethasvacancy.”Heconjuresupthebriefesthalf-hearted,crookedsmile,whichmakeshimlookmoreconstipatedthansmug.
“Canyoupleasejustletmestayforonenight?I’mdesperate,”Iplead.
“No.We’reunderconstruction,asyoucansee.Notopen.”Hegesturestotheparlor.Hisexplanationsoundslegit,whichmakesmefeelalittlebetter.Untilheswapshisbaffledexpressionforwariness.“Wait—you’renotsomedeveloper,areyou?”
“DoesitlooklikeI’minthemarkettopurchaseadecrepit”—IIbitemytonguewhenhisglareensnaresmine—“aninnindireneedofrepairs?”
Hisjawclenches,buthedoesn’trespond.
“Ipromisetofindsomewhereelsetogointhemorning,”Iplead.
“Bestofluckwiththat,”hesayscryptically.“It’sfishingseason.”
Idropmyshoulders.“SoI’vebeentold.”
“Idon’tsupposeyou’rehereforfishing?”Hislipstiltdisarmingly,andforasplitsecond,Iwonderifhe’sjoking.BeforeIcanmakeajudgmentcall,itdisappears,replacedwithanotherglower.
“Yeah,I’maproangler,”Isay,tonerifewithsarcasm.“I’msupposedtobestayingattheSeasideResortoutsideofHalifax.It’safive-starluxuryresort,actually.ItwasevenfeaturedontheRealHousewives.”
Hetreatsmetoaboredstare.
“Canyoupleasejustmakeanexception?Ihavetopee.Badly.I’llpaydouble,”Ibeg.Ieventossinapoutylip.Theregoesmylastshredofdignity.“Youcanevenhavemykidney,strugglefree.Iwon’tfightit.”
Thejokedoesn’tland.He’sabouttowaveadismissivehandatmewhenashrillvoicebellowsfromtheroomofftheparlor.
“Evan!Whyareyoubeingsuchadick-wad?Thisisnothowyoutreatguests.”AwomanbarrelsaroundthecornerandgivesEvanasmackonthebiceps.Shelooksaboutmyage,railthin,withthick,fire-engine-redhair.She’sdressedinanoversizesweaterwithmulticolorpatchworkthatlookslikesomethingCrystalandTara’sGrandmaFlowouldcrochet.She’spaireditwithyellowleggingsthatgivemeBigBirdflashbacks.
Shemustbehiswife.Pityovercomesmeonherbehalf.Havingtodealwiththisman’smooddayinanddayoutwouldbeaspecialkindoftorture.MaybeIshouldpullherasideandsubtlyaskifsheneedssaving.I’dbepreparedtosmuggleherovertheborderinthenameofsisterhood.
“She’snotaguest.”Evancrosseshisarms,tormentedasthewomansaddlesupnexttohim,greetingmewithawide,toothysmilethatjustradiatesgoodintentions.
“Iamaguest,”Iretort.
“You’renot.”
“Iam.”Jesus,Ifeellikeasmallchild.
“Justbecauseyousayitoverandoverdoesn’tmakeittrue,”hesays,gazesearing.
“Ignorehim.Hegetslikethiswhenhehasn’teaten,”theredheadadviseswithanexaggeratedeyeroll.
Iraiseabrow.Igethangrytoo,andyoudon’tseemelashingoutatinnocentstrangers.
Shegoesonhertiptoes,extendingherpale,bonyhandoverthedesk.ShehipchecksEvanoutofthewayintheprocess,whichgivesmeapangofsatisfaction.Realistically,hertinysize2frameisnomatchforhim.Hemovesbecauseshewantshimtomove,whichmakesmefeelguiltyforassumingshe’sahelplesshousewife.Shestrikesmeasawomanwhodemandstobenoticedandgiveszerofucks.Ilikeheralready.
“I’mLucy.What’syournameandwhereyafrom?”Shehasacountryishtwanginhervoicethat’smuchdifferentfromsouthernaccentsintheStates.It’salittleslower,withaheavieremphasisonthevowels.
“MelanieKarlsen—Mel,”Isay,takingherhand,thankfultobesavedfromthiscaveman.“I’mfromBoston.”
Lucyletsoutanimpressivewhistle.“AnAmerican.Whatbringsyouuphere?”
Iexplainmyreservationmix-up,determinedtoignoreEvan’sscowl.“I’maninfluencer,soIcametocapturesomelifestylecontent,seethesights,maybecheckoutsomelighthouses.”
