32. Thirty-Two
thirty-two
GINGER
I find zero fault with my sister’s small seafood bistro in San Francisco’s Castro district. The timeless de?cor includes subway tile, a gleaming wooden bar, industrial metal stools, and white lights, which highlight some of the less subtle nautical features: an anchor mounted to the wall, a vintage life preserver hanging on the swinging kitchen door, and several rope features tied in knots along the ceiling line.
The music is heavy on alto sax and trumpet, sexy jazz that makes me wish I wasn’t here on my own, drowning my heartbreak in one of Anise’s perfect mojitos.
“You haven’t seen Mom yet,” my twin states after pouring herself a Pellegrino. The restaurant hasn’t opened for dinner, but that doesn’t stop me from eating my weight in shrimp cocktail.
“I haven’t told her I’m in town.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“I’m afraid she’ll be able to smell the stink of failure on me.”
Anise chuckles, the apples of her broad cheekbones blushing a soft shade of pink. She’s always been the adorable one. “You’re not a failure, Ginj. You’re a trailblazer. Always have been.”
“You mean a loner.”
“I mean independent. Fiercely determined. Tenacious.”
“Obnoxious. Ambitious. Ruthless,” I correct her.
“You’re not obnoxious.”
I groan, swaying a little from the alcohol. “How do you look so good in this light? Light like this always makes me look like a ghost. You look all healthy and vital and charming all the time.”
Anise reaches out to give my faltering ponytail a light tug. “I sleep from time to time. But how would you know? You see me once a year.”
“This makes twice,” I remind her. “Or was the time I spent here this summer that forgettable?” It wouldn’t surprise me.
“Ginger. Jeez. You’re not acting like you’re having work trouble. You’re acting like someone stole all your hope. What gives?”
I’m not about to explain my man problems to my perfect sister. Not when Anise married her junior high sweetheart and still thinks he’s the best thing that ever happened to her.
“I had a brief moment where I started questioning my priorities. But I think I’m better now. Or I will be, once I figure out how to deal with this little—stutter.”
“Stutter?”
“Sputter?” I wonder.
Anise frowns.
“I need to focus on my work-life balance. It’s all out of whack, and I’m making poor choices. Because the balance is off.”
“If you could be more specific...?”
“Why? Work-life balance is a thing, right? You have one.”
“A job? Balance?”
“A life.”
Anise scoots my third mojito away from me.
“This is about a guy.”
“How’d you guess?”
“Because I’ve never seen you like this.”
I sag. There’s no use hiding it. I’m a shred of my former self. My face heats, embarrassed that I’m not handling this better. “I don’t know what happened to me. I got all stupid.”
“Aw, sweetie...” Anise gives my arm an awkward rub.
The stilted attempt at affection stands out. I took so much of what Elliot offered me for granted—the easy, unassuming way he touched me is one of many things I’ll have to learn to live without. “You can hug me, you know? I won’t bite.”
Anise laughs, but the sound has a nervous edge to it. She splits the difference with a solid shoulder squeeze. It’s a slight improvement over the arm rub. “Tell me about the guy.”
“It’s over anyway,” I say. “It was a mistake. A stupid mistake, and now...” I sigh. “Now I need to figure out what I’m doing with my life.”
“You already know what you’re doing with your life. You’re gonna produce your own show. Be the boss. Make millions and win Emmys and make the rest of us look like a bunch of losers.”
The words hit me so wrong, like a flurry of flaming darts. Or maybe Anise found her target. “Is that what I sound like?”
My twin doesn’t know me well enough to read my dismay. “Only sometimes,” she says with another uncomfortable laugh.
“You think all I care about is my job?”
Anise lifts a shoulder and lets it drop unapologetically. “It’s your whole life, Ginj. You work 24-7. You don’t even come home for holidays.”
Resentment flares. “Look, just because you’ve peaked, doesn’t mean everyone else has to by the time they’re thirty. And just because I don’t want to sit around for four days while Mom and Dad talk about how great you are, how beautiful your family is, and what a fabulous businesswoman you’ve turned out to be doesn’t mean I’m work-obsessed. I’m just not you obsessed.”
