The True Love Experiment

NewYorkTimesBestsellingAuthorofTheSoulmateEquationandSomethingWilder
ChristinaLauren
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Thereberomanceinthesepages.
AndforJenniferYuen,PattyLai,EileenHo,KaylaLee,andSandriaWong.
There’sapieceofeachofyouinhere
Wearesogratefulthatyousharedyourselves,andwehopewe’vemadeyouproud.prologueFIZZY
Iwasbornthefirstofthreechildren,butIjokethatI’mlikethatfirstpancake.”AsmatteringoflaughterripplesacrosstheassembledcrowdandIsmile.“YouknowwhatImean?Alittlemessy,slightlyundercooked,butstilltastesgood?”
Thelaughterintensifies,butmixedinnowareafewbawdycatcalls,andIburstoutlaughinginrealization.“See,andthatwasn’tevenmeanttosoundsaucy!Lookatmetryingtobeprofessional,andI’mstillamess.”IglanceovermyshoulderandgrinatDr.LeilaNguyen,theprovostofUCSanDiego’sRevelleCollegeandmyformercreativewritingprofessor.“Iguessthat’swhatyougetforinvitingaromanceauthortogivethecommencementaddress.”
BesideDr.Nguyensitsanotherpersonstrugglingtosmotherasmile.Dr.RiverPe?a—closefriend,hotgenius,andunconfirmedvampire—isalsoaspecialguesttoday;Iguesshe’sreceivingyetanotherhonorarydegreeforbeingsometypeofsexyprodigy.Helookslikehebelongsuphere:stiffcollar,perfectlypressedsuitpantsvisiblebelowthehemofhisfulldoctoralregalia,shinydressshoes,andanairofausterityI’veneverbeenabletomaster.Rightnow,Icanseetheknowingamusementlightuphissmug,thicklylashedeyes.
WhenIfirstreceivedtheinvitationtospeakatthisceremony,Riverimmediatelyslappedatwenty-dollarbilldownontothetablebetweenusanddeclared,“Thisisgoingtogocompletelysideways,Fizzy.Convincemeotherwise.”
I’msureheandmybestfriend,Jess—hiswife—expectedthatIwouldgetuponstageanddeliverTheVaginaMonologuestotheacademicmasses,orpulloutabananaandremindeveryonewhileIrolledacondomontoitthatsafesexisstillimportantinthishereyearofourLordHarryStyles—butIswearIcanplaythepartofabuttoned-downliterarytypewhenthesituationcallsforit.
Attheveryleast,IthoughtI’dmakeitfurtherthanonelineintomyspeechbeforedroppingadoubleentendre—andthatonewasn’tevenintentional.
Iturnbacktotheseaofblack,blue,andyellow–cladgradsthatstretchesfaracrossRIMACFieldandexperienceawaveofvicarious,breathlessanticipationforalltheseyoungsterstakingflight.Somanyopportunitiesahead.Somuchstudentloanstress.Butalsosomuchgreatsex.
“Myyoungersisterisaneurosurgeon,”Itellthem.“Mylittlebrother?Yeah,he’stheyoungestpartnerinhisfirm’shistory.Oneofmybestfriends,sittingrightbehindme,isaworld-famousgeneticist.”There’sgenuineapplauseforbiotech’sItboy,andonceitdiesbackdown,Igoinforthekill:“Butyouknowwhat?Despitealltheiraccomplishments,noneofthemwroteabookcalledCloakedLust,soIthinkweallknowwhotherealsuccessstoryishere.”
Smilingatafreshwaveofcheers,Icontinue.“Solisten.Givingthiskindofspeechisabigdeal.Mostpeopleinvitedtosendoffagroupofyoungsuperstarslikeyourselveswilllistconcretewaystofindyourplaceinanever-changingculture,orencourageyoutoamplifyyourimpactbyreducingyourcarbonfootprint.Theywouldtellyoutogooutandchangetheworld,andofcourseyes—dothat.Isupportthoseambitions.Globalcitizen:good.Ecoterrorist:bad.ButDr.Nguyendidn’tinviteaninspiringclimatescientistorcharismaticandacceptablyneutralpolitician.Sheinvitedme,FelicityChen,authorofbooksfullofloveandaccountabilityandsex-positivity,andfranklytheonlyprofessionaladviceI’mqualifiedtogiveaboutbeingeco-consciousistosupportyourlocallibrary.”Anothermutedwaveoflaughter.“Infact,theonlythingIcareabout—theonethingthatmattersmostintheworldtome—isthatwheneverysingleoneofyougetstotheendofthiscrazyride,youlookbackandcantrulysayyouwerehappy.”
Itisaperfectday:brightandblue.Eucalyptustreesswayattheedgeofthefield,andifyoubreatheinatjusttherightmoment,ontheperfectgustofwarmSanDiegobreeze,youcansmelltheoceanlessthanamileaway.Despitethat,mystomachfeelsalittletiltyatthisnextpartofmyspeech.I’vespentamajorityofmyadultyearsdefendingmyprofession,andthelastthingIwanttodoissounddefensive.I’mstandinguphereinmyowncapandgownwithalecturethatItypedupandprintedoutsoIwouldn’tstartwingingit,derailingthewholethingwithpenisjokesexactlythewayRiverexpectsmeto.Iwantthemtohearthesincerityinmywords.
“I’mgoingtotellyoutoliveyourlifelikeit’saromancenovel.”Iholdupahandwhenthosesmilinggraduatesbegintotitter,butIdon’tblamethemforthinkingit’sajoke,thatI’mbeingcoy.“Listen.”Ipauseforeffect,waitingforthelaughtertosubsideandcuriositytotakeover.“Romanceisn’tgratuitousbodiceripping.Itcanbe,andthere’snothingwrongwiththat,butintheend,romanceisn’taboutthefantasyofbeingwealthyorbeautifulorevenbeingtiedtothebed.”Morelaughter,butIhavetheirattentionnow.“It’saboutelevatingstoriesofjoyabovestoriesofpain.Itisaboutseeingyourselfasthemaincharacterinaveryinteresting—ormaybeevenquiet—lifethatisentirelyyourstocontrol.Itis,myfriends,thefantasyofsignificance.”Ipauseagain,justlikeIpracticed,becauseallthesebabieshavebeenraisedunderthedrearycloudofthepatriarchyandIconsideritmymissiononearthtosmashthatwithaproverbialhammer.Thetruththatwealldeservesignificanceneedstimetosinkin.
ButthepausestretcheslongerthanI’dplanned.
BecauseIdidn’texpectmyownthesistohitmelikeathunderbolttothecenterofmychest.Ihavelivedmyentireadultlifelikeit’saromancenovel.I’veembracedadventureandambition;I’vebeenopentolove.Ienjoysex,Isupportthewomeninmylife,Iactivelythinkofwaystomaketheworldaroundmeabetterplace.Iamsurroundedbyfamilyandclosefriends.Butmyownsignificanceisprimarilyasthesidekickbestie,thedevoteddaughter,theone-nightstandthey’llneverforget.Therealmeatofmystory—theromanceplot,includingloveandhappiness—isonegapinghole.I’mtiredoffirstdates,andIsuddenlyfeelsowearyIcouldliedownrighthereatthepodium.Iamaware,inajarringgust,thatIhavelostmyjoy.
Istareoutattheseaoffacespointedatme,theireyeswideandattentive,andIwanttoadmittheworstbit:I’venevermadeitpastthefirstactofmyownstory.Idon’tknowwhatitfeelsliketobeconsistentlysignificant.HowcanItellthesefreshbabyadultstogoouttherewithoptimismbecauseeverythingwillbeokay?Theworldseemsintentonbeatingusdown,andIdon’trememberthelasttimeIwasgenuinelyhappy.EverythingI’mtellingthem—everysinglehopefulwordofthisspeech—feelslikealie.
SomehowImanagetoputtheglowingFizzymaskonandtellthesekidsthatthebestthingtheycandofortheirfutureistopicktherightcommunity.Itellthemthatiftheyapproachtheirfuturewiththeoptimismoftheworld’sboyfriend,TedLasso,thingswillturnoutokay.Itellthemthatiftheyputinthework,iftheyallowthattherewillbeblindcurvesandupsanddowns,iftheyallowthemselvestobevulnerableandlovedandhonestwiththepeoplewhomeansomethingtothem,thingsreallywillturnoutokay.
AndwhenIstepawayfromthepodiumandtakemyseatbesideRiver,hepressessomethingintomypalm.“Younailedit.”
Istaredownatthecrisptwenty-dollarbillandthendiscreetlyhanditbacktohim.Plasteringabiggrinonmyface,awarethatwe’restillfacinganaudienceofthousands,Isay,“Butwhatifit’sallbullshit?”oneFIZZY
Approximatelyoneyearlater
Ifyouaren’tdeepinadaydreamaboutthehotbartender,thenyouhavenogoodexcusefornotreactingtowhatIjustsaid.”
Iblinkupacrossthetableatmybestfriend,Jess,andrealizeI’vebeenessentiallyhypnotizingmyselfbystirringtheoliveinmymartiniaroundandaroundandaround.
“Shit,I’msorry.Ispacedout.Tellmeagain.”
“No.”Sheliftsherwineglassprimly.“Nowyoumustguess.”
“GuesswhatyouhaveplannedforyourtriptoCostaRica?”
Shenods,takingasip.
Istareflatlyather.Sheandherhusband,theaforementionedRiverPe?a,seemtobeconnectedconstantlybyavibrating,sexylaserbeam.Theanswerhereisveryobvious.“Sexoneveryflatsurfaceofthehotelroom.”
“Agiven.”
“Runningwithwildcats?”
Jessstillswithherglasspartwaytoherlips.“It’sinterestingthatyouwouldgothereasyoursecondguess.No.”
“Atreehousepicnic?”
Sheisimmediatelyrepulsed.“Eatingwithspiders?Hardpass.”
“Surfingonthebacksofturtles?”
“Deeplyunethical.”
Guiltily,Iwinceoverather.EvenmyJess-Fizzybanterwellhasrundry.“Okay.Igotnothing.”
Shestudiesmeforabeatbeforesaying,“Sloths.We’regoingtoaslothsanctuary.”
Iletoutagaspofjealousyanddrumupsomerealenergytoeffuseoverhowamazingthistripwillbe,butJessjustreachesacrossthebartableandrestsherhandovermine,quietingme.“Fizzy.”
Ilookdownatmyhalf-finishedmartinitoavoidherconcernedmaternalgaze.Jess’sMomFacehasawayofimmediatelymakingmefeeltheneedtohandwriteanapology,nomatterwhatI’vejustbeencaughtdoing.
“Jessica,”Imumbleinresponse.
“What’shappeningrightnow?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Iask,knowingexactlywhatshemeans.
“Thewholevibe.”Sheholdsupherwineglasswithherfreehand.“IorderedwinefromChodaVineyardsandyoudidn’tmakeajokeaboutshort,chubbygrapes.”
Igrimace.Ididn’tevencatchit.“Iadmitthatwasawastedopportunity.”
“Thebartenderhasbeenstaringatyousincewegothereandyouhaven’tAirDroppedhimyourcontactinfo.”
Ishrug.“Hehaslinesshavedintohiseyebrow.”
Asthesewordsleavemylips,oureyesmeetinshock.Jess’svoiceisadramaticwhisper:“Areyouactuallybeing…?”
“Picky?”Ifinishinagasp.
Hersmilesoftenstheworrylingeringinhereyes.“Theresheis.”Withonefinalsqueezetomyfingers,shereleasesmyhand,leaningback.“Roughday?”
“Justalotofthinking,”Iadmit.“Oroverthinking.”
“YousawKimtoday,Itakeit?”
Kim,mytherapistforthepasttenmonthsandthewomanwhoIhopewillhelpmecrackthecodetowriting,dating,feelinglikemyselfagain.Kim,whohearsallmyangstaboutloveandrelationshipsandinspirationbecauseIreally,trulydonotwanttodropthedepthofmystressinJess’slap(sheandRiverarestillrelativenewlyweds),ormysisterAlice’slap(sheispregnantandalreadyfedupwithheroverprotectiveobstetricianhusband),ormymother’slap(sheisalreadyoverlyinvestedinmyrelationshipstatus;Idon’twanttosendhertotherapy,too).
Inthepast,whenI’vefeltdiscontentmentlikethis,Iknewitwouldebbwithtime.Lifehasupsanddowns;happinessisn’taconstantoragiven.Butthisfeelinghaslastednearlyayear.It’sacynicismthatnowseemspermanentlycarvedintomyoutlook.Iusedtospendmylifewritinglovestoriesandcarryingtheboundlessoptimismthatmyownlovestorywouldbeginonthenextpage,butwhatifthatoptimismhasleftmeforgood?WhatifI’verunoutofpages?
“IdidseeKim,”Isay.“Andshegavemehomework.”IpullalittleMoleskinenotebookfrommypurseandwaveitlimply.Foryears,thesecolorfuljournalsweremyconstantcompanions.ItookoneeverywhereIwent,writingbookplots,snippetsoffunnyconversations,imagesthatwouldpopintomyheadatrandomtimes.Icalledthemmyideanotebooksandusedtoscribblethingsdowntwenty,thirty,fortytimesaday.Thesescribblesweremydeepwellofideas.Forafewmonthsaftermyromancebraincametoascreechinghaltinfrontofathousandfreshcollegegrads,Icontinuedcarryingonearoundinhopesinspirationwouldstrike.Buteventually,seeingitthereinmypursestressedmeout,soIlefttheminmyhomeoffice,collectingdustwithmylaptopanddesktop.“KimtoldmeIneedtostartcarryingnotebooksagain,”ItellJess.“ThatI’mreadyforthegentlepressureofhavingonewithme,andevenwritingasinglesentenceordrawingadoodleinitwillhelp.”
Shetakesasecondtoabsorbthis.Thephraseevenwritingasinglesentencehangsbetweenus.“Iknewyou’dbeeninaslump,”shesays,“butIdon’tthinkIrealizedhowbaditwas.”
“Well,itdoesn’thappenallatonce.Forawhile,Iwrote,butitwasn’tverygood.AndthenIstartedtoworryitwasactuallyprettyterrible,andthatmademethinkI’dlostmyspark.AndthenthinkingI’dlostmysparkmademethinkmaybeitwasbecauseI’dstoppedbelievinginlove.”
Herfrowndeepens,andIpresson.“Itisn’tlikeIwokeuponedayandthought,Wow,loveisalie.”Istabtheoliveinmydrink,thenusethetoothpicktopointinherdirection.“Obviouslyyou’reproofthatit’snot.ButatwhatpointdoIacknowledgethatmaybemylovelifeisn’tgoingtobewhatIthinkitis?”
“Fizz—”
“IthinkImighthaveagedoutofthemajors.”
“What?Thatis—”Sheblinks,herargumentdyingonhertongue.“Well,thatisactuallyaverygoodmetaphor.”
“It’stheclassicchicken-and-eggdilemma:Hasthewriter’sblockkilledmyromanceboner,orhaslosingmyromancebonerkilledmyactualboner?”
“Therearealotofbonersinthissituation.”
“Ifonly!Andonceyou’resingleforsolong,youaren’tevensurewhetheryou’resuitableforarelationshipanymore.”
“It’snotlikeyou’vewantedtobeinone,”sheremindsme.“Idon’tknowwhoFelicityChenisifshe’snottreatingdatinglikeit’sanextremesport.”
Ipointatheragain,energized.“Exactly!That’sanotherfearIhave!WhatifI’vedepletedthelocalresources?”
“Local…resources?”
“IjokethatI’vedatedeverysinglemaninSanDiegoCounty—andinadvertentlysomeofthemarriedones—butIdon’treallythinkit’sthatfarofffromthetruth.”
Jessscoffsintoherwine.“Comeon.”
“RememberLeon?TheguyImetwhenhespilledahugetrayofGreeksaladonmyfootintheWholeFoodsparkinglot?”
Shenods,swallowingasip.“TheguyfromSantaFe?”
“AndrememberNathan,whoImetonablinddate?”
Shesquints.“IthinkIrememberhearingthatname.”
“They’rebrothers.Twins.Movedoutheretogethertobeclosertofamily.Iwentoutwiththemtwoweeksapart.”Jessclapsahandtohermouth,stiflingalaugh.“WhenNathanwalkedintotherestaurantandapproachedthetable,Isaid,‘OhmyGod,whatareyoudoinghere?’?”
Herlaughbreaksfree.“I’msureheandLeongetthatallthetime,though.”
“Sure,butthenIwentoutwithaguylastmonthnamedHector.”IpausetounderscoretheweightofwhatI’mgoingtosaynext.“He’sthecousinthetwinsmovedheretobecloserto.”
Tohercredit,thislaughismoreofagroan.Thisshitusedtobefunny.Itusedtocrackusbothup—anddatinglikethiswasablast.TheAdventuresofFizzyusedtogivemeunendinginspiration—evenifadatewentterribly,Icouldstillplayitforcomedyorevenjustatinysparkofanideafordialogue.Butatthispoint,Ihavesixbookspartiallywrittenthatgetjustpastthemeet-cuteandthen…nothing.There’saroadblockonthewaytothe“Iloveyou”now,aNOACCESSsigninmybrain.I’mstartingtounderstandwhy.BecausewhenIseeJesslightupeverytimeRiverwalksintotheroom,ImustadmitthatI’veneversharedthatkindofreverberatingjoywithanyone.It’smadeitincreasinglydifficulttowriteaboutloveauthentically
I’mnotsureIevenknowwhatreallovefeelslike.
Jess’sphonevibratesonthetable.“It’sJuno,”shesays,meaningherten-year-olddaughter,mysecond-in-linebestieandoneofthemostcharmingsmallhumansI’veevermet.Kidsaremostlyamysterytome,butJunosomehowtranslatesinmybrainlikeanadultwould—probablybecauseshe’ssmarterthanIam.
ImotionforJesstotakethecalljustasmygazelockswiththatofamanacrossthebar.He’sgorgeousinsuchaneasyandimmediateway:messydarkhairfallingintoapairoflight,penetratingeyes,jawsosharphecouldslicemyclothesoffashekissesdownmybody.Suitcoattossedoverachair,dressshirtstretchedacrossbroadshouldersandunbuttonedattheneck—he’sgotthedisheveledappearanceofamanwho’shadashittyday,andthefamishedlookinhisgazethatsayshe’dusemetoforgetallaboutit.Menwhodeliverthatkindofeyecontactusedtobemycatnip.PastFizzywouldalreadybehalfwayacrosstheroom.
ButPresentFizzyisdecidedlymeh.Ismyinternalhornybarometerreallybroken?Itapitwithamentalreflexhammer,imaginingpullingthatHotCEOfromhisbarstoolanddragginghimbythatopencollarintothehallway.
Nothing.
Lookathismouth!Sofull!Sococky!
Stillnothing.
ItearmyattentionawayandturnbacktoJessassheendshercall.“Everythingokay?”
“Coordinatingdanceandsoccer,”shesayswithashrug.“I’delaborate,butwe’dbothbeasleepbysentencetwo.ButbacktoHector,thecousinof—”
“Ididn’tsleepwithanyofthem,”Iblurt.“Ihaven’tsleptwithanyoneinayear.”Ididthemathacoupleofdaysago.Itfeelsweirdtosayitoutloud.
Itmustbeweirdtohearit,too,becauseJessgapesatme.“Wow.”
“Lotsofpeopledon’thavesexforayear!”Iprotest.“Isitreallythatshocking?”
“Foryou,yes,Fizzy.Areyoukidding?”
“Iwatchedporntheothernightandtherewasbarelyaclench.”Ilookdownatmylap.“Ithinkmypantsfeelingsarebroken.”
Herconcernintensifies.“Fizz,honey,I—”
“LastweekIconsideredgoingjogginginflip-flopsjusttoremindmyselfhowsexsounds.”Jess’sforeheadcreasesinworryandIdeflectimmediately.“Theanswerhereisobvious.It’stimeforbangs.”
There’satinybeatwhereIcanseeherconsideringbattlingthisredirect,butthankfullyshehopsonthisnewtrain.“Wehaveastrictagreementthatnocrisisbangswillbeapproved.I’msorry,it’sanofromthebestfriendcommittee.”
“ButimaginehowyouthfulI’lllook.Quirkyandupforanything.”
“No.”
Igrowlandturnmyattentiontotheside,tothebartelevision,wheretheprevioussportsballcontesthasendedandthelocalnewsisreelingthroughtheheadlines.Ipointtothescreen.“Yourhusband’sfaceisonTV.”
Shesipsherwine,staringupattwo-dimensionalRiver.“Thatwillneverstopbeingweird.”
“Thehusbandpart,ortheTVpart?”
Shelaughs.“TV.”
AndIseeitalloverherface:thehusbandpartfeelsasnaturalasbreathing.That’sbecausescience,specificallyRiver’sowninvention—aDNAtestthatcategorizescouplesintoBase,Silver,Gold,Platinum,Titanium,andDiamondlovematchesaccordingtoallkindsofcomplicatedgeneticpatternsandpersonalitytests—essentiallytoldthemthey’reascompatibleasishumanlypossible.
AndI’mmorethanhappytotakecredit.Jesswasn’tevengoingtotrythetestthatmatchedthem—theDNADuo—untilIshovedanearlyversionofitintoherhands.Wherearemyrightfullyearnedkarmapointsforthat?Riverturnedhisdecade-longresearchongeneticpatternsandromanticcompatibilityintotheappandbillion-dollarcompanyGeneticAlly.NowGeneticAllyisbiotech’sandtheonlinedatingindustry’sgold-stardarling.River’scompanyhasbeenalloverthenewssinceitlaunched.
It’salotofblah-blah-yapping-handwhenhegetsreallyscienceyaboutit,butitreallyhaschangedthewaypeoplefindlove.SincetheDNADuolaunchedaboutthreeyearsago,it’sevenovertakenTinderinnumberofusers.SomeanalystsexpectitsstocktosurpassFacebook’snowthattheassociatedsocialmediafeedapp,Paired,haslaunched.Everyoneknowssomeonewho’sbeenmatchedthroughGeneticAlly.
Allthisisamazing,butforsomeonelikeRiver,whopreferstospendhisdaysfacingafumehoodratherthanleadinginvestormeetingsorfieldingquestionsfromreporters,Ithinkthefrenzyhasbeenadrag.
But,asthenightlynewsisremindingus,GeneticAllyisn’tRiver’sproblemformuchlonger.Thecompanyisbeingacquired.
“Whendoesthedealclose?”Iask.
Jessswallowsasipofwine,eyesstillonthetelevision.“ExpectedMondaymorning.”
Ireallycan’tfathomthis.TheGeneticAllyboardhasacceptedanoffer,andthereareallkindsofsubrightsdealshappeningthatIdon’tevenunderstand.WhatIdocomprehendisthatthey’regoingtobesorich,Jessisabsolutelypayingfordrinkstonight.
“Howareyoufeelingaboutit?”
Shelaughs.“Ifeelcompletelyunpreparedforwhatlifelookslikefromnowon.”
Istareather,decipheringthesimplicityofthissentence.AndthenIreachacrossthetableandtakeherhand,fogclearing.Herrightwristhastheotherhalfofmydrunken,misspelledFleetwoodMactattoo:Thunneronlyhappensandwenit’srainingforeverbindingustogether.“Iloveyou,”Isay,seriousnow.“AndI’mheretohelpyouspendyourgiraffemoney.”
“I’dratherhaveanalpaca.”
“Dreambigger,Pe?a.Gettwoalpacas.”
Jessgrinsatme,andhersmilefades.Shesqueezesmyhand.“YouknowtheoldFizzywillcomeback,right?”sheasks.“Ithinkyou’rejustfacingatransition,andfiguringthatoutwilltaketime.”
Iglanceacrossthebaratthedisheveledhotguyagain.Isearchmybloodforsomevibration,oreventhemildestflutter.Nothing.Tearingmyeyesaway,Iexhaleslowly.“Ihopeyou’reright.”twoCONNOR
Someblokeonapodcastoncephilosophizedthattheperfectdaycomprisestenhoursofcaffeineandfourhoursofalcohol.Imightagreewiththecaffeinebit,butthemediocrebeerinfrontofmefeelsmorelikeliquidsadnessthanescape.OddlyfittingforthedayI’vehad.
“Pivotingovertorealitytelevisionmightbefun,”mymateAshsaysdistractedly,eyesgluedtothebasketballgameontheTVabovethebar.“It’ssortoflikewhatyoudonow,justsexier.”
“Ash,”Isay,grimacingasIrubmytemples,“Imakeshortdocuseriesonmarinemammals.”
“Anddatingshowsareshortdocuseriesonlandmammals.”Hegrinsathisowncheekiness,lookingatmeandnodding.“AmIright?”
Igroan,andwefallsilentagain,turningourattentionbackuptowheretheWarriorsareobliteratingtheClippers.
RarelyhaveIhadsuchahorrendousdayatwork.HavingstartedfromthebottominthesharktankofbigHollywood,IknowIhaveitgoodworkingforSanDiego’scomparablytinyproductioncompanyNorthStarMedia.Therearetheobviousfrustrationsthataccompanyworkinginasmallshop—limitedbudgets,theuphillbattleofdistribution,andthesimplefactofbeing120milesawayfromLosAngelesamongthem—butIalsohaveautonomyinmyprojects.
Ordid,untiltoday,whenmyboss,oneBlaineHarrisonByron—amanwhoseofficedecorincludesahugeslabofgraffitiedconcrete,alife-sizedstatueofanakedwoman,andthenewestaddition,agleamingsaddle—toldmethecompanywasmakingamajorpivotfromsociallyconsciousprogrammingtorealitytelevision.IsitpossibleforamannamedBlaineHarrisonByrontonotbeagiant,pretentiouswanker?
(Iseethefairpointtobemade—thatamannamedConnorFredrickPrinceIIIshouldnotbesoquicktocaststones—butIdidn’tjustsideswipethelivesofmyentirestaffonawhim,soI’mstandingfirm.)
“Let’stalkitout,”AshsayswhenacommercialforJackintheBoxcomeson.“What’dyourbosssay,specifically?”
Iclosemyeyes,workingtorecallBlaine’sexactwording.“Hesaidwe’retoosmalltobesociallyconscious.”
“Outloud?”
“Outloud,”Iconfirm.“Hesaidthatpeopledon’twanttositdownafterahardday’sworkandfeelbadabouttheziplockedsandwichtheytookforlunch,orhowmuchwateriswastedtomaketheelectricitytochargetheiriPhone.”
Ash’sjawdrops.“Wow.”
“Hesaidhewantsmetogoafterthefemaledemographic.”Isipmybeerandsetitdown,staringatthetable.“HesaidBravowasthenumberoneratedcablenetworkinprimetimeamongwomenageseighteentoforty-ninebecauseoftheirtwotoprealityfranchises,andthatdemographicspendsthemost.Ergo,theexecutivesaregoingafterpremiumadrevenue.They’vealreadygotoneofmycolleagues,Trent,workingonsomemash-upofTheAmazingRaceandAmericanGladiatorsthey’recallingSmashCourse.Andtheywantmetospearheadarealitydatingshow.”
“So,like,womencompetingtogetsomeoiled-uphunktochoosethem,”Ashsays.
“Right.”
“Half-nakedGenZerslockedinabighousetogethertryingtogetlaid.”
“Yes,but—”
“Hotwomenmarryingsomeaveragedudethey’veneverseen.”
“Ash,thereisnobloodywayIamdoingthat.”
Helaughs.“PutyourBritishmannersaway.Pretendyou’reAmerican.”Whenhesetshisbeerdownagain,Inoticehisshirtismisbuttoned.AshkanMalekicanbecountedontobeuntied,unzipped,orotherwisedisheveledatleastfiftypercentofthetime.It’sendearing,butIhavenoideahowhesurvivesinaroomfullofunfilteredsix-year-oldseveryday.“Everyjobhasdownsides.Wejusthavetokeepatit.”
ImetAshwhenmydaughter,Stevie,wasinfirstgradeandhetookoverherclasshalfwaythroughtheyear.Italsoturnedoutwewenttothesamegymandkeptrunningintoeachother.Weimmediatelyhititoff,buthangingoutfeltalittlelikesecretlydatingmykid’steacher.Thankfully,whentheschoolyearended,SteviemovedontoanothergradeandmyfriendshipwithAshstuck.
“Youlovebeingateacher,”Isay.
“Mostdays.Thekidsaregreat,”heclarifies.“It’stheirparentswhoareamess.”
Igivehimahumorouslydarklook.
Ashgrinsashepopsafryintohismouth.“Nah,youandNatwerefine.IgottheusualkidgossipfromSteviebutnothingtoobad.”Heleansinandlowershisvoice.“Youwouldn’tbelievesomeofthestuffkidstellme.Someoftheseparentsarenuts.Ihadonephysicallythreatenmewhentheirsonlosttheschoolspellingbee.Theywereworriedabouthisacademiccareer.”
“Whatcareer?He’ssix.”
“Thewordwasthwart.”
“Icanbarelyspellthatnow.”
“Exactly.”HisattentionisdrawntotheTVagainwhenthecrowdarounduscollectivelycursesatsomethinghappeninginthegame,andmyworkmalaisereturns.
WhenNataliaandIdivorcedeightyearsago,weagreedonsharedcustodyofourdaughter.ThismeansStevie,nowtenyearsold,spendstheweekdaysathermum’splaceandtheweekendsandmostschoolholidaysatmine.It’susuallynotaproblem,butbecauseofthisevening’sdisastermeetingwithBlaine,Imissedmypickupwindow.Atsomepoint,I’ddonetheSouthernCaliforniamentalcalculationof:
(timeofday)x(motorwayconstruction)It’sFriday
andtoldNattojustcarryontheeveningwithoutme.
ShehadtotakeStevietorunerrandsandwouldn’tbehomeforafewhours.Nownotonlyismycareerinthetoilet,I’mmissingoutontimewithmyfavoritegirl,too.
Restless,Iglancearoundthebar,myeyeswanderingbacktothetwowomenIsawearlier.Oneofthem’sgotherbacktome,buttheother,theoneImadeeyecontactwithshortlyafterIgothere,issogorgeousIcan’tstopstealinglooksather.Petiteandwillowy,withinkyblackhairthatgleamsinthelightabovetheirtable,she’sinaformfittingblackdress,legscrossedandonethin,spikedheelrestingonthelegofherbarstool.Everythingaboutherscreamscool,whichisanoddwayforagrownmantodescribeanotheradultbutit’strue.She’sanimatedwhileshespeaks,makingherfriendlaughoften.Ishouldstopstaring,butit’snicetobedistractedbyabeautifulwomanratherthanobsessingaboutwork.
IfIwerewireddifferently,maybeI’dwalkoverandseeifwecoulddistracteachothersomewhereelseforthenight.ButI’mjerkedfrommydaydreamingwhenAsh’shandabsentlypawsatmycollarinreactiontosomethingonthescreen.
“Whatthe—Ash.”
“Getit…Getit!”heshouts.Hisexpressioncrashes.“Noooo.”
Heslumpsbackintohischair.
“Ijustlostfivebucks.”Hereachesintohispocketforhisphone.
“FivewholeAmericandollars?”Iask,grinning.“You’dbetterwatchthatgamblinghabit.”
“Idon’tknowhowshedoesit,butEllaisasharkandneverloses.”
“Youlosttoyourwife?”
Helooksupfromwherehe’stypingheramessage.“I’mconsideringtakinghertoVegas.”
“Definitelydoitbeforethebabyisborn—pregnantladieslovesmokycasinos.”
Heignoresthisandslideshisphoneontothetable.“Let’sgetbacktoyourjobcrisissoIcangohome.Iknowthiswillhurtyourdo-goodersoul,butIthinkyouneedtobitethebulletanddotherealityshowBlainewants.Spendtherestoftheyearmakingcandy,orwhateverhecalledit,andifit’ssuccessful,you’llhaveleveragetomakewhatyouwantafterthat.”
Ibegintoprotest,andheholdsupahand.
“Iknowyouhatethis.Iknowyourworkmatterstoyou.ThankstoyouIhaven’tthrownawayagumwrapperorusedaplasticwaterbottleintwoyears.I’mgoingtobeusingclothdiapers,man.”
“Imustbealotoffunatparties.”
Ashsteepleshisfingersunderhischin.“IsaythisbecauseIknowhowmuchyouwanttosticktoyourprincipleshere.Youwanttomakestuffthatmatters.ButIalsoknowyoucan’tlosethisjob.YouonlymissedafewhourswithStevietonight.Imaginewhatyou’dmissifyouhadtomovebacktoLA.”
Iturnmygazedowntomybeer.Thethoughtalonemakesmystomachtwist.“Yeah.”
“Sodoitandmoveon.”
“I’mnotsureit’sthateasy.”
“Comeon.We’resmartguys.Bouncesomesexyshowideasoffme.”
Ipressmyfingerstomytemples,tryingtowillamillion-dollarideaintoexistence.“That’stheproblem,Idon’thaveany.I’mcertaintheworlddoesn’tneedanotheroneofthesethings.”
“Well,whiletheworldmaynotneedanother,itcertainlywantsit:Ellawatcheseverysingleone.Whatyouneedisanewangle.”Heturnstoglancearoundthebar,andwhenhedoes,Iseethedrycleaningtagstillattachedtohiscollar.Hasitbeenlikethisallday?Withasigh,Ireachoverandpluckitoff.“Huh,”hesays,examiningitbeforeplacingitonthetableandlookingbacktotheTV.
Ifollowhisattentiontowherethegamehasfinishedandthenightlynewsison.It’stooloudinthebartohearthevoiceover,butthecaptionsinformmethatGeneticAlly,thebiggestdatingappintheworldrightnow,hasbeenboughtbyRochePharmaceuticals.
“Holyshit,”Ashmurmurs,thennarrowshiseyestoreadsomethingonthescreen.“Thatisanabsurdamountofmoney.”
Myjawisonthefloor.“Nokidding.”Rememberingsomething,IlookoveratAsh.“GeneticAlly—isn’tthathowyouandEllamet?”
Henods.“We’reaGoldMatch.”
Acoupletoourrighthasjusttakentheirseats.Thevibebetweenthemisheavywithdisappointment.Abadfirstdate.Theyglanceateachotheronlywhentheythinktheotherisn’tlooking,andanaccidentalbrushofhandsleadstoburstingapologiesbutnoshysmiles.Nospark.It’spresumptuousofme,butIcouldwalkoverthererightnowandtellthemthey’vegotnochemistry,nochance.Couldn’tweall?I’mnotoverlyfamiliarwithGeneticAlly,butIknowtheydevelopedasystemthatmatchespeopleforcompatibilitybasedonsignaturesintheirDNA.I’dgivethiscoupleazero.
Liftingmychin,IsaytoAsh,“Thinkthey’reaGoldMatch?”
Heglancesoverandwatchesforahandfulofsecondsbeforeraisinghisdrinktohislips.“Nope.Noway.”
IlookbackupattheTVandanideaticklestheedgeofmybrain.I’llhavetomakeafewcalls.Maybehavingtimetokillwillbeagoodthingafterall.threeCONNOR
Twohourslater,IpullupinfrontofNatalia’shouse.It’sabeautifulplace—Ishouldknow;Icosignedtheloan.TheRealtorcalleditSpanishColonialRevival,withwhitestuccowalls,alow-pitchedtileroof,andagatedcourtyardNatalwaysgoesalloutdecoratingforHalloween.Butwheretherewasonceatricycleintheyardandpastelchalkanimalsscribbledonthesidewalk,nowthere’saten-speedandarowofpottedorchidsleadinguptothefrontdoor.Nataliatookupgardeningafterourdivorce.Post-divorceshe’sthriving,andsoaretheorchids.
WaitingformeonthefrontstepisStevie’schocolate-brownlabradoodle,Baxter.Weareabsolutelythoseparentswhogottheirkidaconsolationdivorcedog.Hebarkscheerilytoalertthehousethatanintruderhasenteredthepremisesand,tailstillwagging,promptlyrollsoverforbellyrubs.
“Allthatmoneyforpuppycampandyouarestillaterribleguarddog,”Isay,bendingtopethim.“Whereiseverybody?Where’sStevie?Canyougofetchher?”
ThedoorisslightlyopenandBaxternudgesitwithhisnoseandgoesupthestairs.
“Hello?”Icallout.It’scoolandquietinside.Stevie’shomeworkisspreadoutonthecoffeetableandabasketoffoldedlaundrysitsonthecouch.Thewallsarefilledwithphotographs,someofStevieandNatalia,afewwithme.We’vetakenphotosofStevieinthesamelocationandinthesameposeonherbirthdayeveryyear,andseeingthemgroupedtogetherislikeatimelapseofherchildhood.She’stallforaten-year-old,andrailthin.Shehashermum’solivecomplexionanddarkhair,buthereyes—myeyes—areasgreenasthey’veeverbeen.
Footstepspoundonthestairsandasecondlater,abodycollidesintomine,skinnyarmswrappingaroundmywaist.Baxterisrightbehindher.“Finally,”Steviesaysintomystomach.
Ibend,pressingakisstoherhair.“Sorry,boss.Meetingranlate.Didyouhavefunwithyourmum?”
Sheflopsontothecouchdramatically.“Wedroveeverywhere.WewenttothedrycleanersandtodropsomethingsoffatthepostofficeforAbuelitaandthentoMom’snailappointment.Iforgotmybook,sosheletmewatchvideosonmyphoneandweorderedChinesefood.”
Guilt—myconstantweekend-only-parentcompanion—raisesitsuglyhead.
“I’msorry,Sass.”
“It’sokay.Igotmynailspainted.”Sheholdsupahandandwigglesherpink-tippedfingers.Steviewillpickpinkeverythingifgiventheopportunity.“AndIknowyou’resuperimportantatyourjob.”
Isitonthecoffeetablefacingher.“Thereweresomethingsthatcouldn’twaituntilMonday.”
“Ibettheywereareallybigdeal,”shesaysslyly.“Youhavethebestideasandmakethebestdocumentaries.”
I’msuspicious.Muchlikehermother,Stevieisamasternegotiator.TheproblemisthatIrarelyknowwe’renegotiatinguntilI’vealreadyagreedtosomething.“What’stheangle?”
“Noangle.You’rejustreallycool,that’sall.”Shepauses.“ButIalmostforgot!”Shesitsup,miraculouslyrejuvenated.“Wonderlandiscominghere!”
Wonderland,Stevie’scurrentobsession,isapopgroupthat’stakenovereverychartandawardshowinthecountry.Forbirthdays,Christmas,andeveryminorholidayinvolvingabasket,treat,orwrappedparcel,SteviehasaskedforWonderlandmerchandise.Themembers’facesareonsomanyofherT-shirtsIcouldspottheminacrowdwithoutanytrouble.
“Cominghereasinforaconcert?”
“Yes!Couldwego?Please?”Shetakesbothmyhandsinhersandmakeshereyesaswideasmoons.“Itcouldbeformybirthday.”
“YourbirthdaywasinJanuary.It’sMay.”
“Hmm,”shesays,recalibrating.“IfIgetstraightA’s?”
“YoualreadygetstraightA’s.”
Herwryexpressionsaysitclearly:Exactly.Asucker,Iam.Ipulloutmyphone.“Okay.Wherearetheyplaying?”
Stevie’svibratingintensitydialsup.“TheOpenAir!”
“Calmdown,”Isaygently.“I’monlylooking.Didyoutalktoyourmumaboutthis?”
“Shesaidit’sfineifyoutakeme.”
“Ofcourseshedid.”Whenthesiteloads,agiantbannerfillsthetopofthepage:WONDERLAND:THEFORBIDDENGAMETOUR.“Atitlelike‘ForbiddenGame’leavesmewithmanyquestions.”
Stevierollshereyes.“Dad.”
IscrolldowntotheSanDiegodatesandspottheredSOLDOUTflagoverthebuylink.Iturnthescreentoshowher,andsheimmediatelydeflates.
“I’msorry,Sass.Maybenexttimeround?Besides,itdoesn’tevenstarttilleightandyou’redeadasleepbyeightthirty.”HerbottomlipjutsoutandIbendtomeethereyes.“We’llcheckifit’sstreamingandmaybewecanwatchtogether.”
She’sdisappointed,butralliesanyway.“Canwegettourshirtsandorderpizza?”
“Absolutely.Nowgofetchyourstuffsowecango.”
Sheleapsoffthecouch,long,coltishlimbspropellinghertothestairs.Iswearshe’stallerthanwhenIsawheronSunday.Thedogracesbehindher.
“Whereisyourmum,bytheway?”Icallafterher.
“Shewasoutside.Insuisbuildingashedinthegardenandshe’swatching.”Shelooksdownatmefromthetopofthestairs.“He’sreallystrong.”
“I’venoticed.”
InsuisNatalia’sboyfriend.He’stwenty-six…sothere’sthat.Ittookusafewyearstoironoutthekinksofdivorcedco-parenthood,butthecareandrespectweshoweachothernowisbetterthanwhenweweremarried.WatchingNatfallinloveagaineasedaweightIhadn’tfullyrealizedIwascarrying.Havingthatpersonpracticallybeateenager(aslightexaggeration,butI’mthesingleonehere,soletmehavethis)isaflavorofjoyIcouldn’thaveanticipated.
Stevie’sfootstepssoundoverheadandthenshefallssilent,presumablythrowingthingsintoabag.Inthequiet,Ipacethelivingroom,andmymindrollsbacktomyworkdilemma.
Icouldmakesomehybridofeco-consciousandrealityprogramming,butthetruthisthatIdon’treallywanttobumpupagainstmydocumentarycolleaguesinthissetting.It’stakenmeyearstobuildthecredibilityIhave,andIsuspectoneadventureracethroughthejunglewillsquashallofitinasinglego.Besides,Blainewantssomethingsalaciousandsexy,andnothinginmycurrentrepertoirecouldbedescribedassuch.
I’llhavetothinkoutsidemycurrentbox.Datingshowshavebeendoneadnauseam,soanewshowwouldneedahooktomakeitstandoutabovetherest.I’manamateurinaverywell-traversedspace,butthemoreIsitwithit,themoreIkeepcomingbacktotheideaIhadatthebarafterhearingtheGeneticAllynews.Mygutsaysthere’ssomethingthere,butI’mstillmissingapiece…
IfindmyselfinfrontofoneofNat’smanybookcases.Withoutquestion,Steviegotherfangirlgenesfromhermother,butwheremydaughterloseshermindoverpopstars,Nataliaisanavidromancereader.Uponinspection,Iregisterthattheshelfbeforemehasovertwodozenbooksallbythesameauthor.Ipullonefree.
RavenousontheHighSeasbyFelicityChen.
Thecoverfeaturestwobeautifulpeoplewrappedupineachotheronthedeckofwhatappearstobeapirateship.It’sagreatphotograph—sweeping,sexy,atmospheric—andwhenIopenthecover,there’sanevenmoredetailedversioninside.Iglanceatthesummary:alostheir,asword-wieldingheroine,acountryonthebrinkofwar,andhiddentreasurethatcouldsavethemall.WhenIflipopenthebackcover,Ifreeze.Theauthorphotostaringbackatmeisthegorgeouswomanfromthebar.
Overatthefamilycomputer,IenterthepasswordandtypeFelicityChenintothesearchbar.Thescreeninstantlypopulateswithresults.Publicationinterviews,fanedits,socialmediaaccounts,retailsites,andherpublisher’spage.IclickononeofthenewshitsandseeacommencementaddressatUCSDRevelleCollege.
Bythetimefootstepssoundonthewoodfloorbehindme,I’vewatchedthecommencementaddressandhalfadozenshortinterviewclips,readthreeEntertainmentWeeklyreviewsofherwork,andscrolledthroughmuchofherInstagramfeed.FelicityChenisfunny,charismatic,smart,andgreatinfrontofacrowd.ShewouldbeanaturalonTV…
Nataliaissuspicious.“Whyismyfavoriteauthor’sfacealloverthatscreen?”
Ispininthechairtofacemyex.“Whatdoyouknowabouther?”Felicity’sbioisfrustratinglylackinginpersonaldetails.Wikipediaisn’tanymorehelpful.“Isshesingle?”
“IfyoudateherandbreakherinsomewayandIdon’tgethernextbook,Imayhavetokillyou.”
“Idon’twanttodateher,Nat.”
“Doyouwanttodateanyone?Youdon’thavetolivelikeamonk,youknow.”
“Thisagain.”
“ThethingwithSteviewalkingin—”
Isticktwofingersinmymouthandletoutasharpwhistle.“Yellowcard,Garcia.”
Natburstsoutlaughing.ThislittletroublemakerknowsIamlegitimatelyscarredafterfour-year-oldSteviewalkedinonmegoingfullyatitwithadate’sanklesonmyshoulders.ItwasthefirstandlasttimeIhadsomeoneoverwhileSteviewasstayingatmyplace,andI’mnotsureI’lleverrecover.IswearIamonlywaitingforthedaythatmemorysurfacesandmydaughtercanneverlookmeintheeyeagain.
“Sorry,”Natsays,soundingnotsorryatall.“Justputabellonherdoor.Workslikeacharm.”
Ihookathumbovermyshoulderatthecomputermonitor.“Canwefocus?”
HereyesdriftpastmetoFelicity’sfaceonthescreen.“Yeah,I’mprettysureshe’ssingle.She’stalkedaboutdatinginpastinterviews.Why?”
“Iwantherforashow.”
Nat’seyebrowsdriftupward.“Likeadocumentaryonromanceandfeminismorsomething?”
Ilaugh.“No.”
“What’sthelaughabout?”sheasks,scowling.
Careful,Ithink.Nathasbustedmeinthepastforgivinghershitaboutthekindofbooksshereads.Idon’twanttosteponalandmineherewhenIneedherhelp.“Sorry,no,it’sjustthatImightbemakingadatingshow.”
Hereyeswiden.“A—what?WhatisNorthStar’sbrand?SitcomsandLifetimemovies,toenvironmentaldocumentaries,andnowdatingshows?”
“It’sBlaine,”Isaybywayofexplanation,andNataliarequiresnothingmore.Blainebouncesfromonethingtoanother,dependingonwho’scurrentlygothisear,andrightnow—understandably—it’stheexecutivesholdingthepursestrings.OddsaregoodIwashiredbecauseanow-ex-wifewasworriedaboutmarinemammals.“Andnothing’ssetinstoneyet,justexploringsomeoptions.”Idon’twantbothofusworryingaboutthis,soIchangethesubject.“How’sInsu?”
“Wonderful,”shesays,drapingherselfacrossthecouchintheexactwayourdaughterwould.“He’stakingmetodinnertomorrownightforouranniversary.”
“Ohcool,didhegethisdriver’slicense?”Igrinather.“Theygrowupsofast.”Intruth,IlikeInsu—he’sfarmorematurethanIwasatthatage,headoresNatalia,andStevielikeshim,too—butI’mnotgoingtopassupachancetotakethepissabit.
“Youknowhe’sonlysevenyearsyoungerthanyou.”
“Whichwouldalsomakehimeightyearsyoungerthanyou.Ihopeyou’relockingupthedrinkscupboard.”
AcushionconnectswiththesideofmyheadjustasSteviemakesitdownstairswithherthings,Baxterandhisownweekendbagintow.
“Readytogo,Sass?”
“Yep.IsentyoualinktothetourT-shirts,”Steviesays.“Youdon’twanttowaitbecausetheymightsellout.”
Ireachformyphoneagain.“Yes,Captain.”
“WouldthishappentobeWonderlandrelated?”Natasks.
“Sadly,theconcertwassoldout,butwe’llgetsomegoodiestosoothetheache.”
Natgivesmealittlewhatarelief,huhlookoverthetopofStevie’sheadasshehugshergoodbye.Andforahandfulofseconds,regretcutssharplythroughme.I’msureImissathousandoftheseordinaryandsweetmomentseveryday.Icouldhavelivedthislifewiththetwoofthem.Itwouldhavebeenplatonicandpassionless,yes,butstableandloving.I’dassumedtherehadtobesomethingmoreoutthere,butreally,it’snotlikemylovelifeisanymoreelectricthanitwaswhenweweremarried.
Butit’stoolatetostartoveragain,andthetruthis,I’llmissallofthisandfarmoreifIdon’tfigureoutwhatthefuckI’mgoingtodoaboutwork.fourFIZZY
ThefirsttimeIevermetaproducertodiscussadaptingoneofmybooksintoafilm,IwassoexcitedIbarelysleptthenightbefore.IspenthourspickingoutwhatIwouldwear.ItoldeverypersonIknewthatmybookwasbeingadaptedintoamovie.Igavemyselffivehourstodrivethe124milestoLosAngelesandthenpaidfortydollarstoparksoI’dhaveaplacetowaitbecauseI’darrivedthreehoursearly.IsatthereandthoughtaboutwhatImightwearontheredcarpet,whomightbecastasthehero,andhowitwouldfeeltoseehimonthescreenfortheveryfirsttime.Iwalkedinwithbigsmilesandbigplansandbighopes.
Thatcollaborationdidn’tgoanywhere,andneitherdidthenextmeeting,orthenext,andthemeetingsthatwereproductivewereaboutprojectsthateventuallylanguishedinpredevelopmentforyears.IhadtolearnthehardwaythateveryoneinHollywoodisexcitedaboutaprojectuntilit’stimeforthewalletstoopen.NowIknowthissonganddance;themeetingmyfilmagentsetupformethismorningattheunknown-to-meNorthStarMediadoesn’tevenregisterasablipwithmyadrenals.
NorthStar’sadministrativeassistantisasweettwentysomethingcutie-piewhooffersmecoffeeandadoughnutfromapinkmom-and-pop-shopboxonherdeskwhenIarrive.IconsideransweringafewDMswhileIwait,butwhatmyreaderswantisanupdateonthebook,andI’vegotnothingforthem.Iputmyphoneawayandbusymyselfwithadoughnutinstead.
Lookingaround,ImustadmitthevibeinthissmallSanDiegoproductioncompanyismuchbeachierandchillthanalltheglossyglass-walledorintentionallyindustrialblusterofLA.ButwhenthedudeI’mmeetingstepsoutofhisoffice,I’mremindedthatHollywoodisHollywood,eveninSanDiego.
IthinkIknowhimfromsomewhere,butIcan’tplacewhere—thisisnotamanwhowouldhangoutinanyofmyfavoritecoffeeshopsorbars.HishairissoperfectlycoiffedthatfromadistanceitlookslikeaLegohairblock.I’mdistractedbyhisheight,soIdon’tcatchhisname,butIsmileasifIdid.Whitegleamingteeth,glimmeringeyesthatwouldgetthesparklesoundeffectinacartoon,andmusclesbunchyandflexingunderhiswhitedressshirt.Heishotinaveryobviousway.IfIwerewritingthisbook,I’dimmediatelycasthimasHotMillionaireExecutive.Sadly,mymentalRolodextellsmethreeimportantthingsaboutthisheroarchetype:Hewilltalkalotaboutwhateversportheplayedincollege.Heis,atbest,aperformativefeminist.And,relatedly,hedoesnotenjoygoingdownonwomen.
ButIfollowhimintohisofficeanywaybecauseifIstayinthewaitingarea,I’lleataseconddoughnut.
HotMillionaireExecutive’sofficeistidyandsparse.Unlikemanyotherfilmexecutives’workspaces,itdoesn’thaveaframedcollectionofsignedrarecomicbooks,acoffeetablebookaboutvintagesneakers,oravanitywalloffilmposters.Hehasafewframedblack-and-whitephotographsofwhatlooksliketheCentralCaliforniacoastline,someotherframedphotosfacingawayfrommeonhisdesk,andthennothingbutcleanwallsandsurfaces.
Thehot,boringmangesturesthatIshouldsitinoneoftheexpensiveleatherchairsgroupedaroundalowwoodcoffeetable,andIreallydotrytofalleffortlesslyintotheseat,buttheripinmyjeanshitsattheworstplaceinmykneeandthesecondIsititmakesanaudibletearingsound.AmomentpasseswhereIcanseehimdebatingwhetherheshouldreacttoit.
Heseemstodecideagainstit,smilinginstead.Iaddnicesmiletohischaracterdescription.“Thanksforcomingintoday,Felicity.”
“Oh.ABrit.”Ifeelthefirst,tinypantsflutterinagesandupdatemymentalarchetypeRolodex.
“BornandraisedinBlackpool.”
“Idon’tknowwherethatis,butitsoundspiratey.”
Helaughsatthis,alow,rumblingsound.“NorthwesternEngland.”
Inod,lookingaround,tryingtofigureouthowamanlookinglikethatlefthispiratehometown,endedupinanofficethisbland,andeventuallyfoundhiswaytomybooks.Whatajourney.Whenmyeyesreturntohisface,Ican’tshakethefeelingthatwe’vemetbefore.“Doweknoweachother?”
Hehesitates,mouthbrieflyformingonewordbeforeittakesadifferentshape.“Idon’tbelieveso.Butmyex-wifeisahugefan.”
Anindelicatelaughripsoutofme.“I’mgoingtosaythat’stheweirdestcomplimentI’veeverreceived.”
Evenhiswinceseemstooperfecttobereal.“Sorry.Iguessthat’sastrangewayofsayingthatIwasimpressedbyyou.Nataliahasdiscerningtastes,andsheownseveryoneofyourbooks.”
Ifeelaneyebrowpointsharplyskyward.
“She’smadeafanoutofme,too,”headmits,andohno,nowhe’sgonetoofar.Itwouldbesorefreshingifoneofthesedudeswouldjustsay,Ihaven’treadyourbooksandIliketomockthegenrewithmybros,butromancehasthelargestreadershipinpublishing,andIwanttomakemoneyoffit.
Ismile,flashingmyteeth.Timetocatchhiminalie.“Whichbookisyourfavorite?”
“IknowyouprobablyexpectedmetosayRanger’sCastleorAttheEndoftheRoadbecauseoftheactioninbothofthem,butI’mgoingtosayBasePaired.”
Ah,sohisadorableassistantisgoodattheGoogle.ThatmustbewhyI’mhere.“BasePaireditis.”
HotBritspreadshishandsmagnanimously.“It’sacleveridea,Felicity,andthetimingwasgreat.”
Ormaybehe’snotsogoodattheGoogle:anyonewhoknowsmeeitherpersonallyorprofessionallyknowsthattheonlypeoplewhocallmeFelicityaremyformerschoolteachers,andeventhenonlyonthefirstdayofclassorwhenIwasintrouble.
Anyway,despitehispatronizingtone,he’sright—thetimingwasgreat.IwroteBasePairedjustasGeneticAllylaunchedtheDNADuoapp,anditspublicationdovetailedperfectlywiththerisinghypeofthetechnology.Thatbook,abouttwoswornenemieswhoturnouttobeaDiamondMatch,spentalongtimeonthebestsellerlist.Butafterasmallproductioncompanyfailedtosellaseries,Igottherightsbacklastmonth.
“Listen,Ted—”
“Connor.”
“—I’mgoingtobehonest,”Isay,rollingpastthisbecause,frankly,hisnamedoesn’tmuchmatter.“Therightsareavailable,andI’mnotopposedtoworkingwithsomeonetoadaptitintoafilmorseries,butthisprojectisspecialtomeforalotofreasons,andI’mwaryof—”
Heholdsupagiantmanhand.“Sorrytointerrupt.It’sjust—that’snotwhyIaskedforameeting.”
Iamimmediatelyconfused.Andmaybealittleannoyedwithmyselfforskimmingmyagent’semail.“What?”
“I’mnotinterestedinadaptingBasePaired.”HotBritshakeshishead.“I’mcuriouswhetheryou’reopentobeingcastastheleadinanupcomingshow.”
Atthis,Ifrown,concerned.“I’manauthor.”
“Yes.”
“Ifeltlikewewereonthesamepageforaminute.”Iwaveafingerbackandforthbetweenus.“Butthatquestiontookustodifferentgenres.”
Helaughs,andnotonlydoesitseemtocomefromsomesexydepthinhischest,italsorevealsasmalldimple,lowononecheek.
Tall,British,anddimpled?Nevertrustacliché.
“We’dliketoofferyoutheroleofthecentralcharacterinanupcomingrealitydatingshow.”
Istareblanklyathim.“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Adatingshow?”
“Yes.”
“OnewhereI’mdating?”
“Yes.”
“Isthisajoke?”Iamimmediatelysuspicious.Andthenitclicks.Iwentonacoupleofdateslastyearwithacommunitytheaterdirectorwhoinsistedhehadlotsofconnectionsinthefeatureworld.MaybeIshouldn’thavebeensoobviousinmydisbelief.“DidStevenputyouuptothis?”
“Steven?”
“Idon’trememberhislastname,”Iadmit.“Butpicturethehotguitar-playingcollegeheartthrobarchetype,thenaddtwentyyearstohisjawline.”
HotBritfrowns.“Idon’t—Yeah,no.There’snoSteveninvolvedinthis.”
Oh.Ofcourse.“Billy?HeusedtoworkatParamount.”Imimemuscles.“Gymrat?Shaveseverything?”
Heshakeshishead,bewildered.“It’scomingfrom—”
“Evan.”Islapthearmoftheleatherchair.“Goddammit,ofcourse!”IlookatHotBrit.“Helovedapracticaljoke.IbrokeupwithhimbecausehehadaBartSimpsontattoolow,andImeanreallylowonhiship,andIcouldn’tgodownonhimwithoutthinkingCowabunga,dude.Itwasamoodkiller.”
“I—”
“Wegotintothisbigargumentattheend,buthestillremindedmetoturnmyclocksbackanhourthatnightfordaylightsavings.”Ilaugh.“Ibasicallytoldhimhisterribletattooruinedoursexlife,andhewaslike,Wow,that’sabummer,butalsodon’toversleep.”IturnmyattentionbacktoHotBrit.“SonowthatI’mthinkingaboutit,hemightbetoonicetohavedonethis.Youcantellmeif—”
“It’snotcomingfromanyofthesemen,”hesaysslowly.“Iamdevelopingthisveryrealshow,andyouarethefirstpersonI’veapproachedforit.”
Iamutterlyspeechless.
“Butare—areanyofthesemenyourcurrentboyfriends?”heasks.
“I’mneversurewhentousethatterm,”Iadmit,rollingpastthethinfilmofdisapprovalinhisvoice.“Isaboyfriendsomeoneyouhavesexwithmorethanonce?Canyouhaveaone-nightboyfriend?Aweekendboyfriend?Orisitnecessarytohavetheboyfriend-girlfriendtalkafteraspecifiedamountoftimespentdating?Regardless,no,noneofthosemenarecurrentboyfriendsbyanydefinition.”
HotBritclearshisthroat,reachingforwardtostraightenabookonthecoffeetable.“Okay.”
Iwatchhim,fightingasmile.
“Wouldyouliketoheartheshowpremise?”heasksonceheseemstohavefinishedclutchinghispearls.
I’mwillingtolethimrunthroughtheentireruseifhe’ssowellprepared.“Knockyourselfout,Colin.”
Hetakesabeatbeforespeaking,andwhenIlookathim,Iseeflatdisappointmentinhisgaze.Idon’tknowwhatIdid,butI’mdelightedanyway.IfIcouldgetpaidfordisappointingwhitemeninsuits,Iwouldbeagazillionaire.
Regrouping,hebegins,“I’vealwaysbeenfascinatedwiththeideaofarrangedmarriages—”
“Ohboy.”
“—inthatmostinthemoderndayarequitesuccessful.”
Okay,thatisnotwhereIthoughthewasgoingwiththat.
“Whenweletpeoplewhoknowuswellchooseourpartner,theygenerallydoaprettygoodjob.ButthenIalsohadthethoughttheotherdaythatmostofushaveseensomanyportrayalsoflove—inperson,on-screen,inliterature—thatweshouldbegoodatidentifyingrealemotion.Don’tyouthink?”
Ishrug.“Actually,I’mamazedattheoftenlimitedcapacityofemotionalintelligenceinadults.”
“Whatifweputyouinahousewithtwelvemen—”
“Well,nowI’mdefinitelylistening.”
“—whoareeachtryingtowinyourheart—”
“Keeptalking.”
“—butinsteadofyouchoosingwhogetstostayinthecompetitioneachweek,we’llhavetheaudiencelivevoteoverthetwenty-fourhoursaftertheepisodeairsonwhostaysandwhogoes.Theeliminatedcontestantorcontestantswillfindoutatthestartofthenextepisode.”
“Soyoulettheaudiencevoteonwhotheywantmetoendupwith?Ihavenosay?”
Hetiltshisheadfromsidetoside.“Yesandno.Theaudiencewillhavetogaugeyourreactions.ButIamhopingtherewillbesomegreatoptionsinthere,becausehere’swhatIthinkcouldmakeitreallyinteresting:We’llcastthecontestantsbasedonyourDNADuocompatibilityscores.Iassumeyou’refamiliarwithit?”
Itfeelslikemyheartstops.That’sRiver’stechnology.“Oh,I’mfamiliar.”
“Somescoreswillbelow,somewillbehigher,”hesays.“Butwe’llmakesurethereisatleastoneGoldMatchorbetterinthecast.Thetwististoseewhocanbetterfindyoursoulmate:technologyortheaudience.”
Istruggletohidemyshock.“You’reserious.”
HotBritnods.“Yourbooksareinternationalbestsellers,Felicity.Youhavereadersineveryageandsocioeconomicdemographic—andyourbiggestfansarerightintheheartoftherealityTVaudience.Thisoverlapcouldbeveryadvantageousforyourbooksalesaswellasourratings.”
Istareoutthewindow.Iwaswrong:itisn’tsatisfyingtohavehimbesoforthcomingthatthebottomlineiswhyI’mhere.Hewantsmebecausemybrand—happyromance—wouldplaywellwithaudiences.ThismanwouldhavenowayofknowingI’mnolongerhappilyromantic,butgivenhisindustry,he’dtellmethatdoesn’tmatteraslongasIcanputonagoodshow.Itallmakesmefeelevenmorepessimisticaboutlove.
“Iknowalotofthesedatingshowsaremanufacturedorcynical,”hecontinues,oddlyreadingmymind,“butIthinkthiscouldbedifferent.Becauseit’syou.I’mdrawntoyou,andwe’veonlyjustmet;viewerswillfeelthesame.Yourreaderswillwantyoutofindlove.”
Thisoneislikeanarrowtotheheart.Mysweetreadersdowantmetofindlove,anditappearstobetheonethingIcannotgivethem.Well,thatandanewbook.
HotBritleansin,greeneyesearnestandsoft.“Itrulybelievethatwomenwanttowatchotherwomenfindhappiness.”
AsIblinkbackovertohim,somethingcoolsinmyblood.“Thatseemslikesuchanicethingtosay,sowhydoesitsoundironicwhenyousayit?”
Helookstakenabackforasecond,hisexpressioncrashing.“I—No,Itrulymeanit.”
Ipushtostand.“Thanksformakingthetime.I’mnotinterested.”fiveCONNOR
FelicityleavessoabruptlythewhiplashslapsmythoughtsagainstmycraniumandIsimplystareafterher,mute.Iwasfifty-fiftyonwhetherawomanasstunningandsuccessfulassheiswouldbeintotheideaofstarringinarealityshow,butbynomeansdidIexpecttheoffertooutrightpissheroff.IfIcan’tevenpitchthisshowwithoutgettingithorribly—andmysteriously—wrong,whathopeistherethatI’llbeabletomakeitasuccess?
“Thefuckjusthappened?”Iasktheemptydoorwayjustamomentbeforeaheadpopsintoview,andmybossflashesasetofbrightwhiteveneersatme.
“Gotasec?”
Iglanceatmywatch.“IneedtobeupstairswithShazzinfive.”
Blainestepsin,slidingahandintoapocketandjigglingsomechange.“JustgotoffthelinewithBill,”hetellsme.BillMastersistheCFO,andoneofthefewpeopleBlaineisafraidof.“TheC-suitereallywantstomakethisdatingshowhappen.”Hepausesfordramaticeffect,halfofhismouthliftinginacockygrin.“They’regivingyouamillionandahalf.”
“Dollars?”
“No,Connor,hookers.Yes,ofcoursedollars.”
Themeaningofwhathe’ssaidfinallypenetrates.“They’regivingme$1.5millionforthis,butwon’tgiveme$40Kformybiodiversitydoc?”
Hepullsawhistlingbreathinthroughhisnose,drawingitout,likehispatienceisadangerouslycrackingtoplayerofice.“LikeIsaid,kid,weallreallywantthistohappen.Bytheway,BarbinprogrammingmustknowwhereabodyisburiedbecauseyourtimeslotwillbeprimetimeonABC.”Andthenheamends,“Saturdays.”
ThereisliterallynothingprimetimeaboutaSaturdaynighttimeslot.
Readingmyexpression,Blainesays,“Listen,withthistimelinewe’reluckywedidn’tlandonFriday.Therewassomescufflewiththeirnewprocedural,andwegottothembeforetheyfilledtheslot.Nowgivemesomegoodnews.Iheardyouweremeetingwithapossiblelead?”
“Iwas,”Isay,liftingmychintoindicatethatshe’sgone.“Shewasn’tinterested.”
“Notenoughmoney?”He’sincredulous.ToBlaine,thatwouldbetheonlylogicalreasonsomeonewouldturnthisdown.“Somepeoplearetoodumbtoseeanopportunitywhenit’srightinfrontofthem.”
“Wedidn’tevenmakeittothemoneypart.Wasn’ttherightfit,Iguess.”Therealitythatshe’sblownmeoffissettlinginandI’mmoredisappointedthanIwouldhaveexpected.Foraminute,whileshewassittingacrossfromme,Icouldn’tbelievethewildkismetthatthewomanIspottedatthebarlastweekwouldendupinmyoffice.And,ofcourse,Irealizedhowniceitwouldbetobeabletoworkwithasexy,successfulromanceauthorforonceratherthanagroupofsun-ravaged,disheartenedscientists.
“It’syourjobtofindtherightfit,”hesayssharply.
“Iwashopingtofindsomeoneuniquelybelovedbythedemographic,”Iexplain,tryingtoredirectawayfromhisirritationandtowardsomethingproductive,“butmaybeIwasthinkingtoofaroutsidethebox.Imighthavetogoadifferentroute.”
“Justgotheregularroute:legs,boobs,lips.”
Ah,Blaine.Agenerationofwalkinglawsuits.Iclearmythroatinresponse
“Femaleshapedandwilling.”Hedoublesdown.“That’sallweneed.Keepmeupdated.”Blainerapsaknuckleonmydesk.“Igottajet.”
Andjustasquicklyasheappeared,he’sgone.
“Thisfuckingday,”Isaytotheemptydoorway,andonlyasplitsecondlater,anotherheadpopsintoview,scaringtheshitoutofme.“JesusChrist.”
MyproducingcolleagueTrentChoiextendsanarm,showingmehiswatch.“WehavethatmeetingwithShazzinthree.”
PoorTrent.Heiswithoutquestiontheonlypersonwhogetstomeetingsontimearoundhere.“Right,”Isay.“WasjustchattingwithBlaine.”
“Oh?”Hequicklyglancesbackoverhisshoulder.“Doyouhaveasecond?”
“Course.”
Steppingin,Trentclosesmydooruntilonlyasmallsliceofhallwayisvisible.“I’mstartingtofreakoutthatifSmashCoursedoesn’twork,Iwon’thaveajob.”
Igrimaceathimincommiseration.“WhatdidBlainesay?”
“Thatifthisshowdoesn’twork,I’moutofajob.”
“Seemslikeyou’vegotagoodreadonthesituation.”HewincesandItrytosoftenit.“Ifitmakesyoufeelbetter,I’minthesameboat.He’sgotmedoingadatingshow.”
“Atleastthosearesuccessful.Whoevenwatchesextremesportschallenges?”
“Literallyeveryone,Trent.”Thispoor,bookishwanker.
“I’mgoingtobeontheroadforsixweeks,”hecomplains.“Sixweeksonabuswithsweaty,testosterone-fueledweekendwarriorswhowanttokilleachother,andthenIhavetocomebackandeditthefootagetomakeitlooklikeagoodtime.”
“Sorry,mate.”Igentlyslaphisshoulder.Idogethisangst.Theseshowscertainlygetattention,butIdon’tknowifit’sthekindofattentionwe’repreparedtotakeon.Ifmydatingshowsucks,I’mfucked.Andifitdoesn’tsuck,I’mnotsurehowsmoothlyIcanpivotbacktothekindofprogrammingIcareabout.Iguessthere’ssomeconsolationthatI’mnottheonlypersonstuckbottomfeeding.
“I’msureitwillbefine.Onethingatatime,eh?RightnowI’vegottofindsomeone”—Iholdupairquotes—“?‘femaleshapedandwilling’andjustgetthroughthis.”sixFIZZY
There’salwaysariskofmisinterpretingsomethingwhenhearingthetailendofaconversation,butinthiscase,there’snoroomforamistake.
…findsomeonefemaleshapedandwilling,andjustgetthroughthis.
I’dreturnedforaparkingvalidation,butIimmediatelyforgetagainasthreesimultaneousexplosionstakeplaceinsidemyskull.Thefirstisoverthewording,whichissoterriblethatHotBritimmediatelystopsbeingaheroinanyformandisnowonlyavillainoverwhomImusttriumph.Thesecondrealizationisthathe’sgoingtomakethisshownomatterwhatIdo.HewilluseRiver’sapptospreadthisgarbage,andhewillhappilypaintthecentralwomanasdesperatetofindhersoulmatelikesheisn’tcompletelyfineallonherown,becauserealitytelevisionexecutiveshavenotupdatedtheirviewofwomeninfortyyears.
Thethirdexplosionisthemostpowerful.ForasmuchasInowdislikethisman,Icannotignorethathe’sofferedtohandmethemic.HowmanytimeshaveIidlywonderedwhy,ifmenwanttoknowwhatwomenwant,theydon’tjust—oh,Idon’tknow—askwomendirectly?HotBrithasgivenmethechancetoensurethisshowisn’tadisasterforeverywomanwhohitsPlayonepisodeone.Icanchoosethevocabularyandtheformatandthediscussionaroundwhatitmeanstodateandfallinlove.
Iwalkrightuptotheproducer’sdoor,pushittherestofthewayopen,andwitnesshisexpressionmorphfromirritationtohorrorasheregistersthatI’vejustheardhim.
“Howbadlydoyouwantmeforthis?”Iaskbluntly.
Heswallows,glancingtotheothermanintheroom,whoseemstowanttobeabsorbedintothewall.HotBritconsidershiswordscarefully.“Isuspectyouaretheonlypersonwhocouldmakethisprojectworthwhile.”
Ican’ttellifthat’signorantorthoughtful.“Itoccurredtomeintheelevatorthatperhapsmyanswerwastoohasty.”
Hestaresatme,notunderstanding.
“I’lldothisshow,butonlyonmyterms.”
“Terms?”herepeats.“Suchas?”
Iworktonotbreakeyecontact.I…havenoideawhatmytermsare.“I’llsendmyideastoyouthroughmyagent.Ifyouwantmeforthis,you’llagreetoincorporatewhatshesendsover.”
Hewearssilenceeasily,doesn’trushtospeak,andIbegrudginglyacknowledgethatIrespectthisabouthimbecauseit’ssomethingI’venevermastered.
“CanItrustthatyou’llchoosethesetermsingoodfaith?”heasksatlast.“You’llkeeptheaudienceinmind?”
Holyshit,thiscondescension.“LiterallytheonlythingIcareaboutisthisaudience.”Theedgetomyvoiceissosharpitcoulddrawblood.“Idon’tthinkyouhavethesamepriority.Otherthansomeofthembeing‘femaleshaped’—whateverthefuckthatmeans—Idon’tthinkyouevenknowwhothisaudienceis.”
“Felicity,whatyouheard—”
Iholdupahand.Idon’tneedtohearhisexcuse;I’mnotdoingthisforhimanyway.“It’sayesorano,Corey.Yourcall.”
Heblinksaway,givingmeaviewofthedefinedjawline,thelongneck.Finally,heturnsbacktome.“Yes,then.”
Ireachoutforhimtoshakeonit.“Good.”Withunderstandablehesitation,hereachesoutandwrapshishandaroundmine,givingmeaveryperfunctoryBritishhandshake.
Shiftingmypurseonmyshoulder,Iturntoleave,buthespeaksagain.“Onemorething,ifImight.”
Iturnbackaround.
“MynameisConnor.”Hedoesn’tsmilethistimewhenoureyesmeet.“NotTed,orColin,orCorey.Connor.”
Thisjerkhasjustpassedmethebaton.Hedoesn’thaveanyfuckingcluewhathe’sagreedto.I’llcallthepoorguyanythinghewants.
Afterall,hisnameistheleastofmyconcerns.BecausenowImustfigureoutwhatmytermsactuallyare,howI’mgoingtomaketimeforthisrealityTVcircuswhenI’malreadythreemonthslateonmymanuscriptdeadline,andhowonearthI’llreconcilethewayhissolid,warmgripandsteady,attentivegazedidn’tfeelatalllikethoseofavillain.sevenCONNOR
Anynewsonscheduling?”Nataliaasksfromthekitchen.“We’veputadepositdownonthatcabininYellowstone,butIdon’twanttotakeStevieifyou’regoingtohaveawindowoffreetimethen.”
Nexttome,dressedinhernewWonderlandteeandcrownedwithapinktiara,thechildinquestionsearchesthroughdozensoftinygrayish-taupepuzzlepieces,intentonfindingthecornersofanelephant’searandthetipofalion’stailinourAfricanWildAftertheRainsjigsawpuzzle.Iwonderaboutthechancesthatanelephantandagrownlionwouldstandthisclosetoeachother,butitseemsaminorquibble.
“Unfortunately,no,”Isay.It’salreadyJune;ourholidayswouldnormallybeparsedoutandsetinstonebynow,butwithmyfilmingschedulestillupintheair,summerplansareaswell.“AndI’msorry,Nat,Iknowit’sapain.I’vebeengoingbackandforthwithFelicity’sagentsforweeks.JustmakeyourplansandI’llworkaroundthem.”
Natcrossestheroomandsetsdownlunchforeachofusbeforetakingaseatontheflooracrossfromme.NormallymydaughterandIwouldbeatmyplacefortheweekend,butStevie’ssocialcircleseemstobeeverexpanding,withabirthdaypartytonightandanotherinthemorning.Co-parentingmeanscompromise,andI’mhappytohangouthereifitmeanstimetogether.
Thefooddoesn’thurt,either.Itsmellsamazing;forthetwoyearsNatandIweremarriedIwasdeeplyspoiledbyhercooking.Whenwesplit,Ihadtogetmyshittogether—Icouldn’tfeedmytoddlerramenandHappyMealseveryweekend.NowIappreciatenothingmorethanfoodIdon’thavetopreparemyself.
“How’severythinggoingwithher?”sheasks,pullingmyattentionupfromthesteamingbowlofpozole.
Ihaven’tsharedmuchwithNatbecausethereisn’tmuchtotell.Felicityhasbeencommunicatingwithmethroughherintermediaries—attorneyandagents.Shehasmebytheballsandknowsit
Iswallowatoo-hotbite,wincing.“She’stentativelyaccepted.”
“Whataretheconditions?”
“Heragentissupposedtobesendingthemover.”
“Yousoundthrilled.”
Iwipemymouthwithanapkin.“Letmeaskyousomething.Weeksago,Iaskedhertodothisthing.Ioffered—shecouldhaveturneditdownbutdidn’t.Isn’titweirdthatshestillseemstobe…sortof…questioningmycommitmentabit?”
Withalittlelaugh,Nattakesabiteandpokesatherbowlwithaspoon.“Idon’tknowthatmuchaboutherinreallife—Imean,sheshowsuswhatshewantsustosee.Sheseemsplayfulandfunnyandadventurous,butarealityshowdoesn’tseemlikesomethingshe’ddo.Theremustbeareasonshe’sconsideringit,andifshecalledyououtforseeminglessthanenthusiastic,you’dbettergetyourattitudesquaredaway.”Natalialooksatmestraighton.“You’reawonderfulguy,Conn,butyou’vebeenactingalittlesnobby,likethisisbeneathyou.”
Iturnbacktothepuzzle.“Howisitsnobbyifit’saccurate?IwouldneverdothisifBlainewasn’tforcingmeto.”
Iknowit’samistakeassoonasthelastwordisoutofmymouth.EvenSteviepushesasomberwhistlethroughherteeth.
Nataliastaresatme.“Connor,doyouthinkI’mdumb?”
“What?”Isay,horrified.“Ofcoursenot.You’rethesmartestpersonIknow.”
“Well,IwatchrealityTV.Ireadromance.Andwhenyousaystufflikethat,it’sbelittling.”ShetiltsherheadtowardStevie,andtheunspokenEspeciallywhenyoudoitinfrontofourdaughterlandslikeamallet.