“Well,you’vecometotherightplace,then.Wehavemorelighthousesinourareathantheentireprovincecombined.HookLookoutjustgotamakeoverbyGarth.Justintimefortouristseason.ThoughRuthFraser’sbeenlobbyingtogetitrepainted.Sheclaimsthestripesaretoothinandthatit’sdamagingherretinas,”sheaddswithaslowshakeofthehead.BeforeIcanbegintoask,sheelbowsanunimpressedEvanoutofthewayagainandstartstypingfuriouslyonthekeyboard.Hernailsarepaintedlilac,withtheexceptionofherringfingers,whichareaglitterysilver.“Don’tmindhim.I’mgettingyoutheroomwiththegoodlighting,then,forphotos.Andithasthebestviewinthewholehouse.”
Evancastsheraferociousglare.“Seriously,Luce?Tonight,ofallnights?”
“Sixnights,yousaid?”sheconfirms,ignoringEvanlikehe’sbutaspeckofdust.
“Yes,please.”IspareEvananindignantlookbeforehedisappearsintotheparlorinabluroffuryandflannel.
LucyphotocopiesmyIDandplucksaskeletonkeyfromthecorkboardbehindthedesk.Shegrabsbothsuitcases,hoistingthemupthestairswithzeroeffort,highponytailbobbingupanddownwitheachstep.Thistinywomanisfreakishlystrong.Whatshelacksinheight,shemakesupforwithboundlessenergy.
“Oh,um,Icantakeit,”Iofferweakly,wheelingmytoteandcarry-onatherheels.
Shedoesn’tseemtohearmeassheboundsupthestaircase,leadingmethroughalong,narrowhallwayofdoors.Tomyleft,thehallwayjutsintoanentirelyseparatewing.
Theoutdatedfloralwallpaperfromtheadphotographshasbeenunpeeledinthehallway,withrandombitsandjaggedsectionsstillclingingtothewall.It’sasifsomeonerippeditalloffinonecarelessstrokeanddidn’tbothertogobackforthestubbornsmallerchunks.
Lucyparksmyluggageoutsidethefarthestdoorontheleftandunlocksit.“It’sourbestroom,”shewhispers.
Itrytohidemycringewhenthedoorswingsopenwithatoe-curlingcreakandthelightflickson.Theheavyoakwainscotingistheonlythingthatbreaksuptheoverwhelminglybluewalls.Ahefty-lookingfour-posterbedwithagrandmaquiltsitsinthemiddleoftheroom,flankedbyturnedspindles.There’samassivewindowtotheright,drapedintheheaviestoffabrics,cladwithanAstoriavalancethatbelongstothe1930sandshouldn’thaveleft.ItremindsmeofthoseheavydrapesinTheSoundofMusicthatFrauleinMariaProjectRunwaysintoclothingforthechildren.I’dhavepreferredsomethingfromthiscentury,butbeggarscan’tbechoosers.Andatleastitisn’taconstructionzoneliketherestofthehouse.
Lucytakesthelibertyoffloppingontheendofmybedlikeshe’sataslumberparty,eagerlyspectatingasIdepositmythingsontheupholsteredantiqueottomanatthefootofthebed.IplasteronafakesmileandgiveheranexaggeratednodasIkickmybootsoff.
“There’sapamphletifyouneedideasforthingstodoaroundthevillage,”sheinformsme,pointingtothestackofcolorfulbrochuresinadustyplasticholderatopthedresser.“AndifyourunintoRayJacksonatthewaterfront—whichyouwill,becausehelovesnewbies—alwayshaveanout.Themanlikestotalk.He’lltrapyou,andthenextthingyouknow,he’llhavetoldyouhiswholelifestory,fromhisconceptionoverattheoldmovietheatertohishemorrhoids.”Whensheseestheconcernedlookonmyface,sheadds,“Don’tworry,I’llgiveyouthefullrundowntomorrowatbreakfast,butthenextweekwillflyby.You’llsee.”
“Thanks,Lucy,”Isqueak,eagerforsilenceandserenityafteralong-assday,asymptomoflivingalonesinceundergrad.
Shelingers,runningafingerovertheedgeofthequilt.Igetthefeelingshewantstostayandchat.AsmuchasIlovegirltalk,makingconversationwithapeppystrangeristhelastthingIwanttodorightnow.WhenIyawnandstretchmyarmstheatricallyovermyhead,shegetsthehint,stands,andwishesmeagoodnight.
Themomentthedoorcloses,Icommencemyskin-careroutine,stripmytravelclothesformypajamas,andslideintobed.Themattresssqueakswiththetiniestmovement.It’ssofirm,itfeelsasthoughI’vedrapedmyselfdirectlyoveraboxspringandcalleditaday.Chanceofsleeptonight:nearzilch.Thenagain,it’spreferabletothealternative—myrentalcar.