“Hey.” The sympathy evaporates from Anise’s eyes. “I don’t know why you think life came so easy for me. I started out as a line cook with a culinary degree. Paul and I lived in a shitty bug-infested apartment for six years before we had kids and bought our house. He almost left me twice. First because we were so broke, and second when I started going through a box of wine every two days. Shit’s been hard, Ginger. It still is. June is three years old, and she’s still not talking—what’s that about? Hazel’s five and half— she’s getting bullied at school, I’m up there every other day having some parent-teacher meeting, but I’m hardly ever home because I work six nights a week to keep this place up to the level of the reviews I got the first month we were open—it’s not easy .”
“Are you saying you’re not happy?”
“I’m not saying that—I’m wondering why you’re still so pissed at me. What have I ever done to you?”
“What have you ever done for me, Anise?”
She stares back at me in disbelief. “Exactly what you wanted us to do. Left you the fuck alone.”
“Who wants to be alone?” I cry.
A trumpet solo fills the stunned silence between us. The romantic, melancholy melody rips my heart out. Turning abruptly away from my sister, I say in a softened tone, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Anise’s hushed voice proves she was just as surprised by the outburst as I was.
“No, I’m horrible. You’re right. I’ve spent so long fighting to be heard, I don’t know when to shut the fuck up. I’m really sorry.”
“Ginger. It’s okay. I hear you. I’ve always heard you. I just never knew what to say except I’m here.”
I let her hold my hand as the music swells to a heart-stopping crescendo. I close my eyes and hold my breath until the notes dissolve into a gentler melody, easier to bear.
Anise taps my palm with her thumb. “So...you don’t have to tell me, but...you seem pretty pissed at yourself. I’m assuming you’re the one who broke things off?”
“It was inevitable. It was never meant to end well.”
“I’m sensing some regret? Maybe?”
“It’s not regret.” I sigh, heavy and world-weary. “It’s grief.” I press my hand against my aching chest. “I can’t even breathe with how much I miss him.”
“Does he know?” Anise asks.
“He can’t know,” I say.
Anise gives my hand a tight squeeze. “So you’re just giving up?”
God, there’s no way to describe how much I hate those words. The way they bristle and cut. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“What you’ve always done, Ginj. You fight. You win. You speak your truth, and you make it happen. Otherwise, who are you and what the hell did you do with my sister?”
Deep, deep down the petulant part of me stretches itself awake, prepared to rally. “But there’s literally nothing I can do.”
“Says who?” Anise asks.
Either I share the burden of my experience by telling my sister the truth, or I let it fester. Decisions like this are so much easier hundreds of miles away when vague texts and impersonal phone calls are options. But right now, with my sister’s hand in mine, unconditional support literally at my fingertips, I take the plunge and go all in, determined this time not to bite the hand reaching out to me.
“I fell in love with Elliot Hale.”
Elliot
The Panel stands in the center of the formal Luxembourg Garden after giving Hannah their blessing to join the final three. She accepts, blushing as she glances at me while she hugs my mother, my sister, and Michelle. All I manage to give her is a solemn smile.
Kat speaks into her headset after getting a nod from Matt across the circle of cameras surrounding the area. It’s late afternoon, and the light is perfect, flattering everyone. Even Kat. The gardens, one of my favorite places in the city, are lush with blooms and untamed fragrances. Roses, of course, and jasmine, like Ginger’s hair.
I breathe deeply, closing my eyes and willing myself to forget her again.
I did it before. I managed. But the muscle that made it possible seems to have atrophied.
Cassie approaches with the confidence of someone who knows she’s in.
She gives me a nod of solidarity. I do my best to steadily hold her gaze.
“Cassie, honey. Welcome,” Lavonne says.
“Thank you.”
Irene, stone-cold sober this afternoon, gives Cassie a warm smile as she greets her. “You’re such a wonderful, intelligent woman. You’ve stuck with this process through good times and bad. We are so grateful that you’ve decided to share your life and your time with us, with Elliot, to see if you could be his match. We love your vibrancy, your humor, and we’re all huge fans of those dimples.”
Get the fuck on with it, Mom.
“Unfortunately...”
“Wait,” Cassie whispers.
My eyes train themselves on the ground at my feet. Actually, I can’t watch this.
“We can’t give you our blessing to be one of the final choices for Elliot.”
“What?”
“We’re so sorry, dear.”
“Hang on.”
“Oh, brother,” Michelle mutters. She’s the one standing closest to me, and I feel her tension rising. Goose bumps erupt on my skin.