“Ijustmeantthatit’snotmybag.Ofcourseit’scoolifit’syours.”
Hereyesgoround.“Wow.Thankyou.”
“Thatisnotatall—”
Shewavesthisoff.“Haveyouwatchedanydatingshowsorreadanyofherbookssinceyouagreedtotakethisprojecton?”
“Iorderedthem.”
Shelooksunimpressed.
“And,”Icontinueproudly,“IhadBrennadowrite-upsonFelicity’sfivetopsellers.”
Stevieshakesherheadagain.Nataliagivesmeadisappointedfrown.
“Okay,Ihearhowthatsounded,”Isay.“I’mthearseholeexecutivepawningmyworkoffontomyassistant,thatwasshitty.But,Nat,theshowisn’tevenaboutFelicity’sbooks.It’sabouther.Abouthowcharismaticsheis,howgoodsheisinfrontofpeople.It’sabouttheaudiencerootingforher.”
“Areyoureallysothicknottoseethatheraudiencerootsforherbecauseofwhatshegivesusinherbooks?”
BeforeIcananswer,shecontinues.“Ifyoutoldmeyoudidn’tlikeWonderland’smusic,I’dsay,‘Fine,toeachtheirown.’You’veheardalltheirsongsatleastahundredtimes,soyouwouldbemakinganinformedopinion.Butyou’veneverevenreadaromancenovelorwatchedarealityshowandhaveformedthisopinionbasedonwhatyouthinktheyare.”
Islipanotherpieceintoplace,bridgingalargeelephanteartoitshead.“C’mon,Nat,you’vegottoadmitromancenovelsareatouchpredictable.”
“Why?Becausethecoupleendsuptogether?”
“Exactly.”
“That’saruleofthegenre,Connor,”shesays.“Whichyouwouldknowifyou’dbotheredtoevengoogleit.”
Iwaveheron,hearingthewayshe’sfrothingupoverthis.“Goon.Getitallout.”
“Youdescribethemasmy‘guiltypleasure.’Doyouhaveanyideahowcondescendingthatis?”
“Well,don’ttheybringyoupleasure?”Iask,confused.“Howisthatcondescending?”
“Yes,butwhyshouldIfeelguiltyforreadingsomethingthatmakesmehappy?”
Iopenmymouthtorespond,andshepinsmewithalooksoclearinitsmeaningitmightaswellbeawarningshotfiredoverhead.
“YoutreatthethingsIloveasifthey’resillyorsomethingtobeindulged,”shesays.“Mypoint,Conn,isthis:Youaskedmeifitwasweirdthatshe’squestioningyourattitude.ButifIseeyourcondescension—andI’msomeonewhoknowswhatagoodmanyouareinamillionotherways—whatdoyouthinkshesaw,whenshedoesn’tknowyouatallandherentirecareeriscenteredaroundsomethingyoubelieveisbeneathyou?”
Iclosemyeyesasthisonesettlesin.Iworkedonaprojectoncewhereanexpertsaidintoleranceisafailureofcuriosity,andit’salwaysstuckwithme.AmIbeingquicktojudgethingsIknownexttonothingabout?“Okay.Yeah.”
“Readoneofherbooks.”Natpicksupherspoonagain.“Keepanopenmindandyoumightevenlikeit.”
Iknowthatshe’sright,andI’mabouttotellhersowhenmyphonebuzzesonthetablewithanincomingemail.Iopenit,andimmediatelymybrainlocksup.“Whatthefuck?”
“Dad.”Stevieglaresatme.
“Sorry,but—”Igesturetothephone.“It’sthelistofFelicity’sconditions.”Idoaquickscanofthetext.“Shewantstokeepshootingtofourdaysaweek.”Ilookup.“Ithoughtitwasstandardtokeeppeoplesequesteredorsomethingontheseshows.Tokeeptheresultshidden.”
“TheyareonTheBachelor,”Stevieoffers.
NatreachestoadjustStevie’stiara.“It’salmostlikeknowinghowtheseshowsworkwouldmakehisjobeasier.”
Steviegiggles.
“Okay,you,”Isay,andcontinuescrollingthroughtheemail.LookingatallthisIimmediatelyknowit’dbeeasiertocastsomeonewho’sonlyconcernedwithfameandexposure.ButifI’mstuckdoingthis,I’dratherdoitwithsomeonewhohassomethingtosay.
IrealizeIexpectedhertermstoreadlikearider—requestsfortimeawayfromthecameras,alistofdietarydemands,marketingmoney,orspecificstylists,asmuchpromoofherbooksaspossible—butthere’snoneofthat.Herlistofconditionsreadsstrangelylikeadare.“She’sgivenmeaveryspecificcastinglist.”IlookupatNat.“Whatthehelldoes‘cinnamonroll’havetodowithcasting?”
“Oh,”Nataliasayswithquietthrill.“Oh,FizzyChen,youaremygoddamnhero.”
“Mom.Language.”
Ifrowndownatmyphone.“Himbo?Isthatatypo?”
Natdoublesover,absolutelyhowlinginlaughter.
“Andit’sgoingtotakeforevertogetclarification.I’msupposedtogothroughherag—”IbreakoffwhenIreachtheendofthescannedPDFandspotahandwrittennotefromFelicitynearthebottom:
Textmeifyouhavequestions.Goodluck!Isuspectyou’llneedit.eightFIZZY
Honestly,”JesssaysacrossthetablefrommeatTwiggs,“ifIwasthisnose-deepintosomethingonmyphone,you’dtellmetosharethepornorputitaway.”
Inyeoldentimes,itwasourroutinetomeetupatTwiggscoffeeshopafewdaysaweektowork.IwouldwritelikeamadwomanandJesswoulddonumbersythings.Wewere(usually)veryproductive.Thesedaysourworksessionsaremoreceremonial:Jessistakingthesummeroff,andI’dbemorelikelytogrowathirdearthanwriteacompellingkissingscene.Buteventhoughthevibeismorecasualthanbusiness,Jess’swordsaremycuetoslidemydeviceintomypurseandreturntobestietime.Sadly,evenifOscarIsaacwerestandingtablesidenaked,I’mnotsureIcouldlookupfromthistextexchange.It’slikewatchingConnorPrinceIII’sslowspiralintoinsanity.
Darcy?hetexts.Idon’tevenknowwhatthatmeans.
Ismotheralaughwithahand,typing,Thinktaciturn.
“Felicity.”
Shakingmyhead,ItellJess,“Idon’tthinkyouwanttoknowwhatI’mdoing.”Myphonevibratesagain.
“Phonesex?”
“Better.”
What’sahotnerd?
Doyoureallyneedmetoexplainthatonetoyou?
Fine.Silverfox?
Daddykink.
Vampire?
Alaughripsoutofmeandafewoftheotherregularstossadirtylookmyway.I’dforgottenthatgem.ButthistimeI’vecomesoclosetosprayingamouthfulofcoffeeacrossthetableatJessthatshefinallytriestoreachformyphoneandIhavetododgehergraspingfingerstofinishtypingmyreply
Becreative.
Gingerly,Iputmyphonedown.“Hello,friend.”
“Arewenotevenpretendingtoworktoday?”
IlookatthechairtomyrightwhereIsetallmythingswhenIcameinahalfhourago.Ihaven’tevenbotheredtounpackmylaptop.NowonderIcan’tgetanythingdone.Grinningather,Isay,“Ipromisethisisworkrelated.”
“Uh-huh.”
JessknowsI’vebeenavoidingsocialmediaandworkemailsliketheplague,soshe’sunderstandablyskeptical.Ielaborate:“MytermsfortheshowlandedinHotBrit’sinboxthisafternoon,andhe’sgotsomequestions.”
Jessfrowns.“Whatdidyoudo?”
“WhatdoyoumeanwhatdidIdo?WhyamIimmediatelythebadguy?”
“Let’ssee,”Jesssays,cuppingherhandsaroundherflatwhiteandleaningcloser.“Therewasthetimeyoutalkedmeintogoingtothenudebeachforyourbirthdaybeforerealizingwewerewalkingaroundnakedonprivateproperty.”
“BlameGPS,notme.”
“Youhandcuffedmetothebedforresearchandthenrealizedthekeywasbackatyourhouse.”
“Youwereonlyalonefor,like,ahalfhour,andImadesureyouhadplentyofwater!”
“Okay,howaboutwhenyousetmeupwiththeguywhowasoutonparole?”
“Fortaxfraud!It’snotlikehekilledanybody.”
“Really,Fizzy?”
“Well,itsoundsbadwhenyousayitalltogether!”
Shewaitspatiently.
Finally,Inodbecause:fair.“I’mjusttryingtomakeagoodshowhere.”TheskepticismdeepensandIremindher,“Youdidn’twanttohearabouttheTVshowbecauseyoudidn’twantinformationyou’dhavetokeepfromRiver.”Who,predictably,flippedoutwhenImentionedoverburgersacoupleofweeksagothatI’dbeenapproachedtostarinarealitydatingshowbasedonhisveryseriousscientificresearch.Therewassomeintensestaringdownathisplatefollowedbysomeagitatedpacing.I’dassuredhimthattherewasnowayNorthStarMediawouldeveragreetomytermsoncetheysawthem,andRiverhadbeenslightlymollified.Buthe’dalsorequestedtohearnomoreaboutit.
WhichmeansIcan’ttellJessanything,either,orshe’llinternallycombustoverhavingtokeepanythingfromherhusband.Andwhichiswhyshe’spretendingtobeuninterested.
Thethingis,ifyouaskJessicaMarieDavisPe?awhatherfavoriteTVshowofalltimeis,she’llsayBreakingBadorDowntonAbbey,becausethosearesociallyappropriateanswers.NoonesaystheirfavoriteshowisMarriedatFirstSight,justlikenobodysaystheirfavoriterestaurantisMcDonald’s.Butsomebody’sbuyingthose550millionBigMacsayear.Jesseatsthoseshowsup,feelingsmuglyentertainedwithaglobeofredwineinherhandonhergiantsectionalinthelivingroom.NomatterwhatRiverwantstohappen,Jessisintriguedbythis.DareIsaysheissecretlythrilled.
WhichmeansIcancountdowntothemomentwhenshebreaks.
Inthree…two…
“I’malmostafraidtoaskwhatyourtermsare,”shesays,tappingacasualfingeronthesideofherlaptop.“Knowingyou,they’reinsane.”
Iliftmydrinktomylipsandrealizeit’sgonelukewarm.“Isthisyouasking?”
Sheadjustshercomputerglasses.“No.”
“Okay.”
Iglancedownatmyphonetofindanewstringoftexts.
Youwantatleast2oftheheroestohaveexperienceknitting?
Idon’tunderstandtheexclusiontermre:poets.
Felicity,myunderstandingwasthatyouwouldenterthisnegotiationingoodfaith.
Areyoufreetotalk?
Igiggle,typingasgleefullyasifI’msexting.
Sorry.I’mslammedatthemoment.
Whenisagoodtime?
Thatdepends.Areyouinorareyougivingup?
AplasticclatterechoesacrossthetableasJesstossesdownherglassesindefeat.“Justtellmeeverything.”
“Butit’saboutthedatingshow.Rivermightnotlikeit.”
“Hecancryintohisgiantbagsofmoney.”
“You’reright,”Isayinaburst.“Well,incaseyoudidn’trealizethisalready:Iamagenius.”
“Andsoadmirablygrounded.”
“Listen,”Itellher.“ThemoreIgetintothisidea,themoreIlikeit.TheHotBritexecutivewantedmetodoadatingshow,right?Putmeandtwelvedudesinahouse,rollmeoutinapush-upbra,andlettheaudiencedecideeachweekwhoshouldbeeliminated.”
“Right,”Jesssays,nodding.
“Thegimmickypieceis,ofcourse,thatthey’dusetheDNADuotofindarangeofmatchesforme,”Isay.
Sheleansbackinherchair,crossingherarms.“Threeweeksago,youdidn’tevenwanttodateoneman.Nowyou’regoingtolivewithtwelve?”
“Twelveprime-of-their-lifedongsjustwalkingaroundlookingforaFizzytohidein?Iamonlyhuman,Jess.HowdoIsaynotothat?”
Sheshakesherheadatmeoverthetopofhercoffeecup.“Doyouhearthethingsyousay?Like,atall?”
Iignorethis.“Realtalkhere:Twelvemightbetoomany.Evenforme.”Ipause.“Ican’tbelieveI’msayingthat.ButIam.So,I’mgoingtosuggestcuttingittoeight.Ialsodon’tliketheideaofbeingtotallysequesteredinahousewiththeseguysforthedurationoftheshoot,soItoldHotBritI’dgivehimfourdaysaweektoshoot,andduringthosedaystheHeroesandIwilljust…date.Eachweekaudienceswilleliminateacoupleofthem,andI’llgoonnew,moreelaboratedateswiththeoneswhoremain.We’llgettoknoweachotherthewaywewouldinreallife,withtherestoflifehappeningaroundus.”
Jessfrowns.“Willtheygoforthat?Isn’tthepointoftheseshowsforittobethisintense,forced-proximityexperience,andifyou’reletbacktoyourreallivesyoumighttalktoyourfamiliesabouttheshowandgettipsandfeedback?”
“Yes,butthat’showdatingworks!IfIwentoutwithoneofthemintherealworld,we’dgohomeafterandtalktoourpeopleabouthowitwent.Especiallyifitwentwell,we’dwanttotalkitoutandincludeourcommunityintheexcitement.I’mtiredoftheseportrayalsofromanceinavacuum,makingpeoplethinkonceyoufindthatspecialperson,youdon’tneedanythingelse.Thatisn’tahealthytakeonlove!Iwanttodatetheguywhohasthesupportofhisfamilyandfriendstheentiretime,nottheonewhotellshislovedonestheyhavetoacceptthisnewpersontheyknownothingaboutwhoheswearshe’sinlovewithafterthreeweeks.Haven’tthesepeopleeverreadaromancenovel?Asupportivecommunityis,like,halfofthehappilyeverafter!”
“OhmyGod,Fizzy,takeabreath.”
Ipauseandtakeacalmingsipofmytepidvanillalatte.“Butthat—thedatingstructureiseasy.Doyouwanttohearthebestpart?”
“No,ofcoursenot.Boringdetailsonly,please.”
“IsentoveralistofromanceheroarchetypesthatHotBrithastocastifhewantsme.”
Herexpressionflattens.“I’msorry,what?”
“Isenthimalistoftwentyarchetypes—hotnerd,professor,rockstar,NavySEAL,etcetera.He’llcasteightHeroesthatfitthosecategories.”Offherdubiouslook,Iadd,“It’snotthathard.”
Jesswavesherfingersformetohanditover.“Letmeseethelist.”
Ipullituponmyphoneandpassitacrossthetable.Jessica’sblueeyesscanthescreen,widen,andthenshestartsagainfromthetop,readingsomeofthemaloud.“Aprince?”
“Orroyaltymoregenerally,”Isay,casuallyexaminingafingernail.“I’mnotfussy.”
Apause,thenshesnorts.“Scottishrogue.Fizzy,myGod.”
“Keepgoing.”
“TheOneThatGotAway?”Shelaughs.“Talkaboutcastingawidenet.Yousureyouwantthat?”
“Frankly,Ididn’twantanyofit,butiftheymanagedtopullthistogetheritwouldbeamazing.Ican’twriteadamnwordlately,whichmeansthe‘ComingSoon’pageofmywebsiteisgettingaboutasmanyvisitorsasmyvagina.ButifIcanreacharomanceaudiencewiththis,itwouldmakemyreaders—andAmaya—happy.”Myliteraryagent,AmayaEllis,isabadassworthmorethanherweightingoldandabsolutelydoesnotdeservetheheadacheIhavebeenforthelastyear.
“Amayathinksthisisagoodidea?”Jessasks,skeptical.
“Idon’tknowifI’dgothatfar,butbothsheandmyfilmagentthinkitcouldbegreatexposure.AndsinceIhaveliterallynothingelsegoingon,Iwas‘stronglyencouragedtoconsiderit.’ShealsoremindedmethatthewholereasonIdidtheDNADuointhefirstplacewasforresearchandIshouldgointoitwiththatmindset.”
Shebrieflylooksup.“And,youknow,thewholepossiblesoulmatething…”
“Yeah,yeah,sure,”Isay,watchingherabsorbthelistandworktokeephershittogether.“So,whatdoyouthink?Iputsomerealthoughtintoit.”
“Thatmuchisclear.”Hergazesnags.“Vampire?Youexpectthemtocastavampire?”
“HotBrittrippedonthatone,too.Howtheydoitisn’tmyproblem,isit?”
Hereyebrowpointsskywardandshelooksoverthetopofmyphoneatme.“Dom?”
“Gottarespectthegenre.”
Shereadssomemore,smotheringhersmilewithahand.“Twentypercentormoreneedtohavegonetotherapy,thirtypercentarerequiredtohaveafemalefriendtheyhaveneverhadsexwith?Fizzy,you’resuchatroll.”Sheshrieksbriefly:“Nopoets.”
“ThismightbethegreatestideaI’veeverhad.Unfortunately,it’snevergoingtohappen.”
Shetiltsherheadsidetoside,amaybe,maybenotgesture.“Whatdoyoudoifheagreestoyourterms?”
Iwavethisoff.“Iwon’tgetmyhopesup.Andevenifhedid,I’dreallyhavetowranglemyshitintoorderandbringmyAgame.”Thattruthsinksin.Ihadn’tactuallyimaginedasituationwhereHotBritwouldagreetothesepreposterousterms.There’sbeensafetyinmyoutlandishdemands;literallyanyotherwomanonplanetEarthwouldmakethisshoweasierthanwhatI’vejustrequested.Tothink,evenbriefly,thatImightendupdoingthismakesmystomachclench.I’dhavetobefunny,andengaging,and—shit—convincinglyfakebeingopentolove.
“There’sabsolutelynowayhewantsmebadenoughtosayyestoallofthis.”
“I’dtendtoagreewithyou.”Jesshandsmebackmyphone,noddingtothescreenwhereatexthaslandedfrommynewcontactlabeledBritishMcHotpants.“ExceptIthinkhejustdid.”nineCONNOR
ThenexttimeFelicityChenwalksintomyoffice,sheshowsupreadytoplay.Insteadofrippedjeansandboots,she’swearingablacktailoredsuitandanexpressionthatleavesnodoubtshe’splanningtooverseeeverythingfromthispointforward.ShepolitelypassesonBrenna’sofferofcoffeeandcrossestheroomtowhereI’mstandinginfrontofmydesktogreether.
“Felicity,it’sgoodtoseeyou.”
Shegivesmeahandshakealongsideherwidesmile.Amazingly,shemakestheballbusteraestheticlooklikeagoodtime.“CallmeFizzy.NoonecallsmeFelicity,excepttheguyattheDMV.”
Ilaugh.“Fizzyitis.”
Insteadofsittingatachairatmydesk,shesettlesdownontooneofthesmallleathersofasframingthecoffeetable.Irememberreadingoncethatconfidentpeopleusefurniturewrong.Theysitsideways,theyloopanarmoverthebackofanadjacentchairorsitontheedgeofadesk.Fizzyisn’tdoinganyofthosethings,butshe’sstillaportraitofconfidence.Herpostureisrelaxed,onelegcrossedovertheother,handscasuallycrossedatthewrist,oneindexfingerandthumbtappingasifshe’scountingdowntosomething.Hershoesarebrightbluesuedewithheelsatleastfourinchestall.IttakesmoreeffortthanI’mcomfortablewithnottoletmyeyeslingeronthetinyglimpseofherexposedankle.
“Howareyou?”Iask,draggingmyeyesaway.
“I’mgreat.”
Isitdownacrossfromher,workingtolookascasuallyconfidentassheis.Normally,Iam.Normally,I’mhardtofluster.Butthedualityoftheintensityofherdemeanorandeaseinherbodyisdistracting.
“Thanksfortakingmymeeting,”shesays.Herhairisupinabun;afewtendrilshavecomeloose,andtheyfallsoftlyagainstherlong,delicateneck.Shewearsminimalmakeup,Iguess,butherlipsarethisperfect,softred.Howevermuchofashitshowthisprogramwillendupbeing,thiswomanisgoingtobebeautifulon-screen.
“Absolutely.”Iswallow,tryingtogetmyvoicetosoundlessstrained.“Westillhavealottohammerout.”Anunderstatement.Therequestsheragentsentoverreadlikeaforeignlanguage,butNattoldmetotrusthersohereweare.IfeellikeI’msteppingintoadark,foggyalleywithnothingbutarolled-upnewspapertodefendmeagainstsurpriseknifeattacks.ThiswillbeeitheraninconvenientbutbriefprojectthatgetsmewhatIwantfromBlaine,ortheworstmistakeofmyprofessionalcareer.“Butbeforewegettoodeepinthedetails,”Isay,“IwantedtoaskifyouhaveanyexperiencewiththeDNADuo.Pastuserprofilesareobviouslyconfidential,butourlegaldepartmentneedstoknowifwehaveanypreviousGoldMatchesweshouldfilteroraddtothelistforTheOneThatGotAway.”
“I’mfamiliarwiththeapp,”shesays,smoothingahanddownherthightostraightenasoftwrinklethere.“And,uh,IstoppedcheckingmymatchesbeforeIeversawanyGoldones.”
“Okay.”Ijotdownthenote,sensingthere’smorebeneaththesurfacethere,butshedoesn’telaborate.Closingmynotebook,Imeethereyesacrossthetable.“Well,ifyouthinkofanythingthatseemsworthdiscussing,letmeknow.Wedon’tneedtoknowyourdatinghistory,butalsodon’twanttoputyouinanawkwardpositionwithsomeoneyou’vemetanddidn’tlike.”
“Thankyou.”Shekeepsnoddingbutdoesn’ttakehereyesoffmyface.
Needingsomethingtodounderherscrutiny,Isitforwardinmyseat,reachingtopouruseachaglassofwaterfromapitcheronthecoffeetable.“Istheresomethingyouwantedtodiscuss?”Iask.
“Ican’tquitefigureyouout.”
“Whatwouldyouliketoknow?”
“What’syourbackground?”Sherunsathoughtfulfingerbeneathherfulllip.“NorthStar’swebsitedoesn’tgoverydeep.Googledoesn’ttellmemuchaboutyou.AllIknowisyouusuallymakedocumentariesandgrewupayoungpirateinNorthernEngland.”
Ilaughatthecallbacktoourfirstmeeting.“Blackpool.That’sright.Hadtoquitthelooting-and-pillagingindustryatfifteen,whenmyAmericanfatherbroughtmetotheStates.”
“Fifteen.”Shewinces.“That’srough.”
Itwas,butnoreasontolinger.“IwenttoUSCforfilmandendeduphere.Andyes,untilrecentlyI’veworkedondocumentaries.Coastalclimatechange,marineanimals,youknow.”
“USCforfilmbutendedupinSanDiegoatasmallproductioncompany,”shesays.“Eitheryouaren’tverygoodatyourjob,oryouhaveapersonalreasonforbeinghere.ItseemslikeanimportantdistinctionifI’myournewestcollaborator.”
Ismile,notrisingtothebait.“IhadaverygoodjobatSony,inLA.Imovedherebecausemyex-wifegotajobandIwantedtobeclosetoourdaughter.”
Herexpressionfalters—softening—beforeshereachesforherwater.“Whydidyouagreetotakeonthisshow?Coastalclimatechangetoarealitydatingshow?Notreallyanaturaltransition.”
“Itwasassignedtome.”
“So,you’rebeingforced.”
Igoforhonesty.Webarelyknoweachother,butIcanalreadysenseIdon’twanttobecaughtlyingtothiswoman.“Itwouldn’thavebeenmyfirstchoice,no.”
“Areyouatallexcitedaboutit?”
Ireachformywater,takingasipasIformulateananswerthatisbothhonestandencouraging.“I’llsaythismuch:I’mtrulygladyoucameonboard.”
Thismakeshergrinwidely,brightly.“Iknowyouare.Yousaidyestoallmyridiculousrequests.”
“Ifyouthoughttheywereridiculous,”Isay,settingmyglassdown,“whydidyoumakethem?”
“Becausethey’rehilarious.They’llmaketheshowdifferent.Fun.Wecouldallusealittlemorefun.”Ican’tdisagreethere.“Yousaidatourfirstmeetingthatoneofthereasonsyou’vebroughtmeonisbecauseouraudiencesintersectalmostentirely.Tellmealittleaboutthisaudience.”
“Abouteightypercentofthepeoplewatchingdatingshowsidentifyasfemaleageseighteentofifty-five,butabouthalfofthemareoverforty-five.Thisissimilartothereadershipofromancenovels.Athirdofallfictionsalesareromance,andaboutfortypercentofthatmarketiswomenoverforty-five,meaningawhoppingtwelvepercentofallpurefictionsalesarewomenoverforty-fivereadingromance.”Ipause,wonderingwhatelseshewantsmetosay.“Ithasn’tbeenmydemographic,historically,butI’mtryingtolearn.”
Fizzy’sgazehasanintensityI’veseeninsomeofthemostpowerfulexecutivesinHollywood.“Whatdoesthatmean?”
Sheisn’tbeingharsh,butIstilldon’tlikebeingputonthedefensive,don’tlikehowcarefullyIneedtotreadherebecauseshehasn’tofficiallysignedthecontractyetandIneedthisbeforeIletherleavetoday.AftergoingoverFizzy’sideas,Blainegavemetwomonthsofpreproduction,withfiveweeksoffilming,thefinishedepisodesairingattheendofeachweek.Thatmeanscrasheditingeveryweek.I’venevermadesomethingwiththiskindofeditorialpressurebefore.We’vealreadyspentsomuchtimewaitingforhertermsandrunningeverythingthroughourlegaldepartment.Ican’tstartoveragain.
“ItmeansI’mlearningthisthewayIlearnaboutanynewaudience,”Itellher.“Marketresearch.Inthiscase,studyingwhatotherthingsthataudiencedoesintheirfreetime.”
ShestiflesasmirkandIleanbackinmychair,inhalingdeeply,gettingmybearings.“Askwhatyoureallywanttoaskme,Fizzy.”
“Idon’twanttosignuptodothisifyouronlyresearchhereisreadingNielsenreports.Thedocumentariesyou’vemadehelpconvincemethatyourheartisintherightplace,butwhyyou?Whythis?Whyyouforthis?”
“Itseemsthecompanyistakinganewdirection.”Ishrug,choosingtransparency:“We’resmall.Thereareonlyafewofus.That’sprobablywhyme.”
“HaveyoureadanythingI’vewritten,ordidyouaskmebecauseyourex-wifehadsomeofmybooksonhershelf?”
“I’mfinishingBasePairedrightnow.It’sfunny,sexy,creative,and…”Itrailoff,searchingforthewordthateludesme.IbeganreadingperNat’sinstructions,lookingforwhatitisaboutromanceshelovessomuch,tryingtofindthatkernelthathasbuiltsuchahugefollowingforFizzy.IfIcanunderstandit,Ithink,I’llbeabletounlockwhatweneedtomakethisshowasuccess
“And?”Fizzypromptssardonically,likeshe’sexpectinganinsulttowrapupmylist.
“Joyful.”Itcomesoutinaburst.“There’salotofjoyinyourwriting.”
IcanseeI’vehitsomethingimportant.Sheleansforward,happiernow.“Yes.Nowwe’regettingsomewhere.Romanceisjoyful.Whatbringsyoujoy?”
“Mydaughter.Mywork,historicallyspeaking.”Idigaroundforsomethingthatmakesmesoundmoredimensional,butsittingherewiththisbestsellingauthortalkingaboutjoyandconnectionmakesmylifefeellikealather,rinse,repeatofaridroutine.“Watchingfootie.Mountainbiking.Exercise.”
AsIspeak,Iseeherpoint:noneofthisreallyqualifiesmetospeakspecificallytothisaudience.It’struethat,otherthanmytimewithStevie,nothinginmylifebringsmeoutrightjoyanymore.Mostofit,Irealize,isawaytopasstimewhenI’malone,andnoneofitisaboutseekingconnection.
IthinkaboutthechapterinherbookIreadlastnight.Itwasalovescenewhere,afterward,theheroineadmittedthatshewasafraidofhowfastthingsweremoving.Itwasn’tthatthistypeofconflictfeltgroundbreaking,butthewayitwaswrittenwithsuchvulnerabilityandself-awarenessafterthemostscorchingsexsceneI’deverreadleftmefeelingpensiveallnight.Fizzyistheplayful,wisecrackingalterego,butI’mbeginningtoseethatFelicityChenissmart—brilliant,clearly—andImustgivehermorethanjustaconfidentsmileandmeasuredresponses.Shereadspeopleexpertly,andrightnowsheneedstobeconvincedshewon’tbestuckwithatwo-dimensionalHollywoodstereotype.
“Isoundlikeaboringgit.”Ilaugh.“There’ssomethingaboutreadingyourbookthathasmademehyperawareofthesterilebanalityofmycurrentlife.Iam,”Iadmit,siftingthroughwordsbecauseIrarelygetpersonalwithrelativestrangers,andneverwithcolleagues,“abitofaworkaholic.ButIamnotanegomaniac.IbroughtyouonbecauseIknowyouareconnected—literallyandfiguratively—tothisaudience.Iwantthistobeasuccess.”
“Iwantthat,too.”Fizzy’spostureeasesandsheleansback.“Listen,HotDILF.Ineedtoconfesssomething.I’mgoodfriendswithsomeoneinvolvedintheDNADuotechnology.He’snotthrilledaboutthisshowhappening,butbecauseofthewaythedealwasstructured,hedoesn’tgetavetoonmediause.”
“Willthatbeaproblem?”Iask,ignoringforthetimebeingthatIthinkshe’sjustcalledmeaHotDILF,orthefactthatIwouldn’thaveunderstoodthatphraseafewweeksago.
“No.Butthisshowneedstobesmart.Itneedstobedelightful.Itneedstobeirreverent.Itneedstobesexy,andreal,andrelatable.”
“Iagree.”
Anedgeofvulnerabilityappearsinhernextwords:“Theproblemis,eventhoughI’vejustinterrogatedyou,ImustadmitIamalittleworriedaboutwhetherI’meventherightpersontodothis.”
Oh.
Thepowerinherposture,theshineinhereyes—bothofthosethingshavedimmedwithoutmenoticing.Isortthroughthewordsinmyhead.“Icompletelyunderstandthatyou’dwanttodorightbythistechnology,givenyourpersonalconnectiontoit,andIwouldn’texpectyoutodoalltheheavyliftinghere.ButevenknowingyoujustthetinybitthatIdo,Iknowyouwillabsolutelydelighttheviewers.Youhaveamagicalqualitythatisrare,Fizzy.I’msureyouknowthat—ittranslatesinyourwriting,andittranslatesinperson,too.”
“Well,thankyou.Butno.”Shereachesup,pressingtheheelsofherhandstohereyes.“Iusedtobefun.Iusedtohaveamillionideas.Iusedtobespontaneousandplayfulandsexyandinspired.Ihaven’tfeltanyofthosethingsinages.”
Mypulseslowsandthenrocket-launchesupmythroat.“So—whatareyousaying?”
DidIreallygothroughallofthisforhertobackoutnow?
“Joy,”shesaysbehindherhands,andthendropsthemontoherlap.
“What?”
Fizzytakesadeepbreath,andthenexhalesslowly.“I’llsignthecontractonyourdeskunderonecondition.”
“What’sthat?”
“Inthetwomonthswehavebeforethisshowstartsfilming,youandIgetoutofthisoffice,awayfromourkeyboards,andrediscoverjoy.”tenFIZZY
Somuchforjoy.Itugoffablack-and-gray-stripedsweaterandhurlitwithjustatouchofrageontothemountainofclothesformingonmybed.
“Imustbeinsane.”I’mheadedtomyfirstbooksigninginmonths.I’mnotfeelingmyself,I’mworriedmymojohaspermanentlyabandonedship,I’mgoingtohavetofacemyreadersandbeasperkyandexcitedaboutthenext(stillnonexistent)bookasIcanbe,andinamomentofweakness,IinvitedHotBritDILFalongonsomeimpulsivequesttofindourjoy.Likewe’rebuddies.
“God.TellmewhyItoldthistelevisionexecutivetocomepickmeupformysigningtonightinsteadofjustdrivingmyself.”
Inmybedroomdoorway,mylittlesistershovesanotherhandfulofchipsintohermouthandcrunchesloudlythroughthembeforeanswering.“Becauseyouseekoutpowerstruggleswithmentoavoidbeingvulnerable?”
“Wow,dragme,Alice.”Ireachforasheer-sleevedblackdressinmycloset.
“AmIwrong?”
MyanswercomesoutmuffledasIwrestlemywayintothedress.“No.”
“Also,Amayacalledagainwhileyouwereintheshower.”
Grimacing,Ibracemyself.“Didyoupickup?”
“Noway.Idon’twanttogetyelledat.”
Iduckbackintomyclosettodigforshoes.“She’scoolwithmedoingtheshow,andwegotanextensiononthemanuscript,butIneedtogivehersomemoreconcretetimelinesandIjustdon’thavethemfiguredout.”
“You’rereallygoingthroughwiththisrealityshow?”Aliceasks,badlyfeigningatotallychillvibe.Mypregnant,overachievingsisterhadbeentoldtocutbackonworkandtakeiteasy,andisalreadypainfullybored.Thisexplainswhyshe’sfollowingmearoundmyhouseinsteadofrelaxingwithherfeetupinherown.Isuspectshecareslessaboutthisdatingshowbeingsuccessfulthanshedoesaboutitbeingthegreatestrubberneckingopportunityofherlifetime.
“Isignedthecontract,soyeah.”
“DoMomandDadknowabou—”
Iemergeintimetocutheroff.“No,andletmetellthem.”
Mygutimmediatelyclenchesatthethoughtofthatconversation.Thirty-sevenyearsoldandIstillstressaboutdisappointingmyparents.TheyemigratedfromHongKongintheearlyeightiesandhaveobviouslylivedherelongenoughtohavegrowncomfortablewithmanyWesternideals.Butgivenhowmymotherstillconsidersmyromancenovelstobetrainingwheelsfortheliterarymasterpieceshe’ssureisyettocome,Ican’treallyimaginehowshe’llreacttothenewsthatI’llsoonbedatingeightmenonrealitytelevision.Pointingtothebed,IremindAlice,“Youpromisedtorelax.”
Shefindsanemptysliverofmattressandsettlesdown.“Isn’tDadgoingtonight?”
Ipause,strugglingtofindthezipperpullandrealizingthat’swhyIhaven’twornthisdressinsolong.“Oh,goodpoint.”
“SogetthisproducerguytotellDad,”shesays,“andletDadtellMom.”
Noneofuswouldhavepredictedthatthemanwhosesex-edtalkwithhisteenagedaughtersconsistedofhimfindinguswhileweweredoingdishesonenight,puttingahandoneachofourshoulders,andawkwardlymuttering,“Yourvirginityissacred,”wouldonedaybetheveryproudfatherofasteamyromanceauthor.Heretiredtwoyearsagoand—muchlikeAliceandherdoctor’sorderstoslowdown—wasimmediatelyboredoutofhismind.Aformerworkaholic,insteadofputtinginseventyhoursathislabatScrippseveryweek,Dadnowspendshisweeksreadingthreebooks,walkingacumulativethirtymiles,helpingmybabybrother,Peter,restorehisvintageKarmannGhia,playingchesswithfriends,andkeepinghisgardenmeticulous.NottomentionbringingAlicewhateverpregnancyconcoctionMomfindsatthemarketanddroppingoffmealsforanyofhisthreechildrenthathiswifetellshimtodeliverwhenshe’sonacookingspree.
MydadisalsoabelovedfixtureatalmosteverysigningI’vehadintheSouthwest.Readerslovetakingpictureswithhimandgettinghimtosigntheircopiesofmybooks,too.SomephotosofhimcheekilypretendingtoreadThePirate’sDarkestWishorDirtyDeedsontheHighSeashavegoneviralonline.
SoAlice’sideaissmart:introduceDadtoHotBrit,lettheBritdohisflashysalespitch,andletDadtaketheinformationhometoMom.Boom,genius.
“Tellmeaboutthisguy,”Alicesays,watchingmefiddlewiththebrokenzipper.“What’shelike?”
“Tall.”Ithinkofsomeotheradjectives.“Uh.Darkhair.Welldressed.”
“Imeanishenice?”sheasks,laughing.
“Iguess?”
“Isheexcitedfortheshow?”
“Notovertly.”
“Howlongwillyoubefilming?”sheasks.
“Fiveorsixweeks,andthenIpickwhoIwanttotakeonsomeflashytripattheend.”
“OhmyGod,whataboutPeter’swedding?Canyoustillgo?”
Ourbabybrotherisgettingmarriedinamatterofweeks,anditpromisestobeanopulentcircuswiththemostridiculousmenuI’veeverlaideyeson.Brotherorno,Iwouldn’tmissthoseeightcoursesforanything.
“I’llbethere,ahmui.Thiswon’tinterferewithanyofthat.”
Istandinfrontofthemirror,surveying.Thedressisfine—itdoesgreatthingsformyboobsandissupercomfy.Buttheproblemisn’treallytheclothes.It’sknowingthisismyfirstpubliceventinsixmonths,thatIhavetofacemyreadersandsmileandpretendlikeeverythingisfineandthenextbookreleaseisrightaroundthecorner,thattheproducerdudewillbetherewatching,andthatitwasmyideaforhimtocomepickmeup.
It’sweirdthatIdidthat.He’llbecomingover.WillIinvitehimin?Idon’tneedto,right?It’sbeenagessinceanyoneotherthanJess,Juno,ormyfamilysteppedfootinmyhouse.
“Muimui,doesmyplacelooklikethehomeofsomeonewholetstheircatcasuallystrollaroundonkitchencountertops?”
Alicesitsup.“Didyougetacat?”
“Imeantheoverallvibe.”
“Um.No?”Alicereturnstotheplusharrayofpillowsanddigsbackintothechips.“Butcanwetalkaboutthisshow?Whatisit?”
“It’smegoingondateswithsomeguysthey’vescreenedforDNADuocompatibility,andtheaudiencegetstovoteonwhotheythinkI’mmostcompatiblewith—Willyoustopeatingchipsinmybed?”
Sheignoresmeandanglesafewmoreintohermouth,speakingaroundthem.“Whydoyouneedtogoonadatingshow,though?”
“Idon’tneedto.I—”Ibreakoff,unclearhowtobestexplaintothemostcompetentwomanIknowthatI’mstuckinmywriting,stuckinmydating,howtheonlythingI’msureaboutisthatIlovemyreaders,myfamily,andmyfriends,anddoingthisshowtakescareoftwoofthosethings.Iamthefloppywindsockinafamilyofsturdystreetsigns.
Mysisterandheradorablebellyfollowmeintothekitchen,whereI’vejustpulledopenmynightmareofajunkdrawertofindasafetypinforthebrokenzipperpull.Ispottheshinyfoilcornerofasealedcondomandpullitoutfrombeneathanavalancheofpaperclipsandbrokenpencils.
Thismomentfeelslikeaperfectmetaphor.
“Youkeepcondomsinyourjunkdrawer?”
“Askthatagain,”Isay,“andrealizehowfunnyitsounds.”
Shesnortsbehindme,andIfeelawaveofprotectiveness.Alice’slifehasneverbeenoutofwhackforevenonesecond.Whenshewasfifteen,shemadeamilestonelist,completewithgoals,ages,sometimesevenlocations:
…BeginStanfordateighteen,graduateattwenty-two,medicalschoolatJohnsHopkins,residencyinSanDiego,marriageatthirty,firstbabybornatthirty-five…
Sofarshehasn’tmissedasingleoneexceptformaidofhonoratFizzy’sweddingattwenty-eight.(ShedutifullycrossedthatoneoutwithathickblackmarkerafewyearsagoandwecelebratedmybookhittingtheNewYorkTimeslistinstead.)Butpregnancyhasn’tbeenherfavoriteexperience,andIwonderifshe’sfeelingevenatinybitofwhatIdorightnow,likeshe’sfacingafuturewithunknowncomplexity,wickedblindcurves,scaryblankspaces.
“Haveyoueverfeltlikeyou’velosttrackofyourself?”
Shepointstoherbig,pregnantbelly.“Thiskidisn’tevenhereyetandIdon’trememberwhoIwassixmonthsago.DidIreallyusedtoruneverymorning?Forfun?”
“I’vebeensoaimlesslately,”Iadmit,andI’msureit’sweirdforhertohear.“Ifeellikethisshowmightbeawaytogetbacktomyself.Evenifit’sacolossalfailure,atleastit’ssomethingdifferent.”
“Igetthat,”shesayswistfully.“I’vebeenhavingskydivingdreamslately.”
“You?”
Shenods.“SometimesI’mskydivingintoanoceanofOreos.Lastnightitwasbeer.”
Thismakesmelaugh,andIturntowrapmyarmsaroundhermiddle.“TellmeI’mnotmakingahugemistakedoingthis.”
“You’renot.Infact,Iwroteitonmylist,don’tyouknow?‘Fizzydoesacrazyromancerealityshowwhenshe’sthirty-sevenandhasthetimeofherlife.’?”elevenFIZZY
AnunexpectedupsidetobringingaHotDILFtomyfirstsigninginmonthsisthatreadersaremuchlessconcernedwithwhenmynextbookwillbepublishedandmuchmoreinterestedinwhothegiantmanlingeringinthebackgroundis.TherewereafewmurmursandglancesduringtheQandAportionoftheevent,butbythetimethesigningstarts,everypersoninlineistryingtofigureoutwhothesix-foot-fivepieceofassovertheretalkingtomydadis.
Iknowthisbecausethey’reallbreakingtheirneckstryingtokeeptrackofhimasthelineweavesaroundbookshelves.Severalhavecomerightoutandaskedme.Myanswershaverangedfrom“He’smysecuritydetail”to“He’smymail-ordergroom.”
Listen,Igetit.CatchingsightoftheCasualDILFonmydoorstepearliercaughtmeoffguard.Gonewasthemaninthestarchedshirtsittinginapristineoffice.ThisversionofHotBritlooksmorelikeahotlumberjack,inasoftfadedflannelshirtandwornjeanswithmuch-lovedsneakers.Hishairfallsoverhisforehead;hiseyesseemunbelievablybrightforsomeonestandinginthedarkcornerofabookstore.InOnefortheRoad,Idescribedtheeyesofthehero,JackSparling,thisway—“illuminatedfromwithin,”Ithinkitwas—butI’veneverreallyseenitinperson.
Except—
I’mmentallyjerkedbackward,tunneledinreversetothemomentwithJessacouplemonthsagointhebarwhenIlookedacrosstheroomandmeteyeswiththemaninthesuit,rumpledhair,jawlikeablade.He’dlookedatmelikehewantedtomeetinthehallwayandfuckmeintonextmonth.
Isthisreallythesameguy?Ican’tbelieveallthiswashidingunderthatstiff,gelledhair,abrighttoothpaste-adsmile,andacrispblacksuit.
Ilookdownatmylap,daringthefluttertolinger.Butitfadesout,andI’mdroppedbackintothepresentdaywhenthereaderinfrontofmeasksmeifI’mokay.
“Gas,”Itellherwithagrin,andshelaughsafamiliaroh,Fizzylaughandtakeshersignedbooks.ButI’mstillfeelingtheechoofinterestinmylowertorso.WasthepantsflutterbecauseIwasthinkingaboutJackSparling?Hissexscenesweresomeofthemostfuntowrite,thatdirtylittlerascal.
Orwasit…fromhim?Intrigued,IlookupacrosstheroomatConnoragain.
He’ssotakenwithmydadhe’sbarelyseemedtoregisterhowmuchmentalsalivationisbeingaimedinhisdirection.Iknewhe’dgetalongwiththeunstoppableDr.MingChen.Myfatherisanobjectivelycharismaticmanwithamillionstoriesforeverysituationandhasthemostinfectiouslaughyou’veeverheardinyourlifetime—it’sthissortofburstingbellylaughthathonestlyshouldberecordedandtrademarkedasHappiness?.ButwhatsurprisesmeishowmuchtalkingConnorseemstobedoing.Idon’tseeDadwaxingpoetic,tellingjokes,doingalltheheavyconversationallifting.WhenIglanceoverintiny,furtiveglimpses,IseeConnordoingmuchofthechitchattingandDadiscrackingup.AlmostlikeConnor’sgotstories
Almostlikehe’s…interesting
He’salsogrinning,andthewayitexaggeratesthelinesaroundhiseyesandsoftenstheanglesofhisfacemakesaflutterhappenupnearmychest,too
Buttheheartflutterisdousedbyacool,reactiveflushspreadingacrossmyskin,panickyandjarring.Wait,mybrainscreeches.Idon’twanttoactuallylikehim.
“WhoisthatguyovertherewithPapaChen?”areaderasks,andslidesanimpressivestackofbooksontothetabletop.Aquickinspectiontellsmetheonlyonesshe’smissingarefromtheHighSeasseries,which,honestly,isfulloffantasticallyfilthypirates,anditisatruthuniversallyacknowledgedthatpiratesarenotforeveryone.Iwon’tholditagainsther.
“He’smydad’snewboyfriend,”Ianswer,andthisearnsmeanotheroh,Fizzylaugh,especiallybecauseDadchosethismomenttocomekissmycheekandtellmehe’sheadinghome.Clearly,ifheheardmeannouncethathehasanewboyfriend,heknowstoignoreit.Hegetsanenthusiasticburstofapplauseasheducksoutofthebookstore.
“Whoishereally?”thereaderprods,leaningdownsoIcanconfideinher.
Wehaven’tannouncedanythingabouttheshowyet,soit’snotlikeIcantellherspecifics.Butsayinghe’safriendwouldraisetoomanyeyebrows.
“He’sonthepublishingteam.”IgiveanapologeticwincelikeIknowshewantsajuicieranswer.Butthetimeittakestomakemywaythroughherstackofbooksgivesmetheperfectopportunitytoworkpastmyweirdew,emotionsmoment.
Thisisgood,actually,Itellmyself,signingmynamewithaflourish.Thisisn’taboutemotions!You’rejustexperiencingalongoverdueFizzginareawakening.Youneedtogetthefluttersbackifyou’regoingtohaveanysuccessonthisshow.Youneedtogetthefluttersbackifyouhaveanyhopesofwritingromanceagain!It’sokaythatConnorisgood-looking.Thefactthatyounoticemeansyou’reonestepclosertobeingbacktotheoldFizzy!
Thepeptalkworks.WhenIhandtheheftystackbacktothewoman,Ifeelthetwinkleofarealsmileinmyeyes.
IfindConnorafterthecrowdhasthinned,standingaloneinthehorrorsection,awestruckasheturnsagildedhardcoveroverinhishands.Helookslikehe’sabouttolickit.
“DoweneedtorunaDNAcompatibilitytestbetweenyouandthatspecialeditionof’Salem’sLot?”
“Ididn’tknowtheyreleasedthis,”hesays,runningalongfingerdownthespine.“ThiswasoneofthefirstbooksIcanrememberbeingunabletoputdown.Thiseditionisgorgeous.”
Whyisitsosexywhenhesaysgorgeouslikethat?Likehe’sstaringdownatalover,overcome?Iwashopingthepowerofhisattractivenesswouldlessen,upclose—badskin,weirdodor,yellowedteeththatI’dsomehowmissed—butI’mirritatedtodiscoverthatnoneofthosethingsaretrue.Hesmellslikeyummymanandthetraceofwhateverdeodoranthe’swearing.Ibetit’scalledIceZoneorSportsHeroorSilverBlade,andI’mdisgustedwithmyselfforlikingit.Ican’tevenlocatetheHotMillionaireExecutivearchetypeinConnoranymore.Heisallsoftandbrawny.SoftLumberjackishisnewname.Whydoesheeverapproachthatheadofhairwithevenadropofgel?ImighthavetotakeonefortheteamandpretendIknowhimwellenoughtoadvisehimonstyling.
Iwonderidly,onascaleofGetItGirltoOnlyIfYouNeverWanttoWorkAgain,howbaditwouldbetosleepwithmyrealityromanceshowproducer.Getbackonthehorseandwhatnot.
Squeezingmyeyesclosed,Idoahardmentalreboot.I’mgladtoseetheoldFizzyrearingherhead,butshe’sabossyone,andevenIknowthathookingupwithConnorPrinceIIIwouldbenotonlyprofessionallybrainlessbutprobablyastonishinglymediocre.Itwouldhavetobe,right?Hishotlumberjackvibetodayislikelyaone-offwhilehissuitsandLegohairareatthecleaners.MyfirstsexafterthedryspellshouldleavemewalkingwithalimpandrecuperatingforanentireweekendwithagiantbottleofGatoradeandNancyMeyersmoviesforcompany.
“Whyareyoustaringatmelikethat?”
“Likewhat?”Iask,immediatelyswappingoutwhatevermyexpressionwasdoingforarelaxedsmile.
Hefrowns,hisgazedoingabriefcircuitofmyface,searchingforwhateverhesawamomentago.“Nevermind.”
Redirecttime:“Didyouhavefuntoday?”
“Idid,”headmits.“You’refunny.Yourreadersaresoenthusiastic.Icantellyougenuinelylovebeingwiththem.”
He’sright,andinhindsightI’mannoyedwithmyselfforbeingsonervousonthewayoverhere.Sweatypalms,bursting,too-loudanswerstohispolitequestionsinthecar,overexplainingasweenteredthebookstore.Connorwascalmandeasyatmyside,thissteady,sturdypresencetomyjitterystress.Butthesecondtheroomfilled,mypulseslowedandIcamehome.
“Romancereadersaremyabsolutefavoritebrandofhuman.”Igrinathim.“Youseehowmuchtheylovewhattheylove.Theyshowup—it’saMonday,andseehowmanydecidedtoleavetheirhousesandfighttraffic,maybefindchildcare,justtocomehere?”Igesturetothenow-emptybookstore.“Youhadeveryoneheretonight.Homemakers,attorneys,hourlyemployees,scientists,retirees,students.”
Hewhistles,lookingbackatthecheckoutcounterasifremembering.“Isawsomeonewithtwocopiesofeveryoneofyourbooks.”
“AndI’vesignedthosethreetimesbefore,butshestillshowsupforeverylocaleventtosayhiandgetthemsignedagain.”
“Shedidn’tbuyabook?”
“Sheboughtonetonight,butnotoneofmine.”Offhissurprisedexpression,Iadd,“Fangirlsshowup,Connor.Thosearemypeople.”
Henods,studyingme.“I’mseeingthat.”
Withasmile,Isay,“I’mgladyoutookabreakfromflirtingwithmydadtostudyyourshow’sdemographic.”
Connor’senergydialsupafewnotches.“Idid,butitwashard.Yourdadisgreat.”
“He’sliterallythecutesthumantoeverexist.”
“Bytheway,Ididn’trealizeyouhadn’ttoldhimabouttheshowyet.HopeIdidn’tmakethatweirdforyouwithyourparents.”
“No,Iwascompletelyusingyouasashield.”
Hegivesmeamock-sternlookthatIlikemorethanIshould.“Hewasintoit,”Connorsays.“Buthesaidhe’snottellingyourmum.”
“Shit.”
Connorlaughs.“Weneedtofindawaytogethimon.”
Acoldflushspreadsdownmyarms.“On—onthedatingshow?Mydad?”
Henods,thinkingitover.“Familyvisitswiththefinalcontestants,maybe.”
Mystomachtilts.“Whew,that’s…”I’mabouttosaythat’sterrifying,becausejusttheideaofbringingmultiplemenovertomymother’shouseforhertoinspectmakesmewanttorollintotraffic.Butforthefirsttimesincewestartedtalkingaboutthis,there’salightinConnor’seyesthatlooksgenuine,andifhangingwithPapaChendidthatforhim,whoamItopourwateronthefire?“That’sagreatidea,”Isaywithalimpsmile.
Connorlaughs.“Don’tworry,we’llfigureitallout.Rightnow,we’rejustsuggestingloadsofthingstoseewhatsoundsright.”
AdrenalineseemstodissipateallatoncefrommybloodstreamandIleanagainstashelf,exhalingslowly.Signingsarethestrangestparadox:themostenergizing,fulfillingexperience,butalsothemostexhausting.Iwanteveryonewhocomestothetabletofeellikethemostimportantpersoninmylife,becauseforthosehandfulsofminutes,theyare.Butkeepingthatenergyupcanbedraining.AddtothatthestressaboutnotknowingwhetherI’lleverreleaseanotherbookandI’mabsolutelywiped.
Andstarving
Ipresstheheelsofmyhandstomyeyesandfeelhimleanin.“Youokay?”
Takingadeep,steadyingbreath,I—Shit.Ireally,reallylikethesmellofhisIceZoneSportsHeroSilverBladedeodorant.
“I’mgreat.”WhenIdropmyhands,lightpopsintotheperipheryofmyvision.TheonlytinyhitofadrenalineremainingistheoneIgetwhenIstarerightupathim,toweringoverme,softandlumberjackyandflashlight-eyed.“ButI’mabouttobeevenbetter.”
Itellmyselfnottobetoointerestedinthewayheflicksonecuriouseyebrow,saying,“Dotell.”
“Ifyoutrustme,thenlet’sgo.”twelveCONNOR
IgetthestrongsensethatthetypesofdirectionsFizzygivesaretheoneswewarnourchildrennottoblindlyfollow:trustme,signhere,eatthis.Andyet,hereIam,followingheroutofthebookstoreandintomycar,whereshedirectsmetwentyminutessouthtoatacojointinSanYsidro,justontheMexicanborder.
Inanunremarkableparkinglotinfrontofanunremarkablebuilding,sheclimbsout,stretcheslong,happilygroaning,andthengrinswickedlyatme.“Areyoureadytohaveyourworldchanged?”
“Uh,sure?”
Asshemoveswitheasetowardthebuildinginherblackdressandheels,there’ssomethingthunderousabouther.Objectivelyslight,FizzyhastheabilitytotakeupspaceinawayI’venevermastered.Iwasalwaysrelativelytallgrowingup,buthavingbeenraisedbyasinglemother,Ifeltconsciousnottoappearimposinginanyway.Itwasthistendencyofminethatdrovemyfatherinsaneontherareoccasionswhenhewouldvisit.Hewouldlecturemeaboutenteringaroomwithpower,abouttheimportanceofclaimingspace.BythetimeI’dturnedfourteenandwaswelloversixfeettall,andtakingupspacewasaforegoneconclusion,heturnedtootherthingstocriticize:mylackofambition,mydeferencetoothers,myprotectivenessofmymother.Lateritwasmycareerchoice,myshotgunwedding,myjobtitle.
Butasmuchasmyfatherexhaustsme,Ican’thelpbutthinkthatadmiringFizzywouldbeonethingwe’dhaveincommon.
“I’mgoingtoorderforus,”shesaysoverhershoulder.“I’mgoingtoputjoyinyourmouth,SexyLumberjack.Trustme.”
“Istrustrequired?”
Sheignoresthis,steppinguptoorderforus,andIlookdownatmyoutfit.FromBrittoDILFtoSexyLumberjack.Ican’tknowforsureifthistransitioninnicknamesignalsagoodwardrobedecisiononmypart,butIchangedthreetimesbeforepickingheruptoday,promptingStevietoaskmewhetherIwasgoingonadate.
It’snotadate.Imean,ofcourseitisn’t.Butthere’ssomethingaboutbeingthisclosetoFizzythatmakesmewanttoimpressherinthesameway.
Assheorders,Ihearthewordslengua,cabeza,buche,andtripaandamawarethatI’mgoingtobeeatingsomethingsIhaveneverbeforeputinmymouth.Withabulgingpaperbaginonehand,twodrinksinacardboardtrayintheother,andalittlenodformetotrustheryetagain,weclimbbackintothecaranddriveafewminutestoasmallroadleadingustoacoastalwildliferefuge.
Ataweatherwornmetaltableoverlookinganemptystretchofbeach,Fizzyopensthebagandlaysoutanenormousselectionoftacos.“Takeyourpick.”Shepointstoeach,describingwhat’sinit—fromgrilledbeefandcactus,toporkbelly,totripe,tobeefhead,totongue.AndasItakemyfirstbiteoftheporkbelly,shewatchesmewithanticipation,waitingforareaction.
Lettingoutalow,involuntarygroan,Ifeelmyeyesdriftclosed.Thesharptangoffreshcotijaandbrightlime,withcrispbitsofmeatandasoft,handmadetortilla—thisiseasilythebesttacoI’vehadinmyentirelife.
IttakesaminuteformysensestosettleandIrealizeshe’sstilllookingatme.
“Youlike?”sheasks,smilinghappily.
“Bloodylovely.”Iwipemymouth.“Areyoujustgoingtowatch?”
Shebreaksherstareandblinksdownattheselectioninfrontofher,choosingwhatIthinkwasthelengua.“Ilikeseeingyoulikethis.Outsideofthatofficeandthatsuit.Thisisagoodvibe.”Shemotionstomyclothes.“StillDILFy,butwithouttheuptightCEOthinggoingon.”
“NotsureacoworkerhasevercalledmeaDILFbefore.”
Sheshrugs.“Youdidn’tbringmeonbecauseIletteredinpropriety.”
“Fair.”Ismile,takingasipofmyfountaindrink.“Butyouseemawfullyintentonpeggingme.”
Shebarksoutalaugh.“Idon’tthinkthatmeanswhatyouthinkitmeans.”
“JesusChrist.”Iflickmyeyesupwardinmockexasperation,andthenfinishthesmalltaco.“YouknowwhatImeant.”
It’sastrugglenottostareatherwhilesheeats.Shehumshappilyasshechews,licksatinybitofsalsafromthesideofhermouth,andstudiesthefoodinherhandwithpleasure-drunkeyes.SofarinonlythisfirstoutingaloneI’veseentwoverydifferentsidestoFizzy:effusiveandpublicfacing,andthismoreintimate,quietlyplayfulversion.Bothcharismatic,bothsexy,bothmesmerizing.First,Iwasresentfultobeassignedthis,thenIwasresigned.NowIfeelaflickerofexcitementoverthechallengeofcapturingherbrandofmagicon-screen.
You’regoingtobesettingherupwithothermen
Theremindercrashesintotheforefrontofmythoughts,andIblinkaway.“Ihadathoughtabouttheshow.”
Sheglancesupatmeandlaughs.“Ihopeyou’vehadmorethanone.”
“Thisisspecificallyaboutthetitle.WhatdoyouthinkaboutcallingitTheTrueLoveExperiment?”
“IthinkI’mmadIdidn’tcomeupwithitmyself.”
Asunburstofpridespreadsquicklythroughmytorso.“Brilliant.”Ireachforamysterytaco.“So,torecap:We’llcasttheeightHeroarchetypes.FilmingwillbeMondaytoThursday,withFridayforcrashediting,andaSaturdaybroadcast.Votingwilltakeplaceovertwenty-fourhoursaftertheepisodeairs,andthefollowingMondaywe’llrevealtothecastwhohasmadeitthrougheachround.”
Shemumblesahappysoundaroundabite.
“And,”Icontinue,“Ithinkweshouldgoinwiththeunderstandingthattheshowwon’tbesoheavilyproduced.Idon’tmeanfromanaestheticsangle,buttheactualstorylines.I’vebeenthinkingquiteabitonthis,andIreallywanttodosomethingdifferent,asmuchaswecan.FromwhatIgather,someoftheseshowsareplottedoutfromepisodeone,whichmakesmequestionthesincerityofanyrelationshipthatcomesoutofthem.Sinceviewerswillbevotingonouroutcome,wewanttogivethemthetruestpossiblenarrativewecan.”
Shenods,lickingherlipsagain,anditsplitsmyfocusintofoggytendrils.Isqueezemyeyesclosedforabeattorecapturethethread.“Becauseit’salimitedseries,you’llonlyreallybetiedupforaboutfiveweeks.”
“Tiedup,huh?”Fizzygrins.“Soundsfun.”
“You’retrouble.”
Shelaughs.“Ithinkthat’swhyyouchoseme.”
“Ichoseyoubecauseyou’rebelovedbyyourfanbase.Butyes,Iamexcitedtodothisinpartbecauseyou’realsoabitmischievous.”
“Excited?”Shedropsherballed-upnapkinandplantsherelbowsonthetable.“That’sanewdevelopment.”
Itakeabite,chew.“WhatcanIsay?Iamcontinuallyevolving.”
“Iseethat.”
“Iknowthismatterstoyou,”Itellher.“Iwantyoutoknowitmatterstome,too.”
Fizzytakesalongbreath,openshermouthtospeak,andthenseemstochangetrack.“Yousaidyoumovedherewhenyouwerefifteen?”
Aflickerofuneasequellsthevibratinghuminmyblood,andItakeabitetodelaywhatIsuspectwillbeagentlebutsurgicalinterrogation.“Yes,that’sright.”
“AndyourmotheristheBrit?”
Inod.“Sheliveswithherparentsnow,justoutsideBlackpool,butshemetmyfatherwhenshewasstudyingabroadintheStates.Shegotpregnant,andmyfatherwasn’tinterestedinbeingafatheryet.He’dvisiteveryyearorsotopopinandtellherwhatshewasdoingwrong.”
“Wow,soundslikeaniceguy.”
“He’samixtureofunbearablyselfishandunremittinglydutiful.”
Shelaughsatthis.“Why’dyougolivewithhim?”Inarrowmyeyesather,calculatingwhetherIwanttogetintoit,andshesmilesundertheinspection.“What?”sheasks.“Isthisstoryescandaloso?”
“Perhapsabit.”
“Oh,wellnowyouhavetotellme.”
“MymumandIwereinaverybadcaraccidentwhenIwastwelve.Wewerebothfine,eventually,buttheentirethingreallyshookherup.”
Fizzy’sexpressionstraightens.“Ohno.”
“For…afewyears,”Iexplain,“Mumdidn’tleavethehouse.Ihadtoforschool,ofcourse,andtotakeonoddjobs.Butshesufferedfromagreatdealofanxiety.ThiswholeperiodiswhenIgotintofilm,soIcan’tresentthesolitude,butinhindsightIdoseehowmuchImissedofmyadolescence.”Beforethiscanveertoobleak,Iwrapitup:“Anyway,myfathervisitedwhenIwasfifteenanddidn’tlikewhathesaw.Bythenhe’dmarriedandhadacoupleofkidswithmystepmother,buteventuallyMumconcededthatIneededachangeofsceneryandagreedtolethimtakemeuntilIwasreadytogotouniversity.”
“DoyouevergobacktoEngland?”
“Ofcourse,”Isay.“IspendsomeChristmasesthere.Ispeaktomymotherregularly.I’dplannedtomovebackafterI’dgraduateduni,butlifehadotherplans.”
“Andwhataboutpresentday?”sheasks.“Areyouremarried?Outeverynight,livingthehotsinglelife?”
Iclearmythroat,frowningasIadjustthenapkinonmylap.“I—no.Neither,”Iadmit.“Mydaughterisstillquiteyoung.Ionlyhaveheronweekends,andIworklatemostweeknights—soIhaven’t.Idon’t.Thatis,Idon’tdatemuch.”Ihearthestumblingclutterofmywordsandsquintpasther,tostareataflockofbirdspickingatsomethingonthesand.
“What’shername?”
I’mgratefulthatshe’slettingmemoveon.“StefaniaElenaGarciaPrince.”FizzybitesbackasmileandIlaughinunderstanding.“Iknow.Mylastnamealwayssoundslikethesadfriendattheparty.She’satrip,though.Partprincess,partevilmastermind.”
“Shesoundslikemykindofgirl.”
“Igenuinelyfearthedayyoutwomeet.IthinkNostradamuswroteaboutit.”
WhenIlookupather,Iregisterthatshe’sbeenstudyingme.Herdarkeyesarewideandgentlysetonmyface.
“Anyway,weshouldbetalkingaboutyou,notme.”
Shedoesn’tlookawayasmygazeholdshers.It’sthis,andthewayhervoicegoesalittlehoarsewhenshesays,“I’lltellyouanythingyouwanttoknow,”thatmakemesuspectIamabsolutely,irrevocably,andundeniablyfucked.thirteenFIZZY
Iassumeweallhavetheproverbialangelononeshoulderanddevilontheother,butinmycase,they’reveryreal,andthedevilisashouter.
IknowthatitisstupidtoflirtwithConnor.Iknowhowabsurditistodevelopsexydesiresforthismaninparticular,butit’sbeensolongsinceI’vebeenattractedtoanyonethatIfeellikeastarvingdogstaringataT-bone.
Connorlickshislips,pullingtheminbetweenhisteeth,andIrealizehe’sreactingtotheweightofmystare.Blinkingaway,Ifocusmyattentiononthewavescrashingintothesmoothsandinstead.
Ineedtogetmyshittogether.AsmuchasI’mgladI’mabutterflycomingoutofthecocoonofsexualstagnation,Iprobablyshouldn’tflydirectlytothefirstflowerIsee.Especiallyifthatflower’sprofessionalgoalisfindingmeasoulmate.
“Well,”hesaysafterourodd,lengthyshowdown,“let’sstarteasy.”
Istretch,pretendingtocrackmyneck.
“Tellmewhatyoulookforinaguy.”
Takingadeepbreath,Ilookoutatthewavesinthedistance,thinking.“Haveyouevergonetothegrocerystorehungry?”
Connorlaughsinunderstanding.“Yes.”
“Cheeseplate,carrots,chips,salsa,CocoaPebbles,andsugarcookies.Whateversoundsgoodatthetime.”
“Right.”
“I’ddescribemydatingenergyalittlelikethat.Idon’thaveatype,exactly,butmaybethat’spartoftheproblem.”
Henodsbutdoesn’ttakethisopportunitytospeak.Again:hot.
“IinitiallydidtheDNADuoforfun,”Isay.“Youknow,totryoutthetechnologyfromaromanceresearchperspective.Igotmatchesandwentoutwitheveryone.IwantedtoseeifaBaseMatchfeltdifferentfromaSilver.”
“Didit?”heasks.
“Itdid,butinromance,loveisoftenaboutgettingpastourcoreassumptions.SoifsomeonetoldmeIhadaTitaniumMatch,wouldn’tIsubconsciouslyworkhardertomakeitsuccessfulthanIwouldwithaBaseMatch?That’salwaysthequestionwiththistechnology.”
Hehums,nodding.“Thatmakessense.”
“Ithinkdoingthisshowistheperfectwayformetogetbackintothedatingscene.Iwon’tknowwhatkindofmatchesIhave.Iwon’toverthinkit.I’lljusthavetogoonhowwevibeandlettheaudienceworryabouttherest.Imean,I’mnothavinganyluckonmyown,whynotletabunchofstrangersgiveitashot?”
“Andyouneverwentbacktotheapp?Youhaven’tuseditatallinthepastcoupleyears?”
“Oh,Ihaven’thadmuchinterestindatingforawhile.MydesiretofindapartnercrashedandburnedentirelyaroundthesametimeIwasdoingmyDNADuodatingspree—unrelatedtotheapp,Ishouldadd.”
Heseemstochewonhisnextwordsbeforefinallyasking,“What’stheunrelatedbit?”Connorsmiles.“Ifyoudon’tmindmeasking.”
“Ah.Well…”ThereareveryfewthingsIhatediscussing,buthighonthelistarethewordmoistspokenaloud,peoplewhouseFMLorLOLinactualconversation,andmytumultuousyetbriefrelationshipwithamannamedRob.“AroundthetimetheDNADuowaslaunching,Iwenttoapartywithafriendandmetthisguy.WeweretogetherforalittlewhileandIthoughtthingswerereallygoingwelluntilIfoundouthehadawife.”
Hisexpressioncrashes.“Oh.”
“Itwasawful.Iwasdevastated,alloftheexpectedthingsfromasituationlikethat.Butthenalittleoverayearago,sheconfrontedme.”
Connorwinces.“Whathappened?”
“Itwasn’tonpurpose—or,well,shedidn’tintentionallyseekmeout.Iwasonadateandwehappenedtobeinthesameplace.SherecognizedmefromsomephotosthathadbeenonRob’sphone,Iguess,walkedovertomytable,andsaidshe’ddivorcedhimandthatIwasfreetohavehimifIstillwantedhim.”
“Fuck,”hemutters.
“InanyothersituationIwouldhaveclarifiedthatno,Iabsolutelydidnotwanthim—thatIhadn’tevenknownRobwasmarriedwhenwestarteddating—butIwastotallyfrozen.It’sonethingtohavemadeamistakeandlivewithitinanabstractway.Itwastotallydifferenttoseethefalloutrightthereinfrontofme.”
“Thatmusthavebeenawful.I’msorrythathappened,Fizzy.”
“Ihadspentsomuchtimewonderingwhathappenedtothem.Didsheforgivehim?Didtheysplitup?Soitansweredthosequestions,atleast.Anyway…”IpickupmydrinkandtheicerattlesagainsttheStyrofoamasIraiseitinatoast.“MytherapistwasabletoremodelherkitchenwiththemoneyIpaidtoworkthroughit,soIguessthere’sasilverlining.”
Connorsmilesalittleatthis.“Igetwhyyouwerescaredoffdatingforabit,then.Butwhataboutnow?Areyoureadytobeinarelationship?”
AlongstretchofsilencefollowshiswordsasIrunintothisquestionlikeit’sabrickwall.I’veknownthatfindingmeamatchistheentiregoaloftheshow,butIhaven’tinternalizeditatall.IfConnorandIaresuccessful,itwillbemorethanjustentertainmentformytargetaudience.Icouldendupwithalover,aboyfriend,asoulmate.Achillclimbsupthebackofmyneck,andConnorseestheshiverpassthroughme.
“Ithinkso,”Isay,willingittobetrue.
Connorballsupthelasttacowrapperanddropsitintothepaperbag.“WhenyoumetthoseBaseandSilverMatches,tellmewhatyouwerelookingfor.Whatworkedforyou?Whatdidn’t?Basically,whoamIlookingforwhenIstartcastingtomorrow?”
“Well,Iwanttoknowwhotheyvotedforandwheretheystandonseveralpoliticalandsocialissues.IknowI’msupposedtosaythatIcanlookbeyondthat,butIknowIdon’tworkthatway.Therearesomethingsthatarenonstartersforme,andovertpoliticalquestionsaren’tontheDNADuointakeforms.”
HenodsandpullsouthisphonetowriteinhisNotesapp.“Iagree.”
“AndIguessIwantwhatmostwomenwant:someonewhomakesmelaughanddoesn’ttakethemselftooseriously.Someonewho’sambitiousbutgood,who’ssupportiveofmeandthethingsIlove.Butmostly,Iwantustobeheadoverfuckingheelsforeachother.”
IlookoutoverthewaterandthinkofJess’sfacewhenRiverwalksintotheroom.It’sthesamewaymydad’seyeslightupwhenheseesmymom;it’showcompletelywhippedmybrother-in-lawisforAlice.Iknowwhatlovelookslike—andI’vewrittenitsomanytimes—butI’veneverfeltitmyself.
Helooksatmeacrossthetable.There’snojudgmentinhiseyes,nopity,onlyempathyandcompassion.“Thoseseemlikeprettyreasonablerequests.”
“Ihavenoideawhatthiswillbelike,butIhopeIendupbeingwhatyouwantedfortheshow.I’dstartedtowonderifmaybeIwasgoingtofindpeacewithbeingsingle.Iwaswrappingmyheadaroundthatwhenwefirstmetthatdayinyouroffice,youknow?”
“Yeah,”hesayswithgentleunderstanding.
“Ialsothinkwebothsaidyestothisprojectforreasonsthatweren’tallaboutus.”
HiseyesmeetmineandIseeunspokenagreementthere.
“IwasworriedNorthStarhadnoideawhattheyweredoing,”Isay.“Ithoughtyouwereadick.”
Thistimehis“Yeah”iscarriedonalaugh.
Igrinathim.“See?Coreassumptions.Idon’tthinkthatanymore,ifthathelps.”
Connoroffersaknowingsmirk.“Itdoes,thankyou.”
Idon’tsaytheotherpartoutloud,thatnotonlydoInotthinkhe’sadick,I’mactuallydeeplyattractedtohimandwonderifIcanignoreitforthesakeoftheshow.
Iknowmyself.It’sunlikely.
WegatherourthingsandIusethepublicrestroomwhilehewaitsformenearby.WhenIreturn,he’sendingacall.“Everythinggood?”Iask.
“Justsayinggoodnighttomydaughter.”Hemotionsformetoleadthewayasweheadbacktowardthecar.It’soneofthemostbeautifulnightsinrecentmemory.Theairiswarm,heavywithcondensation;thebrinyoceanbreezefeelslikeagentlecloak.
“Thisweatherissoperfect,”Isay,takingthislastmomenttosoakitallin.I’mfinallycomingbackintomyselfandthebeastpartofmewantstothrowmyselfintohisarmsjusttothankhim,totellhimhehasnowayofknowingthathe’shelpedmejustbybeingattractiveandlaidbackandagoodlistener.ButImanagetocontaintheimpulse,continuingonlytosay,“Iwanttostuffthishappinessinapiecrustandeatitwithicecream.”Iclosemyeyes,pretendingtotakebitesofthesky,“Nom,nom,nom.”
WhenIlookbackathim,he’sstaringdownatmewithanunreadableexpression.
AhazeofelectricitysettlesaroundusandIdon’tknowwheretolook.Myeyeskeepgettingdraggedbacktohim,tohisthroatorlipsorshouldersorthosemassivehands.I’mneverinthegrayarealikethis,whereI’mattracted,andIthinkhe’sattracted—butI’mnotsure—andevenifheis,Idon’tthinkwe’resupposedtodoanythingaboutit.Myromanticlifebefore,Irealize,hasbeensoblack-and-white.Acceptorrefuse.Taketobed,ordon’t.Nosubtlety,nothingnuanced.
Athiscarhereachespastme,andit’sonlyafterI’vetiltedmyfacetohisthatIrealizehe’snotcominginforakiss.He’sunlockingthedoorforme.Butthenhedoesn’tpullbackimmediately.Hestaresdownatme,lookingalittlelost.
“Shouldweheadhome?”heasks.
“Iguess.”
EvencomingfromSanYsidro,thedriveistooshort,andIwatchoutthewindowasthecarslowsatmycurb.Connorlooksatmeacrosstheconsole,anditsuddenlyfeelslikemakingout,thiseyecontact,thewayhisgazesoftensandmakesacircuitofmyface.Butthenhesucksinasharpbreath,turningandburstingoutofthecar.
Okay.
Ifollowhimoutandwemakeaslowdeathmarchtomyfrontdoor.“Youokay?”Iask.
“Great.”
“Thatwassomenight,huh?”
Helaughsbutdoesn’tsayanything.
Nowwe’reonmyporch.“Arewegonnapretenditdidn’ttotallyfeellikeadate?”
Heturnstofaceme.“Goodpracticeforyou,”hesayslamely.
Ireachup,daringhimtododgemytouch,buthedoesn’t.Heletsmebrushhishairoffhisforehead.“Wearyourhairlikethismoreoften.”
“It’smessy.”
“It’sgreat.”
“Itgetsinmyeyes,”hesays,morequietly.
“It’ssexy.”
Hecloseshiseyes.“Fizzy.”
“Comeinside.”
Slowly,heopenshiseyesagainandhisgazedipstomymouth.“Whatfor?”
“Youknowwhatfor.”
Helaughs,butit’snotoutofamusementormockery.It’salaughofdefeat.It’sagreement.AndforaflashI’melated.
Butthenhesays,“Youknowwecan’t.”
“Technicallywecan.Mycontractprohibitsmefromdatingoranyoutsideromanticinvolvementonlyduringfilming.Ichecked.”
“Fizzy.Weabsolutelycannot.”
Heshoveshishandsintohispockets.Andthey’rehiddenbutIrememberthemlikethey’vebeenimprintedinmyretinas,andallIcanthinkaboutisthosebighandsgrippingme,walkingmebackward,bossyanddirected,pushingmeupagainstawallordownonabed.Hisstrongarmsbracingoverme,thoselongfingersexploring.Iwanthimabove,blockingouteverylightsource.Iwanttoknownothingbuttheheatandscentofhisskin,theroughsoundshemakeswhenhecomes.
“Whynot?”Iaimthequestionathisthroatanditbobswithaswallow.
“Youknowwhy.Ourgoalistofindyoursoulmate.Ialready—”Hebreaksoff.“Wecan’t.”
“Theshowhasn’tevenstartedyet.Consideritmorehomework.”Ireachforward,restmyhandonhisside.God,he’ssosolidundermytouch.“Findingjoy.Ipromiseyou’llenjoyit.”
“That’snotwhatconcernsme.”
“It’sbeensolong,”Iadmit.“I’msorelievedtowantthis.I—”
“Fizzy.”
“Trustme.I’mgreatatcompartmentalizing.”
“That’sthething,”hesays,andbendstopressasoftbutdefinitivekisstomyjaw.“I’mnot.”fourteenCONNOR
WhatdoesamandoafterbeingpropositionedbyoneofthemostbeautifulwomeninSanDiegoandthenturningherdown?
Heconsidersslamminghisheadintoawallbecausehe’sanidiotfordecidingcasualsexdoesn’tworkforhim
Hehasawanksomanytimesimaginingitthathewakesupabitchafedthenextmorning.
Hegoestowork—wherehehasbeentaskedwithfindingthesoulmateoftheverywomanhewants,andwhoapparentlyalsowantshim—becausehislivelihoodandaccesstohischilddependonit.
Hemakesamentalnotetogetverydrunkafterward.
Andaplanfordrinkinglateriswiseconsideringtheonce-familiarofficeIwalkintosuddenlylookslikeabeefcakesweetshop.
Therearemeneverywhere:inthelobby,clusteredinconferencerooms,andjustcasually—albeitattractively—leaningagainstcubiclepartitions.Infrontofmestandseverypossiblemalephenotype—businessmeninsuits,surferdudesinshorts,inked-upblokesintornjeans,cuddly-lookingladsinjumpers—andeachhasthepotentialtobeFizzy’ssoulmate.Wonderful.
MyphoneringsasIroundthecornernearmyoffice.Itakeacalmingbreath,unsurewhetherI’mreadytoputoutanyfiresyetthismorning,butrelaxwhenIseeaphotoofNatandSteviefillingthescreen.
“Hello—”
“Ihaveafavortoask,”Natsaysimmediately.
“Goonthen.”
“InsuwasaskedtospeakataconventioninVegasthisweekendandinvitedmetogo.I’dhavetoleaveThursday,soIwaswondering—”
“Ofcourse.YouknowI’llalwaystakeherearly.”
“Thankyou,”shesaysonarelievedsigh.“Steviementionedyouhadadatelastnight,andIdidn’twanttoassumeanything.”
“Itoldheritwasn’tadate.”Itoldherseveraltimes,infact.Ishouldprobablybeconcernedthatmyten-year-oldisgettingthisinvestedinmylovelife,butI’mneck-deepintwenty-six-to-forty-eight-year-oldeligiblebachelorsandjustdonothavethetime.“Itwasaworkthing,”Isay,andthenadd,“WithFizzy.”
Thelinegoesquiet;IcanpracticallyhearNat’sgrin.Iregrettheclarificationimmediately.
“Ah,”shesays.“Soit’sFizzynow.”
MyfirstinstinctistotellNatitwasnothing,butI’veneverbeenabletokeepanythingfromher.Weturnedintoadultstogether.We’reforeverconnectedthroughStevie.She’sseenmeatmybestandmyworst,knowsmebetterthananyone,andlovesmeanyway.Duckingintoavacantoffice,Iclosethedoorbehindme.
“It’snotasexcitingasitsounds.”ThenwhyismyheartbeatinglikeIwalkedtheeightflightsuphereinsteadoftakingthelift?“Allright,maybeitis,butitshouldn’tbe.Wespenttheeveningtogetherafterherbooksigningandtalkedabouttheshowoverdinner.Thenshe,uh…sheinvitedmetospendthenight.”
“AreyoutellingmethatyouandFelicityChen—”
“Isaidno,Nat.”Itsoundsjustasstupidthesecondtime.“ItoldherIcouldn’t.I’mtheproduceronherdatingshow.”
“Okay,”shesays,processing.“Right.Igetthat,but—”
“There’sno‘but.’EvenifIwantedto,Ican’t.”
“Doyouwantto?”
“Theeasyanswerisyes.Theanswerthat’sbasedinrealityandthewaymylifeworksrightnow…ismorecomplicated.”
“Howdidshetakeit?Wassheupset?”
I’mnotabouttoflattermyselfintothinkingFizzy’spropositionwasanythingmorethanamomentofmutualattractionandwantingtoscratchanitch.Butit’snicetoknowIwasn’timaginingit.“Idon’tthinkshewastooupset.”Fizzycanhaveanymanshewants.I’mnotgoingtodelude—ortorture—myselfintothinkingitwasanythingmorethanitwas.“Anyway,”Isay,searchingforachangeinsubject,“IcanabsolutelypickStevieupandkeepherhoweverlongyouneed.Moretimewithourkidisneverahardship.I’msureI’llhavetopullinafewfavorsmyselfoncetheshowstarts.Speakingofwhich”—Icheckmywatch—“Ineedtogetgoing.”
“Thanks,Conn.ThisspeakingthingisabigdealforInsu.AndinVegas!Therewillbebuyersfromalloverthecountry.”
“Tellhimcongratulations,really.”InsuandafriendstartedafledglingsoftwarecompanyafewyearsagoandhavebeenworkingonaVRgame.Hemustbeoverthemoonatthisopportunity.“I’mnotsurehe’soldenoughtogamble,butyoukidswillhavefuneitherway.”
“Didn’tyousayyouhadworktodo?”
Weringoff,andIcontinuetomyoffice,pausingasIstopoutsidemydoor
Myhardworking,straight-from-Kansasassistanthastwoveryfit-lookingyoungmenmovingherdeskfromoneendofherworkspacetoanother.
“Goodmorning,Brenna,”Isay.
Shespinsaround,cheeksflushed.“Itcertainlyis!”
Trentroundsthecorner,briefcaseandcarkeysstillinhand.HelooksastiredasIfeel.
Confused,hesurveysthechaosaroundus.“Whatinthefreshhellishappening?”
“Casting,”Itellhim.“We’renarrowingdownthefinalcontestantsformydatingshow,TheTrueLoveExperiment.”
Hecontinuestolookaround,andIimaginehisbewilderedexpressionlooksmuchlikeminedidbarelytenminutesago.
“Whatareyoudoinghere,anyway?”Iask.“Ithoughtyouwereonabusforsixweeks.”
Herunsanexhaustedhanddownhisface.“I’vegottomeetwithsomelawyersandflyrightbackouttonight.I’vebarelysleptinfourdays;thesecontestantsnevershutup,andtherearejustsomanyrules!Didyouknowthereareinsuranceclausesaboutdifferentprotectivecupsforthistypeofshow?”
Brennatiltsherhead,confused.“Different…oh.”
“Right.”Henods.“I’llneverforgiveBlaineforputtingphraseslike‘testiculardegloving’inmyvocabulary.”Atbothourhorrifiedexpressions,headds,“It’sabsolutelyasbadasitsounds.Learnfrommymistakesanddon’tgooglethatone.”
BrennagentlyturnsTrentbacktowardthekitchen.“Whydon’twegetyousomecoffeebeforeyourmeeting?”Trentcontinuestomumbleaboutpenisdislocationsastheymovedownthehall.
“Begratefulyougotadatingshow,Connor,”hesaysoverhisshoulder.
Laterthatmorning,I’msetupwithBrenna;thecastingdirector,Kathy;andourdirector,Rory,inNorthStar’slargestconferenceroom.We’vesuccessfullysignedonaviralYouTubesensationnamedLanelleTurnertobetheshow’shost—anintermittentrolerequiringheronlytopopinatthebeginningandendofeachepisode—butthebulkoftheday’sworkstretchesaheadofus,withacallsheetapproximatelyseventybeefcakesdeep.
Fizzyinsistedthatshedoesn’thaveaphysicaltypeperse,buthavingwalkedthroughthehallsofNorthStarMediatoday,Ithinkit’ssafetosaythesemenareeveryone’stype.
OurfirstpossibleHeroisIsaacMoore.He’stallandfit,Black,withshort,croppedhairandasmilesoarrestingitmakesBrennaflushfromheadtotoewhenheshakesherhand.Isaachastwosisters,collectsvintageboardgames,andworksinAImodelinganddevelopment.
Imakeanote,checkingaboxnexttoHotNerd.
“Whatdoesthatmeanexactly?”Kathyasks,lookingathimoverthetopofhertortoiseshellglasses.She’sinhermidfifties,withcurlyredhairandadiamondonherringfingerthat’ssolargeI’dimagineherleftarmissignificantlystrongerthanherright.Kathyhasbeenbroughtonasaconsultant;shedoesn’tusuallycastthekindsofthingsImake—obvious,perhaps,giventhatthekindsofthingsImakeusuallyfeaturemarinemammals—sowe’veneverworkedtogetherbefore.“AImodelinganddevelopment?”
“Iworkwithartificialintelligencesystemsthatbuildandimplementengagementalgorithms.Specifically,Iprogramtheethicsandaccountabilitythatcomewiththosesystems.”
“So,like…dealingwithtrollsonTwitter?”Kathyasks.
“Exactly.”Hissmilemorphsintoasmalllaugh.“Yeah.”
BrennagigglesagainandIcatchhereye.Keepittogether.EvenRory,whorarelycracksasmile,glancesupfromhernotes.Roryisalsonewtome,thoughnotbyreputation.She’sworkedonsomeofthemostpopularunscriptedshowsofthelastfewyears,andseemstobeniceenough,ifabitintense.Shehasareputationforthingsgettingalittledramaticonset,butoncehernamecameup,Blainewaslikeadogwithaboneuntilwehadhersignatureonthedottedline.Shealsowasn’tcheap,butthankstoNorthStar’snewflairforthrowingmoneyaround,thatwasn’taproblem,either.
TogetherwegooverIsaac’squestionnaire,askabouthisfamily,hisreasonsfordoingtheshow,hispoliticalleanings—perFizzy’srequest.Ilistentoallofit,takingmorenotesandaskingmyownquestionswhilethecamerasilentlycaptureseverythinginthebackground.
“Isaac,whatdoyouthinkmenwantinapartner?”Iask.
Hetiltshisheadthoughtfully,tentinghishandsonthetable.“Ithinkmostmenwantsomeonewho’ssmart,loving,andkind.Opentoadventure.WhatIwantisacompanion.Someonetosharethegoodandthebad,tolaughandhangwith,torespectandsupportandshareallthethingsthatmakeuswhoweare.”
He’sperfect.Charming,interesting,thoughtful,andsupportive.Heevenmanagestopulloffasweatervest.Fizzywilllovehim.
It’sirrational,butIhatehimalready.He’sin.
Mannumbertwoisinskinnydarkjeans,adistressedblackbandtee,andwornblackConverse.IsthiswhatFizzymeantbyVampire?SomehowIdon’tthinkso.Assoonashe’sgone,Iwritenonexttohisname.
Thenextfewhoursareprettymuchthesame—alotofcaricatureswithacoupleofkeepersalongtheway.Somearequickno’s:thepotentialTattooedBadBoywhoisobviouslyjustheretobeontelevision;aDarcywho’donehundredpercentshowupatawhitenationalistrally.There’saterriblyclichéMillionaireCEOwholookslikeheintentionallyputwhitepowderunderhisnosetoreallynailthetrope.
I’mveryinterestedinthenamesFizzygaveusforTheOneThatGotAway.I’dliketosaymymotivesarealtruistic,butevenmysweetmumwouldn’tbelievethat.Intheend,however,theseinterviewsprovetobemostlyanticlimactic.There’snocommonthreadorcharacteristicIcanpinpointinanyofthemenwemeetfromthelist.Somearegood-looking,somearenot.Afewhavemoneyandsomedon’t.Mostofthemareniceenough.NogreatFizzymysteryisunlocked,andIamjustasbewilderedandfascinatedbyheraswhenIstarted.WedoendupputtingoneEvanYoungintoourAgroup,however,andittakesmealloftwominutestorealizehe’stheblokethatFizzymentionedduringourfirstmeeting.TheonewiththeterribleBartSimpsontattoo.
He’sapparentlypickedupthepiecesofhisFizzy-lesslife:he’sgonebacktoschooltogetanengineeringdegreeand,whennotinclass,worksasabaristapart-timeinasmallcoffeeshop.Evanisalsoattractiveandcharmingand,justlikeFizzysaid,incrediblynice.Hehasnothingbutglowingthingstosayabouthisex-girlfriend.
Icannotwaittoseeherfacewhenhewalksin.I’mtemptedtowhisper,“Ay,caramba,”intoherearpiece.
Bytheendoftheday,we’venarrowedourtoppicksdowntoseven,withallFizzy’shighest-rankedarchetypesincludedbutone:theCinnamonRoll.
OurfinalguyisNickWright.Afteralongdayofwaiting,he’sgottobeastiredastherestofus,buthewalksinwithabright,bashfulsmile.Onpaperhe’ssixthree,182pounds,likesbasketball,andhasasmallveterinarianpracticeinOrangeCounty.Inreality,helookslikehesteppedoutofthepagesofoneofFizzy’sbooks.We’veseenalotofgood-lookingmentoday,butthereisanaudiblegaspfrombothBrennaandKathywhenNickwalksintotheroom.Wegothroughthestandardquestions,andhehasalltherightanswers.Hewasengaged,butitendedwhenshewantedtomoveabroad,andhefeltheowedittohisstaffandclientstostay.He’stheoldestinafamilyoffive,feelslikemarriageistheonethinghe’smissinginhislife,andheknitswhilewatchingBBCproceduraldramastounwindfromalong,stressfulday.Houston,wehaveaCinnamonRoll.
“Nick,whatdoyouthinkmenwantinapartner?”Isay,reachingthefinalquestion.
Hesmilesdownatthetable,paradoxicallylookingbothshyandlikealab-createdhybridofChrisEvansandBond-eraPierceBrosnan.“Ithinkmostpeoplewouldsaymenwantsomeonewhomakesthemfeelgoodaboutthemselves,”hesays.“ButIwantsomeonewhochallengesme.”Herestshisverytan,verytonedforearmsonthetable.“Mygrandparentshavebeenmarriedforoversixtyyears,andwhenmygrandmawalksintotheroom,mygrandpalooksatherlikehe’sstillnineteenandtryingtofigureouthowtheprettiestgirlinschoolisgivinghimthetimeofday.”Helaughs.“Iwantthat.TobeasheadoverheelsinloveateightyasIwasatthirty.Tobetogetherandjust…feeljoy.”
Iwonderhowit’spossiblethatthisisthemomentallofthisfinallyfeelsreal.Theshowwillstart,Fizzywillmeetandeventuallydatetheseguys,andifallofoureffortspayoff,itwillbeasuccess.Fizzywillfallinlove,andIgettokeepmyjobandstayinSanDiego.
WhenIblinkbackintothemoment,everyoneisstanding.KathyshowsNickoutandclosesthedoorbehindhim.“Holyshit,”shesays,eyeswideindisbelief.“Thatwasgreat,right?Hewasreallygreat?”
“Idon’tthinkIblinkedtheentiretimehewastalking.”Brennastandsandroundsthetable.“Canyouimaginehimon-screenwithFizzy?”
“CanyouimagineherwithDax?OrEvan?OrIsaac?”Kathysays.“I’veneverseenarealityshowwithagrouplikethis.”SheturnstoRory.“Andwe’vedoneDNADuoscreeningsonthemalready?”
Rorynods.“They’veallbeenbinned.We’vegotagoodspread.”
“Theyallfeelso…real,”Kathymuses.“Genuine,Imean.”
“IfFizzydoesn’tmarryoneofthem,I’mgoingto.”Brennaturnstome.“Connor,thiscouldbehuge.”
RoryisstillstaringatthedoorNickjustwalkedthrough.“Ihadmydoubts,but…wemightactuallypullthisoff.”
They’reright,Ithink.Thepiecesarecomingtogether,andifmygutiscorrect,itcouldbegood.
IgotexactlywhatIwanted.AndIhavenobodytoblamebutmyself.fifteenFIZZY
WhetherornotIeverhavechildrenofmyownremainstobeseen,butwhatcanbestatedwithoutambiguityisthatIamthemostembarrassingadulttoeverattendachild’ssoccergame.
EvenJessandRiverdon’twanttobeseenwithme.Theymarchaheadontothefield,luggingchairs,acooler,andasunshadetoapointthatseemslikethefarthestdistancefromwhereweparked.Iknowthemarchingcan’tbebecausethey’regrouchythatI’vedeclaredmyselftobeJUNO’SBIGGESTFANwithboldblacklettersonafluorescentpinkshirt,becauseit’sobjectivelytrue:onlyJuno’sbiggestfanwouldwearthisinpublic.Butmysweetlittledancerhasdecidedtotrysomethingnew,andevenifshe’stoomentallysturdytotrembleinfear,rumorhasitshehasn’tbeensleepingwellinthenightsleadinguptoherfirstsoccermatch.SoifIcanbeabiggeridiotthananyoneelseouthere,thenmaybeJunowon’tworrysomuchaboutwhethershe’llmessup.Ihavepom-pomsinmytotebag,butthey’rea“breakincaseofemergency”kindofthing.Hopefullyitwon’tcometothat.
Butoncewe’resetupatthesideline,IthinkImighthaveovercompensated.Thisentireoperationdoesn’tseemthatintense.Ofcoursethereistheonekidinhigh-techgearwithshinynewcleatsandribbonsinherhairthatmatchtheuniform.Herparentsareeasytospot,too;they’retheonestakingamillionpicturesofwarm-upsandshoutingencouragement/instructionsacrossthefield.Butthisis,afterall,agroupoften-year-olds,sothere’salsothekidwho’sobviouslyinheroldersibling’sshorts,whicharecinchedtightlyatthewaistandballoonoutpastherknees,aswellasthekidwhoseparentsmustbeassportyasIambecausethey’vesenttheirdaughtertoasoccergameinjeans.
IspotJunoinasmallgroupofgirlsgatheredaroundasequoiaofamanwho’sbentanddrawingsomethingonaclipboard.He’stoofarawayformetoogleproperlybuthasdarkhairandupperarmsthatseemtotestthephysicsofhisT-shirtsleeves.
“Hello,sir.”Imakebinocularsoutofmyhandsandpretendtozoomin.“Ahhwoooogah.”
IhavebeenamesssincedinnerwithConnor.Anabsolutehorndog.Ihaven’tmentionedittoJessbecauseIthinkshe’ssounsettledbymyadmittedlossofsexdriveandinspirationthatshe’llbetheworstenabler.It’sbeenhardenoughnottextingConnoradailyHowaboutnow?ThelastthingIneedisJess’sbrandofride-or-dieyelling“Youdeservegoodsex!”inmyeareveryday.
“That’sthecoach,”Jesssays,pushinguponeofthearmsoftheshadetentandclickingitintoplace.
“Letmetellyou,mykidwouldnevermissagame.”
Shelaughs.“He’soneoftheparents,actually.Stevie’sdad.”
StevieisoneofJuno’snewerfriends,andalthoughI’veonlymetherafewtimes,thetwoofthemarehystericalwhentogether.ToosmartandcutefortheirowngoodandmorefunthanmanyoftheadultsIknow.Whoknewtheyweremakingkidssogreatthesedays?
Iadjustmyimaginarybinoculars.“Well,Stevie’sdadisahotpiece.”
“Heis,indeed.”
Riverducksinsidethesunshadewiththethreefoldingchairsinonebighand.“Who’sahotpiece?”
“You.”Jessstretchestokisshim.“AndConnor.”
IthinkRivergivesthisfairconsideration.Ithinkhesays,“Stevie’sdad?Icouldseethat.”ButI’mnotentirelysurebecauseallmotioninmybrainhashalted.
“DidyoujustsayConnor?”Iask,stomachfalling.
Jessisdistractedbyafoldingchairthatwon’topen.“Yeah,ConnorPrince?He’sthecoachyou’recheckingout.”
“No.”
Jessslowlylooksupatme,sensingdanger.“Yes?”
“Absolutelynot.”Iimmediatelyshovemyimaginarybinocularsaway.
“What’swrongwithyou?”Riverasksme,laughing.
“That’s—that’sStevie’sdadoutthere?”Ipointinthedistanceatthegiantwhoseshadownow,Iadmit,looksstrikinglysimilartothemanIwantedtobendmeoverthekitchencountertheothernight.“AdorableSteviewhotoldmethesadstoryaboutglobalwarmingandseaturtles,soIthrewabunchofmoneyattheOceanicSociety?”Ohshit,thatactuallytracks.
IgroanandsitinthechairJesshasjustcoaxedopen.
“Haveaseat,”shetellsmewryly,openinganotherandsittingdownbesideme.
“ThisisaplottwistIshouldhaveexpected,”Igrumble.“AmIawriterorablockofwood?”
“Issomeonegoingtotellmewhat’sgoingon?”Riverasks.
Jessholdsupherhands.“Don’tlookatme.”
“DoyouknowwhatConnordoesforaliving?”Iaskthem.
Wincing,Jessadmits,“IthinkJunosaidsomethingaboutconservation?”
IlookoveratRiver.“Whataboutyou?”
Hepressesasurprisedhandoverhischest.“Me?”
“Yes.Yououtofanyofus.”
“Why‘ofanyofus’?”
“BecauseConnorPrinceIIIisthecreatorandexecutiveproduceronmyupcomingdatingshow,theonethatusesyourlife’sworkasitscentralhook.”
Jesspressesherfingertipstoherlips,speakingfrombehindthem,“OhmyGod,you’vebeenfuckingwithConnorthiswholetime?”
“I’vebeennicerlately.Iinvitedhiminsideafterthesigning.”
Jess’swincetellsmeshe’sreadthisright,butshegivesmeanout.“Pleasetellmeyoumeaninsideforacupofcoffee.”
“No,insidemyvagine.”
Rivercoughsoutasipofwater.
“Sadlyforhim,heturnedmedown.”
River’slow,mournfulwhistlesaysAwkward
“It’sfine,”Isay.“Honestly,it’sprobablygoodoneofushadourheadsonstraight.Iwasjustfeelingsexyforthefirsttimeinforever,andhewasconvenientlythere.”
Niceone,Pinocchio.
Mybestfriendnodsdubiously.“Right,hewasjustthere,justahulking,muscledAdonisthatyouwereattractedtopurelybecauseyourdryspellhasgoneonsolong.”
“I’mgladyougetit,”Itellherwithexaggeratedgratitude.
“Sorry,wait,it’sjustsinkingin.”Jesspressesherfingerstoherforehead.“Youpropositionedtheguywho’srunningtheshowwhereyoutrytomatchwithasoulmate?”
“Itwasjustamood,”Iinsist.“Oneanddone.”
“I’veinteractedwithNataliamorebecauseshe’sgotStevieduringtheweek,”Jesssays.“ButConnorseemslikeareallysweetman.Hedoesn’tstrikemeasoneanddone.”
“Areyousuggestingsweetmencan’talsohavemoods?”IswingmysmirkingeyestoRiver.“Theycan,right,HotGenius?”
Hebusieshimselfwithopeningthecooler,sayingadistracted,“Sorry,justasec.”
“Ijustmean,”Jesscontinues,“youthoughtthisguywasanasshole.YoucalledhimHotMillionairethenHotBrit—”Shecutsoff,narrowinghereyesatme.“Youdidthetypecastingthingwithhim,didn’tyou?”
“Inmydefenseheisveryhardtopindown.Hehadadifferentvibeatfirst—hewasabsolutelyaHotMillionaireExecutivethefirsttimewemet.”
“Connor?Notevenalittle,”sheprotests.
“Imean,obviouslyI’mnotgoingtowinthisargumenttodaywhenhe’sshowingmuscularthighinshortsandwearingaT-shirtthat’s,like,foursizestoosmall,butyoujusthavetotakemywordthatfirst-impressionConnorwasamixbetweenKendallRoyandaLegofigure,includingthehair.”
Asusual,mymouthismovingtoofast.TheselastwordscomeoutjustasIregisterthelongshadowinfrontofourchairsisn’tfromthesunshade.
“Well,”Connorsays,“atleasttellmeI’mLegoBatmanortheHotLifeguard.”sixteenCONNOR
I’msureI’mimaginingitwhenIseeheracrossthefield.Butheresheis,tenonaSaturdaymorning:FelicityChen,rantingaboutmyshirtbeingtootightandmythighsbeingtoo…there.I’llignoretheKendallRoyjab,butI’mtakingthemuscularthighscommenttomygrave.
Beforetoday,Iwouldhavethoughtshewasimpossibletoruffle.Fizzysayswhatshethinks,takeswhatshedeserves,andmakesnoapologiesforeither.Butwhenshefinallyturnstofaceme,she’svisiblyflustered.
“Batmanisabittootoxicmasculinityforme,”shesays,andbrushesthehairfromherface.Ithinkit’ssupposedtobeoneofthosecasualandcarefreegestures,butIrememberherdoingitatthebarthatfirstnightandwonderifit’ssomethingshedoeswhenshe’sanxious.
“ButLifeguardLegocouldwork,”shecontinues,eyesmovingovermyentiretorso.“You’rebothhardworkersandclearlyhavegreatupper-bodystrength.”
“Thankyou…Ithink.Andfortherecord,thisshirtisnottoosmall.”
ThecornersofFizzy’smouthturnup,alltracesofembarrassmentgoneandreplacedwiththesparkofchallenge.“Itwasn’tacomplaint.”
“There’stechnicallynothinginappropriateaboutanyofthis,”someonesays,“butitstillfeelslikeweshouldcoverallthekids’eyes.”Ifollowthewoman’svoice,andit’sonlythenthatInoticethecouplewatchingfromtheside:Juno’sparents,JessandRiver.IreadthewordsonFizzy’sshirt,anditsuddenlymakessense.
“Wait,youknowJuno?”
“Ido.”ShethrowsanaccusinglookatJessbeforeturningbacktome.“WhatIdidn’tknowwasthatyouknowher.”
“SheandSteviejuststartedonthesamefootballteam.”Ipickupthewhistlehangingaroundmyneck.“I’mthecoach.”
“Hi,Connor,”Jesssays,abandoningallpretenseofnotlisteningandcomingrightover.
“Hi,Jess.”Awarenesslands.“Ah.RivermustbethefriendFizzymentionedisinvolvedintheDNADuotechnology.Igetitnow.”
“AndyoumustbethehotTVguyFelicityhasn’tshutupabout.”JessturnstoFizzywithanexaggeratedgrin.“Igetitnow.”
Ibitebackasmile,sensingbackstoryhereandthatJessisgettingsomelong-awaitedrevenge.
“Okay,Jessica,”Fizzysays.“Takeyourgorgeoushusbandandjustsitdownoverthere.”
Stillgrinning,Jesswavesandducksbackintothesunshade.
RiverextendsahandandImeethimwithaquickshake.“Connor,”hesays
“River.”
Heopenshismouth,butwithaquickglanceinFizzy’sdirection,heseemstorecalibrate.“Goodluckonthegame,”hesaysinsteadbeforejoininghiswife.Idon’tknoweitherofthemwell;Jesshasalwaysbeenfriendlyandisthefirsttovolunteerridesfortheotherkidsandsnacks.I’veseenRiveronceortwice,butwe’veneverspokenatlength.
Whenit’sjustthetwoofusagain,thesilencefeelsloaded.
“YoucalledherStefania,”Fizzysaysaccusingly.
“Stevieishernickname,”Iexplain.“Yelling‘StefaniaElenaGarciaPrince’aroundthehousewouldberatheramouthful,don’tyouthink?”
Thesilencestretches.It’snotawkwardexactly,butaware.ImighthavesaidnoonFizzy’sdoorstep,butIsuspectwebothknowIwantedtogoinside.Howdowemoveonfromthis?
Abreezedartsacrossthefield,rufflingthetreesandsendingumbrellasandblanketstumblingalongthegrass.WhenIreachuptopushmyhairoffmyforehead,Fizzy’seyesfollowthemovement.I’mremindedthatshesaidIshouldwearitlikethismoreoften,thatshelikesit.
Iclearmythroat,readytosteerusinalessdangerousdirection.“Iforgottotellyou:callbacksweregreat.Ithinkwe’vefoundourHeroes.”
Herentirefacebrightens.“OhmyGod,tellmeeverything.Wait,firsttellmethey’reallinsanelyhot.”
Imentallystumbleattheshiftinherenthusiasm,andjusthowmuchIdislikeit.
“Ratings-through-the-roofhot,”Isay.“Idon’twanttosaytoomuchbecausenothing’sfinalized,butwenarroweditdowntoeightmen.Allapprovedarchetypes.”
She’sabouttoreplywhenthere’sablurofmovementandtwosmalltornadoscollideintoourbodies.Stevielooksupfromwhereherarmsarewrappedaroundmywaist.JunoishuggingFizzy.
“Canwehaveicecreamafterthegame?”Stevieasks.
Ibendtokissthetopofherhead.“Sure.CanyousayhellotoFizzy?She’sstarringintheshowI’vebeenworkingon.”
IturnheraroundandStevietiltsherheadbacktolookupatme.“IalreadyknowwhoFizzyis,”Steviesays.“She’swalkedushomeafewtimes.”
FizzyreachesovertotwirltheendofStevie’slonghair.“Sometimeswestopforhotchocolatesontheway.Sometimesforcocktails.Dependshowthedaywent.”
Boththegirlsgiggle,butthensomethingcatchesStevie’seye—astickeronthebackofFizzy’sphone—andshestepsforwardtoexamineit.“YouneversaidyoulikedWonderland!”
“Sheloooooovesthem,”Junosays.
“Howhavewenevertalkedaboutit?”Fizzysays.“Theyaremyhappyplace!”
Ilookcloseratthesmallholographiclogo,wonderinghowImisseditwhenthere’sasimilaroneattachedtofiftypercentofStevie’sbelongings.ProbablybecausewhenI’mwithFizzy,thelastthingI’mlookingatisherphone.
“Haveyouseentheminconcert?”Fizzyasks.
Stevieshakesherhead.“I’veneverbeentoaconcertbefore.”
“They’recomingintwoweeks!Youshouldgo!”
“It’ssoldout,”Isay.
Fizzyswatsthisdetailaway.“Icouldgetustickets.Idatedanexecutiveoveratthestadium,andletmetellyou—”Shestops,notingmyapprehensionoverwhatmightcomeoutofhermouth,andsettleson,“Iknowaguy.”
“That’saprettylatenight.”I’malreadyimaginingcarryingasleepingJunoandStevieacrossamile-longparkinglot.“They’dbeexhaustedthenextday.”
Shescoffs.“It’ssummer!Besides,beingexhaustedafteranightofscreamingyourfaceoffisafangirlriteofpassage.”Shegivesmeasilent,pleadinglook,addingquietly,“Joy,remember?”
Iexhale,unabletoresistanyofthesefemalesandtheirsweetpersuasion.“IfFizzyknowsaguy…”Ihesitatelongenoughformycommonsensetorescueme.Itdoesn’t.“Iguesswe’regoingtoseeWonderland.”
“Weare?”StevieandJunoscreaminunison,alreadyjumpingupanddown.
“Weare!”
“You’rethebestdad,”Steviesays,andthrowsherarmsaroundme.
“ThankFizzy,notme,love.”
AndwhileIwatchStevieembraceFizzynext,Ican’thelpbutthinkthisisaterribleideaforatleastahundredreasons.ThelastthingIneedistospendmoretimewithFizzy.Happytime,joyful,enthusiasticFizzytime.Mygutstwistindreadandanticipation.
“It’sgoingtobegreat,”shesaysasthegirlssinganddancearoundus.Shegivesmeherwidestsmile,theonethatmakesmethinkofwordslikeeffervescent,sparkling,fizzy.seventeenFIZZY
Ican’tevencomplaintoJessthatthisentiredebaclejustlandedinmylap,sinceshewastherewhenIveryexplicitlysaidIwouldtaketwoten-year-oldsandaSexyDILFCoachtoaWonderlandconcert.ButthelinesofpeoplewaitingtogetintothisvenuearesohorrendousIwouldlovetohavesomeoneotherthanmyselftoblame.IcheckInstagramwhilewestand.IreplytoreaderDMsanddutifullyavoidmyinbox.Butwitheverypassingsecondthenumberofbodiesaroundusgrows.Thereareonlyeightentrances,andthirtythousandpeopletryingtocramthroughatthesametime.Withnobarricadesorevenanyrealsignsaboutwherealinebeginsorends,theunendingstringsofpeoplewindandweave,snakingaroundpostsandcrisscrossingwitheachotheruntilweareessentiallytrustingthatthepersoninfrontofusbelievesthatthepersoninfrontofthemisintherightplace.
Andgoingoffthewayhisjawlookstight,Connoristhinkingtheexactsamething.I’msurehecanseeovermostoftheheadsinthecrowd,butIdefinitelycannot,andStevieandJunoseemtinyinthemiddleofthegiantmassofbodies,theireyesbigandroundwithconfusion.Astheclockticksdown,there’savibratingundercurrentofpanic,asifthecrowdissensingthatWonderlandisabouttotakethestageandweareallpotentiallygoingtomissit.
ItugConnor’ssleeve,urginghimdownsoIcantellhim,“Putmeonyourshoulders.”
Heleansincloser,notunderstanding.“I’msorry,what?”
“SoIcanseewherethislinegoes.I’mworriedit’sagiantclumpofpeopleuptherepushingtheirwayin,andIamnotlettingourgirlsmissthis.”
Hedoesn’thesitate,crouchingdownintoasquat,andwithgigglingJunoandSteviesteadyingme,Iclimbonthosebroad,muscularshoulders.Connorstandsseeminglywithouteffort,sendingmewelloversixfeetintotheair.
Iletoutaterrifiedsqueak,clutchinghisjawwithbothhands.“ItakebackeverywishIevermadetobetall.”
Connorlaughs.“Relax,I’vegotyou.”Hecurlshishandsaroundmybareshins,gentlycoaxingmetohookmylegsback,tuckingthemunderhisarms.I’mnowawarenotonlyofthechaosaheadofus,butofthewarmsolidityofConnor’sneckbetweenmylegsandtheunrealstabilityofhisshouldersbeneathme.Iwonderifhefeelstheheatofme,too,andifhe’sthinkingwhatI’mthinking,whichishowgreatitistohavehisheadbetweenmylegs.
Icouldobviouslystayuphereallnight,butdutycalls.“Okay,I’vegotit.Youcanputmedown.”
Hedoes,staringquizzicallyatmeoncewe’rebothstandingagain.“Helpful?”
“Very.”IputmyhandatopJuno’sheadandbendtomeethereyes.“I’llberightback.”
Andwiththat,Iduckintothecrowd
Twentyminuteslater,weareinside,holdingbeersinthesmallsuitethevenueexecutivewhoonceaskedtobecalledDoctorinbedbookedforus,andwatchingadelightedJunoandSteviedanceontheglass-enclosedbalconytomusicbeingpipedthroughthespeakersbeforetheshowbegins.
ConnorissmilingatmelikeI’masuperhero,butreallyallittookwasdraggingthebewilderedsecurityteamtotheentrygatewhereanenormousclusterofpeoplewerecuttinginlineandwedginginaheadofeveryone.Oncetheysortedthatsituation,concertgoersstartedfilingin,happilyorganized.
“Youcouldhavebeentrampled,”hesaysnow.
“Unlikely.”Isipmybeer,wipingawaythefoamonmylip.“WhenI’mdetermined,Ilookmuchbigger.IbetIwasatleastsixfoottwowalkingthroughthatcrowd.”
“Aren’tyouafraidofanything?”
IlaughwhenJunoandSteviebeginpretendingtotwerk.Thesetinydummies.“No.”AndthenIreconsider,lookingupathim.“Wait,yes.I’mafraidthatatsomepointinthepastI’veaccidentallyFaceTimedsomeonewhilemasturbatingandtheyaretoomortifiedandpolitetoevertellme,soIwillliveouttherestofmylifenotknowingwhetherIactuallydidthatbutalwayssuspectingthatIhave.”
Connorstaresblanklydownatme.
“What?”Iask.“Don’tyoueverworryaboutthat?”
Hesmiles,shakinghisheadashetipshisplasticcuptohismouth.
Arareflushofself-consciousnesstakesroot.IknowI’malottotake,andIsuspectifConnorfoundmeunbearable,hewouldn’teverleton.Hecouldn’t.He’dgrinandbearit,maybejustlikeheisrightnow.Hehastoputupwithmebecausehewantsthisshowtowork,andhewantsthisshowtoworkbecauseifitdoesn’t,he’soutofajobandlikelyhastomovetwohoursawayfromhisdaughter,thistinybundleofbarelycontainedenergy,dancingovertherelikeasparkleronNewYear’sEve.
“Sorry,”Imumbleintomycup.
“Forwhat?”
“Themasturbationthing,”Iwhisper,andthenaddwithasmile,“AndtheKendallRoyjokeatthesoccergame.Youarenotnearlythatbroken.”
Thismakeshimlaugh.“Don’tbesosure.AndnowI’mwonderingifI’veeveraccidentallyFaceTimedsomeoneduringawank.”
Ilookoverathim,gratefulathisattempttoeasethetension,butemotionallyobliteratedbythementalimagethat’snowbeingprojectedinHDinmybrain.
Connorshrugs,takinganothersipofhisbeer,andaffectionclutchesatmeasIregisteryetagainhoweasyheistobearoundandhowmuchIgenuinelylikehim.
ThewordsareoutbeforeI’vegiventhemtimetomarinate:“Sorryabouttheothernight,too.”
“Theoth—Oh.”Andnowtenseawarenessfallslikeshrapnelfromthesky.Connorcontemplatessomethinginthedistance,squinting.“Yeah,no.Youdon’thavetoapologizeforthat.”
“Yes,Ido.”
IdoeverythingIcantonotfilltheansweringquietwithjokesorinnuendoorevenremarksabouttheweather.Ijuststewintheawkwardnessofit,wantinghimtoknowthatI’mcapableofgravitasandsincerity,evenifIamoutwardlyterribleatboth.
“Ideclinedforseveralreasons,”hesaysfinally,andmymortificationbottomsouttodungeonlevels.
“Pleasedon’tfeelobligatedtolistthem.”
Heturnstofaceme,expressionsober.“ButnonewerebecauseIwasn’tinterested.I’msorryifIdidn’tmakethatclear.”
“Oh.”Ihavetobreakeyecontactfromthosehypnotic,fresh-leafeyes.Suddenlymybrainisnothingbutthestaticwhitenoiseofathousandsexysongsblaringovereachother.Connorhasnoideathathe’stoyingwithbarelycontrolledfire,thatflirtationismylovelanguage,andthatIhaven’tgottenlaidinavery,verylongtime.Frankly,Iwasjustbeingpolitebyapologizing.
“TellmeaboutJessandRiver,”hesays,blessingusbothwithanescaperoute.“Howdoyouknowthem?”
“JessandIhavebeenfriendsforever.Riverusedtocomeintoourcoffeeshopeverymorningandthey’ddothiswholePrideandPrejudiceflirt-but-not-flirtthing.Itwasentertainingbutultimatelyexhausting.IforcedhertodotheDNADuo.I’mtellingyou,ifitwasn’tforme,she’dstillbesingle.Ishouldgetafinder’sfee.”
“Iwasn’treallypayingattentiontothetechnologyyetwhenthecompanyfirstlaunched,”hesays,“buttheyhadaveryhighmatch,right?”
“Diamond—ascoreofninety-nine,infact,stillthehighestscoreincompanyhistory.Theexecutivesactuallypaidhertogettoknowhim.Honestly,Icouldn’thavewrittenabetterhappilyeveraftermyself.”
Imakethemistakeoflettingmyeyeswanderdownthelengthofhisbody.Heseemsstrangelyfidgety,andwhenhepullshissweaterupandoverhishead,foldingitonthebackofhischair,mybrainshort-circuitsforatleastasecond.
Anewemotioninvadesmyblood:softfondness.IblinkathischestandthefivegrinningmalefacestherebeneathWONDERLANDinthebranded,swoopingfont.“You’rewearingaWonderlandT-shirt?”
“StevieandIgotsomemerchwhenyouandJunowerestuckinthatabysmalportapottylineearlier.”
Ilaugh-whisper,“Merch.You’vegotthelingo.”
Hegrinsatmyslack-jawedawe.“Weareonaquest,right?Aquestforjoy?DoInotneedtoattaincertainknowledge?”
Forabeat,I’mspeechless.Ihaveatightfeelinginmychest,liketwinearoundmylungs,seeinghiminthisT-shirt.Andnotjustwearingit,butproudlywearingit.I’veagreedwithJessabouthowhotitisthatRiverissuchagooddadtoJuno,butit’satruthIcan’tlookatstraighton.Icelebrateitforherobliquely,onthesidelines.Iwantafamily,ofcourse,butwhoknowswhatthatwilllooklikeforme.Themeetsomeone+lovesomeone+betogetherlongenoughtowanttohaveakidtogethermathisn’treallymathingforme.Iassumemyroleisbeingtheauntieeveryonecomestowhentheyneedtolearnhowtodotheperfectwingedeyeliner,hideahangoverfromaparent,orcryabouttheirfirstbrokenheart.Ithinkeverychildneedssomeonewhoadoresthemunconditionallybutisnotbiologicallyobligatedto.Beingattractedtoaprouddadisdoingweird,painfulthingstomybreathing.
It’sonlyattraction,Iremindmyself.Don’tmakeitintoabigdeal.
“Ididn’trealizetheirmerchsizeswentuptogiant,”Isay,pushingmyvoiceoutpastthecorkofemotioninmythroat.Imakethemistakeofreachingouttotouchtheshirtabsently,curiosityguidingmymovements,andrealizehowfirmhisbodyisunderneath.“Atleastthisonedoesn’tlooklikeitcamefromthekids’department.”Holybicep.Ijerkmyfingersawaylikehe’sonfire.
“Thesizesareconfusing,”headmits.
Itakeasmallstepback,willingmyskintocooldown.“Iboughtashirtinwomen’slargeawhileagothinkingI’dhavesomethingtosleepin.Itfitsmelikeawetsuit.”
Helaughs.“Iassumedthat’swhythisonewasavailable.Thewomansaiditwasthelastsizetosellout.Mostoftheirfanbase—”Heholdsupahandtostopmefromcorrectinghim.“No.IthoughteveryonewouldlooklikeStevieandJuno.”Connormotionsformetofollowhimtowherethegirlsarestandingattheedgeofthesuite,overlookingthecrowd.WeseeagroupofwomenfullydeckedoutinWonderlandmerchbelowus.Thesuitetoourlefthasthreethirtysomethingcouples,standingattheledgelikeweare,laughingandsippingcocktails.Theonetoourrighthasagroupofteenagegirlsandalonedadscrollingonhisphone.AndthrowingmygazeoutfartherIseealargegroupofwomenofallages,agroupofmeninLEDnecklacessingingalongtothepreshowplaylist,apairofwhite-hairedolderwomentakingphotosinfrontofthegiantscreens.“Itlookslikeoneofyoursignings,”Connorsays.
“Justalittlebigger,”Isay,laughing.
“Onlyfornow.”Helooksoveratme,hiseyesdroppingonlybrieflytomymouth.“Oncetheworldseesyou,Fizzy,they’regoingtofallinlove.”eighteenCONNOR
Steviehasalwaysbeenanexuberantchild,drivenbyheremotions.Shedancesaroundthehouse,doescartwheelsintheaislesatthegrocerystore,andwassoovercomewhenwebroughtBaxterhomethatsheheldhimandcriedintohissilkypuppyfurforafullhour.I’mfamiliarwithhersquealsofdelightwhenwegetthebackcaronBigThunderMountain,andthenonstopgigglesthatcomefromherroomduringasleepover.ButIhaveneverseenmykidlikethis.
Theshowhasn’tevenstartedyet,andStevieandJunoarealreadyupontheirfeet,dancingandsingingalongtomusicvideoswiththerestoftheaudience.Fizzywasn’tkiddingwhenshesaidthatshehadanin.Weareinasuite,highenoughtoseethearena,butstillreasonablyclosetothestage.Thereisalsocomplimentaryfood,drinks—booze—andourownprivatetoilet.Wemayneverleave.
AndFizzy…Ican’tseemtokeepmyeyesoffher.LogicallyIknowit’sself-sabotagetoentertainthoughtsabouthowgoodshelooksorhowtemptingherneckiswithherhairpulledbacklikethat,butmybraindoesn’tseemtocare.
Whensheclimbeduponmyshouldersoutsidethearena,itwaslikeapinbeingpulledfromagrenade.Icouldfeeltheheatofherthroughhershorts;thestrengthofherthighsgrippingmynecksentasharpboltofdesirethroughmybody,oneI’drathernotexperienceinfrontofafewthousandpeople.Iwantedtobealonewithher,torunmyfingersuptheinsideofherthighs,feelthatheatpressedagainstmyhand.IwantedtodroptomykneesandshowherwithmymouthjusthowmuchIhadregrettedgoinghomealonetheothernight.Job?Whoneedsajob?
Butofcourse,weweren’talone.ItonlytookoneglanceatStevie—hereyeslockedonFizzyandshiningwithabsoluteawe—forrealitytocomescreechingback.
Thankfully,it’stheeruptingscreamsthatbreakmefrommyswimmingthoughts,asthelightsaresnuffedoutandthearenaexplodesintoablastofunbelievablesound.It’snearlyoverwhelming.Iknowthatsounddoesn’thavecolor,butwhenIclosemyeyes,starspopyellowandredonmylids.Itisdeafening,atangiblethunderthatmovesthroughmychest,rattlingthegroundbeneathme.StevieandJunoarejumpingupanddown,joininginagrowingchantofthegroup’sname.
Fizzypullsmeclose,herhandclutchingmyforearm.Iseeherlipsmovebutcan’tpossiblyhearherinthecacophonyasshenodstothegirls.WhenIshakemyhead,shestretchesandIleanin,feelingherlipsmoveagainstmyear:“Iamsohappyyou’reheretoseethis.”
“I’dliketoputapedometeronthemandseehowmanycaloriestheyburnbytheendofthisthing.”
“Justwaittillitstarts.”
She’ssocloseIwonderhowI’llbeabletothinkaboutanythingelse,butwhenthefirstnoteringsthroughthedark,iteasilyyanksmyattentionaway.IhavenevervoluntarilylistenedtoaWonderlandsong,butitisimpossibletobeinthemiddleofallthisandnotbeaffectedbythecollectiveanticipationaroundus.ThisisthejoythatFizzytalkedabout.Thesharedadrenaline,everyonehereforthesamething.Eventhedadsnearushavedecidedtostand,somewitharmsfoldedacrosstheirchestsastheyobserve,othersshiftingfromfoottofoottogetabetterview,curioustoseewhatallthefussisabout.
Fireworkseruptfromthestageandthegroupemergestoathunderousreaction.Whenthefirstsongstarts,Fizzy,Juno,andStevieknoweveryword.I’msurprisedtorealizeIknowmostofthem,too.Thegirlslosethemselvestothemusicandtheeuphoriaoftheshow.Fizzydanceswhereshestands,entirelyunselfconscious.SomehowStevieknowseverybeatoftheshowbeforeithappens.Sheknowsthesetlist,whenthememberswillventureoutintotheaudience,andatexactlywhatpointthey’llpassrightinfrontofus.I’msocaughtupinitthatwhensheattemptstoholduphersmallsign,I’mreadytotakeoverandholdituphigher.
Duringthefinalintermission,sweatyandsurprisinglyexhausted,Iwalkfromthebalconyandthroughthesuitetousetheloo.WhenIstepoutagain,Fizzyismakingherselfadrink.Wecanstillseethegirls,buttheglasswallscloseusin,dullingthenoisefromtheshow.
IjoinFizzyatthebar,refillmywaterbottle,andclosemyeyesasItakealong,colddrink.
WhenIopenthemagain,she’swatching.“So.”Sheleanscasuallyagainstthecountertop.“What’stheverdict?”
“Tobehonest,Iexpectednoiseandtrafficandtwotired,crankyten-year-oldgirls—whichI’msurewe’llstillget—butIwasalsosureIwouldhateeveryminute.Iwaswrong.Youmaynowgloat.”
“Youweredancing,”shesayswithagrin.
“Iwasswaying.”
Sheletsthisoneslide.“I’mprettypickyaboutwhoI’llbringtoaconcert,butyouwereagoodsport,HotDILF.ImayinviteyouagainifIfindmyselfneedingaconcertbuddy.Butknowthereareusuallyfewerten-year-olds,morebooze,andtheoccasionalbadtattooattheend.”
“Ilookforwardtoit,”Isay,andglancebackatthegirls,unexpectedlystruckbyFizzy’spraise.ThegrouplaunchesintoanothersongandStevielooksover,searchingforme.Thisone’sherfavorite,thesongthatplaysonmywaytoworkeveryMondaymorningbecauseitwasthelastoneStevieplayedSundaynight.Sheexcitedlypointstothestagebeforeturningbacktowatch.
“Shetotallyadoresyou,”Fizzysays.
Idon’tknowwhythatwordinparticularstingsthebacksofmyeyes.Mostkidslovetheirparents.Idon’tlikemydad,butIdolovehiminmyownway.It’salovetangledupwithgriefandhurtandamessypileofothercomplicatedemotions,butit’sthere.Toadoreistocherish,totreasure,andforStevietovisiblyfeelthatformeafterallthewaysI’vefallenshortfillsmewithsomuchprideit’salmosthardtobreathe.
IfFizzycatchesanyofthis,she’spoliteenoughnottosayanything.“Thankyouforbullyingmeintobringingher,”Isay.“I’veneverseenherlikethis.”
Fizzygazesatboththegirlsfondly.“She’sdefinitelyinherelement.”
“Howdidsheknoweverythingthatwasgoingtohappen?Thesetlist,evenwhatthey’dbewearing.Where’dshelearnallthat?”
“It’swhatfangirlsdo,”Fizzysayswithashrug.“It’sthesamewayyouknowwhenanewShimanoderailleuriscomingoutforyourfancymountainbike.”
MyattentionsnapsbacktoherandIgrin.“Lookatyoutalkingaboutbikeparts.”
Shereachesforacookieandbreaksitintwo,handinghalftome.“SomemightsayI’manexpertattypingthingsintotheGooglesearch.”Shestudieshercookie.“Evenwenthuntingforpicsofyou.”
“Me?”
“Youknow,onset,mountainbiking.”Shepauses,shruggingcausally.“Withgirlfriends.”
“And?”Ileanagainstthecounteratherside,smotheringasmile.Sheissobloodyobvious.“Whatdidyoufind?”
Onesideofhermouthturnsdownintoafrownandcarvesasmalldimpleinherleftcheek.“Nothing.YourInstagramnameisabunchofrandomlettersandnumbersthatIwasonlyabletotrackdownbecauseIknowJesswhoknowsNataliawhohappenedtotagyouinsomething,like,fiveyearsago.Youhavefourfollowersandtwoposts.Itwasbothareliefanddisappointing.”
“We’resupposedtobefocusingonyourlovelife,Fizzy.”
“Justfeelsunfair,”shesays,andhersmileiseasybuthereyesaretightwhenshelooksatme,“nowthatwe’rebecomingfriends,thatwe’reonlyfocusedonfindingsomeoneformeandnotyou.”
IlookouttowheretheshowiswindingdownandWonderlandissayingtheirfinalgoodbyes.Nothinggoodcancomefromthis.Webothknowitandyetwekeependinguphere.“Well,I’dbesurprisediftherearephotosofmewithwomenanywhere.Idon’tdatemuchthesedays.”
“HaveyouevertriedDNADuo?”
“Me?Definitelynot,”Isay,shakingmyhead.“It’snotthatIdon’tbelieveitoranything,Ijust…ifIhadamatch,I’dwanttotakeitseriously,andIjustcan’trightnow.”
“Jesswasthesameway.WithJuno,”shesays,clarifying.“Shewasn’tinterestedingettinginvolvedwithanyoneuntilJunowasincollege.”
“Soundsfamiliar.”
“I’lltellyouwhatItoldher:thatmakesforaboringfuckingbook.”
“Well,maybeoneday,”Isay.“ItrieddatingafewtimeswhenSteviewasyounger,butanywomanworthpursuingwantsmorethantheoccasionalweeknighttogether.Plus,whoeverI’minvolvedwithgetsme,Stevie,andNat.”
“Howlonghaveyoubeendivorced?”
“Steviewastwo.”
“Ohwow.Shewassolittle.”
Therewasatimewhenacommentlikethis—nomatterhowwell-meaning—wouldhavesentmedownarabbitholeofguilt.SteviewasyoungandgoingthroughthedivorcewasthehardestthingI’veeverdone,butthatdoesn’tmeanitwasn’ttherightthingtodo,either.“Shewas.”
“ButyouandNatareclosenow?I’veheardStevietalkaboutherafewtimes,andI’mprettysureI’veseenherattheschoolduringpickup.She’shot.”
Ilaugh.“Sheis.Andshehasaveryyoung,alsoveryhotboyfriendwhomIexpecttoproposetoheranydaynow.”
“Howniceforher.”Themomentstretchesout,tenseandknowing.Iexpecthertolookaway;shedoesn’t.Instead,shecluckshertonguesympathetically.“Toobadforyouyou’renogoodatcompartmentalizing.”
Idecidetostopdancingaroundit.“Specifically,I’mnotgoodwithcasualsex.”
Thewordsexflaresoutbetweenuslikeaflamethrowerandshegrins.“Yes,actuallyImeanttoobadformethatyou’renogoodatcompartmentalizing.”
Ilaughatthis.“Youareanhonest-to-Godmenace,Felicity.”
“Youlikeit.”
Ipretendtothinkaboutit,andshecomesrightupontiptoes,growlinginmyface.
Finally,Irelent.“Youaretolerable.”
Shesetsbackdownonherfeetandleansagainstthecounterbesideme.“Delightful,”shesays.
“Bearable.”
“Giftedandcharismatic.”
“Pushyandopinionated.”
“Yournewbestfriend.Sayit.”
Herhandrestsnearmine.Mypinkytwitches,brushingagainsthers.IfImoveawaynow,Icouldpretenditwasanaccident.ButIcan’t,andinsteadshiftmyfingersoitrestsontopofhers
Shecurlsherfingeraroundmine.Heatspearsthroughme,andtheurgetoturnintoher,topressheragainstthecounter,liftherup,stepbetweenherlegs,and—
Ipullinaslow,deepbreath.“Mynewbestfriend.”nineteenFIZZY
Junoisnolongeratinychild.
WhichmeanswhenwepullupoutsideJessandRiver’shouse,andbothgirlsarepassedoutlikesacksofflourinthebackseat,thereisnowayIcancarryJunotothedoorstep.
Truthfully,I’mnotevensureIcouldgetmyselftothedoorrightnow.Nottotootmyownhorn,butI’vewrittensexualtensionthatcouldpeelwallpaper,andnoneofitcomesclosetothelasttwentyminutesinthecarwithConnor.
“I’vegother.”Connorducksaroundme,bendingtounbuckleJuno’sseatbelt.
HisthighsflexbeneathhisjeansandhisshouldersstrainagainstthesoftcottonofhisnewT-shirtasheeasilyliftsthefloppykidfromhisbackseat.“Ireallydon’tthinkmyovariescantakeanymore,”Imumble.
Heturns,adjustingherweightoverhisshoulder.“What’sthat?”
Icoughdelicatelyintoafist.“Clearnight,don’tthinkthere’sraininstore.”
Connorlooksskeptical,butseemstotrustthatifI’mfilteringmyself,it’sprobablyagoodthing.HeturnsandheadsupwhenIgesturethatheshouldleadtheway.
Thedooropensasweapproach.Jessstandsintheframe,backlitbyawarm,goldenglow,andseemstoentirelymissthementalflaregunIrepeatedlyfireintotheair.Rivercomesupbehindher,reachingtotakeJunofromConnor,whomurmursasoft“Gother?”ashepassesheroff.
Myheartlaunchesitselfoutatenth-storywindow.
Thelittlegirlrevealsherlevelofconsciousnessbysnakingherarmsaroundherdad’sneckandmumbling,“Thankyou,Mr.Prince.”
Igetittogetherenoughtofrowninfeignedoffense.“Hey,whataboutme?Tickethookup,hello?”
Herresponseisasleepygruntasshe’scarrieddownthehalltoherroom.
WithJunosituatedandStevieasleepinthebackseat,Connorjogsdownacoupleoffrontsteps,andthenlooksbackatmeexpectantly.“Ready?”
Istarttofollow,propelledlikethere’sasilkenropeconnectingus,buthesitate.Ithinkaboutthewarmthofthecarandthesoothingmoodofthemusic.IthinkaboutConnor’sbighandswrappedaroundthesteeringwheel,grippingitlikeitwasavinetetheringhimtothetopofacliff.Ithinkabouthisforearmsthatarecordedwithveinsandmuscle,andhowwhenhe’stwostepsbelowmewe’refinallyateyelevel.Ithinkabouthowhiseyeslitupwithjoytonightwatchinghisdaughterinherelement,andIthinkabouthowhisshouldersfeltbeneathmylegsearlierwhenheliftedme.IthinkaboutthedefeatedgrowlofhisMynewbestfriendandIthinkaboutbeinginthefrontseatbesidehimforonesecondlongerandI’mnotsureIcandoit.Iambutamortalwomanafterall,andonceagainIwantConnorPrinceIIItocrushmebeneathhimlikeadelicateflowerunderafallentree.
Butsexily.
“IthinkI’llcrashheretonight,”Itellhim.
“It’snotoutofmyway,”heassuresme.“Really.”
“It’snotthat.”
Hiseyesnarrow.Hegetsit:Iamveryspecificallynotgoingwithhimbecauseit’snotthekindofrideIwanthimtooffer.
Instead,Iamgoingtogoinsideandtellmybestfriendallaboutthissuffocatingchemistrybetweenus.
“Ifyou’resure…”hesays,smirking.
“Oh,”Isay,“I’msure.”
Withthesmirkstillinhiseyes,hesaysgoodnighttoJessandthenjogshishotbodybackdownthefrontsteps.
Wewatchhim,rapt,likeit’sthefinalfewmomentsofSquidGame,andthenIexhalefifteenmetrictonsofairfrommylungs.“Jesus.”
“You’redoomed.”
Ifollowherinside,kickingoffmyshoes.“Iamnotdoomed.I’mawakened.I’mrevitalized.”
“Sure.”
“Jessica,hearmywords:Connorisacatalyst.Aspark.Anamuse-boucheforthelibido.Aren’tyouglad?I’vebeenanemotionalrobot.Thatdoesn’tmakeforinterestingtelevision.”
Jesscollapsesonthecouch.“DoyourememberwhenIfake-datedRiver?”
“OfcourseIremember.EverytimehewalkedintoTwiggsyoulookedlikeyouweregoingtoeathisface.”
“Andstill,IsworeIwasn’tintohim.”
Iseewherethisisgoing,butIdisagreewiththeparallel.“Yes,butyouweredelusional.Youwerealreadyhalfwayinlovewithhim.”
“LikeyourightnowwithConnor.”
“Absolutelynot,”Ireply.“YouwerefallingforRiver.Ijustwanttoridethehotproducer’sdick.”
Havingjustenteredtheroomtojoinus,RivermakesaquickU-turnatthis,disappearingbackintothehall.“Goodnight,”hecalls.
“Comeback!Ivalueyouropinion!”TheonlyresponseIgetisthesoundofhisfootstepsechoingaway.IgrinoveratJess.“Whoops.”
Sheshakesherheadinexasperation.“Whydoyoualwaysinsisteverythingisjustcasualsex?”
“Becausemylastrelationshipwaswithadirtbag,andforthepastthreeyearsI’drathereataliteralbagofdirtthanriskbreakingupsomeone’smarriageagain?”
“Yousayitlikeyou’rejoking,butit’strue.Robwasadirtbag.Hewasthemonster.Youdidn’tdoanythingwrong.”
Itistrue.Iknowit,intellectually,evenifittookallthistimetoreallyfeelthetruthofitinmygut.I’mfinallyoverthefatalstingofhisduplicity(eveniftherewillalwaysbeafieryasteriskbesidehisname).Isitdownbesideheronthesofa.“Iknow.”
“NoteveryguyisaRob.”
“Well,Icertainlyhopeso,becauseI’msupposedtobeoptimisticthatmysoulmatewillappearbesidemeoncamerasoon.”
Shestands,crossingtheroomtotheornatebarcartandpouringuseachasmallglassofwhiskey.“Soyou’reconfidentthatConnor’steamhasdoneagoodjobcasting?”
“Seemslikeit.”Itakethetumblerwithasmileandsip,lettingtheheattraildownmythroatandsettlegentlyinmystomach.“Igetthesensethathe’sbeenvery,verypicky.”
“That’sgood.”Sheswirlsherdrink.“Heseemslikeathoughtfulguy.”Along,quietpause.“Iwonderhowthisisforhim.Igotthesensetonightthatmaybehe’sintoyou,too.”
“Imean,Ithinkhe’sattractedtome.”Itilttheglass,lettingthelightcatchtheamberliquid.“Headmittedearlierthathedidn’tturnmedownbecausehewasn’tinterested.”
“Ofcoursenot,lookatyou.”
“NowthatI’minConnor-freeairandcanthinkclearlyagain,IsortofwishIdidn’tknow,though,”Iadmit.“Knowinghe’sattractedtome,too,hasmademeintoademon.Iwantwhat’sinhispants.”
Sheshakesherheadatme.“Focusontheshow.Whendoesfilmingstart?”
“Fiveweeks.”
“Anddidyousettleonaschedule?”
Nodding,Itakeanothersipofmydrinkbeforeanswering.“HesentitoverthismorningtoseeifIhadanynotes.Thefirstweekiscoffeedates.Wealldotestimonialsabouthowitwent,thentheshowairsandtheaudiencevotestoeliminatetwobasedonwhotheythinkIvibedwithmost,andsoon.Thefinaltwocontestantswillmeetmyfamily.I’mpretendingthatpartisn’thappening.”Jessmakesasympatheticgoodluckwiththatface.“Afterthatisthefinale,wherewefindoutiftheaudiencepickedmysoulmateaspredictedbyDNADuo.Thewinneroftheaudiencevotegets$100,000,andthenIgettochoosewhogoeswithmeonatriptoFiji.Soyay.”
“Funny,thatdoesn’tsoundlikeexcitementI’mhearing.”
Idigaroundinmyheadandmygut,searchingforaconvincingreply.“Sure,I’mexcited.”
“Fizzy,thisissuchacoolthingyougettodo!Yougettohaveeightromanceheroescompeteforyourheart!”
“Iknow,”Iwhine.“ButConnor’sthighscouldcrushmelikeagrape.Iwantthat,justoncebeforeImeetadifferentkindofprince.”JesslaughsasIleanmyheadbackagainstthecouch,sighing.“Iswear,Ijustneedtogethimoutofmysystem.”
“Thatisliterallyyourleastfavoriteromancetrope.”
Liftingmyheadagain,Ilament,“Yes,butwhoknewitwasarealthing!”
“Noone!”sheyellsback.“Becauseitisn’t!”Shethrowsupherhands.“Okay,seriously.Nomoreofthesedateswithhim.”
“Theyaren’tdates,”Iargue.“They’rejoyexcursions.”
“Fizzy.Beserious.”
“What!Iambeingserious!Hedoesoceanconservationdocumentaries.Iwantedhimtoknowthisaudience.”
“Doyoufeellikehedoesnow?”
Ashiverspreadsthroughme,warmbutstillunsettling.“Hedoes,andwatchinghimnotonlyopenhiseyestothissideoftheindustrybutalsoenjoyithasbeen…Imean,it’sbeenreallynice.Itisn’tjustthathe’shot.Ilikebeingaroundhim.He’sfun.He’sfunny.Andmaybemyfavoritethingofallishowheisn’tcowedbymyshit.Idaresayhemightlikeit.”
Gross.Feelings.
“That’simportantforaproducer,too,”Jesssays.
Groaning,Ifallsidewaysintothecouchbesideher.“Ifhewouldjustfuckme,I’dbeoverthisalready.”
Jessrunsherfingersintomyhair,scratchinggently.“Actually,Idon’tthinkyouwould.”twentyCONNOR
IshouldhaveforeseenthatextremesarethenormwithFizzy,andthatourtimetogetherwouldbethemostfunI’veeverhadwithsomeonebutalsothemosttorturous.Overseveralweeks,TheTrueLoveExperimentbeginstotakeshape,andFizzyandIskiveoffeveryFridayinourcontinuedsearchforjoy.WetakethetraintotheBroadMuseumandtalkaboutquiet,introspectivejoy.WevisittheLastBookstorenearby,whereshebuysmeacollector’seditionof’Salem’sLot,andIbuyheraframedcoverofoneofherfavoriteromancenovels.Thefollowingweek,shetreatstheentirecrewtoticketstoaliveshowingofTheRockyHorrorPictureShow.IgethomethatnightanddrinkmorethanIprobablyshould,allinanefforttoclearmyheadofthewayherentirebeinglightsupinsidewhenshe’slettingloose,howbadlyshesingsandhowmuchIadorethatshedoesitwithgustoanyway,howshetakestheadorationfromthecrewandreturnsittothem,doubled,andhowI’mbeginningtoabhortheprospectofherfindingtrueloveinonlyahandfulofweeks.
Shootingofficiallybeginstomorrow,butevenknowingmyworkdaywilllikelybeginbeforedawn,I’vegotonemoreplaceIwanttotakeher.
FizzyandIblowdownthefreeway,windowsopen,windwhipping.Theorangeglobesunhangsheavyandseductiveatthehorizon.It’sourlastjoyouting—atleastthelastonewe’veplanned,andI’msuretheplanI’vemadeisactuallyquitedaft.Wewillbealone,itwillbedark,withthesoundsofcrashingwavesallaroundus.IcanalreadyimagineFizzyrunningbarefootonthesand,tacklingme,pushingthroughthepatheticrestraintI’mclingingto.
TorreyPinesisafour-and-a-half-milestretchofcoastlinelocatedbetweenDelMarandLaJolla.Trafficisuncharacteristicallylight,andwemakeittotheparkinglotjustasthesunisbeginningtodipintothewater.AsIparkandmeetFizzyatthefrontofthecar,I’munpreparedalloveragainforthesightofherinsimplejeansandaT-shirt,sneakers,andafuzzysweatertuckedoveronearm.
Thereissomuchridingontheshow,buttherearemomentslikethiswhenIlookatherwalkingtowardthesandandcan’trememberwhatanyofitis.Whenshetalksaboutsomethingshe’spassionateaboutorburstsoutlaughing,whenshehandssomeonetheirassorletshertinyfissuresofvulnerabilityshow,IfindmyselfrationalizingthereasonsIshouldjustgivein.Maybeit’sinevitable.Maybenobodyneedstoknow.MaybeI’moverthinkinganditwon’truineverything.We’rebothadults;we’vebothhadsexwithpeoplebeforeanditwasjustsex.MaybeIcancompartmentalize.
Duringtheday,glidersandparasailerslaunchthemselvesfromtheredsandstonecliffsinthedistance,andsunbathers,surfers,andswimmerscrowdthebeach.Tonightit’smostlyempty,withonlyafewstragglersalongtheshoreorstraddlingtheirboardsintheocean,bobbingalongwiththeincomingtide.Theskyseemstochangebythesecond,ameltingcanvasofbluetopurpletoredtoorange.
“So.”Fizzystretches,revealingaswathofskinbetweenhershirtandthewaistofherjeans.“Thebeach.”
Ismileatthedisdaininhervoice.“Notafan,Ipresume?”
“Oh,Igetit,it’sbeautiful.”Shesitsonthesand.“Butit’salittlelikesexonyourperiod.Itsoundslikealotofwork,andyoudefinitelydon’twanttodoiteveryday,butonceyougetgoing,you’relike,‘Hey,thisisn’ttoobad.’?”
“OhmyGod,Fizzy,”Isaywithasmalllaugh.
Shelooksupatme.“What?”
Isitdownnexttoher,swallowingdownthewayinfatuationriseslikeasleeperwaveinmychest.“I’mnotevengoingtotouchthatone,Ithink.”
Shelaughs,slippingoffhershoesandwigglinghertoesintothecool,dampsand.“NowthatweknowhowIfeelaboutthebeach,tellmewhatwe’redoinghere.”
“Well,Igrewuponthewater,soIbroughtyouherebecauseIfeelverypeacefulattheshore,buttonight’snotaboutthebeachspecifically.It’samoment.”
Shetucksherkneestoherchin,wrappingherarmsaroundherlegsasshelistens.Aroundusthesunhasdippedbelowthehorizon,theskydarkeninglikeabruise.
“MyweekendswithSteviecanbeprettyroutine,”Iexplain.“Wegoforabikeride,takeBaxtertotheparkorsomewherehecanrunandplay,wewatchmoviesanddohomeworkandcooktogether.Basicstuff.Whenshewasaboutsix,Baxterhadsurgeryonhispawandcouldn’tcomewithherfortheweekend.Wedecidedtotrysomethingdifferent.Wepackedapicnicandcametowatchsurfersandendedupstayingmostoftheday.Weshouldhavegonehomeoncethesunset—itwasgettingcold,andIknewshe’dbeabearthenextday—butshewashavingsomuchfunjustrunningaroundanddoingcartwheelsinthesurfthatIdecidedtostayabit.ItgotdarkandwewerejustgettingreadytoleavewhenIsawthisbluesparkinthewater,andthenanother.Whenthewavescrasheditwasliketherewerehundredsoffirefliesinthesurf.”
“Oh,Iknowthisone.”Shesnapsherfingers,tryingtorecalltheword.“Bioluminescence.It’salgae,right?”
“Right.Sometypesofalgaeusebioluminescencetoavoidpredators,sowhenit’sdisturbedbysomethingmovingthroughthewater,orevensomethinggettingtooclose,itproducesthisburstofbluelighttoscarethemoff.”Ipoint.“Lookoverthere.”
Sheleansinandfollowsmygazetowhereasurferisleisurelycuttingacrossthesurfaceontheirwaytotheshore,leavingaswirlofbluelightintheirwake.“Itdoesn’tlookreal,”shesays.
“IremembertheamazementonStevie’sfaceandhowIwantedtobottlethatmomentandexperienceitoverandoveragain.”
Fizzylooksupatme.“That’stheansweryoushouldhavegivenmeinyouroffice.”
“Answertowhat?”
“WhenIaskedyouaboutwhatgaveyoujoy.”
Myeyesmovelikemagnetstohermouth.“ButthenhowwouldIhavemonopolizedallyourtimethesepastseveralweeks?”
Shelaughs.
“Besides,”Isay,“Ineveraskedyouwhatbringsyoujoy.”
Fizzyleansintome,bumpingmyshoulder.“This.Hangingoutwithyou.”
“ButbeforeIbecamethebestthingthateverhappenedtoyou?”
“JessandJuno.Myfamily.Travel.”Sheinhalesdeeply.“Sex.Writing.”
“Stillfeelingstuck?”
Shenods.“Ican’trememberthelasttimeIopenedaWorddoc.”
“Tobefair,you’vebeenbusy.There’sthiswholerealityshowwe’replanning.”
“Butmaybethat’saconvenientexcuse.”Shepicksupasmallpieceofseaweedanddragsitacrossthesand.“EveryideaIcomeupwithfizzlesbeforeIcanevengetstarted.”
“Idon’tpretendIunderstandwhatthisislike,butisitsomethingyou’vebeenabletotalkaboutintherapy?”
“Oh,forsure,”shesays.“ButIgotsotiredofgoingoverthesamethingandnotgettinganywhere.Iwoulddolittlewritingexercises,buttheyfeltpointless.”Shestaresoutatthewaterforalongmoment.“IknowI’llbeokayifIdon’twriteagain.Iknowthatthedeathofmywritingwouldn’tbethedeathofme.ButImissthatme.Ilikedthatme,andI’mnotsurehowtofindher.Focusingonitintherapystartedtomakeitworse,ifthatmakessense.”
“Itdoes.”
“I’mnormallyprettyself-awareandcanworkthroughmostthings,butthis—”Sheshakesherhead.“It’sgotmebeat.I’dallbutlostinterestinanymanuntilyo—”Shepauses,andthensquintsoutattheocean.“Until,youknow,theshow.”
Untilyou,shewasgoingtosay.Myhearttwistsuncomfortably.
Sheclearsherthroat.“Butyeah,lovestories.Mycurrentbrainblock.”
“Maybeyourbrainneedstoliveoneforachange.”
“Lookatyou,producer.”Shesmilesoveratme.“Bringingusfullcircle.”
Iwatchhertiltherfacetothesky,eyesclosedasshetakesadeepbreath.Finally,tonight,ourlastnightbeforeIendeavortohelpherfallinlovewithsomeoneelse,Icanadmitit.
Iamfallinginlovewithher.
“WhatcanIsay,”Imurmur.“Itry.”twenty-oneFIZZY
I’llbethefirsttoadmitthatI’matalker,butI’mgoodwithsilence,too.JessandIhavespentmanyaworkdaysittingacrossfromeachotherinproductivequiet.IlovethegentlemomentswithJunoonmycouch,herlittleheadinmylapwhileshereads.Ilovethebig-skyserenityofahikewithmybrother,Peter,ortheleisurelypeaceofmah-jonggwithmymother.Truthis,you’llnevermeetabookloverwhohatesthequiet.
Butaftertheeasy,overlappingflowofourconversationtonight,thissilencewithConnorisheavy.Sidebysidewesitinthesand,ourlegsstretchedoutbeforeus,toeswigglingupatthesky.He’srolledhispantsup,exposingfeet,ankles,thelowerhalfofhiscalves.Hislegsaretannedandlightlydustedwithhair,muscled.Thewayheleansbackonhishands,facetiltedtothenightbreeze…it’slikehe’sofferinghisbodyupforworship.Thatgeometric,superherochest.Thelong,cordedneck,thebunchingdensityofhisshoulders.Ifeelmybrainshriekingallthebreathless,desperatethoughts,likeYourbodyisunreal
andIwantyourhandsonme
andFuckmeintothesand.
Butwhatsurprisesmeisthatthesilencehasquieterthoughts,too.ThingslikeIreallylikeyou
andYou’resortofmyfavoritepersonlately
andIwanttobeexcitedfortomorrowbutallIcanthinkishowIdon’twanttonighttoend.
Ofcourse,thisfinalthoughtlandsjustasConnorcoughsintohisfist,breakingthestillness.“So,”hesays,andsmilesshylyoveratmeinawaythatacknowledgeshowheavythingsjustgot,howthereissomethinghotandtangibleintheairbetweenusbutmaybeifwetalkoverit,itwilldissipate.“Youreadyfortomorrow?”
Inhalingsharply,Isitupstraighter.Right.Getyourselftogether,Fizzy.“Iam.IhopeIcansleeptonight.Ireallydon’twanttoshowupallpuffyandshadowedtomorrow.”
“Iwasgoingtosay,”hesays,smiling,“you’veappearedverycalmforsomeonewho’sabouttobeontelevision.”
“Iwon’tdenythatI’vehadregularfacialssinceIagreedtodothisandinvestedinsomenewgravity-defyingbras.”Helaughs.“ButI’vealsodonesomanysigningswherepeoplehavetakenandpostedphotosofmefromawfulangles,there’sreallynopointpretendingtobeasupermodelnow.”
“Youdon’thavetopretend,”hesays.“Youalwaystakemybreathaway.”
Webothgostill,staringstraightoutatthesurfwhiletheechoofhiswordsspiralsaroundus.Mypulsegoesquietforamomentandthenitroarstolife,awallopingthrobinmyneck.AndIcanalmostfeelitinhim,thewayhewishesthewaveswouldstretchuphereandwashthatmomentaway.
“Well—so.Anyway.”Hisvoiceburstsoutnow,jazzhands,distracting.“Youseemmoreexcitedforthefirstdayoffilming,atleast.That’sgood.”
I’mstillrawfromhisdeclaration.Connorisanoaktree,andthemoretimeIspendwithhimthemoreIregisterhowfrequentlyIfeellikeastrayleafblownatthewhimofmyimpulsivedecisionsandmyroller-coasterjobandevenmyownmoods.Youalwaystakemybreathaway,hesaid.Hedoesn’tdocasual,isn’tgoodatit.Ofcourseheisn’t.Unfortunately,that’spartlywhyIlikehim.Hemovessteadily,withintent,throughtheworld.Iamsodrawntohimitfeelsmagnetic.
“Iamexcited,”Iadmitcarefully.“AndIknowyoudidanamazingjobwithcasting.Thatsaid,Ihopethere’sacontestantinthegroupwhomakesmefeelevenafractionofwhatI’mfeelingtonight.”
I’vekeptmyeyesfixedonthewater,butIcanfeelhimturnandlookatme.
“Whatdoesthatmean?”heasks.