“He promised me—hey—look at me. What was with all the things you said, Elliot?”
Lights on the cameras go from green to red. One by one, the cameramen lower them as Kat and Matt walk into the clearing. Kat’s voice carries. “Cassie, girl...you gotta keep it together.”
Cassie does not keep it together. She raises an arm and points at me. “He said it was me. He said it would be me after?—”
“Cassie!” Kat barks, cutting her off before she spills every single ounce of tea. “Elliot doesn’t get to pick. Remember?”
“He’s gotta have something to do with it,” she argues.
I nearly laugh out loud, a victim of my own terrible decision-making. It’s funny—what a joke it all turned out to be.
Kat grabs Cassie by both arms and forces her to face her. They’re both tall, but Kat is taller by an inch or three. Cassie’s heels put them eye-to-eye. “We’ll make this up to you. Do you understand? The show’s got you.”
Cassie sucks in a hissing breath through her teeth. She lifts her chin in a quick upward nod. “I don’t believe anything anymore.”
“Trust the process.”
I sneer. Fuck this process.
Kat gives Cassie another affirmative nod. “Let’s take it from, ‘we’re so sorry, dear.’”
Cassie, her hands trembling, turns to face The Panel and me. She glares. My face goes still as stone. I won’t react. I’ll be another statue in the garden. A prop in this play.
“Okay, we’re rolling.”
Cassie takes the news much better the second time around. Gracious, accepting, but sad. Her voice shakes. A tear or two falls. It’s convincing.
More importantly, it’s enough to break America’s heart. Mission accomplished. Cheers to the production team. They’ve done it again.
I stare at the grass and wait for the big payoff.
Jenna approaches like a crowned princess taking a walk on her palace’s grounds. She has a warm smile for me. For the entire Panel. She stops at her mark, her hands folded solemnly and her head bowed. She looks beautiful. “It’s good to see you all.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” Michelle says. “How are you holding up? It’s been quite a road this time.”
“It has. I’m hopeful. Terrified. Reeling a little.”
“So are we,” Michelle confides. “Jenna, when Elliot came home from last season, he was a different man. He was a man who’d fallen in love. A man who’d had his heart broken. A man who finally knew what he wanted out of life, and I knew—we all knew—you were the one who woke him up.”
Michelle isn’t entirely wrong, but she only has half the story.
“It’s easy to get confused in this process, to doubt your true feelings, to question them. But I know my friend. He’s been there for me through things that would shock you, and I’ve stuck with him, too, because I’ve never met a more passionate, loyal, genuine person. He’s rare. And he’s incredibly special to me. To all of us.”
It’s nice what she’s saying, but maybe I know her too well. It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes and sigh heavily. Just get on with it.
“We think he’s that special to you, too. He’s struggled here, understandably. Anyone would. But when we saw you reconnect at the Louvre, we knew our instincts were right. This was meant to be. We’re so happy to be able to offer you our blessing and invite you to be Elliot’s choice in the final three.”
Seconds pass in complete silence. The moment stretches so long, Michelle clears her throat, as if reminding Jenna it’s her turn to speak.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something’s wrong.
Jenna lifts her head, slow and deliberate, meeting The Panel’s gazes one by one. “Elliot’s choice?”
“Yes.” Michelle is still smiling.
“How many choices does he get?”
“Um...three?”
I glance at Kat, who’s already moving in closer.
Jenna laughs, the sound abrupt enough to make my adrenaline spike. “Because I thought he might have had more. It’s just—the rules seem a little lax this season. I mean with my being here, I kind of assumed it was a free-for-all.”
The other night. Ginger’s hotel room.
Jenna knows.
And she’s pissed.
She speaks fast, before everyone else fully catches on. “My Panel didn’t choose Elliot,” she stares coldly at me now, “because Elliot is a liar, and a player, and a cheat. He’s here to save face and get a fat paycheck. He didn’t love me. He took all the opportunities I gave him to fuck me, and then he fucked someone else?—”
“That’s it,” Kat yells, sprinting toward us, arms waving wildly. “This is over. What the hell, Jenna?”
The cameras turn off again.
“Mics off. Everybody,” Matt barks.
Kat reaches behind Jenna and flipped hers off herself, the motion as aggressive as a slap in the face.
The Panel and I stare in