Insteadofanswering,Ishiftand,slowlyenoughthathecanstopmeifhewants,Iclimboverhim,settlingontopofhisthighs.“ItmeansI’m,like,insanelyattractedtoyou.”
IfeelsomethingwithConnorthatIdon’twanttolabelquiteyet,butitscaresmetothinkI’deverhavetogiveitup.
“Fizzy.”
“Yes?”
Hestaresatme,eyesshadowed,andadjustshisposturetosetonewarmpalmonmyhip.“Haven’twealreadydecidedthisisabadidea?”
Histoneisn’taccusatory.It’sgentleandcuriousandmaybethetiniestbithungry.
“Yes.”Iswallow,gettingmylongingundercontrol.“ButIwassittingherethinkinghowmuchIwantedtotouchyouandhowscaredIamattheideaofgoinghometonightandneverfeelingthiswayagain.”
Connorreachesup,coaxingafewflyawaystrandsofhairawayfrommyface.“Doyoureallythinkthat’spossible?”
“Idon’tknow,”Iadmit.“Iusedtobeattractedtopeopleallthetime.Iusedtolovesex.Ilikedthatfunandadventuroussideofmesomuch.Beingnearyou…itmakesmefeellikemyselfagain,butamuchmoregroundedversion.”
“That’sagoodthing,sweet,”hesaysgently.“AndmayIaddthatmaybewhatyou’realsofeelinglatelyisgrowth.”Thewindblowsanotherstrandofmyhairacrossmyeyes,andhegentlytucksitbehindmyear.“Youaresomuchmorethanyourplayful,sexy,adventurousauthorpersona.Youarethat,ofcourse,butyouarealsoawomanwiththoughtfuldepthandsensitivelayers,andIwonderwhetherthewayyoufeellatelyislessaboutmeandmoreaboutconnectingwithanewsideofyourself.”
Ican’tblinkawayfromhissteadygaze.Mybloodseemstovibratewithwhathe’sjustsaid.“That’sprobablythedeepestthinganyonehaseversaidtome.”
Helaughsatthis.“Inanycase,I’mgladforyoutoberemindedbeforetheshowthatyouareasexualperson.Thatyoucanconnectwithsomeonethisway.”
“AndhereIam,”Isay,grinning.“Connectingwithyou.”
Hisgazesearchesmineforasecondandhisexpressionsoftens.“Mm-hmm.”
“I’mnotaskingyoutokissmeordoanythingmorethanthis.Ijustwantedtobeclosetoyouonetime.”Ireachup,tracingtheshellofhisear.“I’mgoingtomissyou,startingtomorrow.”
Thismakeshimsmile,buthedirectsitatmylips.“Butstartingtomorrowyou’llseememoreoften.”
“YouknowwhatImean.”
“Ido.”
“I’llhavetoshareyou,”Isay.“It’llbeweird.”
It’sthewayhetiltshischin,Ithink.Hejustliftsitslightly,atiny,unspokencomeon,then
Ileanin,slowly,sohecanleanaway.Buthedoesn’t,andthesecondmylipsmeethis,Ihavethespiralingsensationofneverhavingbeenkissedbefore.Connorisamountainofaman,warmandmassive,solidasbedrockbeneathme.Hismouthissoftandstrong,commandingandpliable.Pleasurespearsasweetarrowthroughthecenterofmychest,andinaflash,oursimplekissflares,allthepent-upfeelingspouringoutasourmouthsmovetogether.
MyGod.
Itisthebestkissofmyentirelifetime.
Hetiltshishead,comingatmebettersomehow,anddeeper,hislipspartingtoslotbetweenmine,onehandwrappingaroundmyhiptopullmeflushagainsthim,theotherslidingupmyneck,cuppingmyface.
Iknowpassion—intheheatofmanymoments,I’vecollidedwithwallsandbrokenfurniture—butalreadythisissomethingelse.Thisismorethanjusturgesandinstinct;it’sconnectionandlonginguncorked.ThefeelofConnor’sbodybeneathmeleavesnodoubtwecouldbreakanythinginmyhouse,butthishungerisintimate,too,sacred;burningmeupfromtheinside.IamundonebythewayhisbreathshakesagainstmylipsandthequietgroanshestranglesdownwhenIsweepmytongueacrosshis,whenIwrapmyarmsaroundhisneck,threadinghandsintohishair.Ifeeladesperateachespiralthroughmytorsowhenhishandleavesmyhipandslidesupundermysweater,bigpalmsmoothingupmyribs,cuppingmybreast,coaxingmybradownashekissesmewithhishungry,teasingmouth.Isensethatifwedothisonlyoncehewantstofeeleveryinchofme.Iwantit,too,pressingintohishand,encouraginghimwithsounds,withmyteethscrapingoverhislowerlip,hischin,downthesharplineofhisneck.
Theoceanroarsbehindus,wavesrollingoverthemselvestobreakagainstthesand.Myhandswanderthewidthofhisshoulders,downhischesttotheflatplaneofhisstomach.Hischeeksareflushedintheglowofthemoon,lipsfullandbitten,eyesheavywithlust.Amarkbloomsontheskinofhisthroat,asclearasifI’vegraffitiedmynamethere.ThisspotbelongstoFelicityChen.Iwanttoputmymarkalloverhisbody,claiming.Ireachbetweenus,pressingahandoverthesolidshapeofhim,mymindbottomingoutwhenIregisterwhatI’mfeeling.He’sbig,andmybodyclenches,suddenly,painfullyhollow.
Irollmyhipsagainsthim,butinsteadofbringingreliefitonlymakesmewilder.Hismouthchasesmykiss,swallowingthesoundImakewhenherocksup,thethicklineofhiscockpressingexactlywhereIneedhim.Hishandscupmyass,pushingmeawayandpullingmecloser,backandforth,againandagain.IknowIcouldcomelikethis.It’srightthere,shimmeringontheedgeofsensation,andI’mtornbetweenlettingmygreedybodyhaveitswayanddragginghimtothecarsoIcantakemytime.
ButbeforeIcanunbuttonhispants,heguidesmyhandawayandpullsmyhipscloseragain,archingintome.
“Takemehome,”Itellhim.“Iwantyousobad,Connor.Justonetime.”
Hebreathesagainstmythroat,mouthopen,theshapeofmynamepressedintomyskin.Itseemstotakemonumentaleffortforhimtopullawaylongenoughtogazeupatme,onlyaninchbetweenourfaces,butit’senoughforthecold,wetoceanairtoinvadethespace.Hiseyesclearandhetakesadeep,shakingbreath.Bending,herestshisforeheadtomyshoulder,exhalinginalong,slowstream.
Finally,hesayssimply,“No.”
InsideIamabeastwithsharp,gnashingteeth.Myclawedhandsgrabatthebars,shakingmycage.“Why?”
“Fizzy.Wecan’t.”Buthedoesn’tletmego.Hepullsmeintohisbody,holdingme.Connortakesadeepbreath,chestexpandingagainstme,andthenheseemstodeflate.“Wejustcan’t.”
Inhisarms,withhisdeepbreathssettingarhythmformyown,myfevereddustsettles.
“Itwouldn’thavetomeananythingmorethantwofriendsscratchinganitch,”Iwhisper.
“Unfortunately,Isuspectitmightmeanagooddealmorethanthat.”
Igostill,feelingrattledbyhiswords.
“Fizzy.”Agentlesurrenderhangsbetweenus.“Ireallyneedthisshowtowork,”hesaysquietly.“Idon’tregretthis,butitcan’thappen.”
Leaningback,Ifrown,drawingalinefromhisforehead,downthestraightangleofhisnose,overhislips,andreleasealowgrowl.“Fine.JusttakemehomeandI’lldiginmynightstandforthebiggestvibratorIcanfind.”
Helaughs,andIhughimagain,pouringallmygratitudeintotheembrace.Connorisawesome.IthinkaboutthisfriendIhavenow,thisopen,curious,steadyman.Imightnotgettohavehim,butatleastIgettokeephim.
“Ihadfunonourquestforjoy,”Isayintohisneck.
“Yeah,”hesays.“Me,too.”
“Butyou’retheonewhoendedtheinsanelygoodgroping,soyou’reobligatedtocarrymetothecar.”
“Isthatright?”
“Idon’tmaketherules,Ijustfollowthem.”
Icanfeelthereliefinhislaughthatcomesoutwarmagainstmyhair.“Okaythen.”
Ittakessomeawkwardshifting,hardpartsslidingagainstsoftspacesandhisfaceinmyboobs,buthemanagestostandupwithmylegsaroundhiswaistandmyarmsaroundhisneck.Withonetiny,finalpecktomycheek,Connorcarriesouroverheatedbodiesbacktotheparkinglot.twenty-twoCONNOR
Ididn’tsleepawinklastnight.AndIdon’tmeanthatItossedandturnedandeventuallynoddedoffatsomeoffensivehour.ImeanthatIdroppedFizzyatherplace,hadaninternalcrisisasshewalkedinsideandclosedthedoor,drovestraighthome,triedtoreadafewthingsforworkandfailed,wenttobed,replayedeverydetailofthemomentsheclimbedoverme,hadawank—andthenanotherintheshower—andnotoncefromthemomentIsteppedinsidetothemomentIputthekettleonthismorningdidIenjoyamomentofblissfulunconsciousness.
It’sonlysix,butthisdayhasalreadybeenahundredhourslong.
Thankstoourridiculouslypaddedbudget,oursetforthenextfewdaysisacozycoffeeshopintheGaslampQuarter.We’vegotthewholeplacetoourselves,buthavepaidthestafftosupplycraftservices,andhiredactorstounobtrusivelychatinthebackground.It’saniceplacewithagreenawningoutfront,localartworkonthewalls,andquirkymismatchedtablesandchairsscatteredthroughout.Thefrontcounterismadefrombeautifullywornwood,andapastrycaseisstuffedfullofmouthwateringsweets.Thebaristasarebeingpaidhandsomelytokeepeveryonecaffeinated,andthesmellofcoffeeandsugar—alongwiththethreeespressosI’vehadsinceIarrived—isnearlyenoughtomakemeforgetthatIcouldhavefuckedFizzyintotheCaliforniacoastlinelastnight
Wellanyway,let’sfindhersoulmate,shallwe?
Ofcourseshelooksfuckingincredibletoday.Shewalksinandmyheartdropsdownmybodyandthroughthefloorboards.I’mrelievedtoseethatshefolloweddirections—withFizzyyouneverknow—andarrivedincomfortableclothes,sansmakeup.Yetsomehow,seeinghersweetlydisheveled,barefaced,soft,andwarmmakesthisathousandtimesharder.
Thecrewcheersforher,guidingherinandtowardthebackwherehairandmakeuphassetupalittlestationoutoftheway.Threewomenflankher,onefocusingonhermakeup,anotherpullingabrushthroughherhair,andathirdshowingherwardrobechoices.Aroundmeisahigh-octanebustlingenergy,butIfeellikethestagnantrockinthecenterofthewhitecappedriver,stuckinplace.
Becauseamidthechaos,there’sanotherobservationtobemade:she’snotyetlookedatme.Beyondacasualwavewhenshewalkedin,there’sbeennothing.Obviously,Ineedthingstobeeasybetweenusonset.Thelastthingwewantisforanyonetosensetensionafterwe’vebeenquitechummyforthepastfewweeks.Butperhapsmoreimportant,Ilikeher.Imorethanlikeher.Idon’twantthingstobeoffbetweenus.
Steppinguptothecounter,Iordertwodrinksandmakemywaytowhereshe’sscowlingdownatherphone.
“Youallright?”Iask.
Sheclosestheemailappandslidesthephoneintoherbag.“Youdon’thappentohaveasexymanuscriptcompletedandhandy,doyou?I’donlyneedtoborrowitfor,hmmm,forever,andpermissiontopublishitundermyname.”
Deflectingwithhumor,howveryFizzy.
“Nah,sorry.”Ihandheracoffee.“ButIdohavethis.”
Shetiltsthecup,readingVanillaLattewritteninbeautifulcalligraphyontheside.Thesebaristasaregoingallout.“How’dyouknowwhatIdrink?”sheasks.
“YouorderedoneoftheseaftertheBroad.”
Atthis,thesmallteamofbeautifiersstepsaway—IwonderifthereisavibethatreadsPrivacy,pleasehere—andItakeasipofmycappuccinobeforeputtingitdownagain.MorecaffeineisthelastthingIneedrightnow.
OneofthesoundguysapproacheswithFizzy’ssmallmicinhishand.“Ready?”heasks.
Athernod,hereachesforthefrontofhersilkshirtandthewordsshovetheirwayupmythroat:“I’vegotit,mate.”
Hehandsitoverwithoutanyindicationthathe’sheardtheedgeinmytone.ButFizzyhas.Hersmirkislouderthanherburstinglaughcouldeverbe.
“Quiet,you,”Imumble,smiling,andhandherthecord.Imotionforhertoslipitunderthehemofhertopandouttheneckline.Sensationechoesdownmyarm,sendingelectricpulsestomyfingertips.Irememberthewayherbreastfilledmyhand,thegaspsheletoutwhenIclosedmyfingerandthumbaroundhertightnipple.
Shebringstheendofthecordupandoutofhercollarandholdsitoutforme.
Itakeit,andbend,attachingthecliptothefrontofhershirtasunobtrusivelyaspossible.Speakingintoherchest,Iask,“Howareyou,Fizzy?”
“Iamfine,Connor,”shesayslikearobot,andwhenIlookupather,she’ssmilingatme.
“Stillamenace,Isee.”Thebacksofmyfingersinadvertentlyskimherneckandcollarbone,andshesucksinaquietbreath.“Sorry,”Iwhisper.
“It’sokay,”shewhispersplayfullyback,andIconnectthecordtothemic.
Tensionthrumsbetweenus.Herskinissowarmandsoft,smoothandkissable.ThiscloseIcansmellthesubtlescentofhershampooandbodylotion.Itmakesmelight-headed.Straightening,Iadjusthercollartohidethemic.
“Shouldwetalkaboutlastnight?”sheblurts.
Behindme,there’sacough,agasp,asnortedlaugh,theclearingofathroat.Aglanceovermyshoulderconfirmsthateveryheadset-wearingmemberofthecrewhasjustgivenustheirundividedattention.“Youmeanourconversationabouttoday’srunofshow?”Iask.
AwarenesslandsandFizzynodsslowly,andthenwithmoreconviction,callingoutloudly,“Yes!Ofcoursethatconversation!Whatotherthingwouldwehavetodiscuss?”
Igazedownather,fightingalaughasIreachforwardtoturnoffthelivemic.“Iguesswedon’tneedtotestyoursoundlevels.”
Shewinces.“Youshouldholdupasignorsomethingwhenyouneedmetobecovert.Subtletyhasneverbeenmystrongpoint.”
“Ithinkasaferuleofthumbistobecovertwhenwearetogetheronthesetofyourdatingshow.”
Shesnaps,pointingatme.“Goodcall.Thisiswhyyou’retheboss.”
PinnedtothefrontofFizzy’sblouseisacustom-madetagwiththelogoforTheTrueLoveExperiment,andhernameprintedabovethewordHEROINE.EachoftheHeroeswillhaveanametag,too,alongwithhisarchetype.It’sallafungimmicktomaketheshowstandout,butit’salsoareminderofwhoI’msupposedtobe.Infact,Ishouldprobablywearanametagaswell,thoughI’mnotsuretherewouldbeenoughspaceonitforalltheremindersI’dneed:ConnorPrinceIII,HotDILFonlyasaninsidejoke,ExecutiveProducer,NotBoyfriend,NotEvenLover,DoNotCovettheHeroine
“Butyes.Aboutlastnight,”Istart,andherexpressionfalls,worrycreatingagentlecreaseinherforehead.Wordsevaporatefrommybrain.“Whichistosay—thatis,itwaslovely,andIknowyouknowthis,I’mjustconfirming…”Shestaresupatme,waiting,hereyessofteningasIstruggle.“Weshouldprobablynotdoitagain.”
Fizzynods.“Iagreecompletely.Infact,Igothomeanddidn’tthinkaboutitagain,notevenonce.Definitelynottwiceinarow.”
Iglaredownather.“Canweatleastendeavortogoaboutthiswithsincerity?”
Rorycallsthatwe’retwominutesfromrolling,andFizzydoessomesortofscoutgesture.
“Iamendeavoring,Ipromise.Bestiesonly.ButmayIsayonemorethingbeforeyougo?”
“Ofcourse.”
Shepointstohermic.“We’resurethisthingisoff?”
Ieyeherwarilyandreachforthecordhanginglimplyfromheropencollarandshowher.“It’sdisconnected.”
“IpromiseyouthatIwilldomyverybesttoday.Youdon’thavetoworryaboutmycommitmenttothisproject.”Atiny,seductivesmilecurvesherlips.“Butletmejustsay—”Hereyesdriftlazilydownmybody,lingeringatmyzipper,andthenslowlybackup.“Welldone.”
Shepatsmychestchummily,smiles,andwalkstowardherspotasI’mleftstaringafterher.
Ithink…didshejustcomplimentmydick?
It’scrazythatmyfacecansuddenlyfeelhotwhenIknowforafactthatmostofmybloodhasjustbeendivertedintheoppositedirection.Discombobulated,Itakeamomenttodepositmycupinthedishbin,whereabaristacheerfullyretrievesit.AsshockingasFizzycanbe,it’srefreshingtohavesomeonesimplysaywhattheythink.Thingsareweird?Let’stalkaboutit.We’dliketofuckbutcan’t?Let’sadmititandbothmoveon.I’venevermetanyonelikeher.
AsRoryshoutsdirections,givesFizzyapeptalk,andshowsherhermarks,aflurryofactivityerupts.Makeupandhairrushintodofinaltouch-ups,Fizzy’smicisinfacttestedoncemore,andbackgroundactorsgetintoposition.Thereisavibrationintheroom,apulsingthrumofexcitement.It’sallgoingtowork.Theshowisgoingtosucceed,Ifeelitinmymarrow.ItwillbehardtomoveonfromFizzy,butIwillmanage.
Ifeelself-possessed,incontrol,creativelyalive.Takinginadeepbreath,IgivemyselfamomenttoappreciatethathardworkhaslandedushereandtobeproudthatIsteppeduptothischallenge.Everythingfeelsprettyfuckinggood.
AndthenthecafédooropensandFizzy’sfirstHerowalksin.twenty-threeFIZZY
Iamveryskilledintheartofdenial.Forexample,Iamconsistentlysurprisedwhenit’stimetopayquarterlytaxes.IsingkaraokewithJessandJunoandamconvincedthatIsoundexactlylikeAdele.IamconfidentthatifIwalkfourblockstogetmymorningcoffee,Ihavealsoearnedacookie.
Andtoday,too.I’veknownthisshowwascomingforsolongnow,butitisn’tuntilthemakeupartist,Liz,comesinfortouch-upsandthelightwarmsmyskinandeveryone’schattersimmersdowntoahushedhumthroughouttheroomthatIrealize,Ohshit,ImightactuallylookterribleonTVImightnothavemymojoback.Imightbeawkwardorboringortoooldforthis.
Lizstepsback,examiningthemakeupsheappliedearlierwithsuchcareandquantitythatIstartedtofeellikeIwasawallbeingspackled.Justbeyondher,IseeConnorinthebackground,hisattentionfixedononeofthecamerasashequietlytalkstothedirector.Helookssocalm,soready.He’sprobablybeenthinkingaboutthismoment,strategizingthisentireshootforweeks,andhereIam,onlynowfullyrealizingthatIamabouttobeonTV.
“Areweactuallydoingthis?”IaskLiz,perchedbeforemewithasetofbrushesfannedbetweenherfingers.“Thisshow?Today?”
“Y-yes?”
“Okay,”Isaynumbly.“Coolcoolcool.”
IfeelherstudyingmewhileIstareattheveryinterestingpatternofgraininthewoodfloor.“Areyouokay,Fizzy?”
“No.”IlookupatherterrifiedfaceandrealizewhatIjustsaid.“Yes!Imeanyes.Iamgreat.”
Shedisappears,unconvinced.OhmyGod,I’mgoingtobeontelevision.Whydidn’tIputonasheetmasklastnight?WhydidIletthemputmeinsuchtightpants?WhydidIkissConnor?WhyamIlookingatConnorrightnow?Camerasareaimedatme,preparingformyreactiontothefirstHerotowalkthroughthatdoor.Ishouldbebreathlesswithanticipation,butmyeyesarefixedonConnor’sprofile,fascinatedbyhowhothelookswhenhe’sconcentrating.
OhmyGod,thisisgoingtoendinaflamingdisaster.Focus,Fizzy.
Thedirectorcallstomefromherchairnexttooneofthelargercameras.I’vealreadymetRoryseveraltimes,buthere,surroundedbycamerasandlights,I’mstruckagainbyhowyoungshelooks.Shecan’tbemorethanthirty,andwithherrippedjeans,BlackKeysT-shirt,andlong,darkcurlscoveredbyafadedbaseballcap,shehastheHollywoodlaid-backvibedownperfectly.Butmyfavoritethingabouther—andthethingthatseemstovexConnorthemost—isthewayshecontinuallycallshimbrowithoutanyintentionalhumorwhatsoever.
“Okay,Fizzy,”shesays.“Justdowhatyou’dnormallydoonafirstdate,andyou’llbegreat.”
Wildhorsescouldn’tkeepmefromcheckingConnor’sreactiontothispotentiallyscandalouspieceofadvice,andjustasIexpected,he’sbitingbackaknowingsmile.Hespeaksintohismic:“Takethatadvicewithagrainofsalt.”
Myburstinglaughlandsjustbeforeahushfallsovertheset,anditechoesafewbeatsbeforeeverythinggoessilent.I’msittingatatablefortwointhemiddleoftheroom,primpedandreadyforthefirstofthreedatestoday.Portablelightsaresetupjustoutofshot,andtheheatisalreadysuffocating,heightenedunderthepressureofeveryone’sexpectations.Imean,listen,I’vebeenthecenterofattentionbefore.Usually,Ithriveonit.I’vedeliveredkeynotesandbeenonpanelsatcountlessconventions,I’vedonesmallmorningshowsandspokeninfrontofreadersallovertheworld.Butthisisdifferent.Thisisglossy,big-scale,big-moneyfantasytelevision.Thisistheshowwherethepettiestamonguswillwatchandcritiqueandjudgeandthink,Whyher?I’vetakenonahugeresponsibility,andsittingherewhenit’swaytoolatetobackout…Isuddenlydon’tfeelprepared.
Witheffort,IturnmyfacetothecaféentranceasabeautifulAsianmanpullsthedooropen,steppinginwithaheart-stoppingsmile.Hiseyesmeetmineandthatsmiledialsup,turningrealatthecorners.
He’sdressedinblackjeansandablackT-shirt,withfull-sleevetattoosonbotharmsandseveralwindinguphisneckfrombeneathhiscollar.Whenhegetscloser,Icanmakeoutwhat’swrittenonhisnametag:
DAX:TATTOOEDBADBOY
Iswallowthelaugh,butthesmilestretcheswideacrossmyface.IttakesintensefocusnottoturntoConnor,tolethimseeinmyfacehowmuchthisdelightsmeandtosee,inturn,howproudhemustbeofgettingthisright.Connorworkedsohardforthis.Hereallylistened.
Butspeakingoflistening,Daxishere,andsoIstand,greetinghimwithahalfhug,receivinghisgentlepeckonmycheek.
Withanunderstandabletouchofself-consciousness,wesettleintoourseatsacrossthetablefromeachotherandreachforourwatersatthesametime.Iceclinksagainstglassasweliftandtakeasip.Hyperawarenowofthecamerasandcrewsandlightsandcompleteunnaturalspectacleofthisall,DaxandIlaughintoourdrinks.
Ididn’twantanyofthisscripted,butnowI’mwishingI’dpracticedsomething—literallyanything—toopenthisfirstdate.ComeSaturday,millionsofpeoplewillsitdownintheirlivingroomsandwatchmefumblemywaythroughthismoment.
Butifthereisanexpertindatinganywhere,it’sFizzyChen.SoIshovethistiny,terrifiedinstinctbackintoitsdustycornerandlookDaxrightintheeye.“We’resettingthebarhigh,Isee.”
Helaughsandgivesmeaplayfulonce-over.“I’llsay.”
Ireachmyhandacrossthetable.“Nicetomeetyou,Dax.”
“Nicetomeetyou,too,Felicity.”
Heholdsontomyhandforaprolonged,flirtybeat.Hisvoiceisnaturallylowandalittleraspy,hisfingerscoarseanddry,palmcalloused.Everythingabouthimisrougharoundtheedges,andIlikeit.He’saperfectbalanceofhotandsinful.Welldone,Connor.
ButdoItellDaxtocallmeFizzy?IlikethewayFelicitysoundsinhisvoice.Itsoundsdirtyandplayful,andthat’stherolehe’sbeengiven,theonehe’sbeensenttoembrace.AndIthinkoftheaudiencewatching,howtheywon’tknowmythoughtsunlessIsaythemaloud,andhowIdon’twantthemtothinkkeepingthingsformalisameasureofmyinterest.
“EveryonecallsmeFizzy,”Itellhim,releasingthehandshake.“ButIlikethewayyousayFelicity.”
“Felicityitis,then.”
Ismileinagreement.“So,TattooedBadBoy.”
Henods.
“Thetattooedpartisself-explanatory.Butwhybadboy?”
“Let’sseeifyoucanguess.”
Ileanin,humming,studying.There’sasharpnesstohisgaze,anovertconfidence.Ithinkofhiscallousedhands.“Daredevil?Ibetyou’reintoextremesports.”
Daxlaughs.“Skydiving,rockclimbing,younameit,yeah.”
“Holyshit.”Ismackthetable.“I’mgood.”
AproductionassistantwavesaredcardjustbehindDax’sshoulder,atechniqueConnorsetuptoremindmenottoswearlikeasailor.IthastheaddedeffectofremindingmethatConnorisrighttherewatching,thathishandsareenormousandwarm,andofthewayhesentoneupundermysweaterlastnight,cuppingmybreast,thepadofhisthumbcirclingthetightpeakashiskissesgrewimpatientandrough.
Focus,Fizzy.
“Iwanttoknowsomething,”Isay,leaninginclosertoblockouttheshapeofConnor’sbroadshouldersinthebackground.
Daxleansin,too,smilingcoyly.“Anything.”
“Whatisyourugliesttattoo?”
Whenhethrowshisheadbackandlaughsinsurprise,theoldFizzywouldnoticeDax’slongthroat,thatmasculinespikeofanAdam’sapple,andaboutahundredotherthingsabouthimbecauseheisgorgeous.OldFizzywouldbebreakingtherulesleftandright,planningmeetupswiththesecontestantsafterhours.Mytrailerinthealleyoutbackwoulddonicely.
Now,nomatterhowcharismaticheis,nomatterhowmuchIappreciatehissexappeal,theideaofmeetingupwithDaxlaterleavesmefeelingblankinside.AllIcandoisfocusonnotturningmyeyesuptoConnorinthebackgroundtogaugehisexpressionwhilehewatchesusflirt.
Butintheend,thedatewithDaxisobjectivelygreat.ThegleeheexhibitswhenheshowsmeatrulyawfultattooofamermaidonhisshouldersayssomuchabouthissenseofhumorandwillingnesstobesillyinfrontofthecamerathatIfindmyselfgenuinelyenjoyingtalkingtohim.He’sthird-generationKoreanAmerican,haswonallkindsofBMXtrickcompetitions(whichI’msureareveryimpressivetothosewhoknowanythingatallaboutBMX),andturnsouttobeasurprisefoodie,withfriendsintherestaurantbusinessallovertown
ThenextHerodate,ifpossible,isevenbetter.
ISAAC:HOTNERD
Hewalksintothecafé,abespectacledsix-foot-threeBlackman,andanappreciativehushfallsovertheroom.
Hesitsacrossfromme,hisHeronametagslappedoverapectoralIcanseeoutlinedbeneathhisplainwhiteT-shirt,andmanagestomakeartificialintelligencesoundonlymoderatelyterrifyingbeforeturningeveryounceofgenuinefocusonme.WhenIfinallyfindmywordsagain,wediscussbooks,oldestsiblingwoes,favoritememes,andourshareddisdainforhavingtogointothebankorpostofficeinpersonanymore.Forthefirsttimeinoveranhour,Iforgettherearecamerascapturingeverysingleexpressionthatpassesovermyface.Ilikehim,andattheendofourtimetogetherI’mgenuinelydisappointedtoseehimgo.
Thethirddateisthefirstrealmiss.
BENJI:COWBOY
Physically,Benji—whogoesbyTex—isgreat,buttheenergyisallwrong.IcanseeConnorpacinginthebackgroundbehindawallofscreensaswestruggleandjerkilyinterrupteachother,tryingtofillsilencesinunison.Whenheasksmewhatmydadthinksabouthisdaughterwritingromanceforaliving,Iaskhiminreturnwhathismomthinksabouthimridinghorsesforalivingandwatchtheconfusionplayacrosshisfeatures.
WhenI’mblessedwiththeendofourdateandTexleaves,I’monautopilot.Withoutthinking,ImakeabeelinetoConnorwherehe’sstandingatamonitor,reviewingfootage.Heturnsatthefeelingofmyhandonhisarm,followingmetoashadowedcorner.
“What’sup?”heasks,concerned.Hebendsalittle,comingeyetoeye.“Youokay?”
IrealizeIdon’tneedanything.Iwasjustfollowinganinstincttobenearhim,tofeedthisghoulinsideofmethatisrechargedinhispresence.Iwanthimtocalmmedown.
AndthistimeI’msmartenoughtoturnoffmymic.“Justwantedtosayhi.”
Hesmiles.“Hi.”
“Areyouokay?”
“Yeah,”hesaysbrightly.“Why?”
Iseethelieinthetightnessacrosshisforehead,butmaybeI’mreadingtoomuchintothisanditisn’taboutwatchingmeondatesafterourorbit-bendingdryhumpbutthepressureof,youknow,havinghislivelihoodhanginginthebalanceofthisentireproject.
“Nothing.Good.”Ilookpasthimoutthewindowofthecaféandtothestreet,whereafewpeopleloiteroutside,clearlycuriousaboutwhat’sgoingoninside,whatallthesecamerasaredoinghere.“YouseemedstressedwhenthingswithTexwerestalling.”
Connor’sdeeplaughsendsvibrationsdownmyarm.“Itwasgettingalittleawkward—whichdoesn’tmakeforgoodtelevision.ButyoulecturinghimaboutwhatBDSMreallyiscirclesusrightbacktogreattelevision.”
Ipreenasifhe’sjustpaidmethegreatestcompliment.“So,Iguessit’sgoodtohaveafewduds?”
“Absolutely.There’snostandoutifyouhavechemistrywitheveryone.”Hescratcheshischin.“YouseemedtoreallyhititoffwithIsaac.”
“OfcourseIdid.Yourcastingskillsareunmatched.”
Hesmilestightly.“Cheers.”
“But,”Isay,“youknowwhatonlyoccurredtometoday?”
“What’sthat?”
“YoumightknowwhomybestDNADuomatchis.”
Heshakeshishead.“Nope.”
“Really?”I’mrelieved.Iwouldberelentless,pesteringhimconstantly.
Connorlaughs.“Really.Iknowtherange,knowtherearesomegoodonesinhere,butonlyRoryknowswhosescoreisthehighest.”Webothlookoveratthedirector,whoseemstobeusingthisbreaktotalkBrenna’searoff.Connorlooksbackatme.“Butyou’rewelcometospeculateandthinkoutloudintheconfessionals.”
“Whenarewedoingthat?”
“We’llshootthefirsttomorrownightafterthefinaldate.Doesthatsoundgood?”
“Willyoubeinterviewingmeforthese?”
“Me?”Adorably,hepointstohischest.“Why?”
“Becauseyou’rehotandhaveanaccent.Thismightsurpriseyou,butchicksdigboththosethings.”
“ButI’maproducer.”
“Wait,what?”Iaskwithmockalarm.
Helaughs.“You’llbeintheconfessionaltrailersolo.You’lljustneedtogivearecapofeachdate.We’llpromptyouthroughanearpiecewithquestions,and—”
“You’regoingtoputmealoneinaroomwithacameraandtrustthattheentirethingwon’tgoofftherails?”
Connorstillsandpullsadeepbreathinthroughhisnose.Heliftsahand,wavingittoBrenna,whojogsoverimmediately.“Whatdoyouthinkabouthavingourhost,Lanelle,interviewFizz—”
“Iwantyou,Connor.”GlancingatBrenna,Iquicklysay,“Thatcameoutwrong.Thisispurelyaprofessionalwant.”
“Ihavenoideawhatwe’retalkingabout,”shesays,“butyoujustpulledmeawayfromhearingaboutthetimeRorylostacontactinthemoshpitataSocialDistortionshowandtheentiremobstoppedtohelpherfindit.I’mjusthappytobeoverhere.”
ConnorandIbothgivethisthesympatheticmomentofsilenceitdeserves,andthenheturnsandoffersanapologeticsmile.“Fizzy,Ican’tbeon-screen.HaveyoumetLanelleyet?”
“Ihave,andshe’sgreat.ButIknowyoubetter.Thatwillcomeacrosson-screen.”
“I’mnotanactor,”hesays.
“NeitheramI.”Imotiontohim,fromthetopofhissexyheadandallthewaydownthelengthofhissolidbod.“Andyou’refoolingyourselfifyouthinkallofthiswasn’tmadetobeinfrontofacamera.”IturntoBrenna.“Whatdoyouthink?Imaginethefemaleaudience’sreaction.”
Notrealizingshewascalledovertoreferee,Brennalookslikeshe’drathergobacktolisteningtoRory’smoshpitescapades.
“Imean,”shesayswithawince,“Fizzyisn’twrong.You’rejustashotasanyoftheHeroes—inatotallyobjective,still-my-superior-at-workkindofway,ofcourse.Andyoutwohavechemistry.”
Imotiontoher.“Givethiswomanaraise.”
“I—”Connorsays,butIjumpinagain,goingforthekill.
“Yousaidyourselfthatyoudidn’twanttheshowtobeoverlyproduced.Wouldn’tthatincludeeditinginterviewstolooklikeI’mtalkingtosomeonewhenI’mnot?Let’stalkitoutforreal!Viewersshouldseemehearingthequestionsandreactinginrealtime.”
Connorrunsanexasperatedhanddownhisfaceandthenturnshisgreeneyesonme.“Allrightthen.Ihavemyownrequest.”
“Aquidproquo.Irespectit.”
“IwasthinkinghowgreatitwouldbeifyoucouldtalkRiverintoappearinginthefirstepisode.Havehimwalktheviewersthroughthescience.”
Ibeltoutalaugh.Thispoor,naiveman.“Youdon’tknowRiverPe?a.He’dsoonerdie.”
“Iassumedasmuch,”hesays.“ButIalsoknowhowpersuasiveyoucanbe.”
There’sanawkwardbeatofsilence.
“I’mjustgoingto…”Brennapointsbehindherbeforeheadingintheotherdirection.
IlookatConnoragain.“Riverispretendingthatnoneofthisishappening.Nobodyisthatpersuasive.”
“Basedonpersonalexperience,Idisagree.”
Connorgivesmeaknowingsmile,andwhileI’dlikenothingmorethantostandaroundandflirtwithhimallday,hehasapoint.“I’mnotsureIcanconvinceRivertodoanything,butagoodideaisagoodidea.Nopromises,butI’lltry.”
“Likewiseabouttheconfessionals.Ican’tpromiseanything,”hesays,andextendsahandformetoshake,“butI’lltry.”
Connorwrapshishandaroundmineandweshakeonce…twice…andreluctantlyletgo.Heglancesbrieflyoverhisshoulder,thenbackatme.“Yougood?”
InodandwatchhimwalkovertoRorytodiscusssomething.Lizcomestofindmetoaskifthere’sanythingIneedbeforewewrapfortheday.Itellhernothing,butthat’snotexactlytrue.WhatIneedisforConnorPrinceIIItodosomethingthatmakesmenotwanttobenearhimeverysecond,andIneedhimtodoitsoon.twenty-fourCONNOR
IwakeupbeforesunriseonTuesdayandgetabriefshotofprofessionalblissbeforedreadhitsmelikeashadowchaser.Yesterday’sshootwasgood—brilliant,really—butifIthoughtwatchingFizzyflirtwithabunchofgorgeous,interestingmenrightinfrontofmewouldbedifficult,Iwasonlypartiallyright.Itwasunbearable.Andwe’veonlyjustbegun.
Thetruthis,ifwethoughtwewereontosomethingwiththeguysduringthecastingcall,thatawarenesswasamplifiedtenfoldseeingthemoncamerawithFizzy.Therewereahandfulofawkwardmoments,andnoteveryoneclicked,butherchemistrywithacoupleofthemwasoffthecharts,palpableenoughtofeelallthewayinvideovillage,wheresomeofthebigwigswerewatchingonthemonitors.Theycongratulatedmeattheendofthedaywithdollarsignsintheireyes,alreadyfeelingthetendrilsofsomethinggreat.Ishouldbeecstatic,buoyedbytheirenthusiasmandplottinghowtocapitalizeonit.AndIam.
ButI’malsoatouchlovesick.
Nobetterwaytogetmymindoffthingsthanexercise.Andit’searlyenoughthatIhavetimetokillevenaftermyrun.IcallStevieandtestherabitandwishhergoodluckonherstatecapitalstest.I’vejusthungupandamwalkingoutthedoorwhenmyphonerings.Thinkingit’sStevieagain,Ianswerwithoutthinking.
It’snotStevie.
“Hey,Dad.”Ijogdownthestairs.“I’monmywaytowork.CanIcallyouback?”
“Ijustneedaminute.”
AtthedrivewayIpause,takingacalmingbreath.It’salwaysthesameshit:mytimeisn’timportant;hiscallisurgent.AndIknowwhat’scoming.Iclimbin,thephoneconnectstoBluetooth,andmyfather’svoicefillsthecar.“ItalkedtoStefanialastweek,andshementionedyou’redoingrealityTVnow?Thatright?”IswearIdon’thavetotellanyoneanythinganymore,becausemydaughterwillalwaysdoitforme.I’malsonotsureifI’mmoreannoyedthathe’sbeenstewingaboutthisforaweekandisjustnowasking,orthatthelasttimeItalkedtohimwasmorethanfourmonthsago.I’mgladhehasabetterrelationshipwithSteviethanhehadwithme—marginally—buteverythingwithhimcomeswithacost.“Whenwespokeyousaidyouwereworkingonanotherconservationproject.”
Thisisn’taconversationIwanttohavewithmydadonanymorning,certainlynottoday.“Thecompanyistryingoutafewnewthingsthisyear.I’mapartofthat.”
“LAhasplentyofbettershops,Connor.”
Istareoutthewindshield.“Dad,comeoffit.Idon’twanttoliveinLA.I’dseeStevieonceamonth,ifthat.”
“Kidsareadaptable,”hesays,andwhenIdon’tsayanythinginresponse,hecontinues.“Listen,youknowhowIfeel.Youcouldhaveeasilycometoworkforme,C-suitefromtheget-go,seven-figuresalary,butfine.Youweredoingimportantwork.”Ihearhisairquotesandswallowdownanexpletive.Gettingintoitwithhimisneverworthit.“NowIhavetostomachthatmysonspentacouplehundredgrandonschoolsohecouldfilmabunchofhousewives?”
Ibitebacktherantonthetipofmytongue,knowingitwon’tmakeabitofdifferenceanyway.“It’snothousewives,Dad.Anyway,thisisaone-off.Thecompanyneededopportunitiesforproductplacement,andtheyaskedmetotakeiton.It’sahugebudgetandthey’vealreadygivenmethegreenlighttodomynextdocwhenthisshowwraps.”
IwinceattheboastIcanhearinmyownvoice,thepatheticattempttoearnhisapproval.
“Andthenwhat?Youcontinuetobetheircuckthenexttimethey—”
“Dad.Enough.”
Heimmediatelyfallssilent.Irarelyraisemyvoicetohim.
Notlongafterhe’dhadhisholidayflingwithmymum,he’dmarriedawomanhe’ddatedoffandonincollege,andtheyhadacoupleofkids.WhenImovedtotheStates,Ilivedwiththemfortwoyears.MyfatherisamultimillionairewhoownsoneofthelargestrealestatedevelopmentfirmsintheStates,andtome,ateenagerraisedbyapoorsinglemum,moneywaspower.Hewasintimidatingandstrict;DadandIneverbuttedheadsbecause,likemytwohalfsiblings,Ineverdaredtalkbacktohim.He’dlectureusallwhilewesattheresilentlypokingatourovercookedpasta.ImovedoutthesecondIcould,gotapartialscholarshiptoUCLA,andworkedasawaitertopaytherestofmytuitionandtopaymywaythroughfilmschoolatUSC.
IthoughtthatwhenSteviewasborn,hemightseethisperfectlittlegirlandmagicallyturnintoadecenthuman,butofcoursehedidn’t.Heloveshisgranddaughterasmuchashe’scapableoflovinganything,buttheonlytimehe’severtoldmeIdidagoodjobwaswhenNatandIsplitup,andapparently,IundidallofthatbyfollowinghertoSanDiego.Inhiswords:Whatkindofamandoesthat?
“Allright,”hesays.“What’stheshow?TheBachelorversionten-point-oh?”
DoesFizzygetthiswhenpeoplefindoutshe’saromancewriter?Theinstantcomparisontotheonebigpropertyeveryoneisfamiliarwith?“Yeah,Dad.Somethinglikethat.Listen,I’vegottoringoff.I’mabouttoheadintothedeadspotinMissionHi—”
Iendthecall,lettinghimbelieveit’sbeendropped.
BythetimeIwalkonset,mybloodpressureisasclosetonormalasit’slikelytogettoday.AndI’msurprisedthatIfeelmypulsesettlingfurtherbyassociation:Fizzycanbefoundhere.
Itwouldbeanunderstatementtosaythesetissimilartoyesterday,becauseitisinfactexactlythesame.Wewantittolooklikethedatesaretakingplaceonthesameday,sothepastriesinthecasehavebeenreplicated,thestacksofcupsarrangedjustso,andtheactorsareinthesameseatsaswhenwecalledcutattheendoftheday.EvenFizzyisinthesameoutfit,thesoftsilktopandtightblackpants,looking—ifpossible—evenmorebeautiful.
Despitethewaymymorningstarted,IamonlymildlyovercaffeinatedwhenourfirstHeroenters.
EVAN:THEONETHATGOTAWAY
Ifthere’sonethingyoucansayaboutFelicityChen,it’sthatshedoesnotdisappoint.WhenEvanstepsthroughthedoor,Fizzy’seyesfallstraighttohiscrotchbeforeswingingwildlytome.Imanagetocontainalaugh,butFizzyisn’tquitesolucky.SheletsoutwhatcanonlybedescribedasaguffawthatliterallystopsEvaninhistracks.AmurmuroflaughterripplesthroughthecrewasFizzyclapsahandoverhermouth.Rorylooksbackatme.Withoutwordsshe’saskingwhetherweshouldreshootEvan’sentrance,andIshakemyhead,confidentthatFizzycansavethiswithajokeandamomentoflevity.Butit’sEvanwhosurprisesmewhenhecontinueswalkingandstopsinfrontofhertablewithanamusedsmile.
“Don’tworry,”hesayswithaself-deprecatinglaugh,andmotionstohiship.“It’sgone.BartSimpsonisnomore.”
Shelaughs.“It’sforthebest,trustme.”Fizzystands,roundingthetabletoembracehim.“Thereareprobablyalotofconfusedpeoplewatchingthisrightnow,”shesaysoncethey’resittingacrossfromeachother.
Evansmilesdownatthetableandblushes.Afewfeetbehindme,oneofthefemalecrewmembersreleasesabreathysigh.
Lookingupagain,hegrinsatFizzy.“ThenpeopleshouldknowthatIhadaratherunfortunatetattooinaveryunfortunateplace,andFizzywastheonlypersonwhowashonestwithme.Infact,IshouldthankherfeedbackforninetypercentofthesexI’vehadintheyearssincewebrokeup.”
Fizzylaughsintoherhands.“I’mhappyforeveryoneinvolved.”
“Speakingofhappyforeveryone…”Hemotionstothelightsandcameraspointedatthem.“How’sthiswholecelebritythingtreatingyou?”
“Youknow,”shesays,“Igettosithereallprofessionallydolledupwhilescoresofsuitorsarebroughtinoneafteranother.I’vebeenworse.”Shesmiles,moreateasenow.Idon’tsenseanyromanticsparks,buttheyalreadylookcomfortabletogether,whichtheaudiencewilllove.“Whathaveyoubeenuptolately?”
“AfterwedatedandIpickedupthepiecesofmylife,”hesayswithaslysmile,“Itriedmyhandasapart-timebaristawhilecontinuingtobettermyselfasastudentatUCSD.I’vebeenthereforabouteightyearsnow.”
“Eightyearsisalotofbetteringyourself.”
“Lotsofpeoplegotoschoolforeightyears,”hesays.
“Andtheyhavetheirownparkingspacesathospitalsandtheworddoctorinfrontoftheirname.”
Evanleansin.“Haveyoubeentalkingtomymother?”
Thecrewholdsintheirlaughter,andIletoutalong,steadyexhale.Fizzyisabloodystar.
ARJUN:MR.DARCY
DatetwoofthedayshowsupinacustomGuccisuitandalligatoroxfordsthatcostmorethanmostpeople’sfirstcar.Fizzyisvisiblyunimpressed.Attheendofthedate,shegivesmeaflatstarethat,bynow,IcancorrectlyinterpretasMr.Darcywasgrumpybutkind.Thatguywasanegomaniac
Datenumberthreeispromising.
COLBY:NAVYSEAL
Colbyiswelloversixfeettallandawallofmuscle.Hisblackhairiscutshort,histanthecombinationofanolivecomplexionandearlymorningsspentbattlingthecurrentsatBreakersBeach.WhenhetakesaseatacrossfromFizzy,Ihavetotampdownawaveofpurejealousirritationoverhowgoodtheylooktogether.Buttheirconversationis,well…franklyit’sboring.Tohercredit,Fizzyreallytriestocarrythetepidback-and-forth,butletsoutanaudiblegaspwhenheadmitshehasn’treadarealbooksinceTheDaVinciCodewaspublishedin2003.
Theproducerinmereallyneedsthisnextonetohititoutofthepark.
ButtheguywhokissedFizzytwonightsagosecretlyhopesitallgoesdowninflames.Unfortunatelyforhim,itdoesn’t.Enter:
NICK:CINNAMONROLL
Nickiseverythinghewasinhisaudition,andwhenhewalksin,hedragsalongwithhimanauraofaffabilityandahazeofsexualitythatseemstoshimmeracrosstheroom.Fizzybeginstostand,seeminglywithoutrealizingit,thesecondshespotshim.Theygreeteachotherwithalingeringhug,andI’mhitwiththesensethatI’mseeingsomethingimmediateandintimate.It’sthekindofconnectionthatmakesmewanttowatchthemhavesex,andthenmyreflexeskickmeinthementalballsforthethought.
Thecrewisspellbound.AtsomepointNicktellsheraboutalitterofpuppiesthey’reexpectingathisoffice,andFizzymakeshimpromisethathe’llkeepherupdated.
Inanactofself-preservation,Imanagetotuneouttherestoftheirdate
Next,weget:
JUDE:VAMPIRE
I’mnotsurewhatFizzywasexpectingwhensheputvampireonthelistofarchetypes,butI’mhopingJudefitsthebill.IthinkImightevensurpriseher.JudewalksthroughthedoorandcrossestoFizzyinafewstrides.Beaming,shestandsandgreetshimwithahug.Hisearsglitterwithsilverpiercings,hehasalipringandanosering,andhe’sdressedinexpensivemonochromaticblackfromheadtotoe.HehasthesamecooledgeabouthimthatFizzydoes.
JudepullsoutFizzy’schairbeforemovingtohisown,andIamontenterhookswaitingforthereveal.
“So,you’remyVampire.”Fizzygiveshimanappreciativeonce-over.Oneofthecamerasiszoomedincloseenoughtocatchthewayshecrossesherlegsunderthetable,herhigh-heeledfootcasuallycomingtorestagainsthisleg.Greatforratings,terribleformymentalhealth.
“Itwouldappearso,”hesayswithasmirk.“It’snicetofinallymeetyou,Fizzy.Iwasgettingsonervous.Ididn’tthinkitwaspossible,butyou’reevenmorebeautifulinperson.”
Thereisn’tanounceofinsinceritydetectable.Watchingnexttome,Brennamakesatiny,infatuatedsqueakbeforequicklycoveringhermouth.OntheoutsideIamcompletelyimpassive.InsideIamflippingoffVampireJude.
Heliftshiscoffeeinatoast.“Here’stohopingthisisthefirstdateofmany.”
Visiblycharmed,Fizzyclinkshermugwithhisandtheybothdrink.
“Tellmeaboutyourself,Jude.Whatexactlydoesavampiredoforalivingthesedays?”
“I’maphlebotomist,actually,”hesayswithaknowinggrin.
Andthereitis.God,I’vebeenwaitingforthismoment.
Fizzyslapsherhandonthetablewithaloud,surprisedlaugh,hereyesshiftingjusttotheleftofJudetomeetmineacrossthecafé.
Thatlaughterisjustforme.twenty-five
EpisodeOneConfessionalTranscript
ConnorPrince:Fizzy.Howareyou?
FizzyChen:I’mgreatnowthatyou’rehere.
Connor:[laughs]Sincethisisourfirstshow,weshouldexplaintotheviewerswhatwe’redoing.MynameisConnorPrinceandI’moneoftheproducersofTheTrueLoveExperiment.You’llhavetoforgivemeforbeingalittlenervous.Iwasn’tsupposedtobeonthissideofthecamera.
Fizzy:AnoversightI’mgladIrectified.
Connor:Assomeofyouwatchingmayhavediscoveredbynow,Fizzycanbeverypersuasive.
Fizzy:Youarenotthefirstpersontosaythat.
Connor:Ibelieveit.You’vemetalleightofyourHeroesbynow.Howareyoufeeling?
Fizzy:HowamIfeeling,let’ssee.InmybookParadiseDreaming,themaincharacter,Jacqueline,hasbeenshipwreckedforthreeyears.She’stough,soshemakesitthrough,butwhenshe’srescuedandinthesafetyoftheshipcaptain’scabin,she’ssofamishedandovercomebyallthedelicaciesonboardthatshegorgesherselfuntilshecan’trememberherownname.Ifeelalittlelikethat.
Connor:Toomuchofagoodthing?
Fizzy:Maybe.
Connor:Isn’ttheheroofthatbooktheship’sdoctor?
Fizzy:Heis!Andhestaysbyhersideallnightandnurses-slash-bangsherbacktohealth.
Connor:[laughs]ThisisaveryFizzystory.
Fizzy:I’lltakethatasacompliment.
Connor:Good,becauseitis.Wedon’twanttoswayourviewers,whowillbeginvotingassoonasthisepisodeairs.ButtellmeyourfirstimpressionsofeachofyourHeroes.Let’sstartwithDax,ourTattooedBadBoy.
Fizzy:Oh,poorDax.Hegotstraight-out-of-the-gate,awkwardFizzy.
Connor:Youdidn’tlooknervousatall.I’dsayyoutwohadaconnection.
Fizzy:Ithinkso,too.I’mdefinitelynotgoingskydivingorrockclimbingorbearwrestlingwithhim,buthewasgreat.
Connor:NextwehadIsaac,HotNerd.
Fizzy:Alsogreat.Didyouseehisarms?
Connor:IthinkallofAmericasawhisarms.
Fizzy:AllofAmericaislucky.Woulditbetooforwardtoaskthathebeshirtlessnexttime?
Connor:Maybeabit.Youtwoseemedtohititoff.
Fizzy:Ithinkso,too.
Connor:Heronumberthree,Benji,akaTex,ourCowboy.
Fizzy:IknowI’mnotsupposedtoinfluencetheaudience,soyoucancutthispartout,butheaskedwhatmydadthinksaboutmewritingromance.Inappropriateandweird.
Connor:Movingon!NextwasEvan,TheOneThatGotAwayandtheonlyoneofourHeroesyou’vemetbefore.
Fizzy:That’sright.Wedatedforafewmonthswhenwewereinourlatetwenties.He’sareallygoodguy.
Connor:Whohappenedtohaveanunfortunatetattoo.
Fizzy:Ay,caramba
Connor:Indeed.Butheseemedgratefulforyourfeedback.
Fizzy:[laughs]That’sbecauseEvaniseasygoing.Hisglassisalwayshalf-full.
Connor:I’dwagertosayyoursis,too.
Fizzy:Thatdependsonwhat’sintheglass…
Connor:Cheeky.Let’smoveontoArjun,ourMr.Darcy.Thoughts?
Fizzy:ThatIbethecolorcodeshissockdrawer.
Connor:[laughs]WhataboutNick,theCinnamonRoll?
Fizzy:Thisarchetypeisabitmoreinsidebaseball,sofortheviewerswhodon’tknow,aCinnamonRollisaherowhoissweetandsupportive.Hehastheheroine’sbestinterestsatheart.
Connor:Right.
Fizzy:Youknow,underneaththosesuitsyouhavesomedefiniteCinnamonRolltendencies.Somanylayers,ConnorPrinceIII.OnemightevensayIfindyouhardtopeg.
Connor:Youknowme,likeanonion.
Fizzy:Oracake.ButbacktoNick.Ilikedhim.
Connor:That’sgood,I’msureitcameacrosstotheaudience.TellmeaboutColby,theNavySEAL.
Fizzy:Iwouldreallylikehimtoexpandhisreadingchoices.
Connor:[laughs]I’msurehe’denjoythat,too.ThenwehadJude.
Fizzy:TheVampire.Hewasveryfunny.
Connor:Ishumorimportanttoyou?
Fizzy:Oh,absolutely.Ineedsomeonewhodoesn’ttakehimselftooseriously,whocanletgoandhavefunevenifit’soutofhiscomfortzone.
Connor:Dancelikenobody’swatching?
Fizzy:Orsingataboybandconcertlikenobodycanhear.
[bothlaugh]twenty-sixFIZZY
ForthefirsttwentyminutesafterIarriveatJess’sonFridaynight,IbreathlesslydownloadeverydetailIcanrememberabouttheeightdates.TheHeroes’faces,clothes,voices,jobs,whetherIlikedthem,whatwetalkedabout,whatkindsofjokestheymade.
WhenIdescribethehilariousmomentmyexwalkedintothecafé,aknowinggrinpaintedonhisprettyface—andanevenbiggergrinpaintedonConnor’s—Jessnodsinrecognition.
“IsEvantheonewiththetattooyouhated?”sheasks.“Hasthatgreatlaugh?”
“Update,hewastheguywiththetattoo.Hegotitremoved.Andyeah,ChineseAmerican,playedsoftballwithmybrother.Iputhisnameonthelistbecausemydatingpastislitteredwithlandmines,andEvanisagoodguy,ifnotthesexualsaviorIneed.ButnowI’mthankingpastmeforincludinghim,”Itellher.“He’sgreat,andifalloftheseothermenturnouttobeduds,atleastEvanandIcantakeafunvacationtogethertoFiji.”
“OrmaybethingswillbedifferentthistimewithoutBartSimpsonstandingbetweenyou.”
“Maybe.”
“Sogivemearating,who’sthetoppicksofar?”
“ProbablyIsaac.Hewas…”Ipausefordramaticeffectandgivemyheadashaketoclearit.“Hewassohot,Jess.Andsointeresting.”
“Iseeeeeeeee.”Sheleansforward,eatingthisup.“Andweretheresparks?Fireworks?Bellsringinginthebackground?”
“Whoknows.That’suptotheaudiencetodecide,Iguess.”IfJesssensesthesubtextthere—thatevenafteronlythefirstroundofdatesI’malreadyconsideringImightnotfallforoneoftheseobjectivelyfantasticHeroesbecauseIcan’tstoplookingovertheirheadsattheexecutiveproducerinthebackground—shedoesn’tshowit.She’stoobusylivingvicariouslythroughmycrazydatingadventures.Justlikeoldtimes.
“Soarewewatchingthefirstepisodetogethertomorrow?”
“IjustneedtomakesurethatConnorwasn’tplanningthatIwouldwatchitwithhim,butotherwise,yes.”
Jess’seyesnarrow.“Like,justthetwoofyou?”
“No,”Isay,butthewordsoundsuncertain,likeImightreallymeanMaybe
“Fizz,”shesaysinlowwarning.
“Well,maybehewasplanningathing!”
“Whywouldheplantowatchitjustwithyou?”
“No,no,like—”Iexhale,wincing.“Okay,Ihavesomethingtotellyou,butyouabsolutelycannotgetmadatme.”
“Withthatkindoflead-upImakenosuchpromises.”
“ThenIwon’ttellyou.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
WestareateachotherinasilentstandoffuntilIblinkaway,casuallyinspectingmynailpolish.Usually,theoddsofuseachgivinginareevenlysplit,butgiventhatI’mtheonewiththejuicyinformation—andIknowshe’sspentthelasteighthoursdoggedlyrunningstatisticsonanenormousnumbersthing—I’mconfidentIcanwinthisone.
Thesilenceoftheroomseemstohumwithphantomsound.Thatspreadsheetmust’vebeenadoozybecauseshebreaksmuchfasterthanIwouldhaveexpected.“God,fine,justtellme.”
“Sundaynight,”Isay,leaningin,“thenightbeforeshootingstarted,ConnorandIhadourlastjoyexcursion.”
“Date.”
“Excursion.WewenttoTorreyPinestowatchthebioluminescentwaves.”
Herhmmmissuspicious.Sheknowsexactlywherethisisgoing.
“Well,spoileralert,weendedupkissing.”
Jessface-palms.“Fizzy.”
Ipointanaccusatoryfinger.“Theagreed-upontermsstatedthatyoucan’tgetmad!”Shedragsherhanddownherface,revealingafakesmile.“AsIwassaying,thekissingturnedintomakingoutandIwasonhislapand—”Iwidenmyeyesatherandlowermyvoice.“JessicaMarie,IamnotpositivebecauseIdidnotseeit,butIthinkConnormighthavethebiggestpenisofanymanI’veevertouched.”
Silence.Herexpressionflattens.
“Wait.Ineedwineforthis.”Shedisappearsforaminuteandthenreturns,settingtwoglassesofredwinedownonthelowcoffeetableandsittingacrossfromme.“Idon’twanttoencouragethis,orforyoutothinkIamsomehowcondoningit,buthowbigarewetalking?”
Ilookbehindmetomakesuretherearenoimpressionableten-year-oldearslisteningin.
Jessquicklyswallowsasip,shakingherhead.“Juno’satNanaandPops’shouse.”
Reassuredwe’realone,Iholdmyindexfingersanimpressive—yetaccurate—distanceapartandthenmakeacirclewiththefingersofbothhandstoapproximategirth.“Probablylikethis?”
Shewhistles.“Fizz,that’sthediameterofyourwrist.”
“Itisfact!”Ismackahandonthetable.“Itwouldbelikefistingmyself!”
Jessdropsherheadintoahand,sighing,andonlythendoIrealizethatRiverhadjustenteredtheroomholdingatrayofsnacksforus.HemakesaU-turnwithoutpausingandsilentlyexits.
“Wait,Ineedtotalktoyou,”Ishoutathisretreatingform.“Histimingreallyisamazing.”
“Well,goodluckgettinghimbacknow.”
“Ohplease,likeIcanshockhimanymore.Rememberwhenhehadtoundressme?”OnourgrouptriptoScotland,Jesswasabouttogetintotheshower,andinresponsetomypanickedHelpmetext,shesentRiver,notrealizingmyemergencywasbeingstuckinmydress.Tohiscredit,Rivercamein,tuggedtheoffendinggarmentupandoffwithouthesitation,andwalkedrightbackoutagain.Themanisunflappable.“Anyway,”Icontinue.“Asyoucanimagine,IwillbeunabletothinkaboutanythingelseuntilItouchitagain.”
She’salreadyprotesting.“You’reactivelyontheshownow!”
“Yes,butitdoesn’thavetoaffecttheshow!Thisisn’taboutfeelings,it’sadistraction.Ihaveatasteforhimnow.”Isigh.“Iamahunter.”
Shenodsinunderstanding.“LikeJamesinTwilight.”
“ExactlylikeJamesinTwilight,”Iconfirm.
“ExcepthowAlicepoppedhisheadoff.”
Islapthetable.“Whydoyoualwaysintentionallymissmypoint!”
“Thepointisthatthisisgoingtoendindisaster.”
“Ireallydon’tthinkso.Thisispurelysexual.It’snotlikeheandIaregoingtofallinlove.Iamaloud,romance-writing,adventure-seeking,opinionatedwoman.Andheisatall,sportywhitemannamedConnorPrinceIII.Ithinkwecanallagreeit’sjustamatteroftimebeforeIdosomethingtooshocking,orhe’lldosomethingtoannoyand/orboreme.”
Myphonebuzzesonthetablebetweenus.Connor’sfacelightsupthescreenandJessseesitbeforeIcanflipitoverandpretendit’smybrothercalling.
“Youevenputhispictureinhiscontactinfo?”Herdisgustistotallyfeigned.Underthatbaggysweatshirtandsensibleshoes,Jessisagiantdramaqueen.Sheislivingforthisexcitement
Withabrightsmile,Ianswer.“Hey,boss!”
“Hey,you.Youhaveafewminutesforapostmortem?”
“Thatdepends.AmIthedeadbody?”Acrossfromme,Jessgivesmeadisapprovingfrown.Itapmyforeheadtoremindherthatfacewillgiveherwrinkles.I’msuchagoodfriendandsheneverthanksmeforthesethings.
Connor’slaughisalowvibratingtickletomyladyparts.“It’sjustasaying,Fizzy.”
IhitMuteandwhispertoJess:“Hisvoiceissodeep.DidIalwaysknowhisvoicewasthisdeep?”Returningtothecall,Isay,“Iknow,I’monlyjoking.Yes,Iamfreetoexamineaproverbialdeadbody.”
Helaughsagain.“Cool.Youhome?Icancometoyou.”
“Icanbehomeinten.”
Withaquiet“Great,”hehangsup.
Andshit.IfweeliminatethepossibilitythatIamexcitedtoseeConnor,thereisnoremainingexplanationforthewayIboltuptogathermythings.
Jessfollowsmetothedoor.“Whatareyoudoing?”
“He’smeetingmeatmyhousetodoadebrief.”Ituckmyphoneintomypurse.
“Isthatagoodidea?”
“Isitagoodideatodiscusstheworkwearedoingtogether?”Ipretendtoponderit.“Ithinkso.”
“Discussingitatyourhouse,”shesays.
Iopenthedoor,steppingintomyshoes.“Guesswe’llfindout.”Whenherfrownintensifies,Iadd,“Fine.Ipromisewe’llstayoutofthebedroom.”
“Asifyouneedabedroom,”shesays.
Ipausewithmyhandontheknob.“Thatisagreatpoint.Okay,gottago!”
“Wristdiameter!”shecallstomeasIjogdownthestairs.
“Idon’tneedtowalktomorrow!”
“How’sthewritinggoing,Felicity?”
“Thisisresearch!”Icallback.
Icanpracticallyhearheraggrievedgroanasshewavesfromthefrontdoortwenty-sevenFIZZY
Connorbeatsmetomyplaceandiswaitingontheporch,onebroadshoulderleaningagainstthecolumnatthetopofthesteps.He’schangedfromthenicedresspantsandbutton-downhehadonearlierandismyfavoriteversionofsoftConnor:wornshirt,wornjeans,wornsneakers.Inthemoonlightandwiththediffuseconeoflightfromtheporchlampoverhead,helookslikeaHallmarkcuddlecometolife.
“Howareyou?”heasksasIapproach.
“I’mgreat.”Ireachhimandstretchtokisshischeekbeforerealizingthat’snotathingIshoulddowithmyplatonicproducerbestie.HisexpressionwhenIpullawayisamixtureofamusedandconcerned.
“Sorry,”Isay,andwhynotbefullyhonesthere:“Iwashappytoseeyouandunfortunatelydidnothitthementalbrakesintime.”
Hisfacedoesaweirdblipthroughalaughandagrimaceandfinallysettlesonblankness.“Noproblem.”SoftConnorisnowstiffasaboard.“Ijustwantedtocheckintoseehowthefirstweekofshootingwentforyou,andwhetheryouneededanything.”
“Me?”Iask,unlockingmyfrontdoor.Hefollowsmeinside.“I’mfine.”
“Onourend,thingsarelookingfantastic,”hesays,toeingoffhisVans.“Youreallyareanaturalon-screen,Fizz.Todaywecutallthesectionswewantfromthedatesandtonightwefinishededitinginthebackstoryintrosandthetestimonials.”
“Sotheepisodeisdone?”
“It’sdone.Thisisgoingtobegreat,andit’sallyou.”
Iturntofacehimaftersettingmypursedownandcatchhowhiseyeshavewarmed.“Actually,it’syou,”Iinsist.“You’retheonewhotookthatheroarchetypechallengeandranwithit.Thecastingisperfect.They’reperfect.”Igentlychuckhisshoulder.“Andhot.Welldone.Averitablebuffetofbeefcake.”
Isaythistocomplimenthimandhisefforts,ofcourse,butmywordsseemtodrainthewarmthfromhiseyesagain.“Well,”hesaysflatly.“Good.Wouldyoubeinterestedinwatchingthepremieretogetheratmyplace?Withthecrew,thatis,notjustme.”
“Sure!I’mexcitedtoseehowitalllookson-screen.Idon’tthinkIhadmuchofaconnectionwithArjunorTex—”
“Ithinktheaudiencewillpickuponthat,too.”
“—butIthinktheotherswereokay.AnyoneofthemcouldhopontheFizzyExpress.”IgrinathimasIdoadorkylittlechoo-choogesture.“Thiswillbefun.”
Connorblinksaway,studyinghisshoesbythedoor,anditmeansIgettostareathim.Ifeellight,elatedbythesuccessofthefirstweekoffilming,andgiddytobealoneinaroomwithhim.Thesneakiestofthoughtsescapes,unguarded:AsgreatastheseHeroesare,nonearehim.
“Doyouwantabeeroranything?”Isay,distractingmyselffromthistrulyawfulvoiceinmyhead.
Ashortnod.“Sure.”
Hefollowsmeintothekitchen,whereIgrabuseachabottleandleanagainstthecounter.“Whoisyourfavorite?”Iaskhim.
“MyfavoriteHero?”HetakesasipasInod.“Idon’thaveone.”
“Comeon.”Imakeabuzzersound.“Really?IseeyouasanIsaacfan.”
“Theyallseemlikeniceblokes.It’swhyIcastthem.”
“Well,sofarIlikeNick,Dax,andIsaac.JudeisgreatbutI’mnotsureweclick.”
“NotEvan?”
“Itdidn’tworkthefirsttime,butwhoknows?”
“Okay.Justkeepanopenmind.”
“Oh,Iwill,”Isay,wavingthisoff.“Butifyou’reaskingmerightnowwhoI’mmostattractedto,that’smyanswer.That’sall.”
Connorlookslikehe’sdebatingsomethingbeforehefinallyopenshismouth.“So,thisbringsustomyonepieceoffeedback,whichisperhapstotonedownthecome-to-bedeyesalittle.”
Ifeelmysmileslipfrommyface.“The—What?”
“Viewerswanttoseeyouforgingarealconnection.”
“Andthatdoesn’tstartwithflirting?HaveIbeendoingdatingwrongthiswholetime!”
“It’sthewayyouflirt,”hesays,unamusedbymyhumor.
“ThewayIflirt,”Irepeatflatly,andsetmybottleasafedistanceaway.Imayneedbothhandstothrottlehim.
“Onlythirty-threepercentofBachelorviewerstuneinforTheBachelorette.Doyouknowwhythatis?”
Oh,Iknowthisone.“Thepatriarchy.”
“Yes.Viewersarefarmoreacceptingofamandatingmultiplewomenthantheyareofawomandatingmultiplemen.It’snotright,butthat’sthewayitis.”
“Lookwho’ssuddenlyanexpertonpopcultureTV.”
“Itoldyou,I’mtakingthisseriously.”
“Soyouwantmetoplayhardertoget?Romancehasfoughtlongandhardtogetawayfromtheidealofvirginalingenueheroines.IfyouthinkI’mgoingtoplayintothatstereotypeonthisshow,you’regoingtobedisappointed.”
“Ididn’tsaythat.”
“Thenwhatdidyousay?”
Heshiftsonhisfeet,neckred.“Idon’tmeanyoucan’t—Listen,”hesays,tryingagain.“Nevermind.You’refinejustthewayyouare.”
“Oh,well.Thankyou.”
Aquietfallsthen,andit’slikeamatchblownout,thewaytheenergyevaporatesfromtheroom.
“Whyareyousuddenlymadatme?”Iaskhim.“WhatdidIdo?”
“I’mnot.”Heshakeshishead,lookingbrieflymiserable.“I’msorry.”
“IsaidyestothisshowbecauseIwantedtotakecareoftheaudienceinyourclumsyhands—”
Helaughsdryly.“You’vemademewellaware.”
“—butit’sfunbecauseI’mdoingitwithyou,”Ifinish,reachingforhishand.
Finally,helooksup.AndIthinkIgetwhat’shappening.God,Iamsodumbsometimes.
“Ihavefunwithyou,”Itellhim,tugginghimcloser.“ThisfirstweekonsetwasgreatbecauseI’mcomfortablewithyou.IinsistedyoudoconfessionalsbecauseIlikebeingwithyou.IriskedmylifetalkingtoRiverbecauseIbelieveinyouramazingideas.Youaredoingyourjobsowell,andI’msorryif—”
MywordsarecutoffwhenConnorstepsforward,cuppingmyface.Hismouthfitstomineandinaninstant,everythoughtmeltsaway.
Itisasimplekiss,softlips,firmpressure,andthenhegivesmeanotherfromadifferentanglebeforehepullsaway.Connor’sgreeneyessearchmine,flickeringbackandforthinquestion.Mythoughtsscreamtonotlethimretreatagain,butbeforeIthinktotughimbacktome,he’salreadyresolved,steppingcloser,crowdingmyspace.Istandonmytoesashebendstomeetme,hismouthsofterandhungriernow,goingafterthoseangleswefoundlasttime,deeper,histongueteasingandhot.Connorgroansandthesounddropsmeintoapoolofwant,andallIcanthinkaboutisdivingdown,findingmoreofthathoarseneedhe’shidingaway.Ikeepexpectinghimtobreakitoff,topullawayagainandapologize,remindmethatweweren’tgoingtodothisagain,butthemorewekiss,themorehisintensityrampsup.
Connorliftsme,settingmeinfrontofhimonthecounter,pushingmylegsapartsohecanstepbetweenthem.Hishandroamsupmyback,aroundmyribs,cuppingmybreastwhiletheotherpullsmyhipsforward,pinningmetohisbody.I’mrewardedwithanothergroan,andanotherwhenIgrindagainsthim.Hedoesn’tstopmeasIunbuttonhisshirt,spreadingitopen,flatteningmyhandsagainstthewarmwallofhistorso,broadandtight.
Connor’smouthisonmyneck,hisfingerscurlingaroundthestrapofmytanktop,draggingitoffmyshoulderandlower,stretchingthefabric,pullingmybrawithittobaremetohismouthandteeth.Thefeelofhisbiteandkissonmynippleispleasureundiluted,makingmyvisionspotblackasmybodygreedilystealseveryavailablemoleculeofoxygen.
Hishairissosoftinmyhands,andheseemstolikewhenIpullit,gruntingintomyskin,bitingmeindeliciousretaliationwhenI’mrough.WhenIpullithardenough,hemoveswiththegesture,standingagainandclaimingmymouth.Iwanthiskissforhours.I’veneverbeenkissedlikethisbefore,withsuchcommandandconfidence,withanenergythat’snearlyangry.Heshowsnosignsofstoppingtonight,andadrenalinedumpsheatintomybloodstream.
Connor’steetharebaredagainstmyjaw,handsdiggingupmyskirttodragmyunderweardownmylegs.
“Allright,sweet?”heasksroughlyintomyneck,andInod,keepnodding,becausehehaspermission,frankly,todowhateverthehellhewants.Iwanttoputtogetheracoherentthoughtaboutwhatthisfeelslike,thewayhishandswrapsoimposinglyaroundmythighs,theheatandscrapeofhisteethonmyskin,butonlylaterwillIreallybeabletoprocessanythingbutthefloodofsensation,thisfeelingofwhatit’sliketobecompletelyconsumedwithwantingsomeone.Wearelivewires,barenerves,movingoninstinct.
Hispalmslipsbackupmythigh,teasinglyslow,hiskissstillroughandplayful,teethtuggingmybottomlip.Andthenhisfingertipsgrazeoverme,slipperyandhotforhim.Hismouthgoessoftandovercomeagainstminebeforehepullsawayafraction,balancingcareandcommand,watchingmyfaceashefucksmewithonefinger,andthentwo,maddeninglyslow.I’mwatchinghismouth,thewayitshapesthesehalf-formedwords,thewayhisteethbeardownonhislowerlipwhenhepresseshisthumbtome,circling,thecockysmilethatappearswhenIletoutaninvoluntarycry.
Undermyimpatientfingers,hispantsaresoondownaroundhisknees,beautifulcockfinallyinmyhand,andIbringhimtome,teasingusbothuntilwe’reafeveredmess,kissessloppyandbiting,theheadofhimpressingintomeand—
Wepause,sensibilityoversense,fumblingforthatstraycondominthejunkdrawer,laughingintoakissabouthowconvenientthatwas,howbeingamessissometimesuseful.Hedoesitbecausemyhandsareshakingandhisaresteady,butIwatchbecauseI’msmartandnakedConnoristhesexiestthingIhaveeverseen.
Andwhenhestepsforwardagain,Isayhisname,aquestionmarkinmyvoice,buthekissesme,says,“Don’t,”againstmymouth,“Ican’tsaynoagain,”ashepushesforward.
It’sslow,perfecttorture.Sanityissofragile,Ithink,losingmymindininches,oneafteranotherasheworkshiswayintome,carefully,hisfocusonmyexpressionsandsounds.Butthenitgoesfromcarefultostarvingthesecondhe’sallthewayin,likestoneinsilk,andIbecomeawindtunnelofthoughts,tinyparticlesandfragmentsflyingbytoofastformetoprocess.Iamaselfishmonsterwantingmore.Iamawizardtoyingwithtimetomakethissexlastaneternity.Iamthefirstwomantoeverbewithaman,I’msureofit.
I’mstillsittingonthecounterbutit’saformality.Hishandsareundermyass,armsholdingmeup,anglingmesothathecanmoveinawaythatmakesusbothgasp.There’ssomuchpowerbehindeachthrust,somuchpent-upneedcoursingbetweenus.Forallmytalkaboutenjoyingsex,I’veneverbeenanoisylover,butwithConnorthereisn’troomforanythingelseandthere’stoomuchsensationtoholdinside,ithastoescapesomehow.Sharp,rhythmicgasps.Surprisedcries.Thesoundofoursweat-slickskincomingtogether.Ihearmyselfandwonderatit,feelinghalfoutofcontrolofmyownbodyandbrain.MaybeIam.Idon’tcare.I’mnotworriedaboutanything,notwonderingforasecondifit’sgoodforhimbecausetheansweriswritteninthefurrowedlinesofhisforehead,thesoftbowofhislipashestaresbetweenus,slowingtowatch,movingtotouchme,thumbstroking.
“Likethat?”heasksquietly.
Inod,whispering,“Comehere,”andpullinghisfacetomine.
Weshouldtakeourtime,butit’shardwheneverythingfeelsstrungtootightinside,readytosnap.Hereachesup,pressingaflattenedhandtothecabinetbesidemyhead,closingmein,watchingmetakeoverforhistouch.Almostimmediately,I’mfalling.
Ishouldholdback,butit’stoolate.Pleasurehitsmewitheuphoricdevastation.IthoughtI’donlygetthisonce;itwas,afterall,whatIthoughtIneeded.Justtoclearmyheadofhim.
Butthatwasbefore.Imean,I’vehadallkindsofsexandthiswasn’tlikeanyofthoseexperiences.IwishIknewwhatthiswas.twenty-eightCONNOR
AperusalofmyGooglehistoryfromtheearlyhoursofSaturdaymorningwillyieldthefollowingresults:
Whysexwithacoworkerisbad
WhattodoifIsleptwithsomeoneIshouldn’thaveanditwasgreat
Howtoavoidsleepingwithsomeoneyou’reattractedto
Howtoavoidsleepingwithsomeonetwice
CanmybossfiremeinCalifornia?
ProducingjobsinSanDiego
ProducingjobsnearSanDiego
JobsinSanDiego
Theeffectofanabsentfatherondaughters
Timemachines
Unsurprisingly,noneoftheseweremuchhelp.
Ididn’tgotoFizzy’sintendingtohavesex.Iwentoverwantingtocelebrateagreatfirstweekoffilming,toseewhatwecoulddobetter,seehowwecanmakethingsmorecomfortableforher.ButIalsowentovertherealreadyknowingthatifIkissedher,shewouldkissmeback.AndIwentoverthereknowingthatIwantherintensely,havefallenabitinlovewithher,andIdon’tmanagejealousywell.Iwantedhertobemine,still.She’dbeenright,whatshesaidatthebeach;Ihadn’trealizedhowharditwouldbetoshareheroncetheshowbegan.
Inhindsight,Irealizeitwasinevitablethatwewouldhavesex.Andthatsexinevitablywouldbemessy,hard,tender,andspectacular.AndnowIamroyallyfucked,becauseallIcanthinkaboutisdoingitagain.
Afewhoursbeforethepremiere,IfindNatinmykitchen,whereshe’sopeningabottleofwine.NoneoftheHeroeswillbejoiningustonight—theywon’tspendanytimewithFizzythatisn’tcapturedonfilmfortheshow—butmostofthecrewishere.Afewhavealreadydescendedontheextravagantcateringspreadsetupoutback(anotherbudgetperk),andtherestarechattingamongthemselves,anxiouslywaitingtoseeifourlittleshowwillbeahitorifwe’llallbelookingforjobstomorrowmorning.There’ssomuchmoneybeingpouredintothisthat,successorfailure,thescalewillbemassiveeitherway
Fizzyshouldbehereanyminute,whichiswhyI’mhoveringinthekitchendoorwaylikeacreep.
Natmustsensemebehindherbecausesheglancesoverhershoulder.“Hey,”shesays,andpullsthecorkfreefromthebottle.
Imovetostandnearthestove,notsureIwanttohavethisconversation,butknowingIwillgoinsaneifIdon’ttalktosomeone.“Hey.”
Shereachesintooneofthecabinetsforaglass.“Where’sthekiddo?”
“Inherroom.”SteviewaspreparedtowaitinthefrontyardforFizzytoshowup,butIconvincedherthatOceanBeachtrafficisalwaysbadthistimeofnight,especiallyontheweekend.SherelentedbutonlyafterIpromisedI’dletherknowtheminuteFizzyarrived.“WhoknewitonlytookavisitfromFelicityChentogetourdaughtertofinallycleaninthere?”
Natsnortswhileshefillsherwineglass.“Fizzyisagoodsport.Theheroworshipisstronginouroffspring.”
Theremindertwistsmystomachbecauseit’snotjustmylifethatwillbeaffectedifthisallgoeswrong,butStevie’s,evenNat’s.We’venevergonethroughthisbefore,becauseI’veneverreallybeeninvolvedwithsomeone.Notthatwe’reinvolved-involved,Iremindmyself.Itwassex.Peoplehavesexeveryday.
But…peopledonothavesexlikethateveryday.
Mysilenceearnsanotherlookinmydirection.“Everythingokay?”
“Sure,sure.”AnothermomentpassesandIchangemymindnofewerthanfivetimesregardingsimplyturningaroundanddroppingthewholething.“IhadsexwithFizzylastnight.”
Nat’smouthopens;sheblinks.“I’msorry,what?”
“Doyoureallyneedmetosayitagain?”
“Ijust…”shesays,rightfullyatalossforwords.“ThelastIheard,youturnedherdownbecauseitwouldn’twork.Thatwasweeksago.”Igrimace,becauseIhaven’ttoldNataboutthebeach.“Ithoughtyoutoldmeitwasjustaprofessionalrelationship.”
“Itwas.”Butthat’snotentirelytrue.Ourrelationshipwasprofessionalforapproximatelyonemillisecond;thecrumbledboundarieslooklikeapileofrubbleintherearviewmirror.“Andthenitwasn’t.”
IlookupwhenmybestfriendAsh’svoiceboomsdownthehall.“Everyonerelax,thechipsarehere!”IgroanasheandEllawalkintothekitchencarryingatleastadozenbagsoftortillachipsbetweenthem.He’salsogothissweateronbackward,butatthemomentI’mtooanxioustobeentertained.
“Youknowthere’sonlygoingtobefifteenpeoplehere,right?”Iask.“Andyou’retwoofthem?”
“IwassoexcitedIdon’tevenrememberbeingatthestore!”Ellasays.“Wewentonashoppingspree—”Shemimespullingeverythingoffashelf.“Straightintothecart!”
Oblivioustowhattheywalkedinon,shedropshercollectionofbagsontothecounter.
ButwhileAshcan’tfocusonphysicaldetailstosavehislife,heisfartooobservantwhenitcomestopeople.He’sgonestillbesideElla,lookingfrommetoNat.“What’swiththemood?Didweinterruptsomething?”
Natgivesmealookthatsaysit’smystorytotell.Thisisn’thowIwantedtodothis,butI’mpositivethey’llfindouteventuallyanyway.Withaquickglancearoundtomakesurethere’snobodyelsenearbytooverhear,Iwhisper,“IwastellingNatthatIhadsexwithFizzylastnight.”Thesilencethatfollowsissolong,thedepthsofitsodark,Ifinallyadd,“Somebodysaysomething.”
“Fizzy?”Ellaasks.“Asinthestarofthedatingshowwe’reallheretowatch?”
Ashfollowsupwiththehottestoftakes:“Thatseemslikeabadidea,Connor.”
“Ididn’tintendtodoit,”Iexplain.
Hefrowns.“I’mtryingtopictureaccidentalsexandamconfusedbywhatIsee.”
“Okay,backup,”Natsays.“YouaretheleastimpulsivepersonIknow.Youweredeadsetagainstthis.Whathappened?”
“I’mnotentirelysure,”Isay.Itwaslikeadrainstopperwaspulledandeverybitofmyobjectivityandreasonwentspiralingdown.Ihadnorighttocritiqueherbehavior;she’sbeenfantastic.Ihadnorighttofeeljealous,Istilldon’t.“Igotabitpeevedwhenweweretalkingabouttheotherblokes,and—”
“OtherblokesmeaningthemenyoucastasHeroesontheshow?”Ashaskswithayou’resuchadipshitwankerleantohisvoice.
“Right,fuckoff,butthensheseemedtogetit,”Isay.“Honestly,sheseesrightthroughme.”
NatletsoutahappylittlewhimperandIpointather.“Nothelpful.”
“Sorry,Ijustliketheideaofherseeingthroughyou.”
“Well,it’sgotusinafuckingmessnow,hasn’tit?”
“You’renotsuggestingyouputyourdickinherbecauseshe’sperceptive,”Ashsays,andEllasmackshisshoulder.
“No.It’sbecause”—Iscroungearoundforananswer—“Fizzyisso…”Iendthethoughtwithagrowl.“Fizzy.”
“Connor,”Nataliasaysgently.“Youlikeher.Alot.”
“Ido.”MyshouldersgoslacklikeI’vebeenpunchedinthestomachbecausenowthetruthisoutthere:myfeelingsareapileoftangledcomplicationsandthereisnowaytosafelymaneuvermyselfoutofanyofit.“AndI’msupposedtofindhersoulmate.”
“Whatareyougoingtodo?”Ellaasks.
“Myjob,”Isaywithashrug.“WhatchoicedoIhave?I’mdefinitelynothavingsexwithheragain.”
“Unlessit’sanotheraccident,”Ashsays.
“Fuckoff.”
Helaughs.“Well,maybetheshowwillflop.”
Ellasmackshisshoulderagain.“It’snotgoingtoflop,”sheinsists.“Whywouldyousaythat?”
“Becausemaybethat’sConnor’swayout!Hedidn’twanttodothis.Itwastheiridea.Ifitflops,thenclearlyitwasn’tagoodidea,andthat’snotonConnor,that’sonBlaine!”
“BlainewasprettyclearaboutwhatI’msupposedtodo.Andthey’vesunkafortuneintothis,soIhavenoexcuse.Ithastowork.”
Whenthedoorbellrings,everyonefreezes.
“Herewego,”Isay,pushingawayfromthecounter.Istopinthedoorwaytothehallandturntofacethem.“Please,don’tstareatusthewholetime.It’salreadygoingtobeweird.”
“Ofcoursenot,”Natsays.
“Oraskheratonofquestions,”Iadd.“Ontopofeverythingelse,she’sprobablyquitenervous.”
“Youlookquitenervous,”Ashsays.
“Pissoff,”Isayundermybreath.
AsIwalkthroughthehouse,Igivemyselfalittlepeptalk.Iamthirty-threeyearsold.I’mproducingashowwithanenormousbudgetthat’sabouttopremiereonnationaltelevision.I’veoverseenentireproductionsundersomeoftheworstconditionsinthemostinhospitableplacesintheworld.I’vehelpedkeepanactualhumanchildaliveforovertenyearsandnotlostorseriouslymangledheronce.Icandothis.IcanmanagemyfeelingsforFelicityChen.
IopenthedoorandimmediatelyknowI’mfoolingmyself.She’sbeautiful—she’salwaysbeautiful—butIregisterthattheworldisdividedintopeoplewhoknowwhatit’sliketomakelovetoFizzyChen,andpeoplewhodon’t.I’mnowoneofthelucky,brokenones.Iknowhowherskintastesandwhatit’sliketokissheruntilshemelts.Iknowhersoundsandthewayhereyesdriftclosedrightbeforeshecomes.Idon’tknowhowtogoabouttherestofmylifepretendingIdon’twantherwithaforcethatrivalsthepullofthetides.
Lastnightwefixedourclothesandshewalkedmetoherdoor.Westoodfacingeachother,justlikethis.Herlipswereswollen,hercheeksstillflushedfromexertion.Ileanedforwardandwhatwassupposedtobeasimplegoodbyepeckmeltedintosomethingwarmandgreedy.Timetippedsideways.Iimmediatelywantedheragain,rightthereagainstthewallormaybekneelingoverheronthecouch,herlegswrappedtightaroundmywaist.Ihadn’tleftyetandwe’dalreadymadeamessofthings,whatdiditmatter?
Butitdoesmatter.There’snoroominmylife—personally,orprofessionally—forafling.AndFizzyhasneverindicatedthatthisisanythingmorethanthat.Hell,Iwouldn’tevenbeinvolvedinthisshowifBlainehadn’tforcedme,andhecouldn’thaveforcedmeifIdidn’tabsolutelyneedthisjob.HavingfeelingsforFizzydoesn’tchangeanyofthat.
Withmyhandcradlingherjaw,I’ddraggedmylipsupherneck,placedakisstohercheek.I’dstraightenedtomeethereyesandsawthesamewantandconfusionreflectedbackatme.Neitherofusknewwhattosay,sowehadn’tsaidanything.Instead,I’dwalkedouttomycarknowingthatifIdidn’tleaverightthen,Iwouldn’tleaveatall.
“Hi,”Isaynow,takingastepbackandmotioningforhertocomeinside.
“Hi.”Herhairisinasleekponytail,hercroppedpantsandsweaterbothblackbutfeetframedinbrightorangeheelsthatbringherafewinchesclosertoeyelevel.She’swearingaslashofdarkeyeliner,herlipsascreeching,house-on-firered.Iwanttoseethatcolorsmearedallovermyskin.
I’mgladwe’realonebecausetheairpulseswithshimmeringwant.
“Shouldwegettheawkwardoutoftheway,”Iask,“ordragitoutforpeakdiscomfortlater?”
Sheletsoutasmall,relievedlaugh.“Let’stakepityoneveryoneandkicktheelephantoutoftheroomnow.”Shepullsinasteadyingbreath.“I’vebeenpracticingthis.”
“Byallmeans,letmehaveit.”
“Lastnightwasonehellofawaytobreakadryspell.”She’scloseenoughthatanyoneinanearbyroomwouldn’tbeabletohear,andhereyesaremoltenandintimate.“Butit’salsoreallycomplicated.Ithinkwebothgetthat.”
Inod.She’sgivingmethisoutandI’mgoingtotakeit.I’mgoingtotakeitandrunwithitanddomybesttoignorehownaivewe’rebeinganddigmyheaddeepintothesand.“Absolutely.”
“We’lljusthavetodriveeveryonenutswithallthisunresolvedsexualtension.”Shegrins.“I’vewrittenaboutit,I’manexpert,youknow.”
“I’mprettysureIknowhowthosebooksend.”
“Thenlet’sagreethisisabuddycomedy,notaromance.”Withalittlewinkandasqueezetomyforearm,shestepsinpastme.Ifollowthewayhereyesmoveovereverythingandwonderwhatshesees.It’saniceplace,withtallceilings,weatheredwoodbeams,agood-sizedyardforthearea,andagreatkitchen.Iboughtitaboutthreeyearsago,andwhileI’veneverhadmuchofaneedorawanttoreallydecorateit,I’vetriedtomakeitfeellikeahomeforStevie.
Fizzystopsinfrontofasnapshotoftwenty-three-year-oldmeholdinganewbornStevie.“Oh,thisisunfair,”shesays,pickinguptheframe.
Ilookexhausted,young,andstupidly,naivelyhappy.IhadnoideawhatIwasdoing,orwhatitevenmeanttobeadad,butIinstantlylovedthatlittlegirlinawayIhadn’tknownwaspossible.TherewerealreadycracksshowingbetweenNatandme,butIfiguredwecouldmakeitwork.I’dfindaway.
“NobodytoldmethatFizzywashere!”StevieracesaroundthecornerinhersocksandwrapsherarmsaroundFizzyinatighthug.
“Itjusthappened!”Fizzysays.“AndIhavesomethingforyou.”SteviestepsawaylongenoughforFizzytoreachintoherpurseandpulloutasmallpackagewithWonderland’slogoemblazonediniridescentlettering.StevietearsintoitandIrealizeit’stheonlyconcertDVDshedoesn’thave.
“Thankyou!”ShesqueezeshereyesclosedandhugsFizzyagain.
“Makesuretowatchitwithyourdad.He’sgotsomedancemovestoworkonbeforethenexttour.”FizzymeetsmyeyesoverStevie’sheadandgivesmeateasingwink.
“Allright,that’senough.Comeon.”IpickStevieupandswingherovermyshoulder,tryingtotampdowntheconfusingmixofanticipationanddreadIfeelattheprospectofthenextfewhours.SteviesquealsandIglancebacktowhereFizzyisgigglingandfollowingbehindus.“We’llbestartingsoon,andtherearesomepeopleIwantyoutomeet.”
TheminuteFizzyisinthekitchen,it’sclearNatandEllacan’thelpthemselves.NatgushesaboutFizzy’sbooks,howshe’sreadeverysingleone,andhowshecan’twaitforwhat’snext.Shesweetly,obliviouslyasksFizzywhenthatmightbe,andtohercredit,Fizzygivesananswerthatshe’sclearlyusedmanytimesbeforeandthatnicelybalances“it’sgoingtobeawhile”with“I’msoexcitedaboutit.”Nattellsherallaboutwalkinginonmethatfirstdaymid–FizzygooglingbeforeEllainterruptstobreathlesslyexplainthatsheisn’tabigreaderbutknowseverythingabouteverydatingshoweverandcannotwaitfortheshowtostarttonight.Ashmostlystandsofftothesidesmilingatthecountertopandtryingnottomakedirecteyecontact.
I’vebeensowrappedupintheFizzynessofthesituationtonightI’vebarelyletmyselfthinkabouttheshow.Butwhenit’stimeandeveryonecrowdsintomylivingroom,thenervesfinallykickin.Likewise,Fizzydeclinesfoodoraglassofwine,sayingshe’snotsureitwillstaydown.EveryonetriestogetFizzytositonthecouchinthecenteroftheroom—sheisthestar,afterall—butsheinsistsitwillonlymakehermoreanxious.Sheneedsspacetopaceandpossiblyescapeifneeded.Everyonelaughs,andthat’showFizzyendsupstandinginthebackwithme
Theroomfallsintosilenceastheopeningnotesofthethemesongplay.TheglossyTrueLoveExperimentlogoappearsonthescreen,followedbyourhost.Justaswehoped,LanelleTurneristheperfectamountoffunnyandrelatableassheintroducesherselfandexplainsthepremiseoftheshow.We’llmeetourHeroine,andhereightHeroes.AlongwithFizzy,eachcontestanthasundergonethepopularDNADuoscreening,andtheresultshavebeensealed.
Butfirst,theaudiencegetstomeetRiver.WhenLanellementionshisname,theroomaroundmefillswithapplause,theloudest—includingafewcatcallsandwhistles—fromNatandFizzy.WhenIaskedFizzyhowshemanagedtoconvincehim,shefirsttoldmesheusednature’screditcard.WhenIdidn’tgetit—
Sex,Connor.OhmyGod,adirtyjokedoesn’tworkifIhavetoexplainit!
—shesaidshetoldhimthatbylayingoutthesciencehimself,hecontrolledthenarrative,andthereforehowpeoplewouldseeit.Itdidn’tmeanhewasnecessarilybackingtheshow,onlyhistechnology.
Now,footageofRiverwalkingthroughthehallsoftheSalkandworkinginalabfillsthescreen,followedbyavoiceoverofhimexplainingtheinitialidea,andtheyearsandyearsofresearchthatwentintodevelopingit.He’scarefultoclarifythatitisn’taboutfindingpeoplewithsimilarDNA.Quitetheopposite:it’saboutcompatibilityaspredictedbyhundredsofvalidatedscientificandpsychologicalevaluations.Despitehishesitance,he’sthoughtfulandcharmingwhileremainingcompletelyimpartialtotheideaoftheshow.He’sperfect.
Withtheformatclear,Fizzyisintroduced,andagain,theroomfillswithnoise,muchmoreexuberantthistime.There’savideomontagethatincludesfootageofherspeechatUCSD,abriefbreakdownofherimpressiveliterarycareer,andthenaninterviewwithFizzyonhercouchathome.
“Ihavesuccessandhappinessonmyown,”Fizzytellsthecamera.“IguesswhatI’mlookingforissomeonetobemybestfriendandlover.Someonewithwhomeventhesillysmallthingsarefunbecausewe’redoingthemtogether.”
Nexttome,Fizzygroansandcoversherfacewithherhands.Whensheleansforward,Iseeasmallbruisesuckedintotheskinbehindherear.Thesightofitmakesmegohotallover.“Areyoukidding?”InudgeherandredirectmyfocusbacktotheTV.“Lookatyou.You’reperfect.”
On-screen,theHeroesarebeingintroduced.BecauseFizzydidn’thavemuchofaconnectionwithArjunorTex,we’veeditedittoshowlessoftheirstoriesanddatesthantheothers.Wewon’talwaysbesoheavy-handed,butwitheightguystogetthroughandlimitedtimetoshowit,wetookFizzy’spreferencesintoaccountandmadethecall.Thereareglimpsesoftheguysathomeandsnapshotsofeachoftheirbackstories.WeseeIsaacwithhismumandgrandmother,andawwwwwwwfromalmosteveryoneintheroom.Daxisshownjumpingoutofanactualplane,hangingfromacliffsomewhereinArizona,andthenatatableinhisparents’home,talkingaboutwhathehopestofindontheshow.WeseeEvanonthecampusofUCSD,joggingupthestepstotheengineeringbuilding.Wefollowhimtothecoffeeshopwhereheworkspart-time,seehimlaughwithhiscoworkersastheygood-naturedlyteasehimaboutbeingonadatingshow.Injustafewminuteson-screen,it’scleareveryoneloveshim.
Besideme,Fizzyspendsthefirsthalfoftheshowlookinglikeshemightbephysicallyill,butbythethirdcommercialbreak,she’srelaxedenoughtowantsomewine.Agoodsign.
Shefollowsmetothekitchenduringcommercials.Thelivingroombehindusisarambunctiousmixofvoices,allshoutingouttheiropinionsandsharedenthusiasmfortheshow.AnyquestionsIhadaboutitswatchabilityandsuccessareputtorestastheminutesgoonandit’sclearlyanentertainingprogram.Brennaismonitoringsocialmediaandsayspeoplearelovingit.Theshow’stagsaretrending.Icanexhaleforthefirsttimeinafuckingeternity.
FizzyleansagainstthecounterwhileIopenanewbottleofwine.
“Howareyoufeeling?”Iask.
“BetterthanIexpected.It’sreallygood,Connor.”
“You’rereallygood.”
“I’mserious.Youtookmysuggestions—which,let’sbehonest,werereallyjustmestartingabiggameofpower-playchicken—andturnedthemintosomethingtotallyunique.Alotofpeoplearegoingtowatchthisshowandloveeveryminute.Hell,I’dwatchit.Withsomeoneelseasthestar,thatis.”
“That’safuckingrelief,andImeanit.”
Rememberingthewinebottleinmyhand,Ireachintothecabinetbehindherforaglass,andfreeze.Themomentissoreminiscentoftheonelastnight:ourbodiesclose,sharingthesamebreath,myhandonthecupboarddoorforleverageasIpushedintoheroverandover,harderandharder.
HerbreathcatchesandIwatchasgoosebumpseruptalongherneck.Icouldkisshernow,andIthinkshe’dkissmeback.IfIaskedhertostayaftereveryoneleft,Ithinkshe’ddothat,too.
Intheotherroom,musiccutsthroughtheair,signalingtheendofthecommercialbreak.Ifollowherbackjustasthefirstconfessionalbegins.Theguyseachhavetheirturnsolo,andeachischarmingandobviouslyinterestedinFizzy.Frankly,theideathatanyofthesemenwouldn’tfallalloverthemselvestobewithherisunfathomable,butoureditingteam—myselfincluded—hasdoneagoodjobofcreativelytemperingTex’sandArjun’senthusiasmsonoonefeelstoobadforthemwhentheyarelikelyvotedoffoverthenexttwenty-fourhours.
AndthenmyconfessionalwithFizzybegins.
I’dneglectedtomentionthisparttoanyofmyfamily,andasmyfaceappearson-screen,theroomexplodeswiththeirnoisysurprise.Natisfuckingdelighted,Stevieisdancingonthecouchandshoutingthatthat’sherdad,andAshletseveryoneknowthathe’sjustbeenissuedafreepasstogivemeshitfortheforeseeablefuture.
Nexttome,FizzyisassmugasI’veeverseenher.“Doyouseethatcharisma?”shecallstotheroom,glassheldinfrontofher.“Hollywood,pleasehiremeasyourcastingdirector.”
Whenitquietsagainduringanothercommercial,shetapsmeandmotionstotheTV.“IsnowwhenyoutellmeIwasright?”
“Let’smanageexpectations.”Mostoftheroomhasemptiedoutduringthebreak,everyonewaitingforthelooorofftothekitchentorefilltheirdrinks.“We’llgetnumberstomorrow.Yourphonemustbeblowingupwithmessages.What’severyonesaying?”
Fizzydrainsherglassandleansbackagainstthecouch.“Notreadyforthatlevelofrealityyet.Letmestayinthissoft-launchenthusiasmbubbleuntilatleastninetomorrowmorning.ThenI’lltiptoeintoopinions.Butfornow”—shemotionstotheTV—“Iwasrightaboutyou.Sayit.”
“Youareoccasionallyclever.”
“Always.”
“Anaverageamount.”
“TellmeI’mthebest.”
Ismile.“You,Fizzy,arethebest.”
“Thankyou,wow,Ineverexpectedsuchacompliment,butitmeanssomuch.”Shehandsmeheremptyglass.“Nowplease,morewine.”twenty-nineFIZZY
Igetintomycar,turniton,andthensitidlingatthecurb,staringoutatthedarkstreet.ThisfeelingIhaverightnow—thejittery,hyper-adrenaline,restlessfeeling—mostpeoplewouldhavethisreactiontoseeingthemselvesonadatingshow,towitnessinghowthemasterfuleditingmadetheentireepisodesing,andthen,attheendofthenight,gettingthecallthattheshowisontracktobeingthebiggestrealityshowdebutinadecade.
ButIknowmyselfandknowthatthereasonIgetthesekindsofheartfluttersisthesamereasonIbecameanauthorinthefirstplace:Iloveromance.IlovetheswoopinginmychestwhenIreadagoodkiss,thechokingofmylungswhenIgettotheangst,theshaken-carbonatedblastofjoyreadingthehappilyeverafter.Ijustwatchedeightperfectmenvyingformyheart,andthey’renotevenwhyIhavetheflutters.IhavethembecauseIgottoseemynewfavoritepersontonight.
Stretching,Ifindmyreflectionintherearviewmirrorandglareatthatharlot.“Listenup,”Itellherforcefully.“It’sareliefthatthingsdidn’tgovery,verywrongbecauseyouhadsexwithyourproducer.Begratefulyoucanbeattractedtosomeoneagain.Youdidittogetitoutofyoursystem.Nowgetyouracttogetherandstopthinkingabouthiseyesandhissmileandhisdick.”
Satisfied,Iputthecaringearanddrivehome.
Idon’tcarehowconfidentyouare,nobodywantstorunintosomeonewhenthey’rebraless,wearingpajamapants,andbuyingsingle-servingcannedwineatCVS.ButasIstepoutoftheboozeandspiritsaisleattherespectablehourofnoononSunday,Icollideface-firstwiththecenterofavery,verysolidchest.
“Iamsosorry,”Isay,quicklydroppingtothefloortoretrievemyscatteredarmloadofcannedrosé.
“Fizzy?”
Iglanceup,eyestravelingovermilesoftonedleg—momentarilybummedbytheobstructionofblackrunningshorts—untilmyeyesskipuptooneofthebestsmilesI’veeverseen.“Isaac?”
Hekneelstohelpmeretrievemyspilledtreasuresandit’salittleembarrassinghowmanythereare.I’mnotsurehowImanagedtobalancealloftheseinthefirstplace.
“Stockingupforhibernation,”Ijokeaswestand.EvenIcanappreciatetheshameinwastingsuchsoaringspecimensofmenonpocket-sizedme,butwhoamItoquestiontheuniverse?
Isaacgrinsadorably.“Rosé:theperfectwinterwine.”Hecarefullybalancesmylastcanontopoftheteeteringpyramid.“Whataretheoddsofrunningintoeachotherhere?”
“I’msureyoucouldcalculatethem,HotNerd.”
“Touché.”Helaughsandeyesmyhaul.“Grabbingsomequalityrefreshmentsforwhatlookslikesomeday-drinkingfun?”
IeyethesingleGatoradeinhislefthand.“Weallchoosetohydrateinourownway.”Helaughsagain,andIadd,“Anditlookslikeyouaren’tsufferingsimilarly,butIfeltsomentallydrainedaftertheepisodeairedlastnight.I’vebeenuselessallday.”
Isaacnods.“Yeah,Ifeltthesame.Ifinallywentforarunjusttogetawayfromeveryrelativewithinfiftymileswhoshowedupatmyhousethismorningtotalkabouttheshow.”
Igroan.“Mymomhasbeencallingmenonstopsincelastnight.Convenientlyforgettingmyphoneathomewhilealsoprocuringwinefeltlikekillingtwobirdswithonestone.”
Helaughsagain,butthistimeithasaquiethuskiness,thetenorofaninsidejoke.Thesoundsendsaheatedthrilldownintomystomachand…what’sthat?Pantsfeelings?Forsomeonewhoisn’tConnor?RighthereinthemiddleofCVS?Holyshit,baby.Iamback!
“Whilethishasbeentheabsolutehighlightofaveryweirdday,”hesays,grimacing,“I’mprettysurewe’rebreakingatleasthalfadozenrulesbyseeingeachotheroutsidetheshow.”
“Ohshit,you’reright.”Iquicklyglancedownthenearbyaisles.Ascontestants,weallsignedcontractsthat,amongotherthings,expresslyforbidusfromfraternizingoutsideoftheshow.Wecouldbefined,fired,orevensued.Andyetyoudon’tseemegoinganywhere.“IhalfexpectanalarmtogooffandforConnortocomeoutwithoneofthosecartoonnets.”
“Icouldescape,”Isaacsayswithagrinandasinglebackwardstep.“I’vegotbetterrunningshoeson.”
“Don’tdiscountme,”Itellhim.“I’msurprisinglyagile.”
“Ibet.”Hegivesmeaverylongonce-over.“DoesitgivemeanadvantagewithyouthatwefrequentthesameCVS?”
“Idon’tgettodecide,remember?”
Hesnapshisfingers.“Shoot.Allright,well,I’mgonnagetoutofhere.”Withasexylittlewink,heturnsandwavesoverhisshoulder.“I’llseeyoutomorrow.”
IwatchIsaacuntilhe’soutofsight,mypantsstillaflutterdownbelow.“Asaprofessionalwriter,”Imumbletohisveryniceretreatingbackside,“ImustsayIwouldabsolutelyverbtheadjectivenounoutofhim.”
“AreyouFelicityChen?”
Myentirebodyjerksaroundatthevoicetomyleft,wheretwoolderteengirlsstandholdingsnacksandRedBulls.Iclutchmycollectionofwinetomychest,willingmyhearttoslow.I’vebeenrecognizedbefore,butit’susuallyinthecontextofsomethingbookish,suchasbrowsingintheaislesofmylocalindie,notwhenI’mdressedlikeawriteronimminentdeadlineandcarryingenoughwineforanentirefootballteam.
Andthenitoccurstome.Didtheyseemetalkingtomyself?DoIlooklikeahornyhobo?
Amorestartlingthoughtlands:DidtheyseemetalkingtoIsaac?Shit.
“That’sme!”Ifinallymanagetosay.
Theylookateachotherinsharedexcitement,thenbacktome,eyessparklingwithbarelycontainedglee.“OhmyGod,”theysayinunison,andoneaddsahigh-pitched“Youweresogoodlastnight!”
Thegirlwhospokeistaller,withanemerald-greenhijabandmakeupsoflawlessthatittransformsherblack-and-whitetracksuitandsneakersintohighfashion.
“Doyouknowifthey’regoingtomakealltheepisodesavailabletostream?”sheasks.“I’vealreadywatchedthefirstonetwiceandmightdieifIhavetowaitaweek.”
“Justtheoneepisodeaweek,”Isay,notrelishingbeingthepersonwhopiercestheirjoybubble.“We’reshootingitaswego.”
Shegroansplayfully,butherfriendinaUCSDsweatshirtpusheson.“IloveyourbooksandlegitlostitwhenIsawyouweredoingthis.I’vereadBasePairedfourtimes.”BeforeIcansayanything,shequicklyadds,“Canweaskyousomething?Iknowyou’resuperbusy.”
“Wasitthepajamasorthearmloadofcannedroséthatgaveawaymyhecticschedule?Goforit.”
Shelaughs,turningherphonetofaceme,andpointsatthescreen.“DoyouknowifthisisConnorPrince’sInstagram?”
Connorcomesuprepeatedlythatday:intheafternoonwhenmymomdragsmealongtoHMartandawomanrecognizesmeinthefrozenfoodaisle,praisingmeforamomentbeforeaskingwhetherConnorhasstarredinanythingelse,andagainintheevening,whenanotherparentcompletelyloseshermindinfrontofmeandJessatJuno’sballetrecital.BothtimesIfindmyselfwantingtotexthimtogloatabouthowsmartIam.
Iresist.IdocheckhisInstagram,though.ByMondaymorning,hisfollowercounthasballoonedfromhismom,Nat,Ash,andsomerandomdude,totwenty-twothousand.I’dbetmyentirecannedrosécollectionthatithasn’tevenoccurredtohimtolook.
AfterhairandmakeuponMonday,IamledintoanindustrialkitchenattheHiltonBayfronthotel.Wedothebadnewsfirst:Aspredicted,ArjunandTexhavebeeneliminatedbythevotingaudience.Butthen,theremainingsix—Dax,Isaac,Evan,Jude,Colby,andNick—arecalledoutonebyone,dressedcasuallyandwearingwidesmilesasmatchingaccessories.
Isaacgivesmealittlewink,andIbitetheinsideofmycheektokeepfromgrinningback.
Lanelleintroducesthisweek’splan:IgettochoosewhichHeroesIwantforeachofthescheduledactivities,includingpreparingagourmetmealformybed-restingsister,plantingtreesinBalboaPark,takingacraftcocktailclass,goingdeep-seafishing,pamperingwithmani-pedis,andabeachcruiserridearoundCoronado.Viewerswillseethedatescompiledsequentially,ofcourse—althoughthesixdateswilltakeplaceoverthenextthreedays,withconfessionalsandloved-oneinterviewsscheduledforrecordingonWednesday.
Firstup,ofcourse,isthemealprepdate.Iamgiventenminutestofirmupaplanbeforethecameraswillrollagain,showingme“thinkingitover”beforespontaneouslygivingmychoices.Ofcourse,there’stheschoolyardpickvibe—whoeverIchoosefirstistheoneviewerswillassumeIammosteagertospendtimewith—butIalsohavetobestrategicaboutthebestwaytogettoknoweachofthemoutsideoftheirnaturalelements.
IchooseColby,theNavySEAL,tocookwith.InpartbecauseIliketheideaofwatchinghisforearmsflexwhilehechopsvegetablesforthelunchwe’remakingforAlice,butalsobecauseatourdatelastweekhetoldmehismotherownsQuerida,oneofmyfavoritetacoshopsinSanDiegoCounty.Ibetthedudeknowshiswayaroundakitchen.
Hedoes,butunfortunatelyhisexpertisemeansheendsupmansplainingalotaboutknifehandling—fitting,Isuppose,givenhisprofession—andhowtodeboneawholefish.Iflirtandcrackjokesanddropinnuendo,tryingtohelphimoutbecauseI’msurealotofthisbravadoiscausedbynerves,butunfortunately,hekeepstalkingoverme.Idon’tseeaneasywayfortheeditingteamtomakehimlookgreat.
JudeandIplanttreesthatafternooninBalboa,andIjokethatIamdisappointedtodiscoverthathedoesn’tsparkleinthesun.Hissenseofhumorseemstohavetakenthedayoff,becausehegivesmeanunsolicitedmonologueaboutwhatTwilightdidto“legitimatevampireliterature.”Iwonderwhether,whenitcomestimetoputtheepisodetogether,Connorwillkeepmyunimpressedlookdirectedatthecamera.
SpeakingofConnor,he’sthere.Jesus,he’ssoincrediblythere.Beingtallinthebackground,carryingequipmentinthosestupid,brawnyarms.LaughinghuskilywhenIholdupazucchiniandgivethecameraaknowingwink.ShakinghisheadinexasperationwhenItellJudeournextdateshouldbeinVolterraandhereadilyagrees,clearlywithoutknowingwhatthatmeans.
AtleastConnorknowsVolterraiswherethesparklingvampireslive.
DuringthecraftcocktailclasswithNick—completewithdisastrousattemptsatbottlethrowingandalotofpuckeringwhenIusewaytoomuchlime—Connor,Rory,andonecameramanaretheonlycrewmembersnearby.Itshrinksthesweet,stainedglass–windowedbardowntoabroomcloset.WhenNickfeedsmeacherry,insteadoflookingdeepintohiseyes,IturnmygazeoninstincttowhereConnorstandsbehindthecamerarig.Theymakeusshootitagain.
Ifpossible,theproximityissueisworseonthedeep-seafishingdatewithEvan.Connorisseateddirectlyatmyfeet,holdingthemicgearwhileRorythrowsupoverthesideofthedeck,andthetwocameramenstrugglewithhandheldsonthesurprisinglyturbulentboatride.Atonepoint,Connorreachesoutandsteadiesmewithhishandsonmythighs,grippingmeuntilI’vesuccessfullyhauledahugetunaaboard.
Evannotices,I’msure,buthasnotimetoquestionitbecauseassoonasthebrinyscentofthefishlandsathisfeethe,too,loseshislunchoverthesideoftheboat—whichIamdelightedtosayiscaughtonvideo.
WhenEvanhasrecovered,wesitsidebysideonthenowgentlyrockingboatwhilethecrewchangesbatterypacks.Thethingis,themoretimeIspendwithEvanthemoreIrememberhowmuchfunwehad,howeasyitwastobewithhim,tojokearoundandteaseeachother.ButIalsorememberthat,BartSimpsonaside,whiletherewasaspark,therewereneverfireworks.
Weonlydatedafewmonths,butEvanplayedonmybrother’srecleaguesoftballteamandevenmetmyfamilyonce.It’scrazythatinmymanyyearsofexuberantdating,onlyahandfulofmenhaveevermanagedthat.
“IgottheinvitationtoPeter’swedding,”hesays.“IhopeheknowsIRSVP’dnobecauseIhadto”—hegesturesaroundus,indicatingtheshow—“butnotbecauseIdon’twanttoattend.”
“Don’tworry,heknows.”
“YoulikeKailey?”
“Isuspectalovepotionwasinvolvedbecauseshe’samazing.”
Evanlaughs.“Iheardtheguestlistisoversevenhundredpeople.”
Inod.“Idon’tthinkI’vemetsevenhundredpeopleinmylife.”
Hesetshisreelinthecagemountandleanshisheadbacktolookupatthesky.“I’msurethecateringisgoingtobeinsane.”
“It’sthereasonI’veinquiredaboutwearingelastic-waistpantsinsteadofmybridesmaiddress.”
Helowershisvoice.“CanIadmitthatgoingouthasbeenkindofweirdsincethisthingstarted?Beingrecognizedonthestreetissurreal.”
“I’mdreadingthemillionquestionsfrommyfamilymembersaboutwhyIneedashowtofindahusband.”
“Howareyoumanagingtheplus-onesituation?Iassumeyoucan’ttakeadate,butit’syouryoungerbrother’swedding.”Hewinces.“That’salotofattentiononyouformultiplereasons.”
Ishrug.I’dnormallybringJesswithme,butshe’llbeinCostaRicawithRiverforamuch-neededvacation.Ofcourse,I’mfinegoingtofamilyeventssolo,butEvanisright:thisweddingwillbedifferent.FriendsandrelativesareflyinginfromasfarawayasHongKongfortheoccasion.Alicewillbesetupinacomfortablechair,verypregnantandveryhappilymarried.Peter’sfiancéeisawell-knowndermatologistwhoalsohappenstobethedaughterofthemostsuccessfulplasticsurgeoninSanDiego.AscomfortableasIwouldbegoingdateless,weddingsareforfamily,andmymotherwouldwantmetoattendwithsomeone.
“IsupposeI’llhavetobraveitwithoutadate,”Isay.
“Adatetowhat?”
EvanandIturnatthesoundofConnor’svoice,andofcoursethisistheonetimeIdon’thavehimonmissilelock.“MybrotherPeter’swedding.”
“It’sthisweekend,right?”Connorasks.
“Yeah,”Evansays.“ImetFizzythroughhim.I’mnotgoing,though,don’tworry.”
Connorglancesoverhisshoulderandthensquatsdown,loweringhisvoice.“ItoldRoryweareabsolutelynotshootingfootageatthewedding,sodon’tremindherit’shappening.”
Isalutehim.“Gotit,boss.”
“CanyoutakeJess?”heasksme.
“She’sonvacation.”Iwaveitoff.“Don’tworryaboutme.Icangosolo.Imaybeswimmingwithsharksallweekend,butI,too,amashark.”
Withthepopularityofthefirstepisode,IknowIwon’tbeabletoflyundertheradar.Inthepasttwodays,I’vebeenstoppedatleastfourtimeseachday.Forthemostpart,theinteractionsaregreat.Afewofthemarereaders,mostarenot.Someaskmeabouttheguys,ortheDNADuo,orjustwantaninsidescoop,buteverysingleoneofthemasksmeaboutConnor.
Infact,accordingtoJessbywayofJunobywayofStevie,Connorisbeingbombarded.Ten-year-oldshaveatendencytoexaggerate,butifit’shappeningtomeintheladies’roomatBarnes&Noble,it’sgottobehappeningtohim,too.Thecommontheme:mostviewerswouldliketoridehimlikeaPeloton.
Connor’sattentiononmeislikeaheatlamp,andI’mrelievedwhenit’stimetostartshooting.I’dratherwatchEvanbarfoverthesideoftheboatagainthanthinkaboutPeter’sweddinganymore.
IhalfexpectDaxtotakehissocksoffatthespaandrevealamissingtoeortattooofanakedwomanontopofhisfoot—bothofwhichwouldbefascinating,butforverydifferentreasons—buthisfeetaresadlyintactandunmarked.Despitemyconcernthathemightbeboredorrestless,heisachampinthespachair.Hedecideshewantshisfingernailspaintedyellow,isticklishwhenthepedicuristpullsoutthepumicestoneandgetstoworkonhiscalluses,andisshamelesslyflirtingwiththewomandoinghismanicure—butsweetly,becauseshecouldbehisgrandmother.
WhenConnortoldmelastnightatthemarinathathe’dbeintheeditingroomthismorningandhisdirectorofphotographywouldbeinchargeforafewhours,Ifeltapulseofrelieflike,finally,I’llbeabletobreathe.
ButIwaswrong.Mybrainknowsheisn’there,butmyreflexesdon’t.Ikeeplookingupattheemptyspacewherehewouldnormallybeandfindmyselfscanningthearea.It’sarudeawakeningtoseehowoftenIsearchforhisreactiontothings.
“Yougood?”Daxaskswhenwe’resittingwithourfeetandhandsheldcarefullystill,nailpolishdrying.Thecrewispackingup,havinggottenasmuchfootageastheyneeded,Iguess.ButstillnoConnor.
WillhemeetusinCoronadowhenwedriveoverformyafternoonbikeridewithIsaac?Orisheeditingallday?
“What’sthat?”Iaskdistractedly
“Areyouokay?”herepeats,smilingsweetly.“Areyouinahurrytogetgoing?”
“No,no.”Imust’vescannedthespaagainunconsciously.Whycan’tIgetmyheadinthegame?I’vedonethisbefore—sleptwithsomeoneandthengoneondateswithsomeoneelselaterintheweek!Sexissex,itdoesn’thavetomeaneverything!
But,italsodoesn’thavetomeannothing.
Shit.
“Sorry,”Isay.“Iwasjustthirsty.”
Daxliftsahand,wavingtohisnewbestgrandmother-friend.“Canshegetacupofwater,please?”
TheadorablewomanbringsmesomeinasmallplasticcupandDaxwatches,concerned.
“Better?”
Inod.“Thankyou.”
“It’salotofpressure,huh?”
“Itis.”
“Ihaveaboutamillionquestionsforyou,”hesays,“aboutyourjobandyourlife.”
“Yeah?”Ismileoverathim.Lookatthismanrighthere,attentiveandfun.Athoughthitsmelikeadoorblownopen.
Daxcouldbemysoulmate.
Thecamerasaren’tevenrolling,andhegivesmeadisarminglykindsmile.“I’mreallyhopingIgetathirddate.”
Connorisn’tinCoronadowaitingforus.Butthetandembikeis,andsoisIsaac,withhisknowing,crinkly-eyedsmileandaddictingbellylaugh.WenoodlearoundtheislandwithcamerasmountedonthebikeframeandacameramanaheadofusridingbackwardonaVespa.Isaacisobviouslyageniusandmakesmelaughtheentireway,withthekindofoff-the-cuff,quick-wittedhumorIfindintenselysexy.It’simpossibletoignorethatthere’ssomethingbetweenus,andwhenhesuggestswestopforspontaneousmilkshakesIimmediatelyagree.Iwantmoretimewithhim,face-to-face,close.Sidebyside,atapicnictableoverlookingtheocean,wesharestoriesfromwhenwewerekids,andforthefirsttimeonanyofthesedates,Iforgetthatthecamerasarerightthere.
Ialsorealize,asIgettothebubblybottomofmymilkshakeandConnorfinallystepsintoview,sweatyandbreathless,almostlikeheranthewholewayhere,thatIhaven’tthoughtabouthimsincemydatewithIsaacbegan.
Isaaccouldbemysoulmate.
AndyetIstillwantConnor.
Getittogether,Fizzy,Ithink,andturnmyattentionbacktoIsaacandhiscaramelmilkshakeandthecherryhe’sdanglingformetoeat.NodoubtviewerswillcomparethismomenttotheonewithNickyesterday,asIclosemyeyesandeatitwithasmile.Itiethesteminaknotwithonlymytongueandopenmymouthtoflirtatiouslydisplayit.ItgetstheimpressedreactionI’dhopedfor—Isaacclapsandgivesmeasexy“Dang,girl”—butittakeseveryounceofefforttonotlookatConnortoseewhathethinksaboutit,andtowonderwhetherhe’sthinkingaboutwhatthattongueofminefeltlikeglidingoverhisneck,hisbottomlip,hisjaw.
We’llhaveourconfessionallater,butmyplanistoescapeassoonasRorysayscut.Myheadisamess,andIneedtosiftthroughmyfeelingsforbothmen:myattractiontoIsaacandthestrangewayitmakesmefeellikeI’mbetrayingConnor,eventhoughconnectingwithothermenisliterallythepointoftheshow.ButaftertheconfessionalsarealldoneandIsaac—whowaitedformetofinish—givesmeasweethuggoodbyeandagentlekisstomycheek(pantsfeelings,wemeetagain),Connor’shandcomesaroundmyarm.
Ithinkhe’llaskmeaboutIsaac,ortellmewhyhewaslate,oroneofadozenotherpossibilities.
WhatIdon’texpectisforhimtoquietlyleaninandsay,“LetmetakeyoutoPeter’swedding.It’seasytoexplainwhyI’dbethere.Idon’twantyoutohavetofacethatalone.”thirty
EpisodeTwoConfessionalTranscript
ConnorPrince:Well,hereweareagain.
FizzyChen:Hello,ConnorPrince.Youwereawayforsomeofourshootsthisweek.Itwasweird.
Connor:Iknow,andIapologize.Unfortunatelyforme,IhadsomethingsrelatedtotheshowthatIneededtotakecareof.Fortunatelyforyouandourviewers,youhadsixhandsomementokeepyoucompany.
Fizzy:AmIallowedtosayImissedyou?BecauseImissedyou.
Connor:That’sverykind.
Fizzy:Itwasahotdayandyou’rereallytall.Wecouldhaveusedtheshade.
Connor:Theresheis.Brenna,pleasemakeanotetoinsertarimshotinpost.
Fizzy:Okay,stop,wait.AllIwantinlifeisasparklesoundtoannouncemyentranceintoanyroom.IfIknewwecouldaddsoundeffectsinedits,Iwouldhavegoneinsaneinthateditingbooth.
Connor:Thisispreciselywhyyouaren’tallowedintheeditingbooth.Shallwegetbacktoyourdates?Theweekwasquiteawhirlwind.
Fizzy:Itwasbusy,buttheHeroesweregreat.I’mreallyhopingyoucutwhenIslippeddownthestairsatBalboaParkandmydresssliduptomyneckandIshowedeveryonemybutt,butIsuspectyou’vealreadyplannedtoincludeit.
Connor:Yoususpectcorrectly.Butfearnot,Felicity,wecanalsoeditinsmallimagestoprotectyourvirtue.Wouldyoulikethepeachemojiorwavinghandemojioveryourbottom?
Fizzy:[standsandlooksdirectlyintothecamera]America,areyouseeingthis?
Connor:[laughing,pullsherbacktoherseat]Let’sgettothedates,shallwe?thirty-oneCONNOR
Comeonup.Room1402.
Mybrainstutters.
WhenItextedFizzytotellherI’darrived,Iexpectedhertomeetmedowninthelobbyordirectmetothebanquethall.ButmeetingherinahotelroomfeelsliketheexactproblemIanticipatedwhenIgavemyselfasternlectureinthemirrorathome.
“Escorther,”I’dsaidtomyreflection.“You’reherhandler,theexecutiveinchargeofher.Youarenotherdate.Youarenotherlover.Youaredoingajob.”
Icanmeetyoudownhere,Itype,butifshe’supstairsandaskingmetocometoher,it’spossiblesheneedshelpwithsomething.
Ideleteit,typing,Isanyoneuptherewithyou?whichsoundspossessiveandawkward.Ideletethat,too.
Iseeyoutyping,shetexts.Don’tbeweird.Ineedyourhelp.
Laughing,Ideleteeverythingagainandtypesimply,Onmyway.
Ihitthebuttonattheelevatorbankandsuckinadeepbreath;mypulseisclimbingitswayupmythroat.Ideally,Ineedtheelevatorridetotakeahalfhour.Unfortunately,IsuspecttodaywillbeacontinuousseriesofremindersthatIshouldnothaveofferedtoescorthertothisevent,becauseIamnotequippedtohandlebeingalonewithher.
Herdoor,IseeasIapproach,isproppedopenwiththedeadbolt,butIknockanyway.Abright“Comein”driftsfrominside.
Pushingitopenjustenoughtopeekmyheadin,Icallout,“Icouldbeanyone,andyoujustinvitemeinsightunseen?”
“You’restatisticallyunlikelytobeacriminal.”Hervoiceechoesfromthebathroom.“Youjusttexted,andbesides,halfofthepeopleonthisfloorarerelativesorfriends.”
“Well,I’mgladthechancesofsomeoneyouknowseeingmewalkintoyourhotelroomarerelativelyhigh.”
Hervoicegetslouderasshewalksintothebedroom.“I’djusttellthemyou’redeliveringroomserv—”
Shestopsforabreathwhensheseesme,buthernextwordsarelosttotheblankvoidofmycraniumasItakeinthestraplessbeadedgownpouredoverherbody.It’sgold,coveredwithintricatebeadingandformfittinguntilaboutmidthigh,whereitspillsinawaveofshimmeringfabricaroundherfeet.She’swearingherhairpiledinsomecomplicatedarrangementonherhead,andafewdarkstrandshangloose,skimmingherbareshoulders.
“Connor?”
Istartle,havingnoideahowlongI’dgonemute.“Yes—that’s—I’mhere.”
WhenIdragmyeyestoherface,she’sfightingasmile.“Iaskedifyoucouldhelpme?”
“Uh,right—withwhat,exactly?”
“Mydress?”
Sheturnstoshowmewhatshemeans.Awarenesslands,andthisviewisinfinitelyworse.AlongVofunmarred,honeyedskinisexposedinthespacewherethebuttonslieopen.Istrangledownagroanbutamnotentirelysuccessful,anditcomesoutlikeawhimperImustconsciouslyrebrandintoafrustrationofanonsexualvariety:“Acasualcounttellsmethereareatleasteightythousandbuttonshere.”
“Thereareforty,”shetellsme.“IrealizeIshouldhavehadanauntiedothisbeforeyougothere,butalas,everyoneisbusyandhereweare.Forobviousreasons—theprimaryonebeingthatIcanbarelybendoverinthis,letalonetwisttobuttonitmyself—Ineedanothersetofhands.”
Thewordsbendoverareascreechingtrainwreckinmythoughts.IblametheimagetheyconjureforthewaymyvoiceshakesasIapproachherwithacasual“Sure,ofcourse.”
ButthenIdosomethingwithoutfullyrealizingituntilashiverrunsdownherback:Idragaknuckledownthelengthofherspine.
“Ifyoudothat,we’renotgettingthisdresson.”Sheturnsandlooksatmeoverhershoulder.“AndIknowhowyoufeelaboutboundaries.”
“Itisfranklyexhaustingtobetheonlyoneerectingthem,”Imumble.
Fizzylaughs,delighted,andfacesawayagain.
“Youarereassuringlypredictable.”
“Well,you’retheonewhojuststrokedmeandthensaiderecting.”
Iexhaleadramaticallywearybreath.“Itwasanunintentional,glancingtouch.”
“I’mstartingtowonderifleavingthisunbuttonedwasanunfortunateoversightorhappyaccident.”
Thefirstbuttonisabitch.Theholesaretight,andthebuttonsaresatincoveredandminuscule,makingthemexceedinglyhardtograsp.ButbythethirdI’vegotitmostlyfiguredout.WefallquietasIcarefullymakemywayfromthecurveofherlowerbackuptothesoftexpansebetweenhershoulderblades.Andjustbeforeeachbuttoncomestogether,Ifighttheurgetoleanforwardandkisstheskinbeneathmyfingers.
Hookingthefinalfasteneratthetop,Igivemyselfonebriefindulgence,andcupapalmtothebackofherneckasIleanaroundtogazeather.Hercheeksareflushed,pupilswideandblack
Jesus,she’sasturnedonasIam.
“Yourchastityisassured,”Itellher.“BecauseIamnotdoingthatagain.”
Fizzysmilesandclearsherthroatbeforeturningfullytogivemeanappreciativeonce-over.“Youlookhot.”
“Thankyou.You…”Iswallowwhenmyvoicecomesoutabitstrangled.“Youlookbreathtaking.”
Shereachesup,touchingmybowtie.“Iwashopingyou’darriveflusteredoverhowtotiethissoIcoulddoitforyou.”
Withagrin,Ireachupandtugtheend,untyingitinasmoothpull.
Fizzy’sansweringsmileisaboltofsunlight.
“IfigureyoushoulddosomethinginreturnafterIfastenedthoseseventhousandtinybuttons.”
Theunintendedinnuendohangsheavyintheairbetweenus.Shestepstowardme,stillsmilingasshetakesholdofthetie,tuggingittoaligntheendsevenlyaroundmyneck.“Ididn’tgettheimpressionyouwereunderduress.”
“I’llsendyouthebillformyarthritisprescriptions.”
Shehumsandhersmilelingers,softening.“Areyoureadyfortoday?Itmightbeoverwhelming.”
“Ihopeso.It’sbeenawhilesinceIattendedafancywedding.”
“Yours?”
Ilaugh.“No.Iwentassomeone’splus-one.”
“Didthatnightendwithyourchastityintact?”
Iletoutaheartylaugh.“Ohyes.ShewasafriendofacoworkerandhadrecentlyrelocatedfromArizona.IknewfromthemomentIpickedherupthatsomethingwasoff,butsheinsistedshewasfine.”
“Ohboy.”
“Indeed.Shecriedduringtheceremony—”
“Understandable.”
“Absolutely,butthenalsocriedduringdinnerandthefirstdance.WhenIfinallyaskedifshereallywasallright,sheadmittedthatherhusbandhadleftherforhisassistant,andthat’swhyshe’drelocatedtobeclosertoherparents.”Fizzy’swincedeepensasshefocusesonthebowtie.“Whentheguestswereinvitedtomaketoasts,sheheldherglassaloftandtoldthehappycoupletoenjoythenightbecauseloveisanillusionandmenareincapableofkeepingtheirdicksintheirpants.”
“YourealizeI’mstealingthisstory,right?”
Inod.“So,it’salowbar,butI’mguessingnomatterwhathappenstonight,itwillbebetterthanthat.”
Fizzylaughs.“Glasshalf-full,Ilikeit.Butyouhavenoideahowhugemyfamilyis.Statisticallyspeaking,that’salotofcrazy.”
Withherfocusstillonthebowtie,Itaketheopportunitytoopenlystareather.“Evandidpullmeasideandgivemesomeinsidescoop.”
Fizzy’shandsgostill.“Hedid?”
“Whattogive,someofthethingsyou’veprobablybeendoingthismorning,liketheteaceremony—”
Herburstinglaughinterruptsme.“DidhetellyouthatPeterwouldbeonawildscavengerhunt?”
Ishakemyhead,mesmerizedbythewayherlipsplumpintoasweetpoutwhenshethinksoverherexplanation.“Inourcommunity,theteaceremonyisabigdeal.Itusuallyhappensinthemorning,andthebrideandgroomarekeptapart.Thegroomisgivenalistoftaskstoprovehisloveforthebridebeforethefamilydecideshe’sworthyenough.It’sallagame,butKailey’sthreesistersweretheonestopullitalltogetherandhehadtodobeerpongatseventhismorning—”
“Actualbeer?”
Shenods,beaming.“Thentheymadehimdrinksomekindofrandomfridgeconcoction—wewereallgagging.HehadtoanswertriviaaboutKailey,andthendanceandsingforeveryone.”
“Thesinginganddancinginfrontofeveryone—”
“AmIdescribingyourliteralnightmare?”
Ibegintosayyesbutthen,forafeverishpulse,Iimagineanalternateuniversewhereitismeatthisceremony,provingmyworthtothiswomanrighthere.Myhesitationmelts.“No”comesoutinstead.“IfIwasinlove,I’ddoitall.”
“Carrytengallonsofwaterhalfablockusingonlyleakybuckets?”
Ireachup,draggingastrandofhairawayfromherbottomlip.“Ofcourse.”
“Drinkafridgeconcoction?”
“Easy.”
“Easy?”Shesquintsatme.“Hoisin,mayo,ricevinegar,almondmilk,garlicpaste,andmangojuice.”
“Youactlikeit’scyanide.”Ilaugh.“Youthinkamanwholovesawomanwon’tdrinksomethingmingingtobeabletoseeherwalkingdowntheaisletowardhim?”
Shelooksupandmeetsmygaze.Herrighteyehasaspotofgoldinit,likeshelookedupatthesunonceandatinysplinterofitbecametrappedthere.Icanseeitshrinkasherpupilsdilate.
Fuck.
Sheblinksaway.“Wouldyourunthreemilesinthemiddleofthenightforthishypotheticalwoman,too?”
“Onlythree?”Hersmilefalters,andIlookdownatherhands.Shedoesn’tappeartohavemademuchprogress.“Doyouhaveanycluehowtotiethis?”
“It’saweirdanglebecauseyou’reagiantViking.”
“Ithink,infact,you’veneverdonethisbefore.”
“Youmightberight,”shesays,frowning.“ButI’mnotaquitter.”
Iliftmychin,givingherbetteraccess,feelinghappytostandhereallnight.“Okay,itsoundslikewemightbehereforawhile.Tellmemoreaboutthisteaceremony.”
“Well,”shesays,andpullsfreewhateverprogressshe’smanagedsofartostartover.“Afterthegroomproveshisworth,he’sallowedtoseethebride.Theybothwearthemostbeautifultraditionalgarments,andthebrideandgroompaytheirrespectstothefamilymembers—oldesttoyoungest—andacupofteaisofferedinturntoeachofthem.Thefamilygivesthelaisee,whichareredenvelopescontainingmoney,andtheeldersgivethemadvice…”Shetrailsoff.Tiltingherhead,Fizzytakesadeepbreath.“Honestly,Ilovetheteaceremony.”
AnachepassesthroughmewhenIhearthewistfullonginginhervoice.She’ssorarelyvulnerable,it’sbothwonderfulanddevastatingtoseethistinycrackinherarmor.“Icanseethat.”
“Anyway,”shesays,straighteningwithaquickinhale,“wedidthatatKailey’sparents’housethismorning,andgotbackherewithjustenoughtimetochange,andthat’swhenIrememberedtheeightythousandbuttonsonmydress.”Shestepsback,surveyingherwork,andfrowns.“I’mgoingtobehonest,theexecutionhereisnotgreat.”
Ilookdown,undothefloppymessofatie,andFizzyglowersasIhandilyfixit.“Youdon’thavetogloat,youmountainofjerkface.”
“I’dbeentryingtomakeyoufeelusefulhere,butyou’vejusttoldmewe’reinahurry.”
Sherunsherhanddownmychest,spreadingsparkingwarmthbeneathmyskin.Herhandstallsatmypocketandshepatsit.“IsthiswhatIthinkitis?”
Ireachinsidetheblazer,pullingouttheredenvelopewithcashinside.“LikeIsaid,Evanhelpedmefigureoutwhattobringforagift.”
Shestaresupatme.“That’sverysweet.”
“Ilikehim,”Iadmitbegrudgingly.“He’sagoodguy.”
“Heis,butImeanyou.You’resweet.”
Iscowlthisaway.“Iamabsolutelynotsweet.”
Fizzyreachesup,gentlypinchingmychin.“You,infact,arethesweetest.”thirty-twoCONNOR
InthetimethatIwasbuttoningherdressandshewaspretendingtoknowwhattodowithmytie,thehotellobbyhasturnedintoamadhouse.Black-tieweddingguestsareeverywhere,hugging,introducing,evencryingingreeting.Lookingaroundattheopulencethathasspilledfromthebanquethallintothelobby,Igetthesensethatthebride’sfamilyisthekindofwealthythatishardformostmortalstocomprehend.
“Sevenhundredguests,”Fizzytellsmesottovoce,leadingmethroughthecrowd.“Petersaidtheyboughtoutseveralfloorsofroomshereforfamilyonbothsidesflyinginfromallovertheworld.”
Iletoutalowwhistle,takinginthedecorinthehallwayoutsidethemainbanquetroom—smallcocktailtableswithtastefulbouquets,glassbowlsofwrappedchocolates,andweddingprograms—andtheninside,whereInearlytripovermyownfeetbecausethescaleofthedecorisunlikeanythingI’veeverseen:creamsilkisdrapeddownwalls;atleastseventytablesareeachdecoratedwithtallvasesdrippingwithredandorangeblooms.Ourdestinationisoutside,wheretheceremonywillbeheldbeforewhatFizzypromisestobeanightoffoodanddancingandpartying.ButwearestoppedeveryfewfeetassomeoneFizzyknowsstepsintoviewandshegreetsthemwithherunfilteredenthusiasm.Womenarehuggedwithajoyouscry;malerelativesareembracedandteased.IamintroducedtoatleastfiftypeoplewhosenamesIimmediatelyforgetbecauseIaminaweofFizzyinherfamilialelement:warm,loving,quickwithastoryoranecdote.
Afewpeoplecommentonmyappearanceontheshow,andIquicklydiverttheirattentionbacktoFizzy.GettingstoppedbystrangersandpraisedforbeinginfrontofthecameraisstillsomethingI’mtryingtogetusedto.It’snotthatIdon’tlikedoingtheinterviews;Ido.VerballysparringwithFizzyhasquicklybecomeoneofmytop-threefavoriteactivities,andevenIseethatweplaywelloffeachother.ButthepublicrecognitionisnotsomethingI’dmentallypreparedfor.
Aswemovethroughthecrowd,allthatlingersistheimpressionFizzygivesthateveryoneI’vemetisthemostimpressive,orinteresting,oradventurous,orcreativepersontohaveeverlived.Andthen,aswestepouttothemassivelawnresplendentwithflowersandsatinribbons,thereareFizzy’sparents,greetingguestsastheycomeoutside.
Shetakesmyelbow,guidingmeforward.“Connor,thisismymother,LányingChen.”IfIhadtodothemath,I’dguessshewassomewhereinherearlysixties,butherskinisluminous,withonlyfaintlinesaroundhereyes.
TheshiftinFizzyissubtlebutnoticeabletosomeonewhocanbarelytakehiseyesoffher:withherparentsshesoftens,becomingmoredaughterthancenterstage,morecaretakerthanpartygirl,reachinguptostraightenthependantofhermother’snecklace.
Iexpectahandshake,butampulledinforahuginstead,andIcarefullyembracehermother;sheissmallerthanherdaughter.AsIpullbacktomeetMrs.Chen’ssmilingeyes,Ithinkofmymotherbackhome,howshelookedexhausteddayandnight,howaneventlikethiswouldmakeherpanickedanduncomfortable.
BesideMrs.Chenstandsherhusband,Ming,alankymanImetatFizzy’sbooksigning,withamischievoussmilehepasseddowntoatleastoneofhisthreechildren.“Here’smynewfriendwho’llmakemydaughterasuperstar!”
WeshakehandsingreetingasFizzyleansin,mockoffended.“Hello,Father,I’malreadyasuperstar.”
“WhendoIgetmyredcarpetdate,then?”
ThetwoofthemcontinueonasMrs.Chenwrapsaneleganthandaroundmyforearm.“Ilikeyourshow,”shesays.“YouareveryhandsomeonTV.”
“Thankyou,”Isay,grinning.“I’msurprisedFizzyletsyouwatchit.”
Thankfully,shelaughsatthis.“Youseeherclearly,andIappreciatethat.”
I’mmomentarilystilledbythis.“Ithinkmostofthecreditgoestoyourdaughter.It’sraretofindsomeonesogenuineandnaturalinfrontofacamera.I’mbeginningtothinkthere’snothingshecan’tdo.”
“Whenshewritesherrealnovel,you’llmakeitintoamovie,okay?”
NowI’mconfusedforadifferentreason.“Her—”
Fizzywavesthisoff,breakingin.“Whenhe’snotfindingmysoulmate,he’ssavingtheEarth,Mom!Notimeforromanceadaptations!”
Awomanwholookslikeshe’sprobablytheweddingcoordinatorcatchesFizzy’seyesandpointstoherwatch.
“Lookslikeit’stime,”Fizzytellsme.
Wemakeourwaytowardtheunendingrowsofwhitechairstiedwithredribbons.WhenastrandofFizzy’shairblowsacrossherforehead,Ireachupandbrushitawaywithoutthinking.
Oureyesmeetandmyheartsinksdeeperintothiswarm,alluringplace.
“Whatdidyourmummeanaboutwritinga‘real’novel?”
Sheshrugs,turningtowatchtheguestsmoveinlargenumbersnowtowardtheseats.“Shemeansabookwiththoughtfulsuffering.”
“Soundsengrossing.”
“Therearemanypeopleintheworldwhoviewromanceashobbywriting,”shesays,andturnsherfacebacktome.There’snotightnessthere,nohurt.“PrettysureshethinksI’mstillwarminguptoattemptmymasterpiece.”
NowmightbethetimetoadmitthatIwasonceoneofthosepeople,orquietlycontemplatetheconnectionwesharebetweenourrespectivecareersversuswhatourparentsthinkweshouldbedoing.Butmyfirstthoughtfliesoutinstead.“Ithinkyouarethemasterpiece.”
Sheopenshermouthasifshe’sgotasmartcomeback,butnothinghappens.Withawrytwisttoherlips,sheshakesherheadatme.“You’resomethingelse.”
“Somethinggood,Ihope.”
Shepointstotheseats.“Groom’ssideontheleft.That’swhereyou’llsit.Gomakefriends.”
“Gotit.”
“I’llseeyouaftertheceremony.”Shegathersherdressandturnstoheadbackinsidetomeettheweddingparty.“Missme,”shecallsoverhershoulder.
Iwatchherwalkaway,quietlyadmitting,“Ialreadydo.”thirty-threeFIZZY
Ihavebeentoaninordinatenumberofweddingsinmyday.Ihavebeenmaidofhonortwice(AliceandJess),abridesmaidfourteentimes,performedthreeweddings,andtwicehavedoneareadingduringtheceremony(oncewasapassagefromoneofmybooks,andthatwasveryweird).I’msurealotofpeoplegotoweddingsandtakenoteofwhattheylike,whattheywoulddodifferently.Theythinkaboutthedecorandthefoodandthenumberofguests.Theyleaninandwhisperthattheywouldneverhaveputso-and-soandwhat’s-her-nameatthesametable.Theymaybeevengetbusinesscardsfromthevariousvendors.
Notme.It’spossiblethattheshinehasbeenscrubbedoffweddingsinallmyvariousexperienceswiththem,butIthinktheweddingistheleastromanticpartofromance.Sure,thereissplendorandcateringandtheopportunitytowearcompletelyoutlandishclothing.Butthereisalsofamilypoliticsandstressandtherealitythatmanypeoplespendtheequivalentofadownpaymentonahouseonasingleday’scelebration.Loveisnotfoundinafour-foot-highfloralcenterpieceoraseven-tieredchocolatecake.Realromanceisinthequieterdetails.Whoproposes,andhow.Thewaytheylookateachotheracrossaroom.Theanticipationofwhatitmeanstobemarried,thenightsspentsidebyside,shapingtheirforever.Thefirstmomentaloneafterthecommitmentismade.Thedayafter,whentheygettofinallyembarkontheadventure.And,ofcourse,allthebanging.
Butthesearethingsoneneverconsidersaboutone’sbrother.Yuck.
IblinkawayfromPeterandovertohisnewwife,Kailey,justasshe’skissedbyagrown-upversionofthepersonwhomorethanonceheldmedownandfartedonmyface.
Hepullsaway,smiling,andthere—rightthere—iswhatIcameheretosee:thatunadulteratedlookofawe.Thatfirstbeatofeyecontact,thesilentlysquealedWe’rereallymarried?PetercanbeaselfishassandIwillneverforgivehimforcuttingmyponytailoffwhenIwasthirteen,buthelovesKailey.He’llbegoodtoher.
Andhopefullyhewillknockherupsoonandkeepthefocusoffmeandmycontinuedsinglestatus.Thatis,Iremindmyself,unlessIenduphappilyeverafterwithoneofmyHeroes.
Thethoughtpingsaroundinmymind,butitremainsatennisballbouncingonemptywalls.Ilookouttothecheeringcrowdofguests,myeyeszeroinginonConnorinthemiddleofthepack,standinglikeaskyscraperinthesuburbs.Andwhatdoyouknow?He’slookingrightbackatme.
Ittakestenminutestomakemywaythroughthecrowdtohim,andinbetweencatchingupwithfamily,beingstoppedforphotos,andoncedirectingsomeonetotheclosestrestroom,I’mabletocatchglimpsesofhimtalkingtopeoplearoundhim.God,IlovethatIcanfindhimsoeasily,thathecleansupsowellinaslim-fittingblacktux,andthathelefthishairsoftandfloppyinsteadofmeticulouslystyled.Buthislooksaren’teventhemostinterestingthingabouthimanymore.He’ssopersonallywarm,givessuchsincereeyecontact.Ilovethewayheinteractedwithmymom,thewayhewassoexcitedtomeeteveryonewhostoppedusonourwayouttothegarden.Thewayheputshiswholeselfintowhateverhedoesandletshimselfbeemotionalwhenhetalksabouthisdaughter.ConnorPrinceIIIshouldbeawardedagoldmedalintheActiveListeningeventattheRomanceOlympics.It’shardtobelieveIlookedathimmonthsagoandsawaplasticheroarchetype.He’snolongerHotMillionaireExecutiveorHotBritorSoftLumberjackorevenDILF…he’sjustConnor.
HowdidIoncefindhimboringandunpleasantandcliché?NowI’mstrugglingtonotthinkofhimassoulmatematerial.
Andit’sgoodthatI’msucceeding,becausebythetimeIreachhim,he’sstandingwithoneofPeter’shighschoolfriends,apetiteblondenamed—Ikidyounot—AshleySimpson.WhenIsayAshleyishangingonConnor’sarm,Imeanthis:imagineagiantrock,andthenimagineabarnacle.IlikeAshleywellenough—eventhoughshetoyedwithPeter’sheartforyearswhenhebelievedlooksweremoreimportantthanbrains,andthenchasedhimrelentlesslyoncehefiguredoutthatbrainsweremoreimportantthanlooks—butIstepupbehindthemrightassheasksConnorifshecanstealhimawayforthefirstdance,andmygutfillswithashimmering,violentheat.
Ijerktoastop.Hehasn’tseenme.Heshouldaccept.Iwon’tlikeit,butitwouldbeagoodwayoutofthisweird,inappropriate,untenablethingwehavegoingon.I’msupposedtolikeIsaacorDaxorNick.(MaybeJude.IthinkwecanallagreeEvanisn’tit.ButConnorisdefinitelynotit.)
ButthenConnorsaysonlyagentle“Sorry,tonightthesedancingfeetbelongtoFizzy,”andmyhearttakesagasping,free-fallingtumbleintomystomach.
AtJess’sbacheloretteparty,weweredoingthedrunkyetpredictableswoonoverallthebigandsmallwaysRiverisperfectforher.Giventhateveryoneelsewasmarried,inevitablythetopicturnedtome,andthedisasterofmyloveaffairwithRob.Thegroupwassmall—onlyaboutsixofus—buteveryonefellintooverlappingreassurancethatI’mamazing,thatIdeservethebestmanalive,thatwhoeverthismagicalhumanis,he’sstilloutthereforme.
Ididn’tbelieveitatthetime,anddespitedoingthisshow,I’mnotsureItotallybelieveitnow.Inthepastcoupleofdecades,I’vedatedalot.IalwaysassumedIwasn’tpicky;IlikedtobragthatIdidn’thaveatype.I’vehadathousandawesomefirstdates,andahandfuloffunseconddates.Andthen,that’sit.I’mattractedtoalotofpeople,butrarelydoemotionsgetinvolved.Inhindsight,myfeelingsforRobbenefittedfromstandingintheresidualglowofJessandRiver.Buttruthfully,therelationshipwasembarrassinglysuperficial.Ididn’tknowanythingabouthislife(obviously),andhecertainlynevermademefeellikethis
Ohshit,that’snotbad.Iopenmyclutchformynotebookbutcomeupempty.EvenifIhadstartedcarryingoneconsistentlyagain,thisclutchisthesizeofaPop-Tart.
StandingbehindConnor,watchinghimgentlybutfirmlyturndownanobjectivelygorgeouswoman,knowingthathedoesnotdocasualrelationshipsandthatheunderstandsandadmiresmeenoughtoputhisentireprofessionalcareerinmyhands,andthatifhefeelsevenafractionformeofwhatIfeelforhim,he’sputtinghisheartonthelinetodothisshowwithme,IrealizethatwhatItoldhimweeksagoistrue,Idon’thaveatype
ButmaybeIdoactuallyhaveaone.
Haveyoueverbeenslapped?Byyourself?Thisfeelsalittlelikethat.Iclosemyeyes,reallysqueezethemshut,willingthepanictosubside.IfIwerewritingthismoment,IwoulddescribethetunnelingawarenessthatthefeelingsI’vebeenignoringhavebeenhereallalong.I’dmaybemaketheheroinestaggertothesideorreachforahalf-emptyglassofchampagneanddownittotaketheedgeoffthesuddenappearanceofdizzyinganxiety.Butinreality,epiphaniesjustfeellikeyoursoulopeningagapingmouthandlamenting,“Oh,Iamsuchadumbass.”
Icomeuptothepair,swallowingdownthethickballofemotioninmythroat.“Hey,youtwo,what’sup?”
Connorturns,extractinghisarmfromAshley’sgripandsettingawarmpalmonmylowerback.Hisanswering“Hey”islowandwarm,carryingathousandmeanings.IlookupintohiseyesandIknowIcan’tbeimaginingit.ThatonewordsaysHey,thereyouare,andHey,didyouhearthatexchangejustnow,andHey,Imissedyou,andHey,rememberwhenwehadhard,fastsexanditwasmind-blowing?
Ashleyleansaroundfromhisotherside,smilingatme.“Hi,Fizzy.”
ItearmygazeawayfromConnor’s.“Hi,Ashley.Thanksforcoming.”
“Ohmygod,ofcourse.Iwasjustmeetingyourproducer.DoIgetadatingshownext,andcanhebeonit?”
IsmiletightlyandlookupatConnorlikeWannafieldthisone?
Hegazesdownatme,sweetlyamused.“IalreadytoldherI’mhappiermostlybehindthecameraandyou’retheonewhomademedotheinterviews.”
Ashleyrollson.“It’sseriouslyunrealthatyouaredoingthis,Fizzy.Iheardaboutit,butIhadnoideaitwassuchabigdeal.Connorsaidthesecondepisodeairstonight.”
“It’sabigdealbecauseConnorisdoinganamazingjobwithit.”
“It’ssofunny,though.”Herlaughtrillsliketiny,spikedbells.“Afewofusweretalkingearlierabouthowyou’rearomanceauthor,like,shouldn’tyouknowallthewaysandplacestomeetpeople?Ifyoucan’tmeetsomeonetheusualway,thereisliterallynohopefortherestofus,right?”
Isensethesmileslippingfrommyface,andIcan’tdoanythingaboutit.Anuncomfortablelaughescapes.Usually,Iseethesebackhandeddigscomingfromamileaway.Usually,asmartcomebackisrightthereonthetipofmytongue.
Howisanexpertinromancelikeyoustillsingle?
Gottakeepupwithmarketresearch,youknow.
It’shardtofindtherightmanafterwritingtheperfecthero.
Eventhesimplest“Idon’thavealotoftimeforarelationship”doesn’tcometomeintime.Ifeelcaughtintheheadlightsouthereintheclinkinghumofcocktailhouratmyyoungersibling’swedding.InthisgownthatConnorsocarefullybuttonedupforme,andwithmyfamilyallaroundme,andcarryingthesenew,enormousfeelings,I’dfeltinvincible—butoh,right.I’mtheunmarriedspinster.Howeasyitistoknockdownandreshapesomeonewithafewsharpwords.
“Ithinkit’shardforsomeoneinthepubliceyetofindagoodfit.”Connorstepsinsmoothly.“Fizzyisunderstandablycareful.”
Ashleysnorts.“OhmyGod,youaresosweet.ButImeanFizzyusedtodateliterallyeveryone.”
“Yeah,”hesayswithacuteburstinglaugh.“Becauseeveryonewantstodateher.”
Ashley’sfacedoesathing.It’sabarelyrestrainedUh,okay,buddy.It’salaughheldin.
Connor’ssmileremains,butitdoesn’tlooktotallynaturalanymore.“Doyoureadherbooks?”
Ashleyshakesherhead.“Oh,Idon’treadbookswithjustromanceinthem;Ineedtheretobesomeplot,too.”
Hegoesquietlystony.“There’splentyofplot.AndFizzy’sarethegoldstandard.”Istareupathimwithfondness.Thisliar,stillpretendinghe’sreadmybooks.
“Oh,I’msure—”
Herollsonandsomehowmanagestocutheroffwithoutleavinganinsultintheair.“Peoplethinkromancesarejustaboutsex—andsomeare,whichisfine—butthey’realsoaboutsocialchangeandchallengingthestatusquo,suchaswhotheworldthinksdeservesahappilyeverafter.”
“Andpirates,”Isay,myheartglowinglikeaVegasbillboardinsidemyribcage.“Don’tforgetpirates.”
“Andsometimespirates.”HesmilesdownatmebeforeturningbacktoAshley.“Fizzy’soneofthebestwritersI’veeverread,andhasmillionsofreaders.”Hishandmakesaslowcircleonmyback.Doesheevenknowhe’sdoingit?It’smakingmedizzywithwant.“Shedidthenetworkafavorbyagreeing,andtheratingsareentirelyduetoheron-screencharismawitheveryoneofthecontestants.”Helaughs,andit’ssmoothandround.“God,Isoundlikesuchaproducer,don’tI?”Hewaveshimselfawaywithaself-deprecatinggrin.“Well,anyway,I’llstopbraggingabouthernow.Itwasverynicetomeetyou,Amy.”
Withafirmhand,heleadsmeaway.
Iallowmyselftobeguidedbackupthegrassypathandindoorstowhereabandplaysduringcocktailhour.Connornabsustwoflutesofchampagneoffapassingtrayandhandsmeone.
“Thatwasswoony,”Itellhim.
“Iliterallyjustgrabbeditfromatray.Christ,raiseyourbaralittle.”
Laughing,Ismackhisbeefyshoulderwithmyfreehand.“Notthat.Thewayyougentlydraggedherbackthere.”
Connortakesasip,eyesonme,swallows.“IunderstandherpreconceivednotionsbecauseIusedtosharethem.Itwasn’tbasedonanythingfactual—I’dneveractuallyreadaromancenovel.I’mguessingshehasn’t,either.”
“Sowhathappened?”
“Natsetmestraight,andIreadyourbooks.”
“Yeah,butonly,like,oneofthem.”
“I’vereadalmostallofthem.”Hesmilesdownatme.“Therearequitealot.”
Ipausewiththeflutepressedtomylips.Champagnebubblespopandticklemyskin.“What?”
“ItoldyouIwould.”
“Yeah,butthat’sjustathingpeoplesay.”
Heshakeshishead.“Notme.”
“Andyourpreconceivednotions?”
Hetakesadrinkofchampagne,headtippedback,neckflexing.Drinkloweredagain,hemeetsmygaze.“IcanadmitwhenI’mwrong.”
Icanhearmypulseinmyears.Isthisthirty-seven-year-oldFizzy’skink?Honesty,accountability,andopencommunication?“Thatwomanbackthere?HernamewasAshley,bytheway,notAmy.”
Hisgriniswicked.“Iknow.”
Idon’tevenknowwhattodowiththeinfatuationballooninginmytorso.Thisbubbleofjoyrisinginmeisgoingtotakemeout,landmeflatonmybackifIdon’tgetmyarmsaroundhimsomehow.PeterandKaileyarestilloutside,takingcouples’photospost-ceremony.Wehavesuchalongnightaheadofus,withdinnerandtoastsanddancingandcake,butI’mgoingtotakeadvantageofthisquietlull.ItakeConnor’sglassandsetitdownonahigh-toptable,andthenleadhimtothesmalldancefloorwhereafewcouplesswayslowlytothemusic.
Helooksquizzicallydownatme,buthisarmsgoaroundmywaistwhenIslidemineuphischestandaroundhisneck.“Thisisasexyposture,”hesaysintomyear.
“Well,Ifeelsexythingsaboutyou.”
“Butpublicly?”heasks.
“Justgivemethisonedance,youhotDILF.”
Herelaxesagainstme,handswarmonmylowerback,andIrestmycheektohischest.“Youhavenicemuscles.”
“Thankyou.”
“Youareaverydapperbrickwall.”
Aquietlaughrumblesagainstmytemple.
Iclosemyeyes.“Youmakeitveryhardtowanttofallforsomeoneelse.”
Thetruthofthisweighsmedown,ananchor,draggingbehindme.
Hedoesn’tsayanythingtothis,notforfiveortenorthirtyseconds.Ikeepwaitingfortheremorsetolandortofeelrejectedinhissilence,butinsteaditfeelslikeagreement.He’sholdingmesoclose.
“Maybewecansneakoutofherelaterandwatchtheepisode,”Isay.
“I’dlikethat.”
“Nofunnybusiness,”Iadd.“DespitewhatIjustsaid.Iknowwecanonlybeworkhomieswatchingtheepisodetogether.”Inoticehedoesn’tsayanythingtothis,either.Andthenitoccurstome.“Wait.Shouldyoubeattheofficeor—Idon’tknow—accessiblesomehowtonight?”
“No,”hesays.“Blaine’sonit.Heknewtakingyouheretonightwasanimportantjob.”
“Ajob,huh?”
“Ipretendyou’realotofwork.Itgetsmepointswiththeboss.”
“Iamalotofwork.”
Thismakeshimlaugh.“Felicity,youaretheeasiestthingI’veeverdone.”Ilookupathim,watchhiswordslandonhisownears.Aflushcrawlsuphisneckandturnsthetipsofhisearspink.“YouknowwhatImean.”
“Idoknowwhatyoumean,butyou’realsofullofshit.Objectivelyspeaking,Iamahandful.”
Hetucksmyheadunderhischin.“Getoveryourself.”
Ilaughintohisshirtandclosemyeyes.Fuck,he’sperfect.Thisisawful.thirty-fourCONNOR
SlowdancingwithFizzyisthelastmomentofquietwehaveforthenextfourhours,becausewhatfollowsisthemostluxuriousandimpeccablyplannedeventIhaveeverattended.Thereisanopulenteight-coursemeal,surprisinglytenderspeeches,riotousdancing,cakecutting,andwoventhroughoutareendlesspeoplewantingtoseeFizzy,hugher,takephotoswithher.Fizzyhasjokinglydescribedherselfasthefamilydisappointment,butitalwaysfeltliketherewasakerneloftruththere,andtonight,theinternalizeddisconnectastoundsme.Itisclearfromwatchingherthateveryoneinthisroomadoresherbeyondmeasure,andeventhoughitisn’therweddingday,theattentionshereceivesmakesitseemthatasoftbeamoflightfollowsherthroughtheroom.
Ormaybethat’sjustmygaze.
Truly,Icannottakemyeyesoffher.Andwhensheapproachesmelater,holdinganunopenedbottleofchampagneandgesturingwithatiltofherheadthatshewantstoescape,myheartdoesanachingdiveinmychest.Ididn’trealizeuntiltheopportunitywasbeforemehowmuchIwantedtobealonewithheragainbeforethenightends.
“Doyouhavetoheadoutorcanyoucomeupandwatchtonight’sepisodewithme?”
IknowtherightansweristhatIshouldheadhome.Iknow,too,thatwhenitcomesdowntoitwiththiswoman,it’salwaysuptometosetboundaries,andmyfeelingsforherarecontainedbehindaverythin,veryfragilewall.Ishoulddoabetterjobprotectingmyheart.
Butwithtwoglassesofwineinmybloodandfeelingdruggedfromherproximityonmyarmallnight,thewronganswercomeseasily:“Idon’thaveanywhereIneedtobe.StevieiswithNat.”
Thecrowdisstillgoingstronginourwake,andtheeveninghushofthelobbywrapsusinanechoingbubble.Fizzyreachesforward,pressingthecallbuttonforthelift,andwelookuptogether,watchingfortheUparrowtoilluminate.
“Yourfamilyisamazing.”
Shelaughs.“ThefunnythingisIthinkyoureallymeanthat.”
“Ido.”
“Well,ifyou’relookingforawife,myauntieCindyishereforyou,incasethethreehundredtimesshementioneditwasn’tenough.”
Remembering,IpullfrommypocketacocktailnapkinwithanumberIthinkiswritteninlippencilanddropitintothebin.“I’mgood.”
“WasthatAshley’snumber?”
“Itwas.”
Fizzybeamsatmeastheliftarrives,andwestepin.“You’remyfavorite.”
“I’dbetterbe.”
“Haveyoualreadyseentonight’sepisode?”sheasks.
Istarequizzicallydownather.“Ieditedmostofit.”
“Isitgood?”
“Please.”
“I’mgonnaneedyoutounbuttonme,”shesays,gesturingcasuallytoherdresslikeshe’sinformedmeshe’llneedmetopluckapieceoflintawayorpickupherdrycleaning.
Mymouthgoesdry.“Ifigured.”
“I’llbehavemyself.”
“No,youwon’t,”Isay,laughing.
“Ipromisetotry,how’sthatsound?”
“Emptyandfoolish,butIappreciatethegesture.”
Thedoorsopenand,stillsmiling,sheleadsmedownthehalltoherroom,swipingthecardatthedoor.Silenceswallowsusupasshedropsherclutchandkeyonthetable,andI’mconsumedwithaflushingpanic.I’mnotanidiot;Iknowthisisexactlyhowsexstarts.I’vehadsexwithheralready,amhalfinlovewithheratthispoint,andwe’rebothhighonpartyvibesandchampagne.Comingupherewasabloodyterribleidea.
Fizzywalksover,turningherbacktome.“Gettowork.”
Luckily—orunluckily,dependingonhowyoulookatit—unbuttoninghergowngoesinfinitelyfasterthanbuttoningitdid.Buttomyreliefandtruetoherword,shedoesnotimmediatelyletitfalltothefloorandfacemeinwhatevercomplicatedlacyunderwearsituationshe’shidingunderthere.Shestepsawaywithahandholdingitupatthefront,smilingoverhershoulderatme.“I’mgonnachangeinthebathroom;yougettheepisodepulledup.”
Ifindtheremote,connecttotherightapp,andgetitreadytoplay.WithFizzystillchanging,IduckoutontothebalconytocallStevie.Thecoolseaairwashesovermyflushedskin,andIdrawinasteadyingbreathbeforepullingmyphonefrommypocket.
WhenNatanswers,Icanhearanotherbreathless,adrenaline-fueledvoicechatteringinanexcitedstreaminthebackground.
“Greetingsfromfangirlcentral,”Natsays.
“Again?”Iask,laughing.Iwasn’tsureSteviewouldstillbeawakebutshouldhaveknownbetter.TheWonderlandconcertDVDhasbeenviewednofewerthantentimesintheweeksinceFizzygaveittomykid.
“She’swatchingwithInsuandgivinghimablow-by-blowoftheconcertwithyouandFizzy.You’reashoo-inforparentoftheyear,youjackass.How’sthewedding?”
“Gorgeous.”
“How’sFizzy?”
Ahh,therealquestion.“Equallygorgeous,”Isayonapainedexhale.
“Isee.”
“We’reinherhotelroomtowatchtheshow.She’schanging.”
IcanalmosthearNat’sbrowsliftthroughtheline.“Iseeeeee.”
IpushawaytheimageofFizzy’sbarebackbeforesheturnedtograbherpajamasfromthedrawerandduckintotheloo.
“It’sfine,”Itellher.WhatIdon’ttellNatisthatIslippedacoupleofcondomsintomywalletthismorning.I’mnothavingsexwithFizzy.I’mnot.ButmylessoninbeingunpreparedforthiskindofthingturnseleveninJanuary.Youdon’thavetotellmetwice.
Imovetotherailingonthebalcony.Duringtheday,Fizzy’sroomwouldhaveastunningviewoftheocean.Icanseeitnow,butonlyasadarkmassofchurningmovementinthedistance.Theproximityisunderscoredbytheloudtumbleofwavesastheycrash.Theunremittingturbulencemirrorswhat’shappeninginmychest.“Anyway,IcalledtotellSteviegoodnight,butifshe’sbusy,I’lljustcatchherinthemorning.”
“Yousure?Icangrabher.”
“No,lethereducateInsu.Hemustlearnexactlywhathe’sinfor.”IturnatthesoundofFizzymovingaroundintheroombehindme.“Ishouldgoanyway.Makesureyouwatchtonight.Givemethoseratings.”
“Don’tIalways?”
Ismilebecause,yeah,shedoes.“TellthesquirtIloveher,andhaveagoodnight,Nat.”
“Iwill.Loveyou.”
“Loveyou,too.”
Istepinsideandcometoastopwithonefootin,onefootout.Fizzysaidshewaschangingintosomethingcomfy.Ifoolishlyhopedthatmeantlong-sleevedflannelpajamas,nottinyshortsandasoftcroppedsweatshirt.There’sjust…somuchskin.
“Whatthefuck’aveyougoton?”Iask,accentturningcoarse.
“They’remyjammies.Youwantmesleepinginasnowsuit?”
“Yes.”
Sheliftsherchintoindicatethebalcony.“Everythingokay?”
Igetmyheadbackonstraight.“Yeah.JusttellingSteviegoodnight.”
“IbetshemissesnotgettingherSaturdaywithyou.”
“Notreally.”Isetmyphoneonthedresser,undomytie,andunbuttonmycollar,hearinghowthatsounded.“Imean,don’tgetmewrong,wehaveablasttogether,butshe’snotsufferingalone.She’swatchingWonderlandwithInsutonight.”
“Agirl’sdream.”
“Right.”Tossingthetietothechair,Iadmit,“We’veallhadtolearnhowtorollwithitwhenmyschedulegetsnuts.I’mluckythatNatissoflexibleaboutallofit,especiallylately.”
Fizzygrabsthebottleofchampagne,twistsitopenwithapressurizedpop,andclimbsontothebed,sittingcross-legged.“Youtwoarethemostwell-adjusteddivorcedpeopleI’veevermet.”Shetakesaswig.“Ihaveafriendwhoonlytalkstoherexthroughherlawyer.”
“It’ssomethingwe’vehadtogrowinto.”Iglancearoundtheroom.Otherthanabedandadresser,there’sonlythefancyandveryuninvitingchairinthecorner.I’mreallygoingtohavetositonthebedwithher.Fuck.
Fizzymustsensemyhesitationbecauseshepatsthemattress.“Getoverhere,”shesays.“Let’swatchthis.”
Isitdown,leavingasmuchdistanceaspossiblebetweenus—whichisnotmuch,consideringthatshe’ssetherselfinthedirectcenter.Withaplayfulgleaminhereyes,shehandsmethechampagne.IfeellikeI’mbeinghunted.Itakealongdrink.
ThebubbleswarmmystomachasFizzypressesPlayandtheshowopens.Thethememusiciscatchy,anawfulearwormifI’mbeinghonest,butthatworksinourfavor.It’sbeenaddedtocountlessvideosandmemesonsocialmedia—asfarasBrennatellsme,thatis.FizzybouncesinplacealittlewhenLanelleenters.“Ifuckingloveher.”
“She’sgreat.”God,Ilovethisenergy.Justthetwoofus,watchingthisthingwecreatedtogether.
Lanellegivesabriefrecapofwhereweareintheshowprogression,andwegetquickcutsoftheprevious,now-eliminatedcontestants.There’sasmoothtransitiontoFizzyandtheremainingHeroesmeetingintheindustrialkitchen.Lanelleexplainswhattheweek’sactivitieswillbe,andtheviewclosesinonFizzychoosingwhichHerowilljoinherforwhichdate.She’splayfulandsexyandoozescharisma.
“Youreallyweremadefortelevision.”
“It’ssohardnottogetcaughtupincritiquingmyself,”shesays.
“Icanseethat.”BeforeIcanofferfurtherreassurance,Colbyappears,tyingonhisapronforthecookingactivity.ItwasclearfromthestartthatwhateverchemistryheandFizzyhadduringtheirfirstdatedidn’ttranslatetotheirsecond,butwedoagreatjobofmakingtheirtimetogetherlooklesspainfulthanitwasinperson.
Wecuttoanad,andFizzytakesthebottlefromme,swigging.“WhatdoyouthinkthereactionwouldbeifI’djustpunchedColbyinhismansplainyface?”
“Asyourproducer,Iwouldadviseagainstit.”
“Andasmyfriend?”
ItakethebottlebackandsmileasIbringittomylips.“I’dtellyoutogoathimagain.”
Shelaughs,shiftingsothatshe’slyingonherstomachwithherfeetattheheadofthebed.Istaredownattheviewofhercompletelybarelegs.IamwellandtrulyfuckedifIhavetowatchhergoondateswithothermenontelevisionwiththeperkycurveofherasscheekrightinfrontofme,peekingoutthebottomofhertinyshorts.
Shifting,Iliebesideher,mimickingherposture.“BetColbydoesn’tsurvivetheweek.”
“OrJude.”Sheliftsherchinwhenhecomeson-screen,walkingtowardherintheparkwherethey’llplanttrees.“I’mhonestlyimpressedwithhowgoodyouareatyourjob.”
“Howso?”
“Thisdate,”shesays,noddingtothetelevision.“Itlookssointimate,likewe’reinthisgorgeouspark,completelyalone.You’vecapturedmyexpressionsinawaythatmakesitseemlikeI’mswooningoverhim.AndJude—lookathim.Whatisthatfilter?Ineeditinfrontofmyfaceatalltimes.Helookssohotandnotatallderpyhere.”Shelaughs.“Inreality,itwaseighty-ninedegrees,humid,andcrowded.”Shepoints.“WasIlookingathimthereoryou?IswearthatentiredateIkeptlookingatyou.”
“Wemighthavetoworkonthatalittle,”Isaywithanudgetohershoulder.“Iappreciatetheboosttomyego,butaudiencesneedtoimagineyoufallinginlovewithanyoneofthem.”
FizzyrollshereyesattheTV.“NobodywillbelieveI’mintosomeonewhounironicallyusedthephraselegitimatevampireliterature.”
“AnytruevampireexpertwouldhaveunderstoodyourVolterrajoke.”
Fizzysitsupandturnstofaceme.“Iknewyou’dgetthat!”
“Themoviesalonemadeoverthreebilliondollarsworldwide.AndNatdraggedourentireunicrewtoseeNewMoon.”
Fizzysettlesbackastheshowcontinues,andIcan’thelpbutwonderwhattheaudienceisfeelingafterwatchingJudefizzleoutalmostasmuchasColby.ButthenIsaacison-screen.
I’dmissedmostoftheirdateinrealtime,soIwassurprisedwhenIsatintheeditingboothandwatcheditunrollinfrontofme.Evenunedited,thefootageofthemtogetherisbrimmingwithsexualtension.WhenFizzyloseshershoesomewherealongthebikepath,itturnshilariouslyslapstickastheytrytoretrieveitwithoutgettingoffthetandembike,laughingtheentireway.IneveryshotofIsaaclisteningtoherspeak,helookssmitten.Fizzy,too,seemstobeenjoyingherself,anditdidn’ttakecreativeeditingtodoit.She’sfunandfunnyandlookslikeshe’sgenuinelytryingtoimpresshim.IthitsmelikeaslapthatI’veneverseenFizzytrytoimpressanyonebefore.
“Youtwolookgoodtogether,”Isay.
“Ilikehim.”
Ibristleatthenoteoffondnessinhervoice.Ofcourseshelikeshim,he’sobjectivelywonderful,interestedinher,andavailable.Ishouldbeencouragingit,notwantingtoyell,“Cut!”eachtimehemakeshersmile.
Istartlewhenshejabsmeinthesidewithanindexfinger.“Youlookalittlebroodyoverthere.”
“Notatall.Justcalmlywatchingthisverywelleditedepisode.”
“Uh-huh.”
Mygazesnaresonthewayherlipscomeawaywetfromadragofchampagneandsheswipesthemcleanwiththebackofherhand.I’minfatuatedwiththeblastofherlaughwhenshedoessomethingnewlyembarrassingon-screen.Hercompletelackofself-consciousnessorpretensewrecksme.Asdoestheabsentwayshekicksherfeetbehindus,herbarelegsslidingagainstoneanother,sovisiblysoftandsupple.
Fizzydoesadoubletakewhensheglancesatme.“You’restaring.”
“Becauseyou’rehoggingthechampagne.”IknowIshouldtakeiteasy,but,truthfully,thatshiphassailed.“Handitover.”
Shepassesittomewithasmirkandthenadjustsherposition,flatteningdowntorestherchinonherfoldedhandsasshewatchesIsaac’sconfessionalmomentwithmetowardtheendoftheshowwhereheadmitsthatFizzyintimidateshim,buthethinksthat’sagoodthingforamantofeelwhenhereallylikesawoman.“He’sagoodguy.”
Thefirereignitesinmyribcage.“Heis.”
Shelooksoverhershoulderatme.“Wow,youreallychokedonthatadmission,didn’tyou?”
Ipointtomythroat.“Champagne.Iwasswallowingasip.”
“Whyisitsohotwhenyoulie?”
Iignorethisandsherollstoherback,staringupatmewiththelightfromthetelevisionilluminatingherface.“Whodoyouthinkwillwin?”
“Noidea.”
“Youmusthavesomeidea.We’llbedowntofournextweek.”
“IthinkIsaachasaprettygoodshot.BrennatellsmetheInternetloveshim.”
“Brennatellsyou?Don’tyougoonlineatall?”
“I’monlinefrequently.ButIdon’tgoonsocialmediaifitcanbehelped.”
“Thistracks.”Shetakesthebottleagain.“IstalkedyourInsta.YouhaveapictureofStevie’stinyfeetonbikepedalsandthenapictureofadogfrom,like,fouryearsago.That’sit.”
Ilaugh.“Idon’tneedtheworldtoknowwhatI’mdoingeverysecond.”
“Hot.”Shestudiesme.“Butastheproducer,don’tyouneedtoknowwhat’strending?”
“Weneedsomeofustowatchtheshowasitsownthing,inisolation,sothestoryarcaboutfindingyouanactualsoulmatestaysconsistentandtrue.”HerbrowsgouplikeI’vejustconfessedtobeingaprincipledvegan.“Fizzy,I’mnotaltruistic.Othersontheteamtrackthevoting.Ijustgetthefinalnumbers.It’sreallyagiantmessuntilthewindowclosesandIdon’trelishwatchingitinrealtime.”
Sherollsuptohersidefacingme.“SoyouwantIsaactowin?”
There’snogoodwaytoreplytothishonestlywithoutsoundingpossessiveorjealousordelusional.“Ithinkhe’sthebestremainingcontestant.”
“That’snotreallyananswer.”
“Toobad,becauseit’stheonlyoneI’mgoingtogive.”
“Arethereanyyouwishhadn’tbeeneliminated?”
“Jude—assuminghe’soustedthisweek—andpurelyforthecomedicfactor.”Itaphernose.“ColbybecauseIlikeitwhenyou’rescrappy.”
“Judewouldn’thavetheslightestideawhattodowithme.”
“Sweet,noneofthesepoorsodshavetheslightestideawhattodowithyou,andthatincludestheblokewho’salreadyhadashotatit.”
Shelaughsatthis.“Butyoudo.”
“CourseIdo.”Igrabthechampagnebackandtakealong,drainingpullofit.“Takeyouasyouarebydayandfuckyoutillyou’rewreckedbynight.”Ipassthebackofmyhandovermymouthandreachovertosettheemptybottledownonthenightstand.
Besideme,Fizzy’sgonesilent.It’smyturnforadoubletake;hereyesaresoft,lipsslack.“What’swithyou?DidIgetthatwrong?”
“No.”
Shelookslikeshewantstodevourme,andIlaugh.“Ican’tbethefirsttoseethroughallthehilarityandimpassionedlectures,Fizzy.You’denjoyamanwhounderstandsthatyoujustwantahotbestfriendwhomakesyoulaughandcomeinequalmeasure.Honestly,it’snotthathard.”
Shefallsontoherbackagain,staringupattheceiling.
“What?”Iloomoverher.“Isthatoffensive?HaveIdisrespectedyourhiddendepths?”
“Enjoy,”shesays.
“What’sthat?”
Sheturnshereyestome.“Yousaidenjoy.‘You’denjoyaman.’Notwantorneedorevendeserve.”Sheturnsherattentionbacktotheceilingandsmiles.“You’reright.I’dreallyfuckingenjoyamanlikethat.Ijustlovethatphrasing.”
“Whydoyouthinkyou’resocomplicated?”
“Becauseeveryoneelsedoes.”
Ishakemyhead,rollingtomysidetofaceherandproppingmyheadonahand.“Notme.You’reaRubik’sCubewithfourblocks.”
Shelaughs,reachingacrossherbodytosmackmychest.“Hey.”
“Amazewithastraightlinethroughthemiddle.It’sjustthatmostmenarequitestupid.”
Icantellshewantstobemadbutthedelightinhereyesburnsbright.Shereachesup,brushingmyhairoffmyforehead.“Careful,”shesays.
“Carefulwhat?”Herlipsaresoftandwet,herneckbareandstretchingendlessly,softformymouth.Icanseeherpulsebeatingjustbeneathherjawandwanttopressmyfacethereandabsorbthefeelingofherfirethrummingundermytouch.“Yougonnaroughmeupforbeingstraightwithyouthatyou’rejustabig,messysoftie?”
Shedragsherfingersalongmytempleanddownmyjaw.“Areyoutryingtomakemewantyou?”
“Ithinkthat’stheproblem,”Isay,adjustingmyheadinmyhand.“Idon’treallyhavetotry.”
Fizzysmilesdistractedly.“Becauseyou’resosexy?”
“Obviously.”
Sherollsbacktoherside,tracingherthumbalongmybottomlip,andnotevenanoncomingtraincouldgetmetoevadehertouch.Icanseeinhereyes,too,thatsheunderstoodmytruemeaning.Idon’thavetotrywithherbecauseeverythingbetweenusistooeasy.Tooobvious.Toogood.Theideathatshe’dendupwithaJudeorevenaNickseemslaughablenow.
Butsoistheideathatshe’dendupwithme.
Tryingtoclearthefogofalcoholanddesire,Ipullawayfromhertouch.Hereyesrefocusandsheblinksawayfrommylips.
“Uh-oh,”shewhispers.“Thespellisbroken.”
“Nah,it’slate.I’msureyou’vegotmoreweddingcelebrationsearlytomorrow.Ishouldheadhome.”
Fizzyfrowns.“Let’sputonamovieorsomething.You’vebeendrinking.”
“I’llcabit.”Imovetoclimbfrombed,butshecupsahandovermyforearm,stillingme.
“Connor.Youshouldstayhere.Icanbehavemyself.Ipromise.”
Ilaugh.“You’renottheonlyonewhoneedstobehave,sweet.HistoricallyIjusthavemoreself-control.Idon’tthinkIdotonight.”
Shesucksinasharpbreathandexhalesitshakily.“I’llhaveitforus,then.Iknowwecan’tfoolaround.”
“Foraboutahundredreasons,”Isay.“Themostobviousonebeingtheshow.Asecond,equallyimportantonebeingthatforyouitcanbejustsex,andformeit’ssomethingmoresincere.Idon’twantonewithouttheother,andunfortunately,sincerityseemstobeoffthetable.”
“Doesit?”sheasksquietly.
Istareather,atherthoughtfulpoutandlashesfannedonhercheeksasshecloseshereyesandexhalesagain.“Whatdoesthatmean?”Iask.
“Idon’tthinkthisisjustaboutmysexualreawakening.”
“No?”
Sheshakesherhead.“IthinkIhavecapitalFfeelingsforyou.”
Mywineandchampagnebuzzcomesslammingbackintomyskull,makingmythoughtsblur,mybloodthicken.Fuck.Fuckfuckfuck.
“Thatright?”Iask.
Fizzynods.“Onthebeach,whenItalkedaboutthewayIfeltreconnectedtothepartofmeImissed?”
“Yeah?”
“It’syou.Thepersonmyheroineschooseisalwaysthepersonwhomakesthemfeellikethebestversionofthemselves.Youmakemefeelthatway.”
“Butthatdoesn’thavetoberomantic,Fizzy,”Itellher,throattight.“Idowanttobeyourfriendwhenallofthisissaidanddone.”
“WhatifIwantedyoutobemybestfriend?Thekindwhoalsokissesme?”shequietlyasks.
Maybethechampagnehasdisengagedmyfilter,butotherwiseI’veneverfeltmoresober.Thisallsuddenlyfeelsinevitable.Ican’tevenrememberwantingtoresisther.“You’donlyhavetoask.”
Hergazedropstomylips,andhermouthgoessoftandhungry.“Kissme.”
Withherhandcuppingmyface,shegentlyguidesmetopressmymouthtothefullsweetnessofhersforasingle,lingeringtouch.Ipullaway.
“More,”shewhinessweetly,andhersmileturnswicked.“Withtongue.”
Ilaughatthis.“Isthatagoodidea?”
“No,it’saterribleidea,butthat’smybrand.”Fizzystretches,draggingherlipsupthecolumnofmyneck.“Holyshityoutastegood.”Herteethgrazethestrainingmusclethere,andshescootscloser,pressingintome.“Iwantyou,Connor,allthetime.”
Firesearsthroughmybloodstreamandanachepiercesmygroin.Surrendering,Iletmyhanddowhatitwants—glidingupthatwarm,honeyedthigh,overthecurveofherhip,underthehemofthoseunbelievablysoftsleepshortstofindevensofterskinjustbeneath.Thekindofsexwecouldhaveinheremakesmyimaginationdissolveintowhitenoise
“How’sthisforaplan,”shesays,gentlybitingmyneck.“Whathappensinthisroomstaysinthisroom.”
“IfeellikeI’veheardthisbefore.”Myvoiceisthickwithdesire.Myfingersfindthelushcurveofherass.
“Westartwithkissing,”shecontinues,usingherlegtocoaxoneofmineforward.Sherocksintome,clampingmythighbetweenhers.“Ifitfeelsgood,wemaybetakesomeclothesoff.Ifyoudon’twanttohavesexwithme,that’sfine.”Pullingback,Fizzysmilesupatme.“Youcanjusteatmypussyandheadhome,andeveryoneishappy.”
LaughterrisesupoutofmeandIcouldn’tresistherevenifIwasshackledtothewallbymywristsandankles.Iamsofuckedforthiswoman.SoIdotheonlythingIcanimagine:Igivein,turningmyfacedowntohers,andletthenightdissolvebetweenus.thirty-fiveFIZZY
Iusedtothinkfirstkisseswerethemostpowerfulofallthekisses.Thatfirst,hyperawarecontactwithsuchuniquelysoft,responsiveskin.Thediscoveryofsomeoneelse’ssoundsandtastesanddesire.Theultimatereveal:Isthererealpassionthere?
ButIwaswrong.Firstkissesaregreat,buttheonehundredth,theonethousandthkissesarebetter.There’sfamiliarityandcomfort,satiatinganeedbutwithenoughknowledgetoknowhowtoteaseandplay.Whoeverinventedkissingismyfavoritehistoricalfigureever.
“Iwanttokissyoufortherestoftheweekend,”Imumbleintohismouth
Withalaugh,herollsoverontome,hishandrunningupanddownmythigh,grippingandstrokinguntilIarchintohistouch,coaxinghisfingersupmyhip,alongmyribs,overmybreast.
Icouldbesatisfiedwithkissing,butIwanteverythingelse.BeingwithConnorfeelslikeadevastatinginevitability.Ihavethispit-deepneedforsomethingnotjustfastandsatisfyingbutslowandwhole.Isensethesamesurrenderinhim,too.It’sinthewayhekissesmesoslowanddeep,thepatientmappingofhishandsacrossmybody,overmyclothes,beforehedragsoneitemofclothingatatimeupovermyheadordownmylegswithdeliberate,patientpurpose.
“You’resobeautiful,”hesaysintothesensitiveskinbelowmyear,andthenrepeatsitquietlyintomyneck,myshoulder,mybreasts.
Thisisn’trushedforeplay.Thisislikesomeoneputthewholeworldonpause.He’ssolidandstrongaboveme,andIbecomeapliable,languidtangleoflimbsandskinunderhisattention.Hislipslingeronmybreasts,tongueandteethteasingmeexpertly,mouthsucking.Ithitsmelikeathunderbolt:onlysomeonewhoknowsmefromtheinsideoutcansatisfyandtorturemelikethisinequalmeasure.
I’veneverfeltsuchalongingtobesomeone’sthewayIdowithConnor.Iwanttoeathispossessive,open-mouthedkissesforeverymeal.Iwanthimtohaveamemoryofkissingeveryplaceonmybody.Iwantmyhandstoinstinctivelymoldtotheshapeofhim.IwanthimtoknowbytheheatofmyskinandthepitchofmysoundshowcloseIam.
Connortellsmehecan’tstopthinkingaboutme,thatallhewantstodoistouchme.Hekissesdownmybodytosettlebetweenmyopenlegsandreachesup,runninghisthumbovermylips,feelingtheshapeofmysoundsasheworksmeoverwithhismouth,givingmesomethingtosuckandbitewhilepleasurepoursoutofme.Iwanttoletmyheadfallbackandlosemyselfinthewideswirlsofhistongue,whenhesucks,tightanddetermined,butI’mafraidtomissanyofit.WhenIlookdown,Iseethetopofhishead,hiseyesclosedinbliss.Itanglehissofthairinmyhands,andwhenhisnameescapesonanexhale,helooksup,mouthstillonme,fingersinside,hisownsoundsvibratingupmyspine.Isayhisname,wantingtoimprintonmymemorythatit’sConnormakingmefeelthisway,shouldonlyeverbehimtakingmetotheedge,closer,closer,andthenmakingmefall.OnceI’mwreckedandboneless,herollsmeover,sinkingfingersandteethintoallmycurves,bitinggentlydownmylegs,histeethgrazingtheswellofmyass,upmybacktosendshiversdownmyspine.Aslowthrustagainstmythigh,andIfeelhowhardheis,hisbreathshakingagainstmyskin.
Ilookovermyshoulderathim,feelingkissdrunkandheavy-limbed.“Youdon’tbychancehaveprotection.”
“Ido.”Hekissesbackdownmyspineandstands.“Mywallet.”
“Pleasetellmeithasn’tbeentheresincethedivorce.”
Helaughs.“Onlysincethismorning.”
“Howconfident.”
“ABC’s,”hesays,tearingitopen.“Alwaysbeprepared.”
“That’sABP.”
Connorhuffsoutadistractedlaugh.“There’snotsomuchbloodinmycraniumatthemoment,”hesaysabsently,andwebothwatchhimslowlyrollitdownhislength,inchbystraininginch.
“I’mseeingthat.”
Hepullsmetostand,bendingtokissme,hisurgencyinthetightgripofhishandsonmyhips,therestraintwhenhepivotsmeandsitsinasmoothmovementcoaxingmeontohislap.
“Iwantyouincharge.”Connorguidesmecloser.“Goslow.”
Butslowsoundsawful.Iwanttoimpalemyselfanddieahappydeath.
Hetempersmyimpatience,andIdon’tknowhowbecausehelooksaboutascalmasIfeel,flushedandtightallover.Iwanttobruisehisthighs,eathimwhole.Thegalaxyinsidemeexpands,toofast,inaworld-endingway.Thefeelofhim—hispatient,tremblinghandsonmywaistandfullmouthonmybreastsandhisurgentbodyfillingme—sendsmeintoaeuphorictrance.Istartslow,buteventuallyanimalinstincttakesover,slipperyandwild.It’ssogoodit’sspeechless,gaspingsex.It’stakeupthewholebedsex,headhangingovertheedge,sheetspoppingoffthecornerssex.It’sscreamingintohisear,laughingintokissesasweslowdownandcheckinwitheachothersex.It’sslow,sharedbreath,tinymovementandfast,headboardslappingsex.Whenhefinallycomes—behindme,curledovermybackandtrappingmeinasavage,tendercage—theroomfallsstillforthefirsttimeinaneternity.Hismassivebodyheavesinbreaths,fistsshakingwherethey’replantedonthemattressbesidemine.
“Holyshit,”hebreathesagainstmyspine.Hisforeheadissweatywhenhepressesitbetweenmyshoulderblades.“Holyshit.”
Myearsareringing,skinpricklyandawarethatI’vetakenanewshape.Icanfeelmyheartbeatinmywindpipe;mythoughtsarewarpedwiththrillandpleasureandthetight,hyperawarerealizationthatIwanthimclosetomeeverysecondofeverydayfromhereonout.Iwanttotattoomynameintohisskinandshouthisnameahundredtimesandmakesureeveryonehears.
Heshiftsbackandaway,standingattheendofthebed.I’veneverfeltsophysicallydrainedandspirituallyfullallatthesametime.Icollapseforwardontothewarmmattress,androlltomyback,staringupattheceiling.
Connorgazesdownatthesituationaroundme.“Thisbedisadisaster.”
“Let’sputitbacktogethersowecandestroyitagain.”
Helaughs.“Imightneedaminute.”
“Okay.”Ithrowanarmacrossmyface.“Butonlyone.”
Heleaves,barefeetpaddingacrossthetileintothebathroom.Quietshuffling.Waterrunning.
IfeellikeI’mfloating.
Hereturnsandgentlytoucheshisfingerstomyinnerthighbeforepressingawarm,wetcloththere,drawingituptowhereapleasantachethrobs,cleaningmewithslow,carefulhands.
“Ready?”heasks.
Ipushupontoanelbow.“Iam.Areyou?”
Heshakeshisheadbutkissesme,distractingwiththefamiliardragofhisteethalongmylowerlip,andthenpressesafresh,coolerclothbetweenmylegs.Theshockimmediatelyshiftstoasoothingbliss.
“Wewentatitquitealongtime.I’mworriedyou’regonnabesore.”
Ihumintohislips.“Goodsore.”
Thelightfromthebathroomsendsgoldalonghisarms,hisfingers,andIfeellikehe’spaintingmewithstardust.It’scrazy,butIneedhimagain.Thisisachoking,panickyfeeling.Iaminfatuated,Iammesmerizedbyeverythinghedoes.WhenhestandstoreturnthewashclothstothebathroomIgrabhisforearm,takingthedampclothsfromhimandtossingthemsomewheretotheside,outofsight.
“Don’tgo.”
“Iwasjust—”
“Idon’tcare.Idon’twantyoutoleavemysight.”
Withasmile,heclimbsbackoverme
“Lookatyou,”hewhispersintomyneck.“Aneedycuddler.Whowouldhaveguessed?”
“I’mnotusually.”
“No?”
“Whathaveyoudonetome,ConnorPrinceIII?”
Healignshisbodybesidemine,pullingmerightupagainsthim,coaxingmylegoverhiship.“OnlyafractionofwhatI’vethoughtaboutdoing.”
“Youthinkaboutmewhenyou’realone?”Iask.
Connorhums,thesoundraspyanddeep.“Allthetime.”
“Me,too.”
Hepullsback,grinningatme.“Youdo?”
“OfcourseIdo,”Iadmit,andhetuckssomeofmytangledhairbehindmyear.“Sometimesit’ssexystuff,andsometimesIjustreallywanttohangoutwithyou.Ilikeyou.”
“Ilikeyou,too.”Hishandsmoothsdownmyside,overmythigh.“Christ,you’resosoft.”
ItseemsabsurdtomethatIhaven’teverexperiencedsuchabasicbuildingblockofintimacy—post-sexlanguishing,lazykissesandtouchesthataresomehowmoreawareandmorehazy—butI’mrealizingI’vebeenshittyatallowinganypost-coitalconnection.Thesesmallerkissesthatleadnowhere,wordsspokenintoskin,talkingaboutthesexwejusthadwithvulnerabilityandhonestyandgiddiness.Somethingcreaksopeninsideme,adoortoasecretroom.
“Thatwasthebestsexofmylife,”Isay.
Hedoesn’tlooksurprisedorskeptical.Hesaysonly,“Same,”ashislipsmakeawarmpathdownmyneck.
“Iwanttodoitagain.”
Helaughs.“DoyouseehowsweatyIam?”
“Mmm,yes.”Irunmyhandsoverhisshoulders.“Let’sgorinseofftogether.”
WestandandIseehewasright:thebedreallyisadisaster.Connorholdsmyhandevenfortheshortwalktothebathroom,andit’sgoodhedoesbecausemylegsareshockinglywobbly.Hepresseshisfronttomybackaswewaitforthewatertoheat,hisarmsbandedaroundmywaist.Heisawholeplanetbehindme,asun.
Underthewater,wesharewetkissesandsudsyhandsandit’snotlongbeforehe’simpatientagain,too.Hedripsfootprintsonthebathroomfloorasherushesouttohuntforthesecondcondom.Suchconfidenceinthismanwhopackeduphisthingsearliertoday.
Thistimethecoldshowerwallisatmybackandhisskinishot,pressedallalongmyfront.It’sslowandcareful,thenhardandfrantic,hisfingertipsgrippingbruisesintomythighs,hisbodythrustingsodeepitobliterateseveryothersensation.Idon’tknowhowI’mgoingtofunctionifIhavetoleavethisroomandactnormalafterthis.Idon’tknowhowI’mgoingtopretendIdon’twanthimwithaclawinghungereverytimeIseehim.
Ifinishhiminthebedwithmyhandsandmouth,hisfingersachaoticmessinmywethair,hisrough,filthywordsscrapingthewallsashecomes.It’salongsilentpauseafter,myfacepressedtohisstomach,hisheartpoundingthroughtheentirelengthofhistorso
“I’mcrazyaboutyou,”Isay.
Hisvoiceisalowvibrationreverberatingdownhisbody.“I’moutofmymind.”
“I’llwantyouagaintomorrow,andthenextday,andliterallyeverydayafterthat.”
ConnorisquietsolongIthinkhe’sdozedoff,butthenhisvoicerisesoutofthedarkness.
“Canwefakeit?”heasks,finally.“I’mlyingherewonderingifwecandoboth.Thisandthat.”
“Ipromisetodothebestactingofmylife,andIplayedasuninafifth-gradeplay,soIcanassureyouI’mverygood.”
Laughing,hepushesupontoanelbow,lookingatmewithapleasure-drunkblurtohisgaze.“Asun?”
“Ihadtojuststandthere.”Ikisshisnavel.“Youknowme.Trustme,itwasverydifficulttonotjoinintheorbitdance.”
Hesmiles,butitdoesn’ttakeoverhisfacethewayIexpect.“I’llhavetohidemyjealousy.”
Oh.
“Iwon’tfallinlovewithanyofthem,Connor.”
Hedragsmeuphisbody,aligningmeoverhim.Ourheartspoundintandem,recharging.“Whatifyouneedto,tomaketheshowwork?That’swhatIcan’tstopthinkingabout.YouhavechemistrywithIsaac.Ishouldletyoupursuethat.This—youandme—seemslikesuchaterribleidea,butIwantyousobad.Ican’tsaynotoyou.”
“Let’sjusttakeitonedayatatime,okay?”
Ihaven’tfeltthiswaybefore.It’ssuchasimpledeclaration,andfornowIcanonlymakeittomyself.AnylieIeversaidaboutkeepingthiseasy,aboutbeingabletowalkawayandfocusontheshow,isobliteratedintodust.There’sauniverseexpandinginmyribcage,starsandplanetsandallkindsofdangeroussparkingdebristhatcoulddestroyme.I’mconsumedbyadistractingache,asharpwant,adesperationforthisthingIhavealreadyinmyarms.IknowwhatthisisevenifI’veneverfeltitbefore.I’mfallinginlove.thirty-sixFIZZY
I’mfallinginlove,butI’malsofallingasleep,inthewarmcircleofhisarms,withthehardplanesofhisbodysomehowformingtheperfectmattress.Webothwakeupwithajoltwhensomeonedrunkbangsonthedooracrossthehall
Overheated,IslideoffConnor’sbodyontothecool,twistedsheets.Hegroans,rollingtoreachforabottleofwater,offeringmesomeandthentakingalongdrink.
“Whattimeisit?”Iask.
“Aroundthree.”
We’dbarelybeenasleeptwentyminutes,butitfeltlikehoursforhowdeepI’dbeen.
“Iwonderifanyonenoticedthatwedisappeared,”Isay.
“I’msure.”
“I’llgetalotofquestionsaboutitatthebrunchtomorrow.”
“Especiallyfromyoursister,”hesays,andIlaugh.ConnorrollsawaytoputthewaterbackonthenightstandandItaketheopportunitytorunmyhandsuphisback,mappingthebroadexpanse.Hereturnstome,andI’mjustashappyrubbingmyhandsalloverhisfront.“Easyenoughtoanswer,right?”hesays.“Wewerewatchingtonight’sepisodetogether.”
“Mmm,Iknowyou’resayingwords,”Isay,tracinghisribs,“butallIseeisnaked.”
Heputsafingerundermychin,tiltingmyfaceupsoIlookintohissmilingeyes.“Imeanttoaskhowtheweddingwasforyou,butwegotdistracted.”
Myfirstinstinctistolookawayandmakeajokeaboutfindingjoyinthwartingfamilialexpectations,butthenewinstinct,thebiggerone,istobebarewithhim.“Itwasn’tashardasAlice’s,”Iadmit.“Atherwedding,everyonefeltsorryforme,anditcompletelycaughtmeoffguardbecauseIwastheretocelebrate,andIgotallthispityandconcerninsteadthattheyoungerdaughterwasgettingmarriedfirst.AtleastyesterdayitfeltlikeamemethatI’msingle,ratherthangossip.”
Hestudiesmyexpressionforafewquietbeats,thenjustgivesaquiet“Hmm.”
“I’llgetmarried,orIwon’t,”Itellhim.“Itshouldn’taffectanythinganyoneelsedoes.ButIknowitisn’tthatsimple.Myparentsworrybecausetheyloveme.Theywantmetobemarriedbecausetheyarehappilymarried;theywantmetohavekidsbecausetheylovehavingus.Eventhoughitstings,Iknowinmyheartthereasonmymomalwaysreferstomy‘realnovel’isbecausesheissureI’mthebestwriteralive,butknowstheworldlooksdownonromance.Shedoesn’twantmetoputmyselfinapositionwhereI’mnotvaluedforwhatIcando.Itisn’tbecauseshedoesn’tvaluemyskill,shejustseeswritingliteraryfictionasthemoreambitiouswaytodoit.”
“Idon’tknow,”Connorsaysquietly.“Seemsit’sprettyhardtowriteacompellingbookwhenthereaderalreadyknowshowitends.”
Perfect,Ithink.He’sperfect.IneedanewtrackorI’mgoingtoclimbonhimagainandIdon’tthinkhecanfitmorethantwocondomsinthatwallet.
“Whataboutyourdad?”Iask.“Iassumeheknowsabouttheshownow?”
“HetalkedtoStevie.Shetoldhim.”
“And?Isheimpressedthathissonisbeingstalkedonsocialmedia?”
“Notexactly.”Hepicksupastrandofmyhairandtwistsitabsently.“Yourmummightnotunderstandromance,butshe’sproudofyou.Herconcerncomesfromaplaceofloveandgoodintentions.TheproblemisthatI’mnotwhomyfatherwantsmetobe.”
“I’msurethat’snottrue.”
“Iusedtothinkitwassomethingdeeper,somethingunfulfilledinhim,butIthinkhe’shonestlyjustashittyhuman.”HisforeheadfurrowswithafrownandItiphisfacedown,pressakissthereuntilthetensionsmoothsoutagain.Theideathatanyonecouldlookathimandnotseeallthewonderfulpartsofwhoheismakesmyinsidesboil.“ButIhaveNataliaandStevie,”hesayswithasmile.“Morethanmakesupforit.”
“Whatwasyourweddinglike?”
“ToNatalia?”
“Yes?”Isay,grinning.“Unlessthere’sanotherwifesomewhereinanattic.”
Helaughs.“Itwasatthecourthouse.Itwasverysimple.”
“Howoldwereyou?”
“Whenwegotmarried?Twenty-two.”
“Oh.Babies.”
“Yeah.Andbaby.”Hesmilesatme.“Shewaspregnant.”
“Oh.”
Connornods,rollingtohisbackandtuckingonearmbeneathhishead.AbiceppopsandIpretendthatI’mnotdyingtotouchit,becausewe’rehavingaseriousconversation.“We’dbeenreallygoodfriendsforacoupleyears,butonlybeenloversforaboutsixmonthsbythen.IthinkIalreadyknewweweren’tagreatfitromantically,butitwasafunandeasyhookup.Iknewshe’dhadathingformealmostsincewefirstmet.Imean,lookingbackIthinkIworriedthatI’dfuckupourgroupdynamicifIendedthings.”
“That’srough.”
“Sothenshefindsoutshe’spregnant,andshewantstokeepthebaby—which,totallyhercall,Ineverhadanyissuewithhermakingwhateverchoiceworkedforher.Butsincemyownfatherwasabsentand”—hesighs—“suchadick,really,Iwantedtodotherightthing,andimmediatelyproposed.”
“Ah,”Isay.
Heshiftstohisside,toyingwithastrandofmyhairagain.“Yeah.”Isensethisisn’tastoryhetellsveryoftenbecausehe’stakinglongerthanhenormallywouldtoputthewordstogether.“Itwasniceatfirst.Steviewasareallyeasybaby.IlovedthefamilyNatandIhadmade.Iknewwewouldbegoodparents.”
Imakeasoundofunderstanding.
“ButIwasn’teverinlovewithher,anditgothardertopretend.Iwassickwiththedecisionaboutwhetheritwasworsetostay,orleaveandpotentiallymakeallthesamemistakesmydadmade.IneverwantedStevietofeelthewayIdid.”
“Right.”
“I’dlovetosayItalkedaboutthiswithher,”hesays,“butIdidn’tIlovedher,butIwasn’tinlovewithher,andinhindsightIwasjustlookingforawaytomakeherstoplovingme.Iwasimmatureandnotveryevolved.”
Whenhesaysthis,IthinkIknow.Buttheheatofhisbodyandthesweetnessofhisfingersdrawingdelicatevinesacrossmycollarbonesmakesitfeellikehisnextwordsarespokenwithinvisibleink.
“Icheatedonher.”
Heletsthesentencesitanditpenetratesmelikepoison,firstwithastingatthesurfaceandthenwithaflashingburnasittakesrootinside,ulcerating.
“Ihavenodefense.”Ifeelhimlookingatmyface,butIcanonlyfixmygazeonatinyscaronhisshoulder.MyheartissqueezingsotightIcanbarelyswallow.Iamalllockedupinside.“WegotinafightwhileIwasatworkandIjust…didn’tgohome.Iwentout,metawomanatabar—whatever,it’ssuchaboringstory.IknewifIstayedoutallnightIcouldn’tlieaboutitthenextmorning.Isatinmycaruntilthesuncameup.Natknewassoonasshesawme.Andyeah,”hesaysquietly,“thatdefinitelyendedthings.”
I’mstillunabletofigureouthowtomakesound.Inodnumbly.
“Maybeitwouldhavehappenedeventually.We’llneverknow.ItwastheworstthingI’veeverdone,”hesays.“I’vedonealotofworkonmyself.Alotoftherapy.Nathasforgivenme,butittookalongtime.”TheshoulderI’mstaringatliftsinashrug.“It’swhyIdon’tthinkIcanstomachcasualrelationshipsanymore.Like,Idon’tevenrememberthewoman’snameorherface.Whatavilethingtodo.”Heexhalesslowly.“Thatfeelinghasneverreallyleftme.”
Ihearwhathe’ssaying;Ievenheartheemotionalweightofhiswords,theregretandtheself-flagellationandthesincerity.ButthecontradictionofhimmarryingNattodotherightthingandendingitinthecruelestpossiblewayfeelslikeahotandcoldwire,twistedaroundmywindpipe.
SuddenlyI’mup,
I’mstanding,
I’msearchingthroughmyopenbagformyclothes.
Underwear,joggers,T-shirt.Myjointsmovelikethey’reprogrammed,musclememory,locatingeverythingandpanic-dressingmyselfinthedark.
Connorpushesup.“Fizzy.”
“I’mjustrealizingpeopleareprobablystilldownatthebar.”Ilaughlike,Duhme!
Hispausefeelsasdeepasacanyon.“It’sthreeo’clockinthemorning.”
“Iknow,butI’mthebigsisterandjustlefttheweddingwithoutsayinggoodbyetoallmyfamily.”
“Youdidsaygoodbye.”
“Nottoeveryone!”
HegoessilentandIcan’tlookathisface.Mythoughtsareaflurryofbrokentrustandfearandangerandsadness.Ifeelnauseatedandfrantic,butIseefromadistance,too,howthisisunfolding.HowwildImustlooktohimrightnow.
Connor’svoiceissteady.“ThisisaboutwhatIjusttoldyou.Icompletelyunderstandwhythisupsetsyou.ButIneedyoutocomebackandtalkthisoutwithme.”
ItripasIshovemyfootintoashoe.“Iswearitisn’taboutthat.AndI’msurethatwassuperhardforyoutoshare.I’msorrytodothisrightnow,IjustreallyshouldchecktoseeifanyoneisupthatIneedtospendtimewith.”
MycardkeyisonthedresserandIgrabit,shovingitintothepocketofmyhoodie.
“Fizzy.Pleasestop.”
Itakeadeepbreathandlookathim.He’ssittingup,haspulledasheetoverhislaptocoverhimself.Hishairisadisaster,eyesbrighteveninthedimroom.He’sdevastatinglygorgeous,
andIthinkIlovehim,
butIalsothinkifsomeonecanjustifycheatingonce,theycanjustifyitagain.You’reeitheracheateroryou’renot.
“Fizzy.Comeback.”
“Ican’t.”
“Talktomeaboutwhat’sgoingonrightnow.Iwasadumbkid.I’mnotthatguyanymore.”
“It’sfine.Thisisn’taboutthat.”
“Itis.Andit’sokay.Idon’tlikethatIdiditanymorethanyoudo,butIwantustobeabletolivewithourfuckups.Iwantustotalkaboutthem.”
Ilookaway,attheuglybamboowallpaper,butIdon’tevenfeellikeI’mintheroomwithhimanymore.
I’minacrowdedrestaurantandRob’swifeisgloweringdownatme.I’mawareofmyconfuseddateslowlyputtingthepiecestogetheracrossthetablefromme.I’mhomealonelater,devastatedtodiscoverthatIamtheworstofthings:ahome-wrecker.
BeforeRob,IthoughtIwasbulletproof.IthoughtI’dalwaysbeenoughformyself,thatIdidn’tneedanyone,thatnomancouldtankmyfeelingsorsenseofself-worth.AndthenRobandthewholesituationmademequestionitall.IpromisedmyselfIwouldneverfeelthatwayagain.
NowIseethatRobwasapapercut.Connorcouldobliterateme,anditwouldn’ttakesomethingasenormousascheating.
Ilookoverathim.“Youwantmetobehonest?”
Henodsimmediately,forcefully.“Always.”
“Okay,well,”Isay,clenchingmyjawandgraspingthefirstliethatcomestome.“Ithinkwewerebothtipsyandthensex-drunkandwegotwaytooheavy.Idon’tknowwhatIwasthinking.Webarelyknoweachother.”
Connorgustsoutadisbelievingbreath.“Wedoknoweachother.Gettingtoknoweachotherhasbeenoursingularfocusformonths.”
Thewordsflyoutofme:“ThenIwaswrongaboutyou.You’renotthemanIthoughtyouwere.”
Whenhecan’tcomeupwithanythingtosayinresponse,Iturnandleave.thirty-sevenCONNOR
Istareatthedoor,waitingforthetelltalesoundofthekeycard,ofFizzycomingbackintoregroup,findherlevelhead,talkthisout.Butthehotelissoquietthistimeofnight,theonlysoundIhearistheelevatordingdownthehall,andthemechanicalsoundofthecardescending.
Whatthefuckjusthappened?
Ifallbackontothebed,staringupattheceiling.IknowFizzytobealotofthings—wild,brave,self-assured,assertive,intense—butIdon’tknowhertobeflightylikethis.Fizzyistheheroinewhoturnsaroundtofacetheoncomingdangerhead-on.Sheisn’ttheonewhothrowsoutbollocksexcusesonherwayoutthedoor.NowI’maloneandstarknakedonthissex-ravagedbedwiththeechoofoursoundsstillembeddedinthefourwalls.
Isitup,shovingthesheetsaway.Myformertherapist’sreminderfloatsupintomythoughts:Youdon’thavetodealwithitrightthissecond,butyoudohavetodealwithit.I’llgiveFelicityChenthesamecourtesy.Shedoesn’thavetodealwithmethisinstant,buteventually,shewillhavetofacethis.
Withdeliberatepatience,Ishoweragainandgetdressed.AsmuchasIcan,Iputtheroombacktogether,ignoringthewayimagesflashintomyheadasIstraightenthesheets—thelongplaneofherneckasshethrowsherheadbackandcriesout—asIhangupourtowels—waterdrippingfromherlipsasshestaresbetweenusandwatchesmefuckher—asIputthechampagnebottleintherecyclingbin—theviewofherlipskissingdownthelengthofme
AndthenIsitinthechairbythewindowandslowlycounttoonehundredandthenbackdowntoone.Theentiretime,Ithinkshemustbeonherwayback
Shemustbe—justnow.
Maybenow.She’llwalkinandI’llputasidethisangerandwe’lltalkitout,onewordatatime.
ButwhenIleavejustafterfour,thehallwaysareempty;thebardownstairsispredictablydarkandsilent.Ihavenoideawhereshewentbutamnotgoingtochaseherdownwithatextmessageoracall.Fuckthis.Thesleepyvalettakesmyticketandpullsmycararound.Whatabloodymess.thirty-eightFIZZY
Ineedyoutosaythatagain,”Jesssays,cuppingherwarmmugofteaandtuckingherfeetundertheblanket.“Iwantyoutohearhowinsaneitsounds.”
“IadmitIhavefeelingsforhim,”Irepeatrobotically,pacingmylivingroomfloor.“Weproceedtohavethebestsexofmyentirelifetime.Forhours.Twice.Thenhetellsmehismarriageendedbecausehecheated.SoIbolted.”
“Yes,butspecificallythenextpart.”
“ThepartwhereIwentandsatonthefloorinanemptyhotelballroomforanhour?”
Shenods,andthenliftshercoffeetoherlipstotakeasip,lettingmywordsricochetoffmysilentlivingroomwalls.Ididdothis.IleftConnornakedinmyhotelbedwhileIbolteddownstairsandhidinadarkballroomforanhour,mymindspinningwildlyoutofcontrol.
IsentupthebestiebatsignalatfivethismorningandtoldJessshehadtocomeoverassoonasshelandedfromCostaRicaandassoonasIgothomefromtheSundaypost-weddingbrunch.Butgivenhowmuchstufftherewastopackintocars,howmanypeoplethereweretopay,andhowmanyfamilymemberstherewereneedingridestotheairport,it’snownearlyteno’clockatnight.Ifeelpanickyandnauseated,butI’mnotsureifit’sregret,resignation,orsheerexhaustionfromalackofsleep.
“Hewastryingtotalkitoutwithyou,”shesaysoverthesteamingtopofhermug.
Idon’tneedreminding.Everyregrettable,overreactivemomentofmymeltdownisimprintedinmybrainlikeabad,drunkentattoo.
Ireachtheendofmylivingroomandturntopaceintheotherdirection,forthefivehundredthtime.“Iknowhewas.AndIknowthisallhappenedlikeeightyearsago,andhewasupset,andhe’solderandwiser,butthefactthathedecidedtonotjustendhismarriagebutexplodeit…”
“Fizzy,wearealldumbwhenwe’reyoung.Imean,youmustseetheparallelshere:IgotpregnantbecauseAlecandIhadunprotectedsexinabathroomataparty.Connormessedup,butthenhesteppedup.Hewenttotherapy;hemovedheretobepresent.JunobarelyseesAleconceayear.”
Anachepassesthroughme,andIstopmypacingtowinceoverather.“Shit.Iknow.I’madickforventingaboutthistoyou.”
“No,comeon,I’mtheexactrightpersontoventto.Beinghurt,beingbetrayed?Itdoesweirdthingstous.Iknowthisisyourbuttonandnobodywouldblameyouforhowyoureacted.”
Iresumemystride,turningtowalktotheotherendoftheroom,feelinghereyesonme.
“Butwehavetobelievethatthepeoplewecareaboutareconscious,accountablepeople,”shecontinues.“Thefactthathetoldyou,thathe’sreallydonetheworktogrow…Imean,mostmenaren’tthatevolvedatthirty-three,let’sbehonest.”
Igroan,turningandheadingtheotherdirectionagain.“Iknow.”
“Ifyouwerethesamepersonyouwereattwenty-four,you’dhaveadifferentguyeveryweekandwouldn’tevenbeconsideringfindingasoulmate,onashoworotherwise.”
“Noteveryweek.”
“Stoppacingandtellmewhathappenednext.”
Istopabruptly,collapsingontotheotherendofthecouch.“OnceIgotmyshittogether,ItoldmyselfthatifhewasstillintheroomwhenIgotbackupstairs,Iwouldapologizeandtalkitout.”
Shestraightens.“And?”
“Hewasn’t.”Jessdeflates.“He’dleftwhileIwasgone.Andmaybethat’sagoodthing,”Isay,“becausetheotherhalfofthedealImadewithmyselfwasthatifhewasn’ttherewaitingforme,itwasasignthatthisConnorthingwasdoomed,andtomoveon.”
“Youdon’tbelieveinsigns.”
“Yes,Ido.”
“RememberthetimethatblackcatwassittingonthehoodofyourcarwhenyouwalkedoutofTwiggsandbarelytwosecondsafteryouputitinyourcar,yougotthathorribleNewYorkTimesreview?”
“Ireallydon’tlikethisturnintheconversation.”
“Youthentookthedoomsdaycathomewithyou,andcalledmetocomplain,allshockedandoutragedthatthisstray,feralharbingerofdoomshreddedyourcurtainswithin,what,thirtyminutes?”
“Ithink,”Isay,puttingasinglefingerupasiftotestthedirectionofthewind.“Yes,Ithinkit’stimeIfindanewbestfriend.”
Shelaughs.“ShouldIevenaskaboutIsaac?Yousaidyousawapossiblefuturethere.”
“YouknowIdon’tdolovetriangles!”Ilookupattheceiling.“It’slikeshedoesn’tknowmeatall.”
Shereachesacrosstheexpanseofcouch,pullingmetowardherandintoherarms.“Connordidsomethingdumbwhenhewasinhistwenties.Fizz,youofanyoneshouldunderstandthat.”
Shedoesn’tmeanitasadig.She’spayinghomagetomybattlescars,mymedalsofhonorforadventure,mybacklistofsexualexploration.AndIwentthroughthisexactthoughtprocess,too,whenIsatthereonthefloorinthedark.First,therewasmyindignation,mybright,hotpanicthatthepersonIhadbigheartandpantsfeelingsforwasacheater.Butthenmybloodcooledandtheotherthingshesaidechoedalittlelouder:Thatitwastheworstthinghe’severdone.Thathe’sdonealotofworkonhimself,gonetotherapy.ThatNathasforgivenhim.
ButevenifIcouldviewhispastwithsomeperspective,myfight-or-flightmomentleftmefeelingunsteady,remorseful,andanxious.Howaretheheroinesinmybookssosureofthemselvesandthepersontheyfallinlovewith?Howdoesanyonereallyknowwhatandwhotheywant?It’sallsucharisk.Whochoosestoflingtheirheartoutintotheblacknessofuncertainty,blindlyhopingsomeonecatchesit?
“Thethingis,”Isayintohershoulder,“IsignedacontractsayingIwouldn’tdateduringthisshow.They’repayingmealotofmoneytodothis.Andthisisn’tjustalittlelie.IcouldbeinbreachofcontractifI’mcaughtwithhim.Like,actualBigLegalTrouble.Hecouldlosehisjob.Ihaven’tfinishedabookinmorethanayear,I’mavoidingmyagent’sphonecallslikeI’mhidingfromthemob,andI’mstartingtofeellikeIcan’tevendodatingright.Butlastnightinthehotelroom,Ididn’tcareaboutanyofthatbecauseIjustwantedtobewithhim.”
Shehums,listening.
“I’veneverfeltthat—thatinsatiablething,youknow?Iwanttobenearhimeverysecond.IfIeatsomethingdelicious,Iwanthimtheretotakeabite.IfIseesomethingbeautiful,Iwanttoturntohimandpointitout.IfIhearsomethinghilarious,Iimmediatelywanttocallhimandtellhimeverything.”
“Oh,honey.”
“ButifitgotoutorIcouldn’tfakeitwellenough,itwouldmessuphislife,andmine.”Iswallowasthehardestonebubblestothesurface.“Iknowthatandstillnoneofitmattered.”
“Wedocrazythingswhenwefallforsomeone,Fizz.”
“Yeah,butyouknowtheonlythingthatscaredmeenoughtogetmetoleavethatroom?”
“What?”
“Thatevenifbysomemiracleeverythinggoesright,Icouldstillgethurt.”
Shesighsintomyhair.
“AndifConnorhurtme,Idon’tknowwhetherI’dbeabletowriteanotherlovestory.”
Iwaitforthejoke.Oneofusneedstomakeit;themomentistooheavy.
Iguessyouweren’tkiddingabouthismagicaldong.
It’srightthereforthetaking.
ButJesssaysthelastthingIexpect:“That’showyouknowhe’stheone,Fizz.”
IfallasleepandJessmusthavecarefullyextractedherselfbecauseitisn’thermovingoutfromundermyheadthatwakesme,it’smefallingoffthecouchandlandinginapileonthefloor.
Idon’timmediatelymovebecauseIwanttoholdontothedreamIwashaving,clingtoitforjustafewminuteslonger.Connor’sarmswerejusthere,bandedaroundmeonthecouch.Iwassowarm,socontent.Wewerebreathingtogether,doingnothingbuttalkingandlaughingandfallingintoeasysilence.Whilemybodyslowlywakesup,theremnantsofabone-deepsenseofconnectionandintimacylingersuntilthefogofsleepclearsandithitsmewhatIjustdreamed:ConnorandIwerelivingtogether.
That’showyouknowhe’stheone.
I’veneverwantedtolivewithanyone.IsJessright?Isthatwhatthisis?Thissenseofbeingknown,beingloved,beingsafeinthequietestmomentswithhim?Butwhydoesthatfeelingofsafetyandconnectionhavetocomeintertwinedwiththeoutrightterrorofgivingovertothepowerlessnessofitall,ofputtingmyheartandwell-beinginConnor’shands?
Ithinkaboutwhatitwouldfeelliketonevertouchhimagain,andarawstabofpainspearsme.Hishands,hislips,hislaugh,hisweight,hisdeepmelodicvoice,hissteadygaze,yes—okay—hismagnificent…presence.Iwanttodigmyfingernailsintothefloorboardsattheideaofgivingthatup.
It’smidnight,buturgencyfloodsmyveinsasIreachformyphoneonthecoffeetable.Therearenomissedcallsfromhim,nomessages.Ipushon,notlettingmyselfwonderwhatthatmightmean.
Areyouup?Itexthim.IhopesobecauseI’monmywayover.
Idon’twaitforaresponse.Idon’tstoptothink.Ishovemyphoneintomypurse,stuffmyfeetintomyshoesonthewayout,anddon’tevenbothertolockmyfrontdoor.
Outsidehisplace,Iclimboutofmycarandlookupathisdarkporch,darkwindows.
I’mhere,Itext.
Nothing.
Icallbutitrings,andrings,finallygoingtovoicemail.
ThisiswhenIhaveabriefinternalmeltdown.It’sSundaynight.IthinkStevie’satNat’sbecauseConnorcametotheweddingwithme,butwhatifhepickedheruptoday?Idon’twanttowakeherwithaRomanceHeroineBangingontheDoormove,butifhisphoneisonsilentIcouldpaceouthereatthecurbuntilmorningandhe’dneverknowIwashere.Howdopeopleinbooksandmoviesmaketheirbig-feelingsconfessionswhentherearepotentiallykidsfastasleepinthehouse!
Itiltmyfacetothesky,groaning.Reallifeissomuchharder!
There’snothingtodobuttextagain.Hi.Yes,Ireallydiddriveoverhereatmidnight.Pleasetellmeyou’reup.
Finally,afterIstaremenacinglyatmyphoneforagoodthirtyseconds,threedotsappear.Myheartleapsintomythroat.
Justsawthese.I’mup.
HisporchlightgoesonasIjoguphiswalkway.Connoropensthedoor,leaningashoulderinthedoorframe.Doesheknowhowgoodheisatthis?Nooneleanslikehim:withpatientconfidence,onehandtuckedintoapocket,onefootcrossedovertheother.
Hehasmyfavoritesofthairfallingoverhisforehead,agraycrewnecksweatshirt,fadedandwornjeans,andbarefeet.Butmostofall,it’sjusthim,thewholepackage:thesolidmassofhisbodyandhiskindeyesandfullmouthandthesharplineofhisnose.Oureyesmeet,andevenwiththecarefullyguardedwarinessIseethere,Ithinkitwouldtakeanapproachingsemitrucktogetmetolookaway.
Connorgivesmeaquiet“Hey”beforehestepsback,lettingmein.
“Hey,”Isaywhenheturnstofaceme,shuttingthedoorbehindus.Theairbetweenuswarpswithheat.Iwanttosinktomykneesandworshiphim.Ihaveneverinmylifefeltsuchattractionorsuchdevotion.
“I’mgladyouwereup,”Isay,breathless—Ihopefromexcitementandnotthejogupeightstepstohisporch.
“Sorry,Ihadmyphoneonsilent.”
“It’sokay.”Ican’tcatchmybreath.Bending,Iputmyhandsonmyknees,suckinginair.“Sorry,IthinkI’mjustnervous.”Istraighten,finallygettingmybearings.I’vewrittenthissceneathousandtimesbut,wow,itiswayscariertoliveit.“IhavetwothingsIwanttosay,”Itellhim.
“Okay.”Heswallows,liftinghischin.“Let’sgosit.”
Anexcellentplan:apologiesfirst,confessionssecond,sexthird.
Ileadusintothelivingroomandsitinthemiddleofthecouch,pattingthespacebesideme.Heeyesitforabeatbeforesitting,butit’shardtomissthewayitfeelslikehe’stryingtokeepasmuchdistancebetweenusashecan.
“I’msorryaboutthewayIleft,”Isayimmediately.I’mevenmoredesperatetogetthisoutofthewaynowgivenhisstrainedbodylanguage.Connoristallandmuscular,ofcourse,butalwayscarrieshimselflikesomeoneinamuchsmallerframe.I’veneverbeenmoreawareofhissizebefore.
Well,nowandwhenhewasactuallylyingontopofmewithhisgiant—
Focus,Fizzy.“Ifreakedout,”Isay,regrouping.“Yousawit,youcalledit.Infidelityisahardlimitforme.”
There’sonlyonelampon,behindhim,anditleaveshisexpressioninshadow.“Iknow.”
“ButIshouldn’thaveleft.IshouldhavestayedandtakenaminutetofigureoutwhatIwanttosay,andit’sthis:IfeelawfulforNatalia.Butalsofortheanonymouswomanwhodidn’trealizeshewaspartofayoungguy’skamikazemission.Whoprobablythoughtshewasjusthavingtheluckiestnightofherlife.”
“Ithinkaboutheralot.”
Myheartmeltsalittle.“Thatwomanwasmeonce,andnotonlydiditbreakpartofmyheart,butIhadtoreckonwithbeinganotherwoman’sheartbreak,too.”
Hecouldtellme,Forwhatit’sworth,shedidn’tknowIwasmarried,buthedoesn’t.Andevenifit’strue,Iappreciatethatheisn’ttryingtodefendhimself.Hejustlistens,absorbingthis.
“I’msorryIreactedthatway,”Isay.
Connornods.“I’mreallynotthatguyanymore.I’mnearlyadecadeolder,Fizzy.Infidelityisahardlimitforbothofus.”
“Iknow.IwishIhadn’trunofflikethat.I’msorryIleftafterwhatwe’djustdone.Afterwhatwe’djustsaid.”Itakeanotherdeepbreath.“Ispentalotoftimebymyselfdownstairs,thinking.”
Connorhums,anunspokenGoon,then
“AtfirstIwaspanicking,”Isay,myanxietyratchetinghigherwithhissilence.Inanyothersituation,evenpatient,measuredConnorwouldsaysomethingtolightenthemood,tomakethiseasierforme,buthe’sbeingsostill,likehe’sbracinghimselfforsomething.“ButthenIletmyselfprocesswhatyou’dsaid,andIrealizedsomething.Aboutmyfeelingsforyou.”
HiseyesareonthefloorandIstareathisamazingface,givingmyselfafewbeatstocalmdown.Gettingthesewordsoutfeelslikefittingmywholebodythroughastraw.I’veneversaidthisnextpart.“I’vebeenficklemywholelife,”Iadmit.“I’veneverbeensomeonewhocouldclosehereyesandvisualizewhatitwouldbeliketobewithonepersonforever.IthoughtIwasdoingmoreofthesamewhenIboltedtoday,but—”
“Fizzy—”
“No,letmegetthisout.”
“Idon’tthink—”
“IpromiseI’mnotgonnabeajerkagain.”
“No,no,it’snotth—”
“Irealizedsomethingimportanttonight.”
“Fizzy,listen—”
Iknowhowthisexchangewouldbewritteninatranscript.Overlapping,itwouldsay.Thestaccatoofwordscomingoutoneaftertheother,crowdingthespace,drowningusinburstsofnoise.Ilaugh,shovingpastthewayhedoesn’twanttohearwhatI’mgoingtosay.
SoIblurtitout,loudenoughtodrownouthisprotest:“I’minlovewithyou.”
Andit’sabeatbeforeIrealizemywordsbarreledrightoverhis:“Ican’tdothis.”
Everythingfallsnuclear-winter-levelsilent.Thestillnessintheroomisabsolute.Andthenthesoundofhimcarefullyclearinghisthroatfeelsdeafening.
“OhGod,”Isay,laughingawkwardly,butinsideI’mshrivelingupinhumiliation.“DidyoujustsaywhatIthinkyousaid?”
Hisgazeissoftbutsteady.“I’msorry.”
“Ifthisisabouttheshow,”Iquicklysay,“wecangobacktoouroriginalplan.Wecanbesecretifweneedto.”DesperationrisesinmethelongerIfacethisstiff,coldversionofConnor.“I’mnotgoingtoletanyonegetinthewayofthisifyou’rewillingtotry.WhatIsaidinthehotelaboutbeingcrazyaboutyou?Imeantit.I’mallin.Wecansneakaround.I’mverysmall;Icanbestealthy.Infact,myhighschoolguidancecounselorgavemetwocareerpaths:romanceauthororsecretagent.”
IexpectagrinbutIdon’tevengetaflickerofareaction.Instead,hebreakshisgazeawayandturnsittowardthedarkfireplace.Withhisprofileilluminated,Iseehowtiredhelooks.Hischiseledcheekbonesseemgaunt,andIrealizethatit’sbecausethere’snosmileinhiseyes.
Dreadfallslikeaweightinmystomach.Ofcourse.Ibrokethis.ThewayIleftthehotelroom,thewayIrevealedmyfickle,impulsiveside…wastheexactwrongwaytohandleConnor.Iknewhewasguarded,knewheenteredintothingsonlyaftercautiousdeliberation.Knewhewastrustingmewithsomethingheprobablyhasn’ttoldmanypeople,andIsmashedthatlaboriouslyconstructedtrustwiththemightyFizzyhammer.
“Ifuckedup,didn’tI?”Isayquietly.“Leavingyoulastnightblewthewholethingup.”
Heinhalesdeeplyandslowly.“Itoldyoufromthestart,”hesaystohislap,“thatIdidn’twantsomethingifitwasonlysex.”
“Iknow.”
Whenheturnshiseyesuptome,thedistanceinhisgazesendsachilldownmyarms.
“Whatwesharedfeltmuchdeeperthansex,Felicity,butatthefirstsignoftroubleyoufled.I’vespentthelasttwenty-fourhoursfeelingangryandhurtandincrediblystupidfortrustingyou.Itmakesitveryhardformetobelieveyounow.”
Mortificationisn’taswiftpunchtothegut;itisaslowseepingofice-coldwaterintomyveins.Ican’timaginewhatConnorthinksaboutmerightnow—Iwonderifhe’sregrettingputtingtheHeroes’heartsinmyhands,letaloneputtinghisownpreciousheartthere.Iagreedtodothisshowinthemiddleofmyworstanddeepestwriter’sblock,andIjustifieditbysayingIwasdoingitfortheaudience.AndnowI’mtellinghimtodatemeinsecret,puttinghisjobandhislifehereinjeopardyafterIfledthehotelroomlikeapanickedidiotthefirsttimeheconfessedthathemightnotbeaperfecthuman.Itwassupposedtobeusagainsttheworld,andIblewitallup.
Ihaveneverinmylifefeltlikesuchaprofoundfailure.thirty-nineCONNOR
ThistimewhenFizzyleaves,Ionlyfeelblankinside.I’dwantedtoholdontothisanger—hadspentthedaygoingfromindignanttohurttodisappointedandbackagain—butasIwatchedtheexcitedflushdrainfromherface,breathlesshopereplacedbygrimunderstanding,myangerslippedaway,andIjustfelt…tired.Nowthere’sonlythesilenceofmythoughts,andtheflatbleaknessofthedoorfirmlyshut,literallyandmetaphorically.
Ishouldfeelreliefthatit’sfinallyoverandIcangetbacktofocusingonwhatgotmehereinthefirstplace,namelymyjobandmyfamily,butIdon’t.Ifeellikeabsoluteshit.
Andshetoldmeshe’sinlovewithme.
BlaineisthelastpersonIwanttoseeMondaymorning,buthebargesintomyofficejustasI’mpackinguptoleavefortheset.
“Icantellyou’reonyourwayout,butweneedtotalkfirst,”hesays,closingmyofficedoor.
“Didthefinalnumberscomein?”Brenna’stextfromaboutsixthismorningshowednumbersupoverweekone,ontracktobreakanotherrecord.
“Fuckthenumbersrightnow,”hesays.“JusttellmeI’mnotgoingtohavetodealwithanyfuckingdramaonyourcrew.”
Igostill,settingmycarkeysdownonmydesk.ThepossibilityofphotosofFizzyandmetogether…“What’sthisabout?”
“SocialmediaisrakingTrent’screwandSmashCourseoverthecoalsbecauseofthisdopingbullshit.”
Myfirstreactionisrelief.AndthenIfrown,leaninginlikeIneedtobeclosertohiswordstoprocessthem.IwassowrappedupinthedramawithFizzythisweekendthatIfeelcompletelydisconnectedfromanythingbeyondher,andus,andTheTrueLoveExperiment.“Whatdopingbullshit?Trentwouldn’tdoanythinglikethat.”Themanusedtomakelibrarydocumentariesandlow-budgetsitcoms,forfuck’ssake.
“Whatdope—?”Blaineasks,cuttingoffinabruptdisbelief.“Connor,he’sbeendealingwithlawyersforweeks.Asofthismorningit’salloverthegoddamnInternet.”
Ilookpasthim,remembering.TrentcamebacktoSanDiegoformeetingswithlawyers.Itdidn’tevenoccurtometoaskwhy.“Ihaven’tbeenonlineyet,”Itellhim.“Icamestraightherebeforeheadingtoset.”
Blainegivesmethebriefrundown:afacilitiesmanageratoneofthevenuesusedforTrent’sshowcameforwardwithvideoproofthattwooftheotherproducersontheshowweregivingperformance-enhancingdrugstoacontestant.
“Okay,thisisbleak,thisisshit,”Isay.“Butit’sentertainmenttelevision,nottheOlympics.”
“Yeah?NottheOlympics?Well,whatdowetelltheexecsatSuperHumanandRocketFuel?ShouldIcallourbiggestsponsorsandexplainwhywe’retakingobsceneadmoneytopromotheirworkoutformulasduringcommercialbreaks,butlettingthecontestantsdopeoffcamera?Oh,isthatnotenoughforyou?”Hedoesn’tletmeanswerthisrhetoricalquestion,notthatI’dbother.“Well,howaboutthis:oneoftheproducerswasalsofuckingthiscontestantinthetourbusbathroom,soyoutellmeifitstilldoesn’tmatter.”
Mystomachdrops.“Jesus.”
“You’rethejuggernaut,Conn,butTrent’sshowalsohasthehighestratingsinhistimeslot.Youseenowhowtheaudiencetreatsthesethingsliketheirfuckinglifeline.Theygetinvested,andwhenyougivethemthepowerofavote?Theyfeelownership.Letthemhavethatkindofpowerandyou’refinishedthesecondyoustepoutofline.Weputeverythingwe’vegotintothisgoddamnshowandcannotloseourviewersbecauseTrent’steamwasbreakingthelawandbangingthestars.”
“Okay.”Ileanbackagainstmydesk,cuppingmyneck.“Whatdoyouneedmetodo?”
“Ineedyoutoreassuremethatyourshopisclean.IwanttohearthattheseHeroesyoucastareperfectgoddamngentlemen.ThatFizzycouldrunforpresidentifshewantedto.Iwanttohearthatnooneonyourcrewhaswanderinghandsorapenchantforjerkingoffinfrontofpeople.”Dreadfillsmygutwithaleadenweight.“IwanttohearthattheonlyfuckinghappeningisthefuckingFelicityFuckingChenwilldowiththewinnerofthisgoddamnFijitripwearespendingasmallfortuneon!”
Withwrydefeat,Iexhalealaugh.Ireckonit’sgoodweendedthings;I’dhavetoenditnowanyway.Ifuckinghateallofthis.
Blainetakesastepcloser,glowering.“Connor?Ineedthewords.”
Iswipeahanddownmyface.“Yeah.We’reclean.”
“Nobullshit,Connor,”hesays,straightening.“You’retheonlythingwehaveleftrightnow,andifyourshowtanks,wegounder.Andyouknowwhatthatmeans:yougounder.”fortyCONNOR
Ashreachesacrossthetableandtugsatmycollar.“Youlooklikemetoday.”
Ipeerdowntoseewhathemeans.ThesweaterIpulledonasIlefttheofficeisonbackward,withthetabstickingupagainstthefrontofmyneck.HownicethatthetwowomenwhostoppedmeforaphotobeforeAsharriveddidn’tbothertotellme.Itugitovermyhead,puttingitontherightwaythistime.“I’malittledistracted.”
“Icanimagine.”Hestudiesmeforabeat.“You’renotonsettoday?”
Ishrug,pokingatmyplate.“IwasheadedoverwhenBlainefoundme.Ijustneededtogetmyheadonstraight.I’llheadoverinabit.Shootingstartsaroundthree.RoryandBrenna’vegotthingshandled.”
“Ah.You’reavoidingher.”
Itakeabiteofmeloninsteadofanswering.
“Whatyououghttodoisgohomeandsleep.Youlooklikecrap.”
Igruntinresponse,thoughIknowIshoulddobetter.Ashhasthedayoffforateacherdevelopmentthingthatdoesn’tstartuntilthisafternoon,andinsteadoflounginginbedwithhiswife,he’sherewithmeatbrunch,listeningtomeexplainagainhowmylifeisinthetoilet.
Iknowit’sagoodthingIendedmyrelationshipwithFizzy,butapartofmewashopingAshwouldsaywhatIknowdeepdown,thatIneededtogivehertimetoworkthroughwhatwasprobablythehardestthingforhertohearmesay.Unfortunately,afterhearingtheentirestory—thehoteldrama,Fizzy’sconfession,andthesituationwithTrent’sshow—AshagreesthatIprobablydidtherightthing.
ButI’venever,notonceinmylife,feltthisway,neverbeensointoawomanthatIconsideredriskingmylivelihoodtobewithher.AndIhatehowlastnightwent,hatethatshenowfeelslikeshecan’tbestraightwithmeifshe’spanicked,thatshecan’tfuckup,too.IhatemostofallthatnoneofitmattersanywayafterBlaine’sultimatumthismorning.
Ashducks,tryingtocatchmyattention.“Conn.”
Meetinghiseyes,Igiveasmall“Yeah?”
“YouknowwhatFizzywouldsayrightnow?”
“I’mdyingtohearit.”
“It’sonlyhotforaherotobroodfor,like,three-quartersofabook.”
Areallaughburstsoutofme.“Thatisexactlywhatshewouldsay.”
Hegrinsatthecompliment.“Andyou’reignoringtheveryobvioussilverlining,”hesaysbrightly.
“Whichis?”
“Thatnowyouknowyou’rereadyforarelationship.”
Ilaughagain,butit’sbacktosardonic.Ican’tblamehimfortrying.FindingEllawasthebestthingtoeverhappentoAsh.“There’snotasolidbatchofevidence,Ash.FizzyandIhadaseesawflingforafewweeksandthenitendedbeforeitevenbegan.”
“Butyouwereopentoit.”
Iliftthespoontomylips,murmuring,“Ifellforheragainstmywill,”beforetakingabite.“Butyeah.Isuppose.”
“MaybethistimeyoutryDNADuo,”hesays,slicingneatlyintohisomelet.“Therearesomanymoreusersinthesystemnowthatitsoundslikepeoplearegettinglotsofgoodmatches.AGoldMatchisn’trareanymore—oneoftheteachersatschoolevengottwo!Hecanmeetthemboth,findtheperfectfit.Canyouimaginejustbeinghandedalist?”Hetakesabiteandstaresatmewithunmaskedcuriosity.“I’dlovetoseewhoyourperfectfitis.”
IshoveFizzy’sfaceoutofmythoughtsandgiveanoncommittalhum.Afewmonthsago,Iwouldhavedescribedherasloudandunrelenting.NowIcan’timagineusingthosequalitiesasinsults.
“Besides,nowyou’reahotcommodity,Connor.”Hetakesanotherbiteandchews.
I’mstilldaydreamingaboutFizzy’sloudmouthandwhatshedidwithit,sothistakesasecondtopenetrate.“Youmeantheconfessionals?Ah,that’sjustasmallbit.”
“ThatsmallbitislikelyahugepartofthereasonBlaine’stryingtoputsomefearinyou.”
Istill,lookingupathim.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
Ashappearstodoamentalobstaclecoursebeforehecarefullyputshisforkandknifedown.Heliftshisnapkintohislips,tappinggingerly.“Areyouunawareofwhat’shappeningonline?”
“Youmeanourratings?”InodasIsayitbecauseBrennasendsthemtomeeverymorning.“They’regreat.”
“No,Imeanyourfanbase.”
“I’vehadafewpeoplestopme,butthat’sjustbecausetheyrecognizesomeonefromTV.”
“Afew?”hesayspointedly,andIfollowhisgazetoagroupofwomeninaboothacrosstherestaurant.Assoonastheyseeme,theireyessnapbackdowntothetable.“I’mtalkingaboutConnorPrincestans.”
Ishakemyhead.“It’snotlikethat.”
Withacondescendingchuckle,hepullsouthisphone,mumblingtohimself,“Itellhimhisphoneisgoodformorethantextingandreadingthenews,butdoeshelisten?No.”Ashtapshisscreenafewtimeswithaflourishandthenturnsittofaceme.“Firstofall,yourInstagram.Youhavealmostthreehundredthousandfollowers.”
Iblink.Ihaven’tpostedanythinginyears.“What?”
Hegivesanexasperatedsighandswipesthroughhisphoneagainbeforesettingitonthetableinfrontofme.“There.”
Iscanaround,tryingtoorientmyself.“WhatamIlookingat?”
“It’sTwitter.”Afingercomesdown,pointingataclusterofletters.“Whatdoesthathashtagsay?”
“Itsays…”Ittakesmeaminutetoreadbecausethewordsareallsmushedtogether,nospaces.“?‘DaddyPrinceTheTrueLoveExperiment’?”Ilookupathim.“Who’sDaddyPrince?”
“Youare.That’swhattheTrueLovefandomcallsyou.”
“The—fandom—?”Ibreakoff,confusiondeepening.“DaddyPrince?”
“Twitterblowsupwhenconfessionalsstart.”
“I’mnotevenon-screenthatmuch.Therearemoresuccessful,better-looking,andfranklymoreagreeablemenforthemtogetexcitedabout.”
“Can’targuewiththat,”hesayswithagrin.“Butthey’rewritingyouinanyway.Apparently,DaddyPrince,theyloveyourdeepvoiceandyoursexyaccent,andthewayyouandFizzybanter.”Heglancesupatthesoundofmystifledmortification.“Oh,comeon,stoplookingsohorrified.‘DaddyPrince’isprettytamecomparedtosomeoftheotherstuffhere.”Ashecontinuestoscroll,hisgrinturnsintoafrownandhemuses,“Ididn’trealize‘chokeme’wassuchacommonphrase.”
Iignorethis.“Whatdoesthatmean,‘writein’?Can’ttheyonlyvoteforthecontestants?”
“Youwouldn’tknowthisbecauseyou’reasocialmediatroglodyte,butno.Thewayyourteamhassetitup,iftheshowistagged,atrackingprogramconsidersitavoteandkeepsatally.Itcouldbe‘#GiantAnacondaCock_TheTrueLoveExperiment’andGiantAnacondaCockgetsavote.”
IstareatAsh.“What?”
“Don’tworry.Mostpeopleuseitthewayyouintended.TheyhashtagColbyorIsaacorwhoever.It’squitesmart,really;lotsofthebigmusicawardshowsdoit.IthinktheOscarsevenstarteddoingitforfanfavoriteandfavoritemoviemoment.It’sagreatwaytogetengagementbecausethetagsarevisibletoeveryone,youcantweet—akavote—asmanytimesasyouwant,whichmeanstweetingandretweetingputsitineveryone’sfeed.Youcan’tbuyexposurelikethat.It’sallthereonyourpocketcomputerifyoucaretolook.”
Thisentireconversationhasthrownmeoff-kilternowthatit’ssinkinginwhatAshistellingme.Viewersarevotingforme?Blainedoesn’tknowasmuchashe’dlikeeveryonetobelieve,andIhavetoassumethatifhedidknowsomethingaboutthis—or,worse,aboutmeandFizzy—hewouldhavementionedit,right?Eitherway,I’llneedtobevery,verycarefuloverthenextfewweeks.
“Ofcourse,therearepeoplewritinginallkindsofnames,”Ashsays.“LotsofYourMomandotherrandomthings.IthinkCaptainAmericahadaprettydecentnumberoneweek.”
“Great,”Isaydryly.“Aflawlesssystem.”
“Therewillalwaysbeidiots,”Ashsays,dismissingthisashepusheshisplateasideandleansin.“Sofar,Isaachasthemostvoteseveryweek.Butyou’redefinitelygaining.”
Ileanbackwithasoftgustingexhale,feelingAsh’sattentiononmewhileIprocessthis.“ForsureBrennaseesthis.Whydidn’tanyonetellme?”
“Maybethey’retryingtoignoreit.”Hepicksuphiswaterglassandtakesasip.“Imean,it’snotlikeyoucanwinthisthing.”
Thesewordsbouncearoundinmyhead.
It’snotlikeyoucanwinthisthing.
He’sright,ofcourse.I’mnotevenacontestant.Still,there’safaintechoofpityparty,too.Ican’twin.
I’mstuckinthattightmentalsqueezewhereIhavetoomanythingsonmymindandnotenoughtimetodevotetothem.IcouldspendanentireweekthinkingabouthowitfelttohaveFizzyonmyarmatherbrother’swedding,letaloneeverythingthathappenedlaterthatnight.ButaddFizzy’sconfession,Blaine’svisittomyoffice,andeverythingthatAshtoldmeaboutthevotes…mymindisablur.
Allofthatgetspushedaside,however,becausethere’sajobtodo.Andsomehow,FizzyandIbothmanagetotreatitlikeone.Aftertheweekendvoteshavebeentallied,we’redowntofourHeroes:Isaac,Nick,Dax,andEvan.I’mnotsureifit’sareprieveortorturethatthecrewisrollingsmoothlyandI’mnotnecessaryatFizzy’scozydinnerswiththeHeroes,followingthemontheirlongwalksonthebeach,theirdatesbowlingandapplepickingandtakingsurfinglessons,butItakeadvantageofthespaceanyway,becauseweprobablybothneedit.TheonlytimeIseeherallweekisforanawkwardandforcedconfessional.Otherwise,Iholeupintheeditingroomandpiecetogetheranarrativeforeachpossiblecouple,blastingmusicthroughheadphonesineverymomentofdowntimeIhavesoIcan’theartheechoofhertellingmeshe’sinlovewithme.Icreatethemostcompellingepisodeyet,earningthetopratingsforthenetworkthatweek.Butitisatrulyhollowvictory.
Afteramuch-neededweekendwithStevie,I’mbackonsetthefollowingweek.I’dhopeditwouldbeeasiertoseeFizzy,butitisn’t.MondaybringstheeliminationofDaxandNick,andtheappearanceofaFizzywhospentherownweekenddoingGodknowswhatwithGodknowswho.Idon’timagineshe’srunningaroundsleepingwithblokesleftandright—primarilybecauseIknowthatherfeelingsformearesincere,andalsobecauseshe’scontractuallyforbidden—buttherationalpartofmybraindoesn’tspeakupwhenIseeherwalkintotherestaurantforfilmingonMondayafternoon.I’mhotlypossessiveatthesightofherintinydenimshortsandathinwhitetanktop.Iwanttoputmyhandsonherbodyandmymouthonherskinandpressherintoawall,coaxingaconfessionofloveoutofheragain.
ButIkeepthemaskfirmlyinplace.Thesefinaltwodatesaretheonesviewerswillusetochooseawinner,andtonight,IsaacishavingdinneroncamerawithFizzyandherparents.Iwasbesideherwiththemonlyaweekago,prideheatingmyblood.NowI’mbehindacamera,watchingLizdustpowderonMrs.Chen’sforehead,watchingMr.ChenjokewithRoryabouthisgoodangles,knowingFizzy’sparentsaregoingtomeetthehandsome,accomplished,anddeservingmanwhowilllikelywin.IfIknowFizzy—andIfeellikeItrulydo—shewillacceptmyrejectionatfacevalueanddoeverythingshecantomoveon.ShewillembarkonthetripwithIsaacanddoherverybesttoenjoybothofthemtothefullest.Whenthey’retogetherinFiji,willsheforgetwhatitfeltliketobeinmyarms?Willshesleepwithhimsimplybecausehe’sthere?Orwilltheirconnectiondeepen,growstrongerthanwhatsheandIhad?
Ihatebothscenarios,buthonestlycan’timaginewhatstrongerthanwhatwehadlookslike.IseeFizzywiththesemenandmustcontinuallyrepressthepossessiveinstincttoclaimherinsmallandlargeways.Andthatinstinctisbacknow,shapeddifferentlybutundeniable,asIwatchthetwopeopleIrealizeIwanttobemyin-lawspreparetomeetanotherman.
“Yougood?”Roryasks,walkingbacktothecameras.
ThenoisalreadyformingonmylipswhenIpullmyselfbackintoawareness,blinkinghard.“Yes.I’mgreat.”
IstandfromthetablejustasFizzystepsfromthemakeshiftdressingroominthebackandintothediningarea.Herhairisintwobuns,tendrilsescapingandframingherface.Eyesslashedwithdarkliner,ashreddedT-shirtandrippedjeanscappedwithshit-stompingboots.Tonight,Fizzyhascomepreparedforbattle.Forasplitsecond,afeverishpulse,IhaveneverwantedanythingthewayIwanther.Andthefeelingdoesn’tdissolve,notevenwhenIstepoutsideforalong,deepbreathoffreshair.forty-oneFIZZY
Becausetheuniverseisaboredcat,andIambutapowerlessmouse,ConnoriswithouthisusualcrispsuitandisinatightblackT-shirtandjeanstoday.EventhoughIputonallthisarmortohelppropupmytenderinsides,it’sallIcandotonotcrosstheroomandpawalloverhim.IbarelysawhimlastweekandmissedhimsomuchIspenttheentireweekendinmypajamaswatchingthefirstthreeepisodesofTheTrueLoveExperimentoverandoverjusttoseehimintheconfessionals.Nowhisfloppyhair,biceps,andpectoralsoutlinedbysoftcottonjerseyarerightinfrontofme.He’sexudingthattrademarkcalmpatienceashediscussessomethingwithRoryand…God,lookathim.Ilovehim,anditreally,reallyhurts.
Ergo,IhavedecidedIhatelove.
Ioutlinedanewbooklastnight.It’sbasicallyaboutawomanwhofallsinlovewithamanbutshe’sahotmessandherejectsher,soshewalksoffacliff.Exceptatthebottomofthecliffisabigbedofpillows—becauseI’mnotreallyintoliteraryfictionorhorror—andthenshesuffocatesinthepillows.Exceptshedoesn’tsuffocate,shejustrollsaroundandfeelssorryforherselfuntilUberEatsgetstherewithherKrispyKremeorder.
Ialsothrewthisoutlineinthetrash.
AndthenItriedtosleep,becausethisweekisprobablythemostimportantweekoffilming,but“sleep”mostlylookedlikemelyingfacedownonmybedcryingintomypillow.
Iwanttogoovertohim,pullhimaside,andtellhimthatIwon’teverdothatagain,Iwon’trunofflikethat.DoesheknowhowmuchIadmirehiscautiousside?Heisthestillnesstomystorm,theshadowtomybrightsunlight,theStylestomyHarry.
ThedatewithIsaacisawesome.Imeanoutwardly,ofcourse.Inside,Iamallmarionettestringsandpositiveself-talk.Dadcrackshisdumb,awesomejokes;IsaactalksabouthisjobinAIresearch,andIcanseemymotherquietlylosinghermindimaginingatrioofsmartgrandbabies.IsipfrommybottleoflimePerrier.Productplacementdealsforeverythingfromsparklingwatertosunblocktoclothingretailershavestartedtocropup,soIamcarefultokeepthelabelturnedout.See,Connor?Icanbeateamplayer.
MyparentstalkaboutwhatitwasliketomovetotheU.S.fromHongKongintheirtwenties,andthestrugglesofraisingthreekidswithsuchdifferentpersonalities.Itwillmakeforincredible,authentictelevision.Inmyquietmomentsofdissociation,Icanseethisfromaboveandknowthatwe’realldoingareallygreatjob.
There’ssatisfactioningettingsomethingright,Iguess—I’mfakingitlikeaprowhileignoringthehotgiantbehindthecamera.Isaacisgorgeousandsmart—mymomishalfinlovewithhimbeforewe’veevenmadeittoentrées,andmydadkeepsgivingmethatEh?He’sprettygreat,eh?lookthatmeanshe’llbeaskingmeaboutIsaacforthenextseveralmonths.ThisisexactlywhyI’veneverintroducedmyparentstoaguybefore.ItwouldbeonedateandthensixmonthsofquestionsabouthowlongIexpecttowaitforaproposal.Iworrythattheydon’tentirelyunderstandthepremisehere—thatwe’rejusttryingthisdatingthingout,andthisisn’taMeettheFamilymealinthewaythatitusuallywouldbe—butIcan’tevengetituptoworrytoomuchbecauseI’mjustsofuckingsad,andrightnoweveryounceofmyfocushastobeongettingthroughit.
“Ilikehim,”Mompronouncesintoherstill-livemicassoonaswe’reupandstanding.“Youshouldpickhim.Thinkofhowsmartandprettyyourbabieswillbe.”Calledit.
ThecrewchortlesinthebackgroundandIreachup,carefullyunclippinghermicfromhercollar.“Theaudiencedecidesthewinner,Ma.”
“Butheshouldbeyourboyfriend,”shecontinues,unawareasIfumbletoturnitoff.“Youlooksogoodtogether.”
Oninstinct,myeyesturntotherowofcameras.Connorreachesup,slippingoffhisheadsetandplacingitontheseatbesidehimbeforehepicksupaclipboardandcasuallywritessomethingdown.Noreaction,certainlynoconsternation.Hedoesn’tevenlookupthewayheusedto,thatreactiveflashofjealousyheatinghiseyes.Nowit’sjustrelaxedConnor,notcaringabouttheprospectofsomeoneelsebeingmyboyfriend.
It’scool,I’mfine.
Allowmetoflingmyselfoffacliffintoabedofpillows.
Huggingmyparents,Iseethemouttotheconfessionaltrailertomeetwiththemanhimself,andthenIsitdown,waitingmyturn.
Ahalfhourpassesbeforemyparentsfindmeforgoodbyes.
“WetoldConnorthatwethinkyoushouldmarryIsaac!”mydadwhisper-yells,andthenkissesmycheek.
IgivethemthebestsmileIcanproduce.“Awesome,I’msurehelovedthat.”
Isaacleavesfortheconfessionaland,honestly,Iwouldpayalotofmoneytobeaflyonthewallinthatroom.Ibetit’sthesizeofateacupwiththecombinationoftheirtwohulkingbodies,Connor’squietintensity,andIsaac’sdazzlingcharm.
Ormaybeit’sfine.Maybetheroomisn’tcoldatall,andConnorisn’tweirdwithIsaacintheslightest,eventhoughoneofmyfavoritepartsofConnor’sbodywasinsidemybodyoneweekplusforty-eighthoursagoandacasualobserverwouldsaythatwewerebothbeingprettydramaticaboutourbigemotions.ButI’veneverbeeninlove,soI’veneverfallenoutofitbefore.Maybeitdoeshappenlikethatforsomepeople—aswitchflippeddown,amatchblownout.
There’sashufflebehindmeandInoticethecrewstartpackingupgear.Myheartfeelslikeamalletbehindmysternum.AnysecondnowoneofthesweetPAswillcallmeinformyinterview.I’llrecapthedate,talkaboutwhatIliked,whatdidn’tfeelright—eventhoughIbarelyrememberit,andI’msureI’llbeamonotonic,yearningmess,butIdon’tcare,atleastI’llbenearhim.Itwastheonlythingthatmadelastweekbearable,eventhoughhemadeeyecontactforapproximatelyfiftymillisecondsintheentiretenminutes.I’mgoingthroughwithdrawals;IwanttobealonewithConnorsobaditfeelslikeavineofthornswrappedaroundmyheart.
It’sBrennawhocomesover,eyesdownwardonherphone.“Lookslikeyou’refreetogohome!”
Ishakemyhead.“Ihaven’tdonemyconfessionalyet.”
Sherecitesfromthetextinfrontofher.“Connorsayswe’reskippingyoutonightandcoveringbothdatestomorrow.”
“Wait—why?”Onmycallsheetithadaconfessionalforeachnightthisweek.
Sheonlyshrugs.“It’swhathesaid.”Shescrollsbackthroughhermessages.“Lookslikehe’salreadyleft.”
Sleepisaficklemistress.Itprobablydoesn’thelpthatIspendmostofMondaynightcheatingonherwithaneurosisnamedOneThousandThingsIDidtoFuckThingsUp.Iforgettosetanalarm,soit’sagoodthingIfallasleepwithmyphoneundermypillow(incaseConnorcallsmeinthemiddleofthenightbecausehechangedhismindandlovesme,too)andthatitstartsvibratingbeneathme.
It’sJess.Ianswerwithwhateversounditmakeswhenmymouthispresseddirectlyonthereceiver.
“Well,goodmorning,”shesaysback.
“Timeisit?”
“Justaftereight.”
Ipushtositupinmytoo-brightroom.Ihadn’tbotheredtoclosethecurtainslastnight,andsunlightstreamsinlikethere’ssomethingtocelebrate.“Shit.”
“Whattimedoyouhavetobeonsettoday?”
Isquintatthewall,thinking.“Ten,Ithink.”
“Youhaveplentyoftime.”
“Iknow.”Ireachup,rubbingmyface.“ImeantShit,Ihavetopretendtobefineagaintoday.”
“You’reforgettingsomething.”
“What’sthat?”
Jesswhisper-squealsthroughthephone:“Who’sjoiningyoufortoday’sdatewithEvan?”
WitharelievedgroanIcollapsebackontothebed.“Ohthankgod,that’sright.”Despitethedarkcloudfollowingmeeverywhere,Igiggle.ThedatewithEvanwasoriginallysupposedtobewithmybrotherandhisnewwife,beforewerealizedduringschedulingthatthey’dbeontheirhoneymoon.Mysisterwasthesecondobviouschoice,buthasbeenshiftedfrom“takingiteasy”toofficialbedrest.IhaveapoolofaboutazillionauntiesIcouldchoosefrom,butthatwouldhonestlybeacircus,andevenwithallofthisself-loathing,Idon’thatemyselfthatmuch.
“How’sRiverfeelingaboutbeingonTVagain?”
“Grouchy,butstoicallyresigned.”
“Myfavoriteversionofhim.”
Shelaughs.“I’llseeyousoon.Goget’em,tiger.”
Igivemymostpatheticroar.
Ofcourse,thefirstthingthathappenswhenIgofromthebrightsunshineoutsidetothedimeleganceoftherestaurantisIcollidedirectlywithawallofConnor.Itisnotunlikerunningface-firstintobrick—physically,emotionally,spiritually.
Wedooneofthoseterriblebursting,overlappingapologydancesbeforeabruptlyturninginoppositedirections:me,tohairandmakeupintheback,andhimtotherowofcamerassettingupforthedayofshooting.
Therestaurantisquiet;I’mthefirsttoarrive.Upfront,itisjustConnorandRoryhuddledaroundthecameras.IswearIheareveryrumblingmurmurofhisvoice,feelitlikeavibrationdownmyspine.Lizhastokeepremindingmetotiltmychinupandturnmyfacetoher,becauseIkeepunintentionallyturningmyheadtowardthefrontoftherestaurant,drawntohimintheseunconscious,achingways.
MyentirelifeI’vefeltgroundedinwhoIamandwhatIwant,butlately…latelyitfeelslikeIhavenoidentityanymore.I’mnotawriter,I’mnotawilddate,I’mnotevenapeskybestfriendorbawdyaunt.Andinallthisquietinmymind,thewhoamIreally?shoutstheloudest.OneofmyfavoritethingsaboutConnorwasthathedidn’tneedmetobeanything.Icouldbesillyandloudorthoughtfulandcontemplativeanditwasalljust…me.HetoldmethatIwasmorethanmyplayful,sexy,adventurousauthorpersona.HesaidIhadthoughtfuldepthandsensitivelayers.ItfeltlikehehadapocketFizzyDecoder(andIamnotjusttalkingabouthisdick).
(Thoughthedickhelped,too.)
Evanarrivesinasuitandlooksobjectivelyhot.I’msoconflicted.Ontheonehand,Icouldchoosehimforthetrip.It’snotgoingtohappenwithus—Ithinkwebothknowthat—andmaybearelaxingex-to-friendtriptogethertoFijiisjustwhatIneed.Butontheotherhand,withtheshow’spopularity,Idon’twanttodothepublic“breakup,”don’twanttohavetopretendtohavebeeninloveandfallenoutofit.
ButifIchooseIsaac,I’dbedoingusbothadisservice.IsaacisexactlywhoIwouldhaveexpectedtofallfor,butinthisreality,Inowonlyfeelveryplatonicthingsforhim.Arehisfeelingsgenuinelyromantic?Wouldatripwithhimbethemostexcruciating,awkwardtendays?CouldImaybelearntolikehim?
Igroan,andLizgivesmychinagentlepinch,remindingmetoholdstillwhilesheapplieseyeliner.
“What’swithyou?”sheasks,herbreathsweetandmintynearmycheek.“Youseemstressed.”
“Iam.”
“Areyouworriedtheaudiencewon’tchoosetheoneyouwant?”
Lizhasneveraskedmeanythingabouttheshow.Ialwaysassumeditwasadon’t-ask-don’t-tellkindofthing,butmaybeit’sassimpleaseveryonenotbeinganosyassholesuchasmyself.Asmartwomanwouldsayyes.Adumbone—me—says,“Idon’tthinkIwanteitherofthem.”
Shestraightens,andhervoicecomesoutinawhisper.“Whichonedoyouwantmost?”
Igoforbroke:“Theonewho’ssevenfeettallwiththegod-tierbonestructure.”
Shelaughsbutseemscompletelyunsurprised.“Yeah,youtwoareatrip.”
Idon’timmediatelyknowwhatshemeans,andaself-consciousflushflashesthroughme.BecausethenIdoknow.ShemeanswhatIfeel,too,whichisthattherealstoryhasbeenthefriendshipthathasbloomedbetweenmeandherboss,ConnorPrince.Thecamerashaven’tcapturedthismostbeautifulofallstoryarcs:howthistowering,intentionalmanandthissmall,chaoticwomancametogetherfirstwithfrictionandthenwithmutualadmirationandthenwithsomethingthatfeltalotlikelove.Ihadtherealstoryrightinfrontofmethiswholetime,andblewit.
“He’sbeensooff,”Lizsays,breakingintomythoughts.“Everyonefeelsit.”
Theselastwordspullmeuptothesurfaceagain,newlyaware.“Whatdoyoumean?”
Sheshrugs,sweepingonelastpassofblushtothetopsofmycheeks.“Oh,youknow.”Ican’tpressformorewithoutmakingitweird.
Lizstepsbackandsurveysherwork,pullingtheprotectiveclothfrommycollar.“You’regood,”shesays.Sheliftsherchin,andIturntoseeaPAstandingbehindme.
“Ready?”heasks,andgesturestothetraileroutside.Panicignitesinmybloodstream.“Rorywantsaconfessionalfirst.Youcanheadonout.Connor’swaitingforyou.”forty-twoFIZZY
I’vebeeninthistraileradozentimesoverthepastfewweeks,anduntiltodayithasbeenmyfavoritehuntingground.It’ssmallbutcomfortablyfurnished,withcamerassecuredinconsistentplacesthatmakeiteasytofilmtheseinterviewsnomatterwherethesettakesuseveryday.Therearetwocouches:oneforConnor,oneforwhoeverhe’sinterviewing.Theshadesarepulled,thelightingsoftanddesignedtofeelprivateandintimate.Bottledwater(labelsfacingout!)andaboxoftissuesarehelpfullywithinarm’sreach.ThisiswhereIgivemythoughtsonhowthingsaregoing,howI’mfeeling,myimpressionsoftheHeroes.It’salsotheonlytimeeachepisodewhereviewersgettoseeConnorashewalksusthrougheachofthedates.Idon’tfollowtheshowhashtags,becauseI’mnotamasochist(andalso,it’sinthehonorcodethatIdon’ttrackhowthevotingisgoing),butJessmentionedagaintheotherdaythatJunotoldherthatSteviesaidpeoplearelovinghim.OurlittlegangislikethePonyExpress,butwithgossip.
Idon’tblametheseInternetwomen.WhocouldseethismanontheirTVandnotfallforhim?HopefullyitshowsBlainewhatavaluableassetConnoris,anditputstheballinConnor’scourtforachange.
I’vesettledonthecouchwhenthesmalltrailerdooropensandConnorducksinside.Hispresenceshrink-wrapsthespace,suckingupalloftheoxygen.
Nohiorhello.Justaquiet“Testyourmic,please.”
Sowearen’tgoingtobefriendstoday.Noted.
Connormakeshiswaytohisseatandslidesahanddownthethighofhisdresspants.ItreallyistakingaHerculeanefforttonotlaunchmyselffacedownintohislap.“One,two.One,two.Downwiththepatriarchy,upwithromance,letwomenlovewhoandwhattheylove.”
Apausewhilehewaitsforconfirmationinhisearbud.“You’regood.”
Ittakeshimamomenttomeetmyeyesandarrangehisfaceintoasuitablypleasant—thoughnottoopleasant—expression.“Howareyoufeelingtodayheadingintoyourlastdate?”
“Aren’tyougoingtoaskmeaboutlastnight?”
Hepauses,clearinghisthroat.“Yes.Right.Let’sstartoverwiththat.Howwaslastnightforyou?”
“Itwashard,”Isay.
Hewaitsuneasilyformetosaymore,likeheknowsI’malivebomb.Ishouldwaxonaboutthedateyesterday;that’smyjob,totalk.Buteverythinggoesblankinside.
Finally:“Hard,why?”
Iwanttolaughatthis.Hello,Connor,lastnightwashardbecauseyoubarelylookedatmeandIwantthisshowtobeamazingsothatyourcareertakesoffandyoufallbackinlovewithme.ButsadnessisanacheIfeelIneedtocontinuallyswallowaround,andturnsout,sadnessalsomakesithardtolaugh.
Ireachforthewaterofftothesideandtwistoffthecap,takingasip.Counttoten,onemoresip,anddoyourdamnjob,Fizzy.
“LastnightwashardbecauseIrealizeitmighthavebeenthelastdateeverwithIsaac.”
There.Justthere.Atinyticinhisjaw.“Unlesshewins,whichitseemsyourparentswouldlikeverymuch.”He’smakinghisvoicewarmandamiable,leaningintohisaccentandthathoneyedcharm,butIknowhim.Iseethetightnessinhisexpression.
Wedoknoweachother,he’dsaid.Gettingtoknoweachotherhasbeenoursingularfocusformonths.
Itrytoputonanaturalgrin.“Yes,myparentslovedhim.”
Heswallows.“WehadalongconversationlastnightaboutwhyIsaacwouldbeperfectforyou.”
“Isthatright?”
Connorreachesforhisownwater,stranglingdownsomeunreadableexpression.“They’vemetEvanbefore,right?”Iamgenuinelyimpressed—andannoyed—withhowquicklyhereinedthatin.I’mtrashforhisjealousy.Iwanttoeatitslatheredontoast.
“Yes,”Isay.“He’smybrother’sfriend.”
“Andwhatdidtheythink?”
“Idon’tthinkhemademuchofanimpressionatthetime.Butheisobjectivelyamazing.Andhot.”
“Well,asproducerandpartoftheteamwhocasthim,I’lltakethatcompliment,”Connorsayssmoothly,thelittlegleaminhiseyetellingmeheseesexactlywhatI’mdoing.“AsourOneThatGotAway,he’llbehavingdinnerwithyourbestfriend,Jessica,andherhusband,RiverPe?a,whoalsohappenstobetheinventoroftheDNADuotechnology.”
“That’sright.Makesuretomentionthatalot.Riverlovesattention.”
Connorlaughs,shouldersrelaxing.“You’regoingtobeintopformtonight,Isee.”
“It’smylastdatenight.HowdisappointedwouldeveryonebeifIwastameandwellbehaved?”
“Wewouldallbedevastated.”Theheatofhissmilewarmsmetomymarrow.Howcanhenotseehowgoodwearetogether?“Howareyoufeelingenteringthisfinaldate?”
“Relieved.”
“Relievedwhy?”
“BecauseitmeanssoonIcanstoppretendingIwantsomeoneotherthanyou.”
Connorgoessilent,lookingjerkilyaroundatthecamerasaimedateachofus.“Fizzy,you—youcan’tsaythat.”
“Edititout,then.”
Hereachesforwardandgentlyswitchesonecameraoff,thentheother.Webothreachup,turningoffourmics.Connorremoveshisearpieceandletsoutalongexhale.“Shit.”
“Imissyou,”IsayonceIknowwe’rereallyalone.“IwishIcouldtellyouhowsorryIamforwhatIdid.IknowIsaidyouaren’tthemanIthoughtyouwere,butIwasjustscared.”
“Iknow.”
“You’reexactlywhoIneedyoutobe.”
Hedoesn’tsayanything,butthelightcatchesthetopofhishairwhenhebendstoresthisheadinhishands.
“Ihatethis,”Isay.Isuckinadeepbreath.“Ihatethethoughtofendingupwithsomeoneotherthanyou.I’mfickleabouteverythingbutthis,Connor.I’msorryIhurtyou.ImeantwhatIsai—”
“Iknow.”Hisvoiceiscalm,butresolute,andIrealizewhat’scomingwhenhesitsupandmeetsmygaze.He’sgoingtofindanewwaytoletmedowneasy.HowmanytimesamIgoingtoaskthismantorejectme?“AndI’msosorryI’veputyouinthisposition,”hesays.“I’msorrythatI’vecontributedtowhatyou’restrugglingwith.I’msorryyouhavetopretendtowantoneoftheseremainingHeroes.Butyou’resogoodonthisshow,Fizz.EverydayIfeellikethesmartestmanaliveforcastingyou.”Westareateachotherforalongpause.IsilentlyrepeatoverandoverthatIlovehim.I’mmakingupforalifetimeofneverhavingsaidit,andevenifhedoesn’tfeelthesame,itfeelssogoodtoshoutitwithmygaze.
Finally,heexhales.“Forwhatit’sworth,thisishardforme,too.”
Everythinginsidemegoesstrangelyquiet.Idon’tknowwhyhimsayingthatmakesitpossibleformetocontinue,butitdoes.“Ireallyneededtohearthat.You’veseemedsocomposed.Youseemedso…overme.”
“I’mnot—”Hebreaksoff.“Idon’tfeelcomposed.”Connorcloseshiseyes,swallows.“I’mnotmadeofstone.”Hereachesforward,hesitatingbeforeheturnsthecameraon,asifaskingmypermission.
So,Igiveit.“Goahead.Sorryfortheinterruption.I’mready.”
River’ssurlyfacewhenhewalksinandisapproachedwithamakeupbrushandfawningcrewgoesalongwaytowardpullingmymoodupfromthebasement.WhenBrennaasksforRiver’sautographonthepalmofherhand,thelaughIletoutathishorrifiedexpressionechoesthroughtheroom,lighteningitallsomehow.Whatdoesonedowithanautographedhand?hisfaceappearstosilentlywonder.Castit?Tattooit?Neverwashitagain?Riverisn’tdownwithanyofthesepossibilitiesandinsteadscribbleshisnameonnapkinsandcoastersandbusinesscardsforthebackgroundactorsandcrewwhileJessandIplayaone-minutegameofwhispercatch-up.
“Wewerejustaloneintheconfessionaltrailer,”Isayintoherear.“Itwassoperfect—justustogether—andwestartedtorelaxandthenIsaidImissedhim,andthatIhatehavingtobewithsomeoneotherthanhim,andheadmittedthatit’shardforhim,too!”
Shegasps.“What!”
“Iknow!”Iwhisper-yell.“Hesaid,‘I’mnotmadeofstone.’?”
Jessletsoutalowwhistle.“That’shot.”
Unfortunately,wehavenomoretimetoprocesswhatthismeansbecauseBrennacollectsus,fetchesEvanandRiver,andleadsthefourofustoatableinthecenteroftherestaurant,inperfectlighting.Whataweirdfeeling,tobeatastandstillineveryotheraspectofmylifeandyetfeellikeeverythingismovingtooquicklyallaroundme.
WhenImeetmybestfriend’seyes,Ifeelthetightknotofsadnessandregretloosen.
Iamhereforyou,hereyessay.
IknowandIloveyou,minesayback.
Imean,herssay,Iamhereforyoutonightfordinner,andyouoweme.
Yourhusbandisariot.
Hergazeturnswry.Hecomplainedallday.
Rivercomplainingaboutbeingsocial!Idonotbelieveyou!
Riverclearshisthroat.“Stopdoingthat.”
“Doingwhat?”Jessasks.
“Thatthingwhereyouconversewithoutwords,”hemutters.
Igotothrowmynapkinathimwhen,frombehindthecameras,Connorclearshisthroatinreminder.“We’rerolling.”
There’ssomescriptedconversationwe’rerequiredtohavereferringtoRiver’slastappearance,aboutGeneticAlly,thetechnology,andreminderstoviewersaboutRiver’sinvolvementintheinceptionoftheentirething.Butthendinnerdevolvesintosomethingeasywhereweforgetforsmallstretchesthatwe’rebeingfilmed,wherewetellstoriesfromourpastthatwemayhavetoldahundredtimesorneverheardbefore—itdoesn’tmatterbecauseevenifI’mnotromanticallyinterestedinEvan,Ilikehim.Iknowthecamerasarecatchingtheeasyfamiliaritywehave.ItbodeswellforEvan,whichbodeswellforConnor.
But,God,IwishitwereConnorbesideme.forty-threeCONNOR
Natalia’stextmessageisonlyfivewords,butIstudyeachofthemforagoodtenseconds.
“Fuck,”Isayaloudinthesealedsilenceofmycarparkedoutsideofherhouse.
She’swithJunoatFizzy’s
Inthemadnessoftheshow,myweekendswithSteviehavebeensporadicatbest.Tonightwastheperfectnighttopickherupandhaveacozynightrelaxingathome.ButthereisnothingrelaxingabouttheprospectofdrivingovertoFizzy’s.Iknowitprobablyisn’ttrue—anditcertainlyisn’tfair—butitfeelslikemyex-wifeisforcingmetowardFizzyonanightwhenI’mnotsuremyemotionalstormdoorsaresturdyenoughtoweatheranymorealonetimewithher.Todaywashard.Theconfessionalwasbrutal,andwatchinganeasy,chattydoubledateIwishedIwereapartofwasevenworse.
ButNatcouldn’tknowthat,sohereweare.
Idon’tbothergoinguptosayhitoheranyway,eventhoughI’dlovetoventitallouttosomeonewhoknowsaswellasIdowhat’sonthelineformehere.Instead,Iturnmycararoundattheendofthestreetandheadtowardthelittlecream-and-bluebougainvillea-coveredhousejustovertwomilesaway.AndonceI’matthecurb,Ifeelfrozenagain,eventhoughmykidisinsideandwhatI’dreallylikeistogetmydaughter,grabapizza,andmakeapillowfortonthecouchforsomequalitytelevisiontime.Idon’twanttothinkabouttheshow,orthewomanwhorunsconstantlapsaroundmymind,orthewayshelookedearlierwhensheconfessedherfeelingsagain.Iwassecondsfromcrumbling.I’dneverknownthatkindofsensation,thewaymyheartfeltheavybutairborneinsidemyribcage.I’msofuckinginlovewithherIcanbarelytakeafullbreath.
I’moutofthecar,I’mupthesteps,I’mclosingmyeyesatthedoorandtakingadeep,calmingbreathbeforeknocking.Greeteveryone,grabmykid,headhome.
Protectmyheart.ProtectStevie.Moveon.
Atmyknock,threevoicesyelloutacheerful“Comein!”andIopenthedoortofindthempiledonthecouchbeneathamountainoffuzzyblankets.
“Icouldhavebeenabadguy,”Itellthem,frowning.
“Wesawyourshadowontheporchthroughthewindow,”Steviesays.
Junonods.“You’retallerthaneverybody.”
FizzygivesmeaplayfulImean,they’renotwrongface,butIcan’tengage.IrealizeitassoonasIlayeyesonher.Thereissomuchpent-uplonginganddesireinmychestthatitfeelslikeifIsayanythingelse,itwillcomeoutasabellow.AndifItakeonestepdeeperintoherhouse,I’lldragherintoherroom,lockthedoor,andfuckherintothefloor.
“Grabyourstuff,squirt.”Iliftmychintowhereherbackpacksitsacrosstheroom,papersandcoloredpencilsandbrightcolorfulerasersspillingouteverywhere.
Theroomgoesquiet;exuberantenergydrains.Great,nowI’mthemoodydickwhospoiledtheparty.
“Youokay,Dad?”Stevieasks,carefullyextractingherselffromthetangleoflimbsandblankets.“Areyoumadatsomebody?”
Igoforrelaxedbutknackered,rubbingahanddownmyface.“No,Sass,justtired.”
“Areyousure?”Shestaresatme.“You’redoingthatfaceFizzysaysisgoingtomakeyouneedBotox.”
Iignorethisandtrytokeepusontask.“Doyouhaveyourthingstogether?”
“Becauseifyouaremad,”shebarrelson,“rememberthatyoutoldmepeoplearen’tthesameasfruit.Youdon’tlookfornewonesifthey’rebruised.”Icanaskthischildahundredtimestopickupherwettowelsortostopusingglitteronmybed,butthissheretains?
Junoscruncheshernose.“Idon’tlikebruisedbananas,”shesays.
“Well,nowI’mtiredandhungry,”Isay,puttingmyhandsonStevie’sshouldersandtryingtosteerhertowardthedoor.“Let’sgetoutofheresowecangrabsomethingtoeat.”
“Fizzygotpizza!”Steviesays,pointingexcitedlytothekitchen.“There’satonleftbecauseshealwaysorderstoomuch.”
“Itisoneofmymanysuperpowers,”Fizzyagrees,andIfeelthewayshe’sstaringatme,willingmetolookather,butIjustcan’t.Notaftertheemotionalgutpunchoftheconfessionalearliertoday.
“I’mgood.”Ishakemykeysinmypocket.“Comeon,Sass.”
“Connor,”Fizzysaysinthislowvoicethatfeelslikeseduction.It’stoofamiliar,soknowing.“Youdon’thavetorushout.There’stonsoffood.Comesitforabit,youhadalongday.”
“Thankyou,butI’mgood,”Isayagain.
Junostands,followingStevietowhereshe’sshovingstuffintoherbag.Herlittlehuskyvoiceishilariouslyincompatiblewithwhispering:“IsyourdadoneoftheguysdatingmyAuntieFizzyonthatshow?”
Iresisttheurgetogroan,pretendingIhaven’theardthis.WithFizzy’seyesonme,Ipullmyphonefrommypocketandopenthefirstappmythumbfindsonthehomescreen,simplyneedingsomethingtodo.Calculator.Ipunchinafewrandomnumbersanddivideitallbytwo.
“No.”God.Stevie’swhisperisjustasbad.Underanyotherconditions,FizzyandIwouldbemakingeyecontactandabsolutelylosingourshit.“He’stheproducer.”
“Whatdoesthatmean?”Junoasks.
Tryingtolookverypreoccupied,Irandomlymultiplyeverythingbyfourandsubtract15.6.
“Hemakesit,”Steviewhisper-yells.“He’stheboss.”
Thanks,Stevie,butIdon’tfeellikethebossofanythingrightnow.IfeellikeI’maweathersystem,underpressure,abouttocrackwideopen.
“Dotheyhateeachotherorlikeeachother?”Junoasks,andmystomachdrops.
BeforeSteviecanfieldthisone,Icalloutfromthedoorway.“Squirt,let’sgo.”
Finally,Fizzyclimbsfromthecouchandpadsovertome.She’swearingsweatsandaWonderlandhoodieandlookslikebrunchandholidayandpost-sexeuphoriarolledintohumanform.Mybodyandbrainhadalreadystartedpavingtheroadaheadtogetherandit’ssohardtoputtheentireoperationinreverse.Ihadalreadycommitted.
Shetiltsherheadtomeetmygaze,andafterasplitsecondofherconcernedeyecontact,Ilookbackdownatmyscreen.
“Areyou…”Fizzycomesaroundtomysideandlooksdownatmyscreen.“Whyareyoudoingmath?”
Withagrimace,Islidethephonebackintomypocket.“Justfidgeting.”
“You’restandingheredoingmathandbeinggrumpy,”shesays,andthesunshineinhervoicemakesmewanttokissheronce,lickherlip,sosweet.
Finally,Steviejogsover,grinningupatme.IseethequestioninhereyesandpoureverybitofloveintothesmileIgivehersosheknowsI’mokay.“SaythankyoutoMissFizzy.”
“Thankyou,AuntieFizzy.”
AuntieFizzy.
IsmileatJunoasFizzykissesStevie’sforeheadandthensteermykidoutthedoor.Badnews:thisheartachefeelslikeapermanentstaininmythoughts.Goodnews:onlyafewmoredaysofthisandIneverhavetoseeFizzyagain.forty-fourFIZZY
IstareafterConnorandStevieastheyclimbintothecar,wonderingiftersesilenceisgoingtobeournewvibefromhereonout.Ihavetoadmit,Idon’tloveit.Turning,Icloseandlockthedoorbeforefacingthemessofourgirls’nightshenanigans.I’mawarethatapairofeyestracksmeacrosstheroomwhenIgotofolduptheblankets.Mostkidsarebarelyawareofhowmanygrown-upsareinaroom,letalonewhatinterpersonalsparksareflying.ButJunoMerriamisanincrediblyperceptivechild,andthereisnowayI’mgettingoutofthisnightwithoutsomeinterrogation.
“Momsaidshe’dletmewatchyourTVshowwhenitwasdone,”shesays,squintingdownatacolorfuleraserinherhandasifitrequirescarefulconsideration.
Herewego.
“Ohyeah?”Itiltmyheadforhertofollowmeintothekitchen.“It’sprettytame.Stevie’swatchingit.Why’sshemakingyouwait?”
ShejogsaftermeandgrabsacookiebeforeIcanputtheboxawayinthecupboard.“Shewantstoseehowitallturnsoutfirst.”
“Herandmeboth,kiddo.”
Junotakesabiteandchews,bidinghertimelikeavelociraptor.“So,whoeverwinsthisweekendwillbeyourboyfriend?”
“OnlyifheandIdecidewewantthat.”Ipulloutachairatthesmallkitchentableandpracticallycrumpledown.Iamsuddenlypass-outexhausted.
Shesitsdownacrossfrommeanddrawsspiralsonthetabletopwithherfingertip.“Doyouliketheboysthatareleft?”
“Ido…”Myvoicetrailsoff,andtheJustnotinthatwayfollowsinadroopyecho.
Junonodsforafewlongseconds.“What’retheirnames?”
“EvanandIsaac.”
“Doyoulikeoneofthemmorethantheother?”
Herverynormalquestionmakesmesadagain.“Isaac,Iguess.”
“What’shelike?”
“Nice,”Isay,andlookuptotheceiling,thinking.“Attractive.”God,pullittogether,Felicity.Isaacisanamazingmanandyou’redescribinghimthewayyouwouldanewcouch.IlookatJunoandtakeadeepbreath,tryingtoinfusesomeenthusiasmintomywords.“He’sascientist,justlikeyourdad.”
“He’sageneticist,too?”sheasks,squintingskeptically.
She’ssmarterthanIam.“No,Ithinkhemakesrobotsormakessurerobotsdon’ttakeovertheworldorsomethingrelatedtothereasonI’mnicetomyAlexa.”
Junolaughs.“That’snotthesamethingasgenetics,AuntieFizzy.”
Ithrowawadded-upnapkinather.Sheducksoutofthewayandtheflashofherlaughterpropelsherquestionout,sosneakily:“DoyouthinkMr.PrincewantsIsaactowin?”
Iholdontomysmile,leaningcloser.Junoisaworthysparringpartner.Prideanduneasebattleitoutinmypulse.“Idon’tthinkMr.Princecareswhowinsaslongastheshowissuccessful.”
“Ithinkhecareswhowins.”Shegoesforbroke:“Ithinkhelikesyou.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.Likeattheconcert?Icouldtellhelikedyou.Hestaredatyouthewholetime.”
“That’sbecauseI’mfascinating,Juno.Keepup.”
Shegiggles.“Ibethedoesn’tlikeseeingotherboysondateswithyou.”
Ihum,studyingher.Shedoesn’tflinchorshrinkatall.“And—okay,youknowAidenR.?”shecontinues.Inod,becausethereare,like,fourAidensinherclass.“HelikesStevie,andtheyalwayssittogetheratlunch,buttodaySteviewasassignedtoIndonesiaforWorldCulturesDaywithEric,andAidenwasquiet-sadthesamewayMr.Princewastonight.”
“Ohyeah?How’sthat?”
Shepointstoherface.“Youknowhowboysclenchtheirjawlikethis?”Shedoesaprettysolidimpression.“Hewasdoingthatandjust,like,ignoringheratlunch.Butitwasn’tlikeSteviehadachoiceaboutwhoshedoesWorldCulturesDaywith.It’sassigned.”
“Right,”Iagreesympathetically.Ugh,thismetaphorisprettygreat.Iredirect:“Whodidyougetassignedtoworkwith?”
“KylePyun,”shesays,andgivesavaguegrimace.“He’sreallyhyperbutatleasthegetsgoodgrades.”
“Totally.”Ileanin,grinning.“Ishecute?”
Junolooksgenuinelydisgusted.“AuntieFizzy,we’reinfifthgrade.”
“I’mnotaskingifyou’reengaged,Junebug,justwhetherhe’sgotpotential.”
“Momsaysboysaredumbuntilhighschool.”
“Wow,that’sgenerous.”
“SoifIsaacwins,”Junosays,doingherownredirection,“doeshegetmoneyorsomething?”
“Intheoryhegetsme.”
Shelaughslikethisisfunny.“Yeahbut…youknow.Likearealprize.”
Pressingmylipstogether,Igiveheraflat“IgettochoosewhoI’mtakingtoFiji,andthere’sacashprizefortheHerowhowinsthemostvotes,ifthat’swhatyoumean.”
Hereyesareplanets.“Atriptogether?”Inod.“Sleepinginthesameroom?”
“Wecanhaveseparateroomsifwewant.”
Juno’slipcurlsalittle.“Wouldyouwanttosharearoomwithhim?”
“I’mnotaversetosharingaroom,butI’mnotsureIwanttoshareitwithhimyet.Itwillbeourdecisiononcewegetthere.”
Shenods,lookingtotheside,thinking.Ilookdownatmyphone.It’salmostnine.TimeforRivertocomegetherandsavemefromthislaserinterrogation.
“WhatifLucasAyadwasoneofthecontestants?”sheasks.
IplayfullyscowlatthementionofmyfavoriteWonderlandmember.“ImeanobviouslyifLucaswasacontestantandhedidn’twinfairly,I’dinventatimemachinetogobackandrigtheresults.”
“Weshouldstartapetitiontowritehimin,”shesays.“TelleveryonetostarttaggingLucasAyadinthevotes.”
“YoujustwantthatsoIdon’tmarrySuchinandstealhimfromyou.”
Junobeams.“Suchinbelongstome,hejustdoesn’tknowityet.”
Thiskidcracksmeup.“HowcanyoutalkaboutSuchinlikethisbutcan’teventellmewhetherWorldCulturesDayKyleiscute?”
“BecauseIactuallyknowKyle—gross.”Sheleansinnow,too.“ButwhatifwevoteforMr.Prince?”
Iknewhercheckmatewascoming,butitstillcatchesmeunaware.
“Iknewyouwereuptosomething,youlittleshi—”Ipullbackjustintime,correctingto“Sillychild,”butitdoesn’tmatter.Junogigglesknowingly,allpuppiesandrainbowsinthedelightedsound,holdingoutherhand.
“Onedollar,please.”
Ileanbackinmychair,openingthejunkdraweranddiggingforsomechange.Droppingfourquartersintoherpalm,Isay,“I’drathertalkaboutLucasandSuchin.”
“BecauseyoulikeMr.Prince,too?”
“JunoMerriam,mindyourbusiness.”
“SomeofthegirlsinmyclassandtheirmomslikeMr.Prince.”
Getinline,ladies.
Ihuminacknowledgmentandmakeamentalnotetoteasehimaboutit,thenrememberheprobablydoesn’twantmetotellhimanything.AndnowI’msadagain.
“Mydadsaysifyouwantsomething,itdoesn’tmatterhowscaredyouare,youhavetotry.”
Istareather,wonderingfortheonehundredthtimewherethischildcamefrom.“Yourdadsaidthat,eh?”
Junonods.“Hesaidmymomscaredhimatfirst.Butthenhewasmorescaredofnotseeingheragain.”Shesmilesatme.“So,ifthat’showyoufeelaboutMr.Princeor…whatwashisname?”
Istareather.Junodoesn’tforgetanything.Thissneakyfakeristoosmartforherowngood.“Isaac?”
“Right,”shesaysslyly.She’sbecomingmorelikehermothereveryday.“Ifthat’showyoufeelaboutIsaac,thendon’tletbeingscaredgetintheway.”
Threesharpknockslandonthefrontdoor,notamomenttoosoon.WithonemorewrygrinatJuno,Ipushbackandstand,walkingtothelivingroom.
“Youcouldn’thavearrivedthreeminutesearlierandsavedmetheSpanishInquisition?”Iask.
Riverlaughsoutabreath.“Ohboy.Betteryouthanme.”
“Youknowoncetheystartoutsmartingme,Ichargeforty-fivedollarsanhourtobabysit.”
Withherbackpackslungontohershoulder,Junojoinsherdadatthedoor.“Thanksfordinner,AuntieFizzy.”
“Yeah,yeah,Iloveyou,getoutofhere.”
Shegiggles,leaningintomyembrace,andIwatchthemturntoleave.
ButRiverstopsattheedgeoftheporch.“Hey,”hesays,uncharacteristicallyunsure.“Iwantedtoasksomething.”
“Thissoundsominous.”ItbecomesmoresowhenhebendstoJuno,murmuringforhertogowaitforhimatthecurb.
“Iseverythingwiththeshowokay?WithConnor,”heclarifies.
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“WiththatotherNorthStarshowgoingupinflameslastweekendforthedopingscandal,andtheproducerbeingfiredand—”
“Sorry,wait.Whatothershow?”
Hefrowns.“Idon’twatchit,butapparentlytheyhaveanothershowthat’sgotallkindsofphysicalchallengesinarenas.”
IhaveavaguememoryofConnormentioninganotherprogramtheyweredoingtobringinayounger,maledemographic.“Oh,right.BigMouthorSmashFaceorsomething.”
“SmashCourse,”hesays.“Iguesstheproducersweregivingaleadcontestantperformance-enhancingdrugs.Oneoftheproducerswasapparentlysleepingwithhimontheroad,too,anditblewuponline.”
“Ohshit.”
“Yeah.Theshowisbeingcanceled.”Riverreachesuptoscratchhisneck,adorablyuncomfortableputtinghisnoseinanyoneelse’sbusiness.“WitheverythingthathappenedbetweenyouandConnor,Ijustwantedtomakesurehewasokay.”
It’slikeafoghasclearedaseverythingsincemyconfessiononConnor’scouchsuddenlycomesintocrystallinefocus.IfNorthStarhaslostoneofitstwocashcowsduetoscandal,they’ddefinitelyturnthepressureuponConnortomakesurehe’srunningatightship.Ifwordgotoutthatwe’dbeentogether,basicallymakingtheshowasham,itwouldn’tjustendhiscareer,itcouldtakedowntheentirecompany.
AndConnorwouldbeblamedforitall.forty-fiveCONNOR
ThepenultimateepisodeofTheTrueLoveExperimentrakesinthehighestprime-timeratingforanyrealityshowinnearlyadecade.Atanearlymeetingwiththeentirecrew,it’sclearthatthenumbersdefycomprehension.Ifwehadchampagneintheofficeatnineinthemorning,itwouldbepopping.
Aswewalkbacktomyoffice,Brennajogsbehindme,excitedlytellingmeabouttheTikToktrends,theviraleditsandreels—andshesendsmeafew,butIthinkbynowsheknowsthatseeingevidenceofthetruehysteriaonlinewillmakethepressuretoexecutethislivefinaletoointense.Itdoesn’thelpthatthefuroroverSmashCoursehasn’tdieddown.Today’stwenty-four-hournewscyclemeansthepublic’smemoryisoftenshortforthesesortsofthings,butitseemseverydayanewdetailemergestogetpeopleriledupagain.ItallhitscloseenoughtothesituationwithFizzythatonemightthinkitwouldreassuremethatI’mdoingtherightthing,andmakebeingawayfromhereasiertobear.Onewouldbewrong
Whenhearrivesjustafterten,Blaineisanoverstimulatedhound,circlingcontinually,makinglapsaroundtheoffices.He’scrowingaboutthelittleguysshowingHollywoodhowit’sdone,aboutknowinghechosewiselyputtingmeonthisandhowIshouldtrusthimnexttime.Theadulationisbittersweet:OfcourseI’mthrilledthatFizzyandImanagedtocreatesomethingthathasresonatedwithsomanyviewers,buttheobviousconflictoffallingforherisashadowthat
Maybeinafewmonths,Ithink,afterthespotlighthasturnedawayandtheworldhasmovedontothenextshinything,wecanmakeagoofit.Butthatisn’thowloveworks.Nomatterwhatpoetrytellsus,loveisn’talwayspatient;itisurgentandhungry,eatingupalloftheblankspaceinmyhead.
Iescapetotheeditingroom,hopingtodrowneverythingelseoutandspendthedayhelpingputtogethertheretrospectiveclipsofalltheHeroesfortherecapportionofthelivefinalethisweekend.ButitisinthisquietretreatthatBlainefindsmeandslapsapieceofpaperdownonthemixingboard.
“Blaine—”
“Contingentonyounotshittingthebed,”hesays,ignoringthathe’sjustinadvertentlydeletedtheclipwewereworkingon,“here’sacontractforyoutoproduceandhostseasontwoofTheTrueLoveExperiment.”
Sensingthestormbrewing,Pat,oureditorialproducer,pushesbackfromhiscomputerandmakeshisescape.“ThinkI’llgograbacupofcoffee.”
ThedoorclosesbehindhimandIpeerdownatthepaper.
Iknewitwascoming—franklyitwouldbestupidofustonotgreen-lightasecondseason—butseeingitinblackandwhitestunsmesilentforamomentanyway.Iamsure,withthestructurewe’vebuilt,thecrewandIcoulddoitagainwithanotherHeroineorHeroatthecenter,andevenifit’shalfassuccessfulasthisfirstseasonhasbeen,itwouldbeafinancialsuccessforthecompany.Andforme.
Ijustcan’timaginedoingitwithanyonebutFizzybesideme.Nottomentionanotherseasonkeepsmeinthepubliceyeandpushesapossiblerelationshipbetweenusevenfurtheroutofreach
“CanIthinkaboutit?”Iask.
“Thinkaboutit?”Blainepokesthethirdparagraphwithaninsistentfinger,pressingabunchofbuttonsunderneathit.“Kid,doyouseewhatwe’reofferingyou?We’retalkingmoremoney,moretime,morestaff,andabiggerproductionbudget.”
Idosee.Whatthey’reofferingmeispartofthereasonIwanttoconsiderthiscarefully.
Gingerly,Iguidehishandawayandswivelinmyseattofacehim.“Iseethefinancialincentive,andIknowwecoulddotheshowagainquiteeasily.But,forascrazyasthismightsound—becauseIknowweareabsolutelythebiggestthingontelevisionrightnow—moneyisnottheonlythingIcareabout.IenjoyedwhatIwasdoingbefore.I’mnotsureI’mreadytoabandonthedocumentaryworldquiteyet.”
Hewavesthisoff.“Fine.We’llgiveyouthe$40Kforyouroceanthing.Youcandooneofthoseandoneoftheseayear.Isthatwhatitwilltakeforyoutosign?”
“Thiswasn’touragreement,Blaine.”
“I’mofferingyouahugeopportunity.You’reanaturalinthisspace.”
“Ijustneedamoment,”Itellhim.“It’snotanoorayes,it’sa‘let’stalkaboutthisafterthefinalepisode.’?”
Blaineletsoutashortlaughandnarrowshiseyesatme.“Isee.Okay.You’reanglingformore,andIrespectthat.”
“Itisn’tthat.I—”
Hewinksandslapsmyshoulder.“I’llseewhatIcando.”
IttakesactivefocustoshovethethoughtsofmoneyandpressureandBlaineandmycareerandmyfamilyand—mostofall—Fizzyoutofmymindandsimplyfocusonthetaskinfrontofme.Betweenthevariouscameras,thereareovertwohundredhoursoffootagetogothroughforalltheclipsandretrospectiveswe’llneedforthefinale.It’sprettymuchanall-hands-on-decksituation.WewanttosharemomentsofeachHerobeingunguarded,unfiltered,andasappealingaseachofthemisinreallife.Ifeellikewe’vecapturedtheessenceofahandfuloftrulyamazingpeople—withoutironyormockeryinourtone—andthatfeelsmonumental.Maybeit’sthiselementthathasresonatedwithsomanypeople,theauthenticityofitall.Iwantthislast,fullepisodetobeemotionalandfunny,genuineandinspiring.
Butgiventhatwe’reeditingclipsofFizzyoraboutFizzy,there’snoescapefromher.Worse,infrontofmearehoursandhoursofunfilteredproofthatshemeantwhatshesaid:shedoesn’twantanyoftheseothermen.BynowIknowhersmiles,andshegivesthemonesthatarebrightandsincerebutultimatelyplatonic.Iknowherlaughsandthose,too,aregenuine,buttheHeroesdon’tgettheonethatcomesfromthedepthsofher,theround,joyfulbellylaughofFizzybeingabsolutelylostinthemoment.Iknowhertouch,too—fuck,doIknowhertouch—andwhileshegivesthemfriendlyaffection,neveristhereheatinherfingertipsorhergaze.Thereisnothingovertlysexualaboutanyofit.
Weneedtoeditthisreeltogether,butshit,allIcanseeisherfallingforme.Hereyesflickertothecamerasconstantly—lookingformyreaction,anticipatingsomequietinsidejoke,orseeminglyoftheirownvolitionasifwhenhermindwanders,itwanderstome.Butthat’sonlywhatIwanttosee.
Ican’thelpwiththis.I’mnotobjectiveanymore.
Pullingmyheadphonesoff,ItossthemdowntothemixingboardjustasRorystepsin.
“Allgoodhere?”
Iscrubmyhandsovermyfaceandthennod.“I’velostallfuckingobjectivity.We’veeditedtheArjun,Jude,Tex,Colby,andDaxsegmentsfortheretrospective.Thosearefine.ButI’mstallingoutonNick,Isaac,andEvan.Honestly,Ror,I’mhavingahardtimeimagininghowwepullthisoffattheend.Fizzyisgreat,butamIinsane?There’snoactuallovestoryhere.”
Rorystaresdownatmeforalongbeat.“You’renotseeingit?”
“No.”
ShelookspastmetothefrozenimageofIsaaclaughingon-screen.“Don’tworry,bro,it’sallthere.”
“Ijustdon’twanttoarseitrightattheend.”
Shelaughs.“Thereisnofuckingway.”
“I’mgladyou’resoconfident.”
“Ithinkrightnowyou’rejusttooclosetoit.”
Well,Rory,noshit.forty-sixFIZZY
Tuesdayafternoon,thebellchimesoverthedooratTwiggs,andeverythingaboutit—theforceofthechime,thefootstepsthatfollow,thejostlingofkeyslatchedtoapurse—issofamiliarthatIknowwithoutevenlookingupwhoitis.
“Fizzy?”Jessasks.
Idon’tblameherforthebrightsurpriseinhervoice;I’msurprised,too.
Itypetheendofthesentenceandthenlookupather,reachingformylatte.“Hello,bestie.”
“Hi.WhatamIseeing?Alaptop?Notebookswithfranticscribbling?”Hereyebrowsinchup.“Areyou…writing?”
“Ihadanideathismorning.”Infact,Iwokeupwithascorchingsexsceneinmyheadandthought…maybeI’dtrytowriteitdown.IfI’mbeinghonest,it’safilthyfantasyaboutConnor’smouth,buttheinspirationhitmethewayitusedto,inthissortoffeveredexcitement,andIdidn’twanttoletthemomentpassmeby.
Ipackedupmylaptop,camehere,andofcoursewhatwasclearandperfectinmyheadonthedriveoverisamessofwordsonthepage,butI’mforcingmyselftorememberthatit’sokayforadrafttobeawful.It’sbetterthannothing,andI’vehadenoughnothingtolastalifetime.Terriblecanbeedited.
Jesssitsdownacrossfromme.“That’sfantastic.”
“No,it’sgarbage,”Isay,“butI’mjusthappytobetypingwordsthataren’thatemailtomyself.”Ishrugbeforerememberingsomething.“OhmyGod,Ieavesdroppedonthebestconversationtoday.”
Sheleansin.“Hitme,I’vemissedgossip.”
“Thesetwowomenweresittingatthefronttablewiththewobblyleg—”
“Ihatethattable.”
“—andoneofthemsaidherhusbandfiredthenannyafterrecognizingheronanescortsite.”
“Wait,”Jesssays.“Whywashecruisinganescortsite?”
“Exactly!Wouldn’tthatmakeagreatopeningforabook?Scumbaghusbandseesfamiliarfaceonanescortsiteandistoostupidtorealizeheshouldn’ttellhiswife?Wifeleaveshimandfallsforthehandymanwhocomestofixthetoiletherexnevergotto.”Itapmychin,turningtheideaaroundinmyhead.“Scratchthat,makeittheroofsohecanbeshirtless.”
IreachovertojotitinmynotebookbeforeIforget.
Satisfied,IturnbacktoJess.“Whatareyoudoinghereanyway?”
“Working.”Shewinces.“I’mboredathome.Riverisplanninganewstart-upwithSanjeevand…Imissit.Theideaofnotworkinganymoreissortofdepressingtome.Ididn’tgetintomathformoney,Igotintoitbecauseit’sfun.”
“Maybewe’regettingourmojoback?”
Shegrins.“Fuck,Ihopeso.”Themomentlingers,ourgazeshugging,andslowly,Jess’ssmilestraightensas,Ipresume,shereadstheshadowinmyeyes.“Hey.”Shereachesacrossthetableandtakesmyhand.“I’msorrythatthingswithConnorfellapart.Thatreallysucksabouttheothershowtanking.”
Inod.I’vegotnothingusefultoadd.Itdoessuck.
“Butdoesithelptoknowitwasn’tjustaboutwhathappenedatthehotel,thattherewereotherthingsatplay?”sheasks.“I’mguessinghedidn’thavemuchofachoice.”
“Iguess?”Ilaughanditcomesoutalittlewatery;Ididn’trealizeI’dgottenteary.“Iknowthissituationiscomplicated.Iknowhehasdifferentpressuresandresponsibilities.It’sbiggerthanmeandmyfeelings.”
“Lookatthischaractergrowth.Fivestars,”shesays,grinning.Pushingbacktostand,shesays,“I’mgoingtoordercoffee.Needarefill?”
“I’mgood.”I’msoclosetofinishingthisterribledocument.I’llprobablynevershowittoanotherhuman,butitisn’tevenaboutthat.
Twohoursago,myagentcalledtoletmeknowsheexpectsseveralofmybacklisttitlestohitthebestsellerliststhisweek.Apparentlynewreadershavebeendiscoveringmybooks,andpostingphotosandhilariouschallenges,videos,andreviews.ShesentmeafewandIlaughedthroughtearyeyesasIwatched.Writerscanworkforyearsandneverknowhowastorywilllandwithanaudience.Beingremindedthatmywordsreallyaffectreadersmademewanttogetbacktoitimmediately.Bookpeoplearejustbetter,Iswearbyit.Shealsoscoldedmeforavoidinghercalls(valid),butsaidthatshecaresaboutmefirst,andifIneverwanttowriteanotherbook,that’sfine.Iwon’tbelettingherdown,andshewon’ttakeitpersonally.Ihavetodowhat’sbestforme.Fourmonthsago,theideaofhearingthatwouldhavebeenarelief,aweightlifted,butthemomentAmayasaidIcouldquitifIwanted,allIfeltwasadevastatingbleakness.
ItmademerealizeI’mnotreadytogiveupwriting.Ididtheshowtofindmyself,notforfame,andifIhavetogiveupConnor,Iwanttoatleastholdontowhatmakesmeme.AndwhatIamisawriter.Soevenifeverywordinthisdocisgarbage,I’mnotquitting.
Andtomorrow,Iwillputonmymentalblindersandsitdownandtrytomakeadiamondoutofahunkofcoal.Becausetomorrow,IwilldoeverythingIcannottothinkaboutConnorandtheshowandhowinjustoverfourdaysIwillbeexpectedtoembarkonatripwithamanwhoisn’tthemanIwant.
Whenmyphonebuzzesonthetable,myimmediatehopeisthatit’shim.Ineedtoworkonthat.Butthenitbuzzesagain.Andagain.Iturnitoverandmyhearttakesoffinagallopforaverydifferentreason.It’satextfromAlice.
Fizzy.
Fizzyohmygod
Meetusatthehospital
I’minlabor
Everyonesaysnewbornsareugly,thattheylooklikegrumpyoldmenortiny,unfurledleaves.They’rewrinkledandred-faced;fuzzyandgrouchy.Theydonothingbutsleepandeatandcryandpoop.
Thatmightbetrueforotherbabies,butatonlysixhoursold,HelenaYingKwokisalready,handsdown,themostbeautifulandentertaininghumanevertogracethisplanet.BabyLena—Ichosethenickname—hashermother’stinybuttonnoseandherfather’spermafrown.Shehashermaternalgrandmother’sfulllips,herpaternalgrandfather’slongneck,andhermaternalgrandfather’sgassiness.Butthedimpleinherleftcheekisallmine.Thisoneisgoingtobearascal.Fromthismomentforward,Ihavenochoicebuttolaydownmylifeforher.
Pettinghertinyfist,Igentlyuncurlhertightlittlefingers,kissingeachone.Thesweetcrescentmoonsofherfingernailsareamiracle.Myheartistoosmallforthesefeelings;thesenseofchokingonhappiness,ofdrowninginit,hitsmeeveryfewbreaths.“I’myourAuntieFizzy,”Iwhisper.“Iwillneverletyousufferanill-fittingbra.I’lltellyouwhenyouhavefoodinyourteeth.I’mtheoneyoucometowhenyouneedclothingadviceorspendingmoney.Ionlyaskthatyouletmeveteverypersonyouwanttodate.”
“Okay,okay.Giveherback.”
Imakeastrangled,infatuatednoiseandpassherbackintoAlice’soutstretchedarms.I’vebeeninthisroomforjustoverforty-eighthoursandamgoingonroughlythreehoursofsleep,butI’veneverfeltmoreenergized.Alice,though,lookslikeshe’sabouttodrop.Laborwasintense.Mysweetbabysisterspenttwenty-sixhourspacingtheroominearlylaborbeforefifteenhoursofactivelaborandanepiduralthatdidn’ttake.Anobstetricianhimself,herhusband,Henry,wasonthevergeofinsistingthedoctorwheelherinforaC-section,butasiflittleHelenaheardherdaddyanddecidedenoughwasenough,shecameoutwithonemorepush,bright-eyedandwithonlyatiny,shockedcryofprotest.She’snotevenadayold,butalreadytheroomispackedwithpeopleandflowers,giftsandballoons.
Momcomesupbehindme,slidingherarmsaroundmywaistfrombehind,andwepeertogetheratbabyLenainAlice’sarms.
“Sheisperfect,”Momwhispers.
“Sheredefinesthewordperfection,”Iagree.
“Irememberholdingyou,”shesays,“andthisnewfeelingpushingeverythingelseaway.IhadeverythingIneededinthatmoment.It’sstilllikethat,everytimeIlookatyou.”
Bittersweetwarmththreadsthroughme.IneverfeelsolovedaswhenI’mwithmyfamily…andIhateknowingImightnevergivemymotherthismagnitudeofagift:agrandchild,someoneelsetoloveunconditionallyinthewayonlyshecan.
Butbeingthemothersheis,shealreadyknowswhatI’mthinking.Sheturnsmetofaceher.“Youwereperfectthen,too,andyouareperfectnow.”
Eyeswatery,Ilaugh.“Youarenotacrediblesource.”
“Iamtheonlycrediblesource.I’veknownyoueverysecondofyourlife.”
Ihavenowallsleftuptoholdthingsin.Iclutchedmyscreamingsister’shandforthepastday,watchedherexperiencebrutalpainandblindingjoy.WithnearlyeveryoneIlovepackedintothisroom,crowdingaroundAliceandHenryandHelena,Ifeelstrippeddown,alivewire.“ImightneverdowhatAlicejustdid,”IremindMom.“Imightneverevengetmarried.Imightneverwritethekindofbookyouwantmetowrite.Imightalwaysbeexactlylikethis.”
“So?”
“So?”Irepeat.“SoIdon’twanttodisappointyou.”
Momcupsmyfaceinherhands.“Youlookinthemirrorandseeallofthewaysyouarelettingmedown.IlookatyouandseeeverythingI’veeverwantedyoutobe.Thatadmirationiswhereexpectationscomefrom,daileu,notfromdisappointment.AndifIwantsomethingforyou,likemarriageorababy,it’sbecausethesethingshavemademehappierthananythingelseinlife.Youspendsomuchtimeworkingtomakeotherpeoplehappy,andallIcareaboutisthatyouarehappy.”
ThewaythesewordsdragConnor’sfacefrontandcenterinmymind’seyeisstartling.Heis,withoutquestion,thecurrentseatofmyhappiness,andifthereisanythingabouttheshowendingthatmakesmesad,it’stherealitythatIwon’tseehimeveryday.
Andthenanewjarringthoughtcrashesin.
“Mom,”Iask,“whatdayisit?”
Sheblinksatme,confused.“Thursday.”
Ilookattheclock.It’saquartertofiveintheeveningandifitisindeedThursday,thenIamanhourawayfromthewrappartythatbeginsinfifteenminutes.
IleanoverAlice,kissingherforehead.“I’llbebacklatertonight.”
“Whereareyougoing?”sheaskswithouttakinghereyesoffhernewborn.
“Wrapparty.”
Finally,Aliceturnsherdark,tiredeyestome.“Tellhimyoulovehim.”
I’vestartedtoturn,butpauseatherwords.“What?”
“YouknowwhatI’mtalkingabout.”
Istareather.Ihaven’ttalkedaboutConnorwithanyonebutJess,tooworriedaboutitgettingout,tooworriedaboutstressingoutmypregnantsister,tooworriedaboutmyshowalreadyoutshiningmybrother’swedding,tooworriedthattheshowwasyetanotherembarrassingstainonmyrésuméasfarasmyfamilywasconcerned.Butintheend,thepeoplewholoveyouseethroughallthesubterfugeanyway.
“It’snotthatsimple,”Itellher.“Iwishitwere,butitisn’tjustaboutme.”
“Evenso.”Myexhaustedsisterliftsherhand.Ileanforward,likeshemightcupmycheek.Instead,shelightlyslapsit.“Sayitanyway.”forty-sevenCONNOR
Forallheroutwardchaos,Fizzyisalwaysontime.Thispunctuality,infact,wasthefirsthintIhadthatmuchofher“hotmess”personaisonlyanact.Thesecondhintwasthehighlydetailedlistoftermsherteamsentme,andeversincethenI’veonlyeverknownhertobeentirelydependable.Sothefactthatsheisforty-fiveminuteslatetothewrappartyhasmeworried.
Andapparently,I’mnottheonlyone.Brennamaterializesatmyside,hergazefixedonthestairsleadinguptothespacewe’vebookedatStoneBreweryfortonight’sevent.Thecrewmillsabout,sippingdrinks,nibblingfood,chatting.Buteventhoughwe’veallbeenherelongenoughtobeloudandalittlerowdy,there’sanundeniablevibethatthepartyhasn’tyetstarted.
“Whereisshe?”
Ishakemyhead.“Dunno.”
“Haveyoutextedher?”
“Ihaven’t,”Isay.AndIhaven’t,butnotforanygoodreason.Atleast,notforanyreasonIcantellmyassistant.Ihaven’ttextedFizzybecausethelongershefailstoappear,themoreIgrowworriedsomethingbadhashappenedtoher,andthelongerIputoffknowingexactlywhatitis,thelongerIcanmaintainmylifeasIknowit,withsanityintact.
IbecomeawarethatBrennahasleanedovertogetagoodlookatmeatthesametimeIregisterI’mstaringatthestairsuptoourpartyspacelikeasnipertrackingatarget.Inhalingsharply,Ibringmypintglasstomylips.
“Youokay?”sheasks.
“Fine.”
“Youlookalittletense.”
“No.”
“Yousure?”
“Yep.”
“Okay,cool,becauseIthinkIjustsawherwalkingthroughtherestaurant.”
Iboltforward,reachingtherailingintwolongstrides,curlingonehandaroundthewroughtironandstaringdownintothebusyrestaurant.Almostimmediately,Ispothermessybunandherbrightsmileasshebobsthroughthecrowdnearthebar.Everythinginsidemeunclenches;adrenalinewashesthroughme,hotandfrantic.AsFizzyweavesthroughtheroom,she’sstoppedbyawomanwantingtotakeapicturewithher.
“She’ssafe,”Brennasays,againhavingmaterializedsilentlyatmyside
“What?Ofcoursesheis,”Imumbledistractedly,frowningdownatwheretwomenapproach,waitingfortheirturn.Theystandfartooclose.
“It’sjust,”shesays,tappingthebackofmyhandwiththetipofherfinger,“you’regonnabreakthatrailing.”
Iloosenmygripbutdon’ttakemyeyesoffwhat’shappeninginthebarbelow.NotthatIshouldworry;Fizzyisnothingifnotself-sufficient.Whentheycatchherattention,sheletsthemtakeaphotoandthenpolitelybutfirmlyshakesherheadatwhatevertheyasknext,pointingtothestairs.Itrackhertheentiretimeshejogsuptous.
Asshestepsintoview,everyoneturnsandaroaringcheerbeginsandthensortof…tapersoffaswetakeinherappearance.It’snotaformalparty—thisisn’tthekindofeventwithfancychampagneflutesbeingcarriedontraysortheexpectationofcocktailattire.Evenso,casualFizzyisusuallymorepolishedthanmostofusatourbest.Todayherhairisn’tjustinamessybun,itlookssleptonandtangled.Herclotheslooksleptin,too.Shelookstiredandpale.Concernedmurmursshimmeracrossthegroup.
Thatis,untilasmilebreaksacrossherfacelikethesunrising,andsheshouts,“Iamanauntie!”
Thecheersbreakoutanew,aroarreally,andeveryonerushesforwardtosurroundher.FizzydisappearsinthecircleofbodiesandItrytosoakthismomentinbecauseI’vebeeninthebusinesslongenoughtoknowthatnoteverycrewisthistight,noteveryprojectisthismagical,andwhenthistypeofchemistryexists,it’ssomethingtobetreasured.ButIalsoknowthatthemagicisher,thatshe’stakenthisgroupofstrangersandbuiltafamily.Isaacishere,Evanishere,yes—butsoareDaxandNick,JudeandColby.Contestantswhohavebeeneliminatedhavecomebackbecauseeveniftheyaren’tontheshowanymore,they’restillpartofthisthingthatweallcreated.
IwatchFizzyhugeveryone,showphotosofthenewbornonherphone,andtheimpulsetoburstforwardandmonopolizehertimetakesanunexpectedbackseattotheprideIfeelwatchinghercommandtheroomandbesoadored.Maybethereisawayforus,aftereverythingends.Maybeitwon’tbeascandalifwecometogetherinafewmonths;maybeusfallinginlovewon’ttankthecredibilityofasecondseasonforty-eightFIZZY
IknowConnorisoverthere.Icanfeelhimwatching,likeaprouddadinthebackgroundratherthanthemastermindbehindallofthis.Iwanthimtowadein,findhiswayintothemiddleofthisaffectionatescrum.Doesn’theknowthattheonlyreasonallofthisworkedsowellisbecauseofhim?Itwashisvision.Hiscompetentenergyandrelaxingpresence,hishands-onmanagementoftheentirecrew,andhisspot-oncasting.Nottomentionhishot-as-sinselfandtheunexpectedhitofhavinghiminterviewusallintheconfessionaltrailer
Butwithmyemotionsataneleven,andmyadrenalinesohighitfeelslikeastrobelightinsidemyveins,maybenowisnotthetimeforConnortoapproach.IthinkAliceisright,andmaybethisreallywillbemylastchancetotellhimthatIlovehimnomatterwhattheoutcomeisonSaturday,butIknowmyself.Inmycurrentstateofmind,I’lllosemycoolandtellhimIknowaboutNorthStar,andfuckanyonewhothinkstheygetasayinwhatwedo.
Whichisexactlywhyhedidn’ttellmeinthefirstplace.
ButtherearetwoimportantconversationsIrealizeIdoneedtohavetonight,andbotharewiththemenIwon’tbeabletocontactbetweennowandSaturday.Oneofthemwillwin,andIsuspectit’sgoingtobeIsaac,butifitisn’t,IhavetomanageEvan’sexpectations,too.I’mdownforatriptoFijiwitheitherofthem,butineachscenario,Iwillbesleepingalone.
I’dhaveeveryeyeinthisplacetrackingmeifIheadstraightforthem,soIspendsometimetalkingtoeveryone.DaxandImakeplanstograbdinner—justforfun,heinsists,totallyplatonic—onceallofthischaoshassettleddown.JudeinformsmethatheunderstoodtheVolterrajokeandjustdidn’tfindittobeallthatfunny.
“That’sokay,Judie,”Isaywithasmile.“There’snoaccountingfortaste.”
Colbymansplainshowhewasn’tactuallymansplainingthingstomeinthekitchen,butafterwelaughaboutit,IsensethatbeingawayfromthecamerasresultsinamuchmorerelaxedColby.Everyonehastheirguessesaboutwhowillwin,whoshouldwin,andwhethereitherofthetworemainingmenismytrueGoldMatch.
It’sanunseasonablychillyeveningandmosteveryoneisinside,gettingdrunkerandlouderandsloppilynostalgicandaffectionate.IknowI’mbreakingtherulesbydrawingIsaacoutsidealoneontothepatio,buthecomeseagerly,withanoteofreliefinhisexpression.
“Doyouwantmyjacket?”heasks,motioningtotakeitoff.
Ishakemyhead,zippingupmyhoodie.“Thanks,though.IstillfeelalittleflushedandhighfromtheexcitementofbeingcrownedWorld’sBestAuntieovernight.”
“Ibet,”hesayswithalaugh,restinghisfoldedarmsontherailingandlookingoutoverthebeergarden.“Irememberwhenmylittlesisterhadherfirstbaby.Inevergotbabiesbefore,youknow?”Helooksatme.“Didn’tgetwhatthebigdealwas.Butit’sdifferentwhenit’soneyou’rerelatedto.”
“I’vealwayslovedkids,butthisfeelingisnextlevel.It’swildtohavesomeonesotinywhobelongstomethisway.Idon’twanttomessitup.”
Helaughs.“Youwon’t.”
Wefallquietandit’sweirdbeingwithhimallalone.OtherthanourCVSmoment,we’veneverbeenalone;truthfully,wedon’tevenknoweachotherthatwell.Othershowshavethecontestantslivingtogether,spendinghoursandhoursinforcedproximity.Someshowsevengivethemprivacytosleeptogether.Ilovethatthisshowhasbeendifferent,lovethatitreliesonpersonalitiesandenergiesinawaythatmattersintherealworld,butIalsothinktherearethingsaboutgettingtoknowsomeonebehindcloseddoorsthatbringoutrealchemistry.IwonderifIsaacandIwouldhaveworkedhadwemetbychance
Heturnshishead,restinghischinonhisshouldertolookatmebesidehim.“IknowwhyI’mouthere,bytheway.”
Mimickinghisposture,Iask,“Doyou?”
“Mm-hmm.”Hesmiles.“Iwantyoutoknow,I’mcoolwithit.”
“Withwhat?”
“This—us—notworkingout,evenifIwin.”
“Whydoyouthinkthat’swhatI’mgoingtosay?”
Hestandsandturnssohe’sleaningbackagainsttherailing,facingme.“Comeon,Fizz.You’veobviouslybeenholdingback.”
Iallowthiswithanod,studyinghim.“WhydoIsensethatyouare,too?”
Isaactakesadeepbreathandturnshisfaceuptothesky.“Aboutthreedaysafterwefilmedthefirstdate,Igotatextfrommyhighschoolgirlfriend.She’dmovedbacktothearea.”
Reliefiswarmandgoldencoursingthroughme.“Ah.”
“Wehaven’tseeneachotheryet.I’mnotabouttobreaktherules.”Helaughs.“Butwe’vebeentextingand,yeah.Ifeellikeitcouldbesomething,youknow?”
“That’samazing,Isaac.”
“So,ifI’mright,andyouareholdingback,Iwantedtosaythatit’sokay.”Inod.“AndifI’mwrong,andyou’refeelingrealthingshere,Iwantedtobeupfront.Don’tneedyougettinghurt.”Hereachesforward,sendinghisthumbgentlyalongmycheekbone.“You’rehonestlyoneofthecoolestpeopleI’veevermet.ThisisprobablytheonlywomanalivewhocouldkeepmefromgoingafteryouwitheverythingI’vegot.”
He’sputitperfectly.IlikeIsaacsomuch.InaparalleluniversewheretherewasnoConnor,Isaacmightbeperfectforme.“Itotallygetit,”Isay.
“Iknowyoudo.”
“What’shappening,myhomies?”
IsaacandIturntoseeEvanwalkingoutwiththreefullpintglassesbalancedinhishands.HepassesoneofftoIsaac,onetome,andthenliftshisinatoast.“Tomyverylongshotofwinningthisthing,andtothemostbeautifulwomanI’veeverdated.”
Wealllaugh,clinkingglasses,andtakeasip.Iswipeawaythefoamfrommyupperlip.“Ithinkthetwoofyouareprobablyneckandneck.”
“Noway.”Evanquicklyswallowsasiptodisagreewithme.“He’sgonnawin,andIwantyoutoknow,it’sokay.”
“Evan—”
“No,really,Fizz.Wehadourshotanditdidn’tworkout.I’mgladIgotyoubackinmylifeagain.AndthatIlaseredoffthatterribletattoo.Goldschl?geristhedevil’ssauce,”hesaysbywayofexplanation,andliftshisbeerforanothertoast.“Whateverhappens,it’sbeenacrazyride.”
Inside,Connoriseasytofindbecausehe’sagiantsurroundedbyagroupofhisadoringfans—Imeanthecrew,butlet’sbehonest,everyoneisatleasteightypercentinlovewithhim.AsifhesensesthatI’vewalkedbackinside,hiseyesimmediatelymeetmineacrosstheroom.Icannotignorethewaytheygoallsoftandrelieved,likehedidn’trelishlettingmeoutofhissight.
Ormaybethat’sthehopetalking.
Idomybesttotemperthathope.Ihurthim,andevenifConnordecideshecantrustmewiththisagain,rationalFizzyknowsthatdoesn’treallychangeanything.IfConnorwaswarnednottofuckthingsup,thenthat’sstillgoingtobetruetomorrow,andnextweek,andthreemonthsfromnow,becausethemagnifyingglasswe’reunderduetotheshow’spopularitysuggestsnosignoflettingup.IntheendImustallowthatmaybeit’sforthebestthatwedidn’tsleeptogetheragain,becauseIverylikelywouldhavefiguredoutawaytodraghimandhisbigringfingerandbigdickallthewaytoVegastomakeitofficial.
Squaringmyshoulders,Ireadymyselfforwhatisprobablyahardconversation,andtiltmyheadtothesidesoheknowsIwanttotalktohiminprivate.Withalittlenod,hebendstosaysomethingtothetwowomenhe’stalkingto,andtracksmymovementacrosstheroom,intothefarcornerwhereanemptytablesitsintheshadows.
Isitwithmybacktothewall,watchinghimashewalkstowardme.It’ssostrangetohaveexperiencedthesefeelingsonlybywritingthem,neverinreality.WhenIsaythatmyheartachesandfeelslikeit’sbeingstretchedinoppositedirectionsbytwofists,Irealizenowthatisn’thyperbole.Lovehurts.
Hesitsacrossfromme,settinghishalf-finishedbeerdownonthetable.“Hi.”
Itakeamomenttoreplywiththesamegreetingbecausetherearesomanyotherwordsatthesurfacepushingforward.Finally,Igowithasafe“Hey.”
“What’sup?”
Idecidetocuttothechase:“IheardaboutSmashCourse.”
Hiseyelidtwitches,jawticks.“Yeah?”
“Yeah.I’msorry.ThingsmustbestressfulforeveryoneoveratNorthStar.”
Henods,liftinghisbeerandfrowningdownatit.“It’sbeenrough,yeah,thanks.”Connortakesalongdrink.
“Sincewearen’tgoingtoseeeachotherlikethisanymore,anditwouldprobablybeunprofessionaltocallyouaftertheshowairsonSaturday,IhadafewthingsIwantedtosay.”
“Fizzy,”hesays,leaningforwardonhisforearms.
ButIholdupahand.“I’mnotaskingyoutochangeyourmind.Igetit.ButI’veneverbeenabletodeliveraromanticdeclarationbefore,andthelasttimeItried—atyourhouse—itwasinterruptedbyyourrejection.SoIjustwanttogetitoffmychest,becauseIthinkitwillfeelgood.”Iraisemyeyebrowsathim.“Isthatokay?”
Henods,swallowingheavily.Itdrawsmyfocustothelonglineofhisneck,andIwatchtheflushcrawlfrombeneaththecollarofhisshirtanduptohisjaw.
“Iloveyou,”Isaytohisneck,andfinallymanagetodragmygazetohis.Hisfresh-leafeyesareinshadow;he’sbacklitwiththeroombehindhim,butevenso,Icanseethewaytheyflickerbackandforthbetweenmine,searching.“Ihavenever,notonceinmylife,feltthiswayforanyone.Whenyouweregettingreadytocasttheshow,andyouaskedmewhatIwantedinapartner,IsaidIwantedsomeonewhocaresabouttherightthings,whoisgoodandworkshard,whodoesn’ttakehimselftooseriously.Youareallthosethingsandmore.Youarekind,andhardworking.Youarepatient,andhonest,andloyal.Iadmireyousomuch.”
Hestaresatmesointently,andIknowhimwellenoughtoknowthathewon’tinterruptme,won’tcrashacrossthetabletokissmesenselessevenifthat’ssecretlywhatIwant.Ilovethathe’srespectfulevenifIcravebeingdisrespectedbyhim,andonlyhim.
“IalsosaidIwantedsomeonethatIwasjustfuckinghotfor,”Isay,“andI’veneverwantedsomeonethewayIwantyou.”
Heswallowsagain,onlynowbreakingeyecontactandstaringdownathisbeer.
“Iwon’tdetailthat,”Itellhim,“becausewe’reinpublicandIalsorealizethatit’snotcooltohaveone-sidedverbalsexwithsomeonewhohasexplicitlysaidthathedoesnotwanttobewithme.”
Connorlaughsalittleatthis,turninghisheatedgazebackuptomine.There’sachallengethere.HopetranslatesitasIdon’trecalleversayingthatIdidn’twanttobewithyou.
“ButI’msayingthatIloveyou,”Icontinue,“becauseIsometimesthinkweasasocietyholdtoomanythingsback.We’reafraidofbeingvulnerableorrejected,we’rescaredthatwe’reweirdorsaythingsthatnooneelsethinks.Andthat’sokay.I’mnotscaredofthatwithyou.IknowI’mbeingrejected,IknowI’mweird,andIknowforafactthatnooneelsethinksexactlywhatI’mthinkingrightnowbecausenooneknowsyouthewayIdo.Noonelovesyouinthisexact,perfect,consumingway.”
“Fizzy,”hesaysquietly,hisfingerstwitchingonthetable.Carefully,hereachesonehandforwardandbrusheshisfingertipsoverthebackofmyhand.
“So,whenyou’rehomelater,andfeelinghoweveryoufeelaboutthisconversation—whetherit’sgrossedout,happy,sad,orconfused—Ijustwantyoutoknowthatthereissomeoneonthisplanetwholovesyouunconditionallyanddeeplybecauseofwhoyouareandhowyoucarryyourself.I’msogladtohaveknownyou,Connor.”
Helooksdownagain,takingaslow,deepbreath.“Idon’tknowwhattosayrightnow.”
“Iknow.Thatwasalot.Youdon’thaveto—”
“No,”hesaysquickly.“Imean,thereissomuchI’dliketosay,andI’mnotsurehowtoarticulateanyofit.”
Ibitemylips,willingmyselftonotspeakoverhim.
“IfyouknowwhathappenedwithSmashCourse,”hesaysslowly,“thenIpresumeyouunderstandwhyIhadtocontinuetostayaway.”
Hopeflaresalive,hotandthrashingbehindmyribs.“Yes.”
Connorlooksatmequizzically.“Iexpectedyoutotellmeit’sallbollocks.”
“Itisbollocks,”Isay.“Butyougettochoosehowyouhandleit.YouclearlyknewthatIwouldn’tcarewhatBlaineoranyoneelsehastosayaboutit,andyoumadethedecisionthat’sbestforyou.HowcanIbeupsetaboutthat?”
Helooksatme,surprised.
“Don’tyougetit,Connor?”Isay.“I’mtellingyouIloveyou.Iwantwhat’sbestforyou,evenifthatisn’tme.”
ConnoropenshismouthtoreplybutBrennaapproachesbehindhim.Icuthimoff.“Brenna’scomingover.”
Turninginhisseat,Connorsmilesather.“What’sup?”
Shelooksshaken.“Doyouhaveasecond?”
“Joinus.”Ipattheseatbesideme.
Butsheshakesherhead.“Sorry,I—IthinkIneedtocoverthisonewithConnorsolo.”Shelowershervoicetohim.“Wehavetheresults.”
Ileanin.“Myresults?”
Neitherofthemlooksatme,butBrennanodsathim.“Iwant—”shesays,andthengivesashakysmile.“YouandRorywillneedtofigureouttheeditplan,that’sall.”
“Oh,right.”Connorturnsbacktome.
Itrytoreadtheforecastinhisexpression.“Iseverythingokay?”
“Everything’sfine.”Hissmileisonlyaflickeracrosshislips.“Weneedtofinishthisconversation,butcanwedoitanothertime?”
Thisentirechangeinvibehasmejitteryanduncomfortable.“Yeah,totally.”Istand.
“Fizzy,”Connorsays.
“Allgood.”Imovearoundhim,buthestopsmewithhishandonmyforearm.
“Imeanit.Weneedtofinishthis.”
Inodbutdon’tsayanythingelse.Itwouldcomeoutstrangledandbrokenanyway.I’mgladItoldhimeverythingIwantedtosay,butIdon’tfeelbetterthewayIexpectedto.Ifanything,Ifeelworse,especiallywiththeprospectoftrulyfinishingthistolookforwardto.forty-nineFIZZY
I’mnotsurprisedthatIdon’thearfromConnorbeforethelivefinalebegins,butIwouldbelyingifIsaidthelastdayandahalfwasn’tlonelyandstressful.EveryoneinmylifeassumedI’dbebusywithsomethingorsomeoneelse,butinreality,Iwasaloneinmylivingroom,eatingicecreamoutofthegalloncontainer,replayingmyconversationatStonewithConnoroverandover,andwatchingoldepisodesofBreakingBadtofeelbetteraboutmylife.Sure,Iconfessedmylovetoamanforthethirdtimewithoutanyreciprocation,butatleastIdon’thaveadeadbodyinthebathtubupstairs.
IdutifullyshowupatthetelevisionstudiodowntownatnoononSaturdayforhairandmakeup,andholdouthopethatI’llgetaglimpseofConnoratsomepoint—evenfromacrosstheroom,I’mnotgreedy—letalonesometimetospeaktohiminprivate.Butifhe’sinthebuildingwithus,Ineverseehim
IdoseeBrenna,Liz,Isaac,Evan,andalloftheHeroeswho’vebeenvotedoffbutwillreturnforthereunionportionoftheshow.We’reusheredaroundfromroomtoroom,beingpowderedandcoiffedandpreppedfortheinterview.Beinginthestudiofeelslikewe’veleveledupinimportance;goneisourcozylittlecoffeeshop,sweetdatesinthepark,andtheillusionthatwhatwe’redoinghereissomesmallindieproduction.Thisisbig.Somehow,evenwiththenewfollowers,beingstoppedinpublic,bestsellerlists,andcallsforinterviews,Ineverquitecomprehendedjusthowbigthishasgotten.Therearesecurityguardswhowalkusfromtrailertostudio.Theentirebuildinghumswithenergy,andalineofpeoplehopingforticketstothelivefinalewrapsaroundseveralcityblocks.
I’mgivenfourchoicesforoutfits,butthetruthis,Idon’treallycarewhatI’mwearing.IfeeloddlynumbasIstepintothedressingroomandpullontheredA-linedressIknowmymotherwilllove,becauseIrealizethatfacingmylifeafterthisisn’tgoingtobeeasier.Ididthisshowforsomesortofjumpstart,inspiration,achangeofperspective.Ifoundsomethingnewinsideme—thefeelingofgenuineloveandpassion—butunattended,Ialreadyfeelitturningintoasharpspurinmythoughts,souring.Inallofmyvisionsfortheshow,neverdidIcomeoutofitsadderthanIwasbefore.
Fromourprepping,we’retoldthattherunofshowwillgoalittlesomethinglikethis:TheHeroeswillbeinterviewedasagroup,withshortvideosshownforeachofthem.Afterthis,I’llbebroughtouttotalkaboutmyexperienceswiththem.Finally,theaudiencevotewillberevealed,followedbytheDNADuoscores.Thewinnerwillbecrownedandhe’llpickmeupinafireman’scarrytotakemeoutofthebuildingandaboardtheplanetoFiji.
Imighthavefictionalizedthatlastpartabit.
BrennasetsmeupoffstagesoIcanwatchthefirstportionfromthewingsaswellasonamonitornearby.Fromtheothersideoftheset,themenfileintoroaringapplause,andLanellegivesabriefintroductiontotheshow,howitstarted,howitgrewinpopularitybeyondanythingweeverimagined.
Insidemychest,myheartfeelslikeawind-uptoycrankedtootight.
Nick,Dax,Colby,Jude,Arjun,andTexareseatedonthelongcouchesoneithersideofLanelle’schair,withIsaacandEvaninthepositionsclosesttoher.
“TheseeightHeroeswereinvitedtojointheshowanddatethemuch-belovedromancenovelistFelicityChen.”Cheersriseagain,andIpeekout,tryingtofindJess,River,Juno,andmyfamilyoutinthedarkmassofbodies.“Thegoalwasnottopullthemoutoftheirday-to-daylivesbuttoseewhoclicked,whoconnected…andwhodidn’t.Everyweek,you—theaudience—votedonwhichHeroyoubelievedwasFizzy’ssoulmate.Andtonight,we’veassembledtheentirecasttodiscusstheirexperiences,theirhopes,andmostofall,theirthoughtsonTheTrueLoveExperiment!”
Thethemesongplays,there’savaguelycheesylightshow,andtheycuttothefirstcommercial.Whenwereturn,thesegmentopenswithamontagereelintroducingeachoftheHeroes’archetypesandshowingthemintheirdailylives,ontheshow,andtalkingaboutmeetingme.TherearewolfwhistleswhenweseeaclipofColbydoingshirtlesspull-ups,somelaughterasArjungetshisshoespolishedbyastreetvendor,fangirlscreamswhenDaxlauncheshimselfoutofanairplane,andthesoundpitcheshigherwhenthevideotransitionstoaclipofIsaacwalkingdownthehallwithapieceofroboticequipmentI’msuretheyhadhimholdasapropsohewouldappearveryHotNerdy.
TheaudiencelaughsasDaxexitsthecaféafterourfirstmeetingandexhalesabreathless“Holy[bleep],she’ssexy.”
Iclapahandovermymouth,holdingbackacackle.
“Fizzyhasthisaura,youknow?”Nicksaysinthevideo.“Confident,strong,grounded.But[longbleep],she’shot.”
Morelaughter,andthenitdoubleswhenArjunsays:“Yeah,Idon’tthinkweconnected.”
TheaudiencecheerswhenIsaacappears.“Fizzyisthekindofwomanamancouldwaithiswholelifeforandnevermeet.Youlookatherandthink,‘Damn,she’sfine,’andthenyoustartaconversationandrealizeshe’sgotyourunningincirclesandyoudidn’tevenrealizeit.”
“Iknewevenwhenwefirstdatedthatshewassomethingspecial,”Evansays.“Awordofadvice:don’tgetaBartSimpsontattoo.”
Thecrowdroars.Thevideomakesmefeelthistighttangleofemotionshighinmythroat.Whycouldn’tIfallforoneofthem?
Whenthefootageends,Lanellewaitsfortheapplausetodiedownbeforeshecomesinforthesalaciouspartoftheshow.
SheaskstheHeroeswhowereeliminatedearlyvaguelycuttingquestionswithasmile—didn’tTexthinkitwasabitsexisttoaskmewhatmyfatherthoughtofmyromancecareer?WhydidColbythinktheaudiencevotedhimoff?DidArjunwatchhisepisode,andhowdidhefeelhecameacross?
ButthenshedialsupthecharmwithDaxandNick,flirtingshamelessly,askingthemwhetherthey’dchangeanythingtheydidorsaidontheshow,whethertheythinkthey’ddoashowlikethisagain.Andthenthere’sasurpriseannouncement:bothDaxandNickwillbebackastheleadsinthesecondseason.
“Holyshit,”Imurmurtomyself.“Holyshit!”
IwonderwhetherConnorisproducingit,orifhe’sfreenow.IfhecandoexactlywhathewantswithoutfearoflosinghisjobandhislifeinSanDiego.Iwanttoaskhim,butIhavenoideawhathappensaftertonight.
“Hi,”adeepwhispercomesfromrightbehindme,andIstartle,clappingahandovermymouthandturning.I’dgivenupthinkingIwouldseeConnoratalltonight,assuminghewaswatchingallofthisupinsomebird’s-eye-vieweditorialsuite.Theinstincttothrowmyarmsaroundhisneckisstrong,butevenstrongeristhedesiretodrinkinthesightofhim.Hishairissoftandfallsacrosshisforehead,buthe’swearingacrispblacksuitwithathinblacktie.Helookssoftanddevilish,cuddlyandpowerful.Heiseverythinginoneman,everyherorightinfrontofme,andittakesallmywillpowernottouselesslydeclaremyloveforafourthtime.
“That’samazingaboutDaxandNick!”
Henods.“Ithinkso,too.”
“AreyouEPagain?”
“Ihaven’tdecided.”Hisvoiceissteady,butthere’ssomethinginhiseyes,sometightnessthatI’veneverseenbefore.
Istepalittlecloser.“Youokay?”
“Yeah.”Hetugsathisshirtsleeveinhissuitjacket,smoothshishandsdownhischest,thenoverhishair.FidgetyConnorisasurrealsight.Heglancesatmeandaway.“You?”
“IwouldsayI’mcomparativelychill.What’swithyou?”
“Finale,”hesayssimply.“Justnervous.”
“Everythingisgoinggreat,”Itellhim.“Haven’tyoubeenwatching?”
“Yeah—just—”Connorsucksadeep,jaggedbreathandthenblowsitout.“Thehardpartiscoming.”
Iturntofacehimfullyandsetmyhandonhischest.This,Iknow:“Everythingisgoingtobeamazing,”Ipromisehim.“Youdon’thaveanythingtoworryabout.Iwillnotletyoudown.”
Henods,andhisgazefallstomymouth,driftingunfocused.
Myheartdecidestoevaporatefrommybody.
“Whateverhappens,”Iwhisper,forcingthewordsout,“wedidthisspectacular,brilliant,once-in-a-lifetimethingtogether,andIwillneverregretit.Iwillneverregretyou.”
Beforethewordsarefullyoutofmymouth,he’salreadyleaningdown,lipsonmine,warmandurgent,hishandscuppingmyface.Surprisepullsacryfrommythroat,butmyinstinctssendtight,possessivefiststothelapelsofhisjacket,andIstretchupontomytoes,eagerforhismouth,desperatefortheaddictingbalanceofdominationandtendernessinhistouch.Idon’tknowwhatthisis,butI’mnofool.I’lltakeanythingthismanwillgiveme.
Withaquietgroan,Connortiltshishead,deepeningthecontactintoadecadentslide,sendingahungryhanddownmybody,cuppingthecurveofmyass,andpullingmetightlyagainsthim.Theotherthreadsfingersintomyhairuntilhe’sholdingthebackofmyheadandpouringeverythinghehasintothekiss.Itistheperfectbalanceofsoftandhard,wetwithteasinglicksandsucks.Hecatchesmybottomlipbetweenhisteeth,dragsslowlyaway,andIchasethecontact,buthestopsme,pressinghisthumbovermylips.
Hestaresathisfinger,conflicted,beforeslidingitawayforafinal,lingeringkiss.
“Connor.”
“You’reright,”hesays.
“Aboutwhat?”
Butapplausebreaksoutinablastofsoundbehindme.Wearebackfromcommercialandthat’smylightcueilluminatingoverhead.
Connorturnsmebodily,gentlypushingmeforward,andinadaze,Iwalkonstage—hairmussed,lipstickgone—tofindoutwhoI’mmeanttospendtherestofmylifewith.fiftyFIZZY
Theroaroftheaudiencefeelslikeahiveofbeesinsidemyhead.Iglanceout,tryingtogaugehowmanypeoplearehere,butthestagelightsareblinding.Ican’tseeanything.
Whatjusthappened?
DidConnorjustkissmegoodbye?
Thesethasbeenrestructured,withaloveseatinsertedbesideLanelle’schair,andthetwosofaswithalltheHeroesputofftotheside,onenexttowhatIpresumeismyloveseat,andtheotherbehind,onarisersotheysitintworowsoffour.Ipresumewhoeverwinstheaudiencevotewillcomesitbesideme,butthemomentIsitdownaloneonthetwo-seater,Ifeelweirdlyexposedandself-conscious.
MylipsstilltinglefromthefeverofConnor’smouth.
Ihaveacoupleofminutestogetmyselftogetherasthevideomontageofmylifeplays;inthedarkness,aSWATteamofhairandmakeupartistsrushesintofixthedamage.On-screen,I’mshownwriting(LOL),jogging(there’salonecacklefromthefrontrow;I’lldiscussthatwithyoulater,JessicaMariePe?a),andbodysurfinginPacificBeach(welp,that’squiteawedgie).God,inhindsight,whydidn’tIsaynotoanyoftheseideas!Anaccurateportrayalofmylifewouldbemedouble-dippingtortillachipsintoagiantbowlofguacamolewithCrashLandingonYouplayingonthetelevisionfortheseventiethtimeandmylaptopgatheringdustinthecorner.ButIguessthatdoesn’tscreamHeroinematerial.
Whenthevideoends,wecoverwhatwealreadyknow:thatIpreviouslydatedEvanandhatedhistattoo;thatArjunandIhadnochemistry;thatTexandJuderubbedmethewrongway;thatDaxandIlookedlikewewantedtoeateachotherbutdidn’tactuallyhavethatmuchincommon;andthatIhadgreatchemistrywithNick,Isaac,andEvan.
Weallbanter,weallbickerplayfully.Webreakforcommercial,andwhileeveryoneisjokingandchatting,Ifeelmypulsestarttoclimb.We’realmostthere.Almostthere.OddsaregoodI’mgoingtopukeonlivetelevision.
Iwanttobedonewiththis,butalsoneverwantittoend.Idon’tknowhowtomaintainarelationshipwithConnoraftertheshowisover,orevenwhetherIshould.It’sweirdtobethirty-sevenbutonlynowlearninghowtodothis:confessmyfeelings,goafterwhoandwhatIwantinmyromanticlife,managerejection.Ineverexpectedtobethekindofpersontohaveahardtimelettinggo.
Thelightsrise,signalingwe’reback.MypalmsaresweatyandIresisttheurgetowipethemonmydressbecauseI’msureitwouldbeveryobviousthatI’mfreakingthehelloutrightnow.We’regoingtofindouttheaudiencevote.We’regoingtofindoutourscores.We’regoingtofindoutthenameofmysoulmate.
ButthenLanellesurprisesme.
“Well,theeightofyouweren’ttheonlyHeroeswithardentfans,”shesays.“Therewasalsothesurprisefanfavorite;isn’tthatright,Fizzy?”
Thecrowdgoesinsane.
Iblink,caughtoffguard,butmanagetorecover.“Iassumeyou’retalkingaboutthehotproducer,ConnorPrinceIII?”
Lanellelaughs.“That’sexactlywhoImean.Beforewegettothebigreveals,let’sspendalittletimewiththemastermindbehindthisshow.Connor,comeonout.”
IfIthoughttheaudiencewasloudbefore,it’snothingcomparedtothegreetinghegets.ThereactiontotheHeroeswascheering;thisischeeringmixedwithpocketsofoutrightscreaming,thekindofhigh-pitchedhysteriaIlastheardattheWonderlandconcert.
Connorstepsonstagewithashysmile,allsixfootfiveofhimmanagingtolookhumble,andIamarealidiotbecauseonlynowdoIrealizetheotherspotonthisloveseatisforhim.
Theentiretimehewalksacrossthestagetowardme,hisgazeisfixedonmine.
Hesitsdownandsmilesoveratme.“Hi.”
Hislong,muscularthighispressedalongmine,andnottobedramatic,butitisthemosteroticsensationofmyentirelife.
“Hi,yourself,”Isay,plummetingdeeperintothisintenseeye-contactthingwe’redoing.“Ididn’tknowwegottoembarrassyouonlivetelevision.”
Connor’sgreeneyestwinkle.“Ihadtogiveyouonelastgoofitbeforetheseasonended.”
Lanellecutsin.“Thisisthechemistrywe’retalkingabout,”shesays,gesturingtous.“Fizzy,IheardthattheonlyreasonConnordidtheconfessionalswasbecauseyouputitinthecontract?”
“Inasense,”Isay,stillsmilingathim.“Onourfirstdayoffilming,ItoldhimI’dwalkifhedidn’tdoit.”
Lanellefrownsdramatically.“That’sprettyextreme.”
“It’salsoalie,”Connorsays,laughing.“She’sonlysayingthatsoshelookstough.”
“Letmehavethis!”Iplayfullyshovehim,andtheaudiencebreaksoutintolaughter.“Heneverletsmegetawaywithanything.”
“Inallsincerity,thelessonhereisformetoneverdoubtFizzy,”Connorsays,andtheaudienceAwwwwws.
“Butlisten,”Lanellesays.“Thetwoofyoureallyhadanamazingconnectionon-screen.”
Uneasethrumsbeneathmyskin.Idon’twanthertoputConnoronthespotlikethis.“Acorpsewouldhavechemistrywiththisman,Lanelle.Beserious.”
TheConnorfangirlsintheaudiencescream.
“No,no,thisissomethingspecial.Takealook.”Shegesturestothescreen,whereamontageofphotosbeginsandtakesmybreathaway:Connorandmeonset,huddledaroundamonitor;thetwoofussidebysideatthecaféthatfirstweek,himholdinghisicedcoffeeforme,lettingmedrinkfromhisstraw.OnewhereI’mfeedinghimabiteofpastaatacrewlunchbreak;anotherwhereI’mstandingbehindhimmakingascrewballfaceandbunnyearswhileConnorandRorystareatsomethingonaclipboard.
Ilookoverathim,wonderingwhatthehellthisis,whatisgoingon,buthe’ssmilinggiddilyupatthescreenanddoesn’tturnatthepressureofmyattentiononhisface.
ThenthescreencutstoaphotoweaskedapasserbytotakeofusattheBroad—
Myheartarmy-crawlsupmythroat,seekingemotionalcover.
—thenaselfieatTheRockyHorrorPictureShow,thentomescreamingasIdanglefromaharnessattheclimbinggymandConnorlaughshisassoffwithhistwofeetplantedsafelyonthefloor.There’saphotoofthedayweeachtriedtoeattacosonsetinonebite(hewon),andanotherfromwhenheliftedmeupsidedownandcarriedmetotheconfessionaltrailerbecauseIwasbeingtoochattywithLizandBrenna.There’samomentIdon’tevenrememberwhereI’mwatchingfootagefromtheday’sshootandConnorisbehindme,bothhandsonmyshoulders.WhentheslideshowcutstoanimageofthetwoofuswithJunoandSteviejustbeforetheWonderlandconcertstarted,thecrowd’scheeringtakesonadifferenttenor.Realityissettinginforthem—andforme.
They’rewatchingusfallinlove.
Thegirls’facesaren’tblurredout,meaningNat,Jess,andRiverhadtohavegivenpermissionforthistobeshown,andIfeelmyshockspreadintoacanyonofconfusioninsideme.What’shappening?Ilookoutintotheaudience,searchingforwhereIknowthey’llbe,rightupfront,butit’samassofdarkness.Mypulseisgunfireinmythroat,relentless.
“Arealfriendship,”LanellesaysasthescreenstillsonaphotoofmelaughinghystericallyinBalboaParkand,justtotheside,Connorgazingatmewithunmaskedadoration.“Somefanseventhoughtthereallovestorywasrighthere.”
Theaudienceburstsintoscreamingcheers.Alonewoman’svoicerisesoutofthedarktheater,“Kissher,DaddyPrince!”
IturntolookatConnor,whoslowlyturnstomeetmygaze.
Lanelleasks,“Doyouknowhowmanyfansthetwoofyouhaveonline?”
IttakesabeatbeforeIrealizeshe’saskingme.Ibreakmygazefromhis,turninginslowmotionbacktoLanelle,shakingmyhead.Mycraniumweighsseventhousandpounds.“I’mnotsupposedtotracktheshow’sactivityonline,andfranklyitwasagoodexcusenottogoonTwitteratall.”Arippleofamusementspreadsthroughtheroom.
“Connor?Whatdidyoumakeofallofthis?”
“Well,obviouslyIdidn’tplantobeinfrontofthecamera.”Heswipesahandoverthetopofhissofthair.“Iadmitit’snotwhereI’mmostcomfortable.”
Achorusofsympatheticcoosdriftsoutfromtheaudience.
“ButFizzywasright,”hesays,holdinguphishandsasifdefendingme.“Itworked.Itwasfun,wasn’tit?”Heturnstolookatme,andhiseyesdroptomymouth.“Everyoneknowsit.Fizzyissmart,andfunny,andmakeseveryonefeelgood.”Heexhalesslowly.“Sheisthebestmood.”
Thecrowdabsolutelylosesitsshitoverthis,andIgazeathimlikeNo,seriously,whatareyoudoing?
“Ibarelygoonsocialmedia,”hesaystomeasifwe’retheonlypeopleintheroom.“ButevenIstartedtorealizethatpeoplelikedourdynamic.”Hesmiles.“Ilikeit,too.”
Fuck,myheart.
“Andfromthesoundofit,”Lanellesays,“therearequiteabunchofCizzyshippersinthistheater!”
“Cizzy?”ImouthtoConnor,whoshrugssweetly.Intothemic,Isay,“Ihadnoideawehadashippername,Lanelle.”
“Canweturnthehouselightsupabit?”Lanelleasks,andtheaudiencebecomessoftlyilluminated.“Raiseyourhandoutthereifyou’reaCizzystan,”shecallsout.
Iblinkinamazementatallofthehandsthatshootup,andthenturnwhenthere’smovementbesideme.Tex,Colby,andDaxareallholdinguptheirhands,too.
Lanelleturnstothem,laughing.“Youthree?”
Daxnodswithagiantgrinonhisface.“ItwaseasytolosewhenIknewIdidn’thaveashottobeginwith.”
“Ivotedforthem,”Texadmits.
“Me,too,”saysColby.
“Wedon’tevenknowtheresultsyet!”Icry,strugglingtomaintainagrasponwhat’shappening.“Whatisgoingonhere?”
IlookoveratConnor,whoreachesformyhandandfoldsitbetweenhis.Ahushfallsoverthevasttheater.“What’sgoingonisthatI’mthrowingmyhatinthering.”
Pandemoniumrises,allaroundus.Mostpeopleinthefrontfewrowsareevenontheirfeet.
Backstagehesaid,Thehardpartiscoming,andIknownowthathemeantthis:puttinghimselfinthespotlightforme,insertinghimselfnotonlyasaherobutTheHero,riskingeverythingforus.Devotionsqueezesmyheartinatightfist.
“Isthisgoingtobeokay?”Iaskhimquietly.Hisjob,hislifehere,everything.
Heleansforward,whisperinginmyear,“Itoldyoubacktherethatyouwereright.”He’sreadmymind.Connorpullsbackjustenoughtosmileatme.“Thankyouforremindingme:Everythingisgoingtobeamazing.”
Ithitsmelikeaphysicalshove:HetrustsmeasmuchasItrusthim.HecametomeinthewingsforthesamereassuranceI’vealwayssoughtoutinhim.Somehow,eveninfrontofmillions,wehavefoundasafespaceineachother.
Ican’thandlethis,can’thandlewhatthisisdoingtomyheart.Ifthisisagrandgesture,Icouldneverhavewrittenit,neverhaveimaginedthefeelingthatwouldswellinsidemeuntilIfeellikeIcan’tspeak,can’teventhink
Connorsqueezesmyhand,sayingtotheaudience,“WefiguredIshouldgetequalscreentime,butofcoursethatisn’tpossible.So,Imadeyousomethingmyself.”Liftinghischin,hegesturestothescreenagain,andthehouselightsdimbackdown.TheopeningnotesofmyfavoriteWonderlandsong,“Joyful,”begin,andIfeelaswellofemotionI’mnotsureI’llbeabletoholdback.
Therearevideoclipsofthetwoofusjokingonset,methrowingawadded-upnapkinathim.Footageofuseatinglunchtogether,alwaysseparatedbyafewfeetfromtherestofthegroup;inanotherclipwe’resittingatatablealone,noodlingonourphonesbutsilentlytogether.There’sfootageofustryingtolearnaTikTokdancetogetherandcrackingup,andthenaquick-cutcompilationoffootageofmepokinghimintheribseverytimeIwalkpastthathastheaudienceinhysterics.
ThenextfewclipsshowConnorpatientlygivingusfeedbackonsetwhileIwatchhimwithtrusting,wideeyes,nodding.Myloveisassubtleasabricktotheface,andI’dbeembarrassedbythewayI’mobviouslyinfatuatedwithhimifitweren’tsoobviouslyreciprocated.WhoevercapturedthefootageofhimwatchingmecookintheindustrialkitchenandplanttreeswithJudeisagenius;Connorlookslikehe’swatchinghisfavoriteshow.
Thesongends,thescreenturnsblack,andIthinkthat’stheendofituntilthestarklyclearsoundofmyownvoicesurprisesme,backedbyquietmusic:“Shouldwetalkaboutlastnight?”
Theaudiencelaughsattheimplication,andohGod.Iknowwhatthisis.Theveryfirstdayofshooting,whenmymicwaslive.Mortificationwashesicycoldthroughme.Islapahandtomyforeheadandtheaudiencevibrateswithexcitementoverthesalaciousthingstocome.
Thevideoon-screenisstillblack,butConnor’sansweringpauseandthenmeasuredreplyoveraudioleavesnoquestionthathe’stryingtocoverforwhatIreallymeant:“Youmeanourconversationabouttoday’srunofshow?”
Myblasting,“Yes!Ofcoursethatconversation!Whatotherthingwouldwehavetodiscuss?”sendstheaudienceintowavesoflaughter.
Brennaappearson-screen,sittingbesideRoryonthesofaintheconfessionaltrailer.“Honestly,thatthosetwowereheadoverheelswasobvioustoallofusfromthebeginning.”
NowRory:“God.Shewasconstantlylookingathim.”
Thisisfollowedbyahilariousquick-cutmontageofallthetimesIglancedatConnorduringfilming.Sittingatthecafétable,intheindustrialkitchen,atthepark,inthespalookingforConnorwhenhewasn’teventhere.Thevideospeedsup,clipafterclipofscoresoftimeswhereI’mglancingover,lookingforhim.MorethanIeverimaginedI’ddone,andIknewIlookedforhimalot
It’shilarious.
Ibend,pressingmyheadintomyhandsastheaudiencecheers.
ButthenIstraightenatBrenna’svoiceagain:“Yeah,butConnorwasjustasbad.”
Nowthere’samontageofConnor’sfaceeverytimeaHerotouchedme,leanedinclose,mademelaugh,flirtedwithme.Thecompilationishilarious—Daxandmeonthefirstdate,andaquickcuttoConnorscowlingatthemonitor;Nickfeedingmeacherry,andConnorappearingtobreathedeeplywithhiseyespointedattheceiling;Evanbracedbehindmeonthefishingboat,andConnorstaringdaggersathisback.Theaudienceiseatingitup,screamingwithamusement.TheHeroes,too,areinhysterics.
Isaacappearson-screen.“Ithinkweallnoticedit,butatfirstitdidn’tfeelliketheyweredatingsomuchasjustreallygoodfriends.”
ThenDax:“Thosetwoaredefinitelyhittingit.”
Theaudiencecheersbawdily.
Nicksays,“Ithinkhetriedtofightit,butthere’snodoubthe’sgotathingforher,”andColby,standingbesidehimsomeunknownnight,says,“AndFizzydidn’twantanyofusbecauseshewantedhim.It’shardtobemadwhenyouseetwopeoplefallinginlove.”
IlookoveratConnorandrealizehe’sbeenwatchingme.Ofcourseheis;hesaidheputthistogether.Andthenithitsme—I’veseentheseoutfitsonNickandColbybefore.Theyworethemtothewrapparty.
“Youdidthis?”Iaskquietly.“JustonThursday?”
Henods,andthenliftshischintothescreenformetowatchwhat’snext
We’resittingintheconfessionaltrailer,facingeachother.Webothlookmiserableandmyheartbottomsoutinmychest.It’sthefirstbitoffootagefromthatagonizingconfessionalonourlastdayoffilming.
Thepartofthatconfessionalthatneveraired.
“Howareyoufeelingenteringthisfinaldate?”Connorasks.
“Relieved,”Isay,andstareathimsquarely.Irememberthatfeeling,shovingmydevotionoutintotheairbetweenus,tryingtogethimtoseehowmuchIlovedhim.It’swrittenplainlyonmyface.
Connor’sexpressiontightens,hiseyessearchingmine.Seeinghimlikethis,Idon’tknowhowIkeptittogether
Hismaskslipsagain.“Relievedwhy?”
“BecauseitmeanssoonIcanstoppretendingIwantsomeoneotherthanyou.”
“Fizzy,”hesays,glancinginpanicatthecamera,“you—youcan’tsaythat.”
Iliftmychin.“Edititout,then.”
Withalong,slowexhale,Connorreachestoturnthecameraoff.Thescreengoesblack.
Thehouselightscomebackonandit’sasilentbeatbeforetheaudienceerupts,thunderously,standingintheirseats.
MyhandissoslipperyinConnor’sgripthatIwanttowrenchitfreeandwipeit,butIdon’tdare;hesubtlyturnsitover,pressingittohisleg.Theaudiencescreamsagainastheywatchhimflattenmyhandtohisupperthigh
Thesepeoplewouldsufferfromcardiacarrestiftheyeversawthismanperforminbed.
“Well,Connor,lookslikeyou’veofficiallyenteredthiscompetition,”Lanellesayscoyly,andforsomereasonmyheartdrops,likeI’dforgottenwhywe’reallhere.“Iguessweneedtofindouthowtheaudiencevoted.”
Sheexplainsthatvotingtookplaceonsocialmedia,whereitwastrackedbyanobjectivethird-partycontractor,andrattlesoffthestatisticsabouthowmanyvotescameinthefirstweekandhowmanycameinforthefinale.Thenumbersarestaggering.Thelightsdimandthenslowlyturnredfor,Iguess,suspense.AndthenLanellesays,“With41.2percentofthevote…theaudiencechoseIsaac!”
Thereisapause,andthenloud—butpolite—applause.
“However,”Lanellesays,smirkingatthecrowd,andIrealizethatofcourseshe’sinonthis,too.“Therewasabitofasurprise.Anyoneknowwhatitis?”Theaudienceshoutsoutaboutahundreddifferentunintelligiblethingsbeforeshemotionsforthemtoquietdownandmakesashowofexamininghercuecards.“Inacompletelyunprecedentedturnofevents,ConnorPrinceappearstohavereceived38.6percentofthevote,andhewasn’tevenacontestant.”Mayhemeruptsandshehastoshoutovertheroaroftheaudience.Eventhecrewbehindthecamerasischeering.
Idon’tneedJess’snerdymathskillstoknowthat38.6percentofthevoteismillionsofpeople.MillionsofpeoplewhowantConnortobewithme.Buttheonlytwothatmatteraresittingtogetheronthecouch.Ilookathim;hissmilehoverssomewherebetweenshy,smug,andcompletelyoverwhelmed.
Ileanin,whichonlymakestheuproararoundusintensify.“Didyouknowaboutthis?”
Connorliftsasingleshoulder,hissmilewidening,andmyheartswells,waytoobiginmybody.
“Allright,allright,”Lanellesays,tryingtogettheshowbackontrack.“Buttherealquestionisstillinfrontofus:Didtheaudience—that’sallofyou—predictwhichoftheseHeroesisFizzy’ssoulmate,asdeterminedbytheDNADuo?”
Shegoesinorderofelimination.Surprisingnoone,TexisaBaseMatch.However,ArjunturnsouttobeSilver.JudeandColbyareBase;NickandDaxarebothSilver.Sadly,EvanisaBaseMatch,buttheaudiencevibrates,knowingwhatthatmeans:IsaacismyGoldMatch.With41.2percentvotingforhim,theaudiencegotitright.
Lanelleconfirmsit;confettiblastsfromhiddencannonsinthestage.Thebulbsontheretrologoflashandcycleintimewithmusic;acacophonyofsmall,glitteryfireworksgoesoffbehindus.ThecamerazoomsinonIsaac,whosehandsomefaceappearson-screen.Hethrowshisarmsupintheair,wavesattheaudience,hamsitup,andtradeshighfivesandhandshakeswiththeotherHeroes.Istandupandgivehimabighug.EvenConnorisapplauding.
Butamidallthecelebratorychaos,morequestionslinger.
DidConnordotheDNADuo,too?Dotheyhaveourscore?
Theaudiencesettlesandananticipatoryhumfillsthetheater.Wealltakeourseatsagain,andLanelleturnstomeandConnoronthecouch.“You’veprobablyguessedthere’sonemorethingweneedtodiscuss:ConnoralsosubmittedasamplefortheDNADuo.”
Myheartfeelslikeit’sgoingtojackhammeritswayoutofmybody.“Isuspectedthatmightbewherethiswasheading.”
“Sohereweare,”shesayswithasmallsmile.“Themomentoftruth.Howareyoufeeling?”
Theanswerissimple,andIdirectittoConnor:“Idon’tcarewhatitis.”
“Idon’t,either.”Butthenhegrins.
“Doyouknowwhatitis?”
Henods.
“DoIwanttoknow?”
Theaudiencelaughs.
“Ican’ttellyouthat,”hesays.“It’suptoyou,sweet.”Connortakesmyhand,settingitbackonhisthigh.“Icertainlywon’tforceyoutofindoutonlivetelevision.”
Theaudienceprotestsvehemently,andIknowthatevenifhedoesn’tforcemeto,Ihaveto.I’mnotadummy.IfIleavethisamystery,I’llgetshivvedinthealleywaybehindthestudio.
“Whatifit’slow?”Iask.
Connorreachesoutandstrokesathumbacrossmycheekbone.Hesmiles,seeingonlymeinthisenormoustheaterfullofpeople,andineverygrandgestureoremotionalclimaxI’veeverwritten,thisistheexpressionIwasgoingfor.Beinglookedatthiswayissomuchbetterinreality.“Asmartwomanexplainedtomethatyou’remanythousandsoftimesmorelikelytofindyoursoulmatewithaBaseMatchthanevergetaDiamondMatch.”
ItsinksinthatthismeanshetalkeditoutwithJess,thathewenttoherforcontext,orsimplyforreassurance,andIfeellituplikeaflareinside
MymindracesthroughmylastlistofDNADuomatches,andhowcertainIwasthatknowingthescoreswouldinfluencehowIfelt.ButevenifLanelletoldmewehadthefirstzeroinhistory,IwouldstillchooseConnortonightandeverynightfortherestoftime.
“Honestly,I’dbeokaywithanythingaslongasIhaveyou.”
“Youhaveme.”Hereachesintohisjacketpocketandpullsouttheenvelope.“Youwanttofindout?”
Itaketheenvelopewithahandthatshakeslikeafeatherinahurricane.
Connorswallows,sayingquietly—andveryardently,“Nomatterwhatitsays,pleaseknowthatIloveyoumadly.”
Andthen,accompaniedbythewildscreamsofthecrowd,heleansinandsetshismouthonmine.
Itisakissthatstartssmall,mindfulofthefactthatweareontelevision,sharingthismomentwithmillions.Butacocktailofemotionrisesinme—infatuation,relief,elation,anddesire—andIcan’thelpthewaymyhandrisestohisneck,thewaymymouthsoftensagainstthefullbowofhisupperlip,thedelectableswellofhislowerlip,thecurved,amusedcorner.Withoutquestion,itwillbecleartoeveryonewatchingthatwehavedonethisbefore.
Assoonasoureyesopen,ablastofasmiletakesovermyface.“Iloveyou,too.”
AndthenIsuckinabreathandriptheenvelopeopen.fifty-one
Post-FinaleConfessionalTranscript
ConnorPrince:Well.FelicityChen.Hereweare.
FizzyChen:Hereweare.
Connor:Howareyoufeeling?
Fizzy:I’mfeelinglikeIwasdrivenacrosstowntofilmaconfessionalinthistrailerwhenIshouldhavebeendriventoyourhousetofilmourfirstsextape.
Connor:[laughs]Imeanabouttonight,thefinale,andtherevelationofourscore,youmuppet.
Fizzy:Oh,itwasthebestnightofmylife.Thesurprises,thecelebrationwitheveryoneonstage,theafter-party.
Connor:God,therearegoingtobesomehorrendoushangoverstomorrow.
Fizzy:Texwasdrinkingbeeroutofhishat.
Connor:Idon’tthinkNickeverfoundhisshoes.
Fizzy:Yes,well,somepoorchoicesweremade,butnotbyus.
Connor:Indeed.Ournightisonlygoingtogetbetter.
Fizzy:Promise?
Connor:Oh,Ipromise.
Fizzy:Inthatcase,Ithinkit’sfittingthatourscorefallsinthecategoryofTitaniumMatches.[winksatthecamera]
Connor:Ibelievethat’sanerectionjokeandI’mgoingtomoveon.
Fizzy:YoualwaysassumeI’mbeingdirty.Maybeitwasjustajokeaboutthestrengthofourbond.
Connor:Wasit?
Fizzy:No,itwasanerectionjoke.
Connor:Youareensuringthatthisfootageneverseesthelightofday,aren’tyou?
Fizzy:Whenwereyougoingtoshowthisanyway?Thefinalewaslive!
Connor:Ipresumetherewillbedemandforafollow-uporreunionepisodeofsomesort.Brennasaid“trending”and“viral”aboutsevenhundredtimestonight.
Fizzy:Okay,thenjusteditmybonerjokeoutwithbleepsandeggplantemojis;what’ssohard?
Connor:Ah,notetoselftoaddacymbalcrashthere.
Fizzy:See,Ididn’tevenmeantomakethatpun!You’reasbadasIam.
Connor:Maybethat’swhythisistruelove.
Fizzy:Ithinkwithascoreofeighty-eight,therearealotofreasonswhythisistruelove.
Connor:Whydon’tyoucomeoverhereandshowmeone?
[Editor’snote:Minutesthreetotwenty-sevenhavebeenintentionallycutfromfootage.]
Connor:Right.We’llcutthat.
Fizzy:You’vegotlipstickonyour…justthere.
Connor:Ah.Cheers.Allright.Wherewerewe?
Fizzy:Truelove.
Connor:Truelove.
Fizzy:Ourhappilyeverafter.
Connor:Theonethingyoupromiseyourreaderswhentheypickuponeofyourbooks.YouknowmoreabouttheimportanceofanHEAthanmosteveryonewatchingthis.
Fizzy:Youknow,itmakesmealittlesadthatallthesepeoplewatchedtheshow,theywantedustogether,andtheywon’tbeabletoseeitplayout.Ourfutureisgoingtobeamazing.[looksatthecamera]Iamnotvolunteeringforanotherrealityshow,Blaine.
Connor:Well,youcouldtelltheviewersallaboutitrightnow.
Fizzy:Allaboutourhappilyeverafter?
Connor:Sure.What’sitlooklike,doyoureckon?
Fizzy:Oh,wow.Okay,well,wewrapthisupandgobacktomyplace,wherewedon’tleavethebedforafulltwenty-fourhours.
Connor:Ilikethisfuturealready.
Fizzy:Wespendnextweekwithfriendsandfamily.Isaacenjoyshisprizemoney,andIchooseyoutogowithmetoFiji.
Connor:Notsurethat’sgoingtoflywiththeNorthStarexecutives.
Fizzy:Technically,IgettochoosewhoI’mtaking.
Connor:Idon’tdoubtyourabilitytoargueyourcasewithBlaine.
Fizzy:Whenwegetback,it’sbetterthanwecouldhaveeverimagined.Peoplegiveusourprivacyandwetakeacouplemonthsoffbeforebeginningpreponthesecondseason.
Connor:We?
Fizzy:I’myournewco-producer,don’tyouknow?
Connor:Ah.Noted.
Fizzy:YoucosplayasLukeSkywalkeratComic-ConandI’myourYodabackpack.
Connor:Adreamcometrueformetocarryyouaroundinadense,sweatycrowd.
Fizzy:Wemoveintogethernextsummer.
Connor:Whenitfeelsright,IaskSteviehowshewouldfeelabouthavingafellowWonderlandstanforastepmother.
Fizzy:Iacceptyourproposalbeforethequestionisevenoutofyourmouth.
Connor:Ourweddingisthebestpartyeverthrown.
Fizzy:Debaucheryismybrand.
Connor:Andeverydayofmylifefromthispointforward,IwillbeabletosincerelysayIloveandcherishyouwitheveryfiberofmybeing.
Fizzy:JesusChristthat’sswoony.Canwegetstartedonthisfuturenow?
Connor:Yes,mydarling.Wecan.acknowledgments
WhenwefinishedTheSoulmateEquationin2020,weassumedwe’dwritteneverythingweintendedtointhatworld.Jess,River,andJunofoundtheirhappilyeverafter,andthatwasthat.You,dearreaders,hadotherplans.SoulmatewasreleasedinMayof2021,we(virtually)headedoutontour,andatliterallyeveryeventwegotthesamequestion:
IsFizzygettingherownbook?
Wewerealittlethrown.Wecreatesecondarycharactersforlotsofreasons—topuncturemomentsoftensionwithcomedy,tochallengetheheroineonherjourney,ortoprovideasatisfyingB-storyarc—butrarelyaretheytheretobecomestarsintheirownright.Weneverhadagoodanswertothis,butthemorepeopleasked,themorewerealizedwereallyneededone;saying“Neversaynever”didn’tflywithmanyofyou.Andthen,oneday,therightideaappeared.Itprobablydidn’thappenlikealightbulbgoingon,butinhindsightitfeelsalittlelikethat,likethebeginningofFizzy’sstoryjustpoppedupinaconversationbetweenthetwoofus:shehadlostherjoy,andfindsitagaininthemostunlikelyplace—withamanwhoevadesallofherattemptstoslapaconvenientlabelonhim,whoseeshermanylayersanddepths,andwhofindshisownjoyinherinfectiousexuberance.
Tobeclear,ifwehadplannedonwritingaromanceauthorasamaincharacterfromtheget-go,wewouldhaveprobablycreatedFizzyabitdifferentlyinTheSoulmateEquation.Romanceauthorsare,toputitbluntly,givenalotofshitforwhatwedo.Wegetaskedininterviewswhetherwearewritingourfantasies;wegetaskedwhatourfathersandhusbandsthinkofourcareers;wegetaskedifwe’vedoneeverythingwedescribeinourbooks.So,forobviousreasons,westruggledatfirsttoknowhowmuchtoleanintoFizzy’ssex-positivityandexuberantdatinglife.Wedidn’twanttoplayintothoseoutsidestereotypes.ButitturnsoutthatitwasaseasyastypingthewordPrologue.Fizzyflowedoutofuslikewewereexhaling.Itmeantthattherealtroubleblindsidedus:Whatherocouldpossiblydeserveher?
IttookawhiletofindConnorinthepages.He’saquieterhero,asturdy,bedrockpresence.Wewrotehiminlayers,carefullycarvinghimintothestorywitheachpassingrevisionuntilhewasasfullyformedanddimensionalaswasourboldandbrightFizzy.Andtonight,aswereaditthroughonelasttimebeforeitgoestopress,wethinkitisthebestthingwe’veeverdone.TheTrueLoveExperimentisthethirtiethbookwe’vewrittentogetherandisourlovelettertoromanceandfandomandfangirlseverywhere.
Andasalways,althoughwewritethewords,ittakesanenormousteamofwonderfulpeopleworkingtirelesslybehindthescenestogetitintoyourhands.
HollyRoot,ourDiamondMatch,wemustalwaysputyoufirst.Youfoundusintheslushpilealmostexactlyelevenyearsago;twenty-ninepublishedbookslaterandwestillstareatyouwithheart-eyes.Youarewiseandkind,funnyandintuitive,ruthlessandbrilliant—perfectforusinallways.KristinDwyerisourPRRep,ourPrecious,oursafespace.Thankyouforgettingourbooksintotheworld,forwearingdorkyhatswithusatDisneyland,andalwaysbeingupforbooktourhotelbreakfast.Dracarys.
JenProkopisoneofthemostbrilliantfreelanceeditorswehaveeverworkedwith;shefindstheweakspotsinourmanuscriptlikeit’shersuperpower.Thankyouforyourcarefulreads,yourwonderfulinsights,andalwayshavingtheperfectbookrecommendationatyourfingertips.
We’vesaiditbefore,we’llsayitagain:Gallery/Simon&Schusterhasbeenthebesthometousforeverysingleoneofourbooks.JenBergstromistherarekindofpublisherwhomanagestobalancementor,champion,coach,friend,andbusinesswomanwithouteverlosinganounceofprofessionalism.Wearetrulyinaweoftheteamyou’vebuilt.HannahBraaten,workingonFizzywithyouhasbeenthemostfun;thankyouforperfectlyrepresentingusineveryroomandhelpingusmakethisoneexactlywhatwehopeditwouldbe.Enormousthankstotherestofthebrillianteditorialteam,AbbyZidle,AiméeBell,AndrewNguyên,SarahSchlick,MiaRobertson,FrancesYackel;salespowerhousesJenLong,ElizaHanson,andalloftherepswepromisedourfirstbornsto—hopethey’rebehavingthemselves,LOL;ouramazingpublicityteam,LaurenCarrandSallyMarvin;marketinggeniusesMackenzieHickeyandAnabelJimenez;theever-patientandbrilliantlycreativeartdirectorsLisaLitwackandJohnoftheMustacheVairo(youcannevershaveit;thinkofalltheacknowledgmentswe’dhavetoedit).Ourbrilliantcopyeditorsfindourmistakesandmakesuretheworldneverlearnsthatwecan’tcorrectlyplaceacommaoreveruseacalendar.ProductioneditorChristineMastersiscalled“theamazingChristine”inprettymucheveryemailanddeservesit.TheSimonAudioteamisfullofstars:SarahLieberman,ChrisLynch,LouisaSolomon,TomSpain,DesireeVecchio,GabyAudet,TarynBeato,andSophieParens.Thankyoutoeverypersonwhotouchesourbooks,whetherwithacomputerordoingthephysicalworkofputtingthemtogetherandgettingthemwheretheyneedtogo.
HeatherBaror-Shapiro,thankyouforgettingourwordsintothehandsofreadersacrosstheglobe.MaryPender-Coplan,youarepuremagic.Yourcallsareourfavorite.MattSugarman,thankyouforalwaysrepresentingourinterestswiththedeepestcommitment;youareabadass.MollyMitchell,thankyouuntiltheendoftimeformanagingthecalendarandkeepingusorganized.YouareGOLDEN.
Tothefriends,colleagues,andauthoridolswhoinspireus,shareourfangirlscreams,orwhokeepusfrombeingmessyallovertheInternet,weloveyou:ErinService,KatieLee,KateClayborn,SarahMacLean,AliHazelwood,SusanLee,JenniferCarlson,JessicaMcLin,BrieStatham,AmySchuver,MaeLopez,LauraWichems,KianMaleki,BiancaJimenez,JoriMendivil,CathrynCarlson,YsabelNakasone,AdrianaHerrera,KatherineCenter,JenFrederick,DianePark,KresleyCole,ErinMcCarthy,SallyThorne,SonaliDev,AlishaRai,ChristopherRice,SarahJ.Maas,SarahWendell,TaherehMafi,RansomRiggs,StephaniePerkins,HelenHoang,TessaBailey,RachelHawkins,RosieDanan,RachelLynnSolomon,RebekahWeatherspoon,LesliePhillips,AlexaMartin,JillianStein,LizBerry,BrittainyC.Cherry,AndieJ.Christopher,CandiceMontgomery,andCatherineLu.
ToLo’sBlueFlowers:Iadoreyouallsomuch.
ThankyoutoourUKpre-readersforhelpinguswithConnor’svoiceandvocab:LindseyKelk,KatyWendt,LiaLouis,andPaigeThompson.HopefullyhesoundslikeagoodNorthernlad,butifhedoesn’t,blameus.
AfterpublishingTheSoulmateEquation,wewerethrilledtohearfromsomanyofyouwhodeeplyhopedFizzywouldgetherownbook,andatthesametime,weareveryconsciousthatastoryofculturalidentityorself-discoveryforacharacterofcolorisn’tourstotell.Itishugelyimportanttousthatourbookslookliketheworldaroundus,andwehopewehavebalancedthesetwopriorities:tellingalovestoryforFizzythatfeelsauthentic,butwhichdoesn’tfeeltoourreaderslikeaco-optedstoryofChineseAmericanidentity.Ifyouarepartofthiscommunity,thankyouforpickingupourbookandgivingitatry.OurdeepestdebtofgratitudegoestoourChineseAmericanpre-readers:JenniferYuen,PattyLai,EileenHo,KaylaLee,andSandriaWong.Thesewomenansweredeveryquestionwehadandreadthroughmultipleversionsofthisbook.Theysharedtheirtime,theirmemories,andmostimportantly,themselves.Jen,Patty,Eileen,Kayla,andSandria:Weareforeverthankful.Wehopewemadeyouproud.Anythingthatwegotwrongisentirelyonus.
Bynow,ourfamiliesknowalmostasmuchaboutpublishingaswedo.Theyhaveseenusthroughthedrafting,editing,andpublishingofovertwodozenbooks,hundredsofevents,andcountlessflailsandcelebrations.Wecouldn’tdoanyofthiswithoutthem.Thankyou,KandR,forcelebratingourvictorieswithgusto,commiseratingthroughthestruggles,andbeingproud,feministhusbandstoyourexuberant,fangirlwives.Andthankyou,C,O,andV,forbeingtrulythemostamazingkids,butthankyoumostofallforknowinghowtomakeyourowndinnerswhenrequired.Weloveyoumorethanwords.
Incaseyoucouldn’ttell,Fizzyisobsessedwithherreaders,andsoarewe.Ourcharactersrarelyspeakforus,butwhenFizzytalksaboutseeingherbooksimpactpeople,watchingtheirTikToksandReels,andseeingalltheirbeautifulphotos?That’sstraightfromus.Wearenothingwithoutallofyou,andwhetheryoufoundusatbookoneorbooktwenty-nine,whetheryou’reareader,ablogger,aBookTokker,aBookstagrammer,orapodcaster,oryoujustloveshoutingintoourDMsaboutourstories,wearesograteful.
Ifyouareabookselleroralibrarian,welovethehelloutofyou.Mayyourskinalwayslookgreat,andmayyoualwaysflythroughtheTicketmasterqueue.Thankyouforallyourworkandforhelpingourbooksfindnewreaders.
Ifyoufollowus,havemetus,orattendedoneofourevents,youknowthatwetreatfangirlinglikeaprofessionalsport.Itrunsinour(purple)blood,andwhenwelovesomething,weloveitwitheveryfiberofourbeing.FizzyandStevie’sfavoritebandisn’tofficiallyBTS,buttheeuphoricjoytheybringpeoplewasabsolutelyinspiredbythem.We’vethankedBTSinfourbooksnow,butthehappinessandinspirationtheygiveuscouldfilleveryoneofthesepages.KimNamjoon,KimSeokjin,MinYoongi,JungHoseok,ParkJimin,KimTaehyung,andJeonJungkook,youinspireustolovebetter,tobekinder,tocollaboratewithpassion,andtogrowasindividuals.Thankyouforyourhardwork,foryourdedicationtoeachother,andforsharingyourboundlesstalentwiththeworld.BTSandARMYmaybeapartforalittlewhile,butwewillalwaysbehere,ARMYbombsreadyforwhatevercomesnext.
Christina,sunshineinhumanform.Youaretheglazetomydoughnut,thedimpletomysmile,theNamjoontomyJungkook,theexclamationpointattheendofeveryoneofmyfangirlscreams.Ilovethislifewehavemadetogether,andsometimesstillcan’tbelieveit.Thirtybooksandwejustwroteonethatfillsourheartstothebrim.Whataride.
TomyLolo,Ihavebeentheproudestbestiethisyear.Youputoutyourownbook(ScandalizedbyIvyOwens,availablewhereverbooksaresold)andwerethebestcoauthor/mom/wife/daughter/BFFanyonecouldwishfor.TosayIloveyouisn’tenough,butIthinkyouknow.Ihopewewritethirtymorebookstogether,gotofivehundredmoreconcerts,andfindzeroheadlesssquirrels.IYKYK.Youareforevermyleftquote.MorefromtheAuthorSomethingWilder
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CHRISTINALAURENisthecombinedpennameoflongtimewritingpartnersandbestfriendsChristinaHobbsandLaurenBillings,theNewYorkTimes,USAToday,and#1internationallybestsellingauthorsoftwenty-ninebooks,includingtheBeautifulandWildSeasonsseries,LoveandOtherWords,TheUnhoneymooners,InaHolidaze,SomethingWilder,andTheSoulmateEquation.FindthematChristinaLaurenBooks.comor@ChristinaLaurenonInstagramandTwitter
FORMOREONTHISAUTHOR:SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Christina-Lauren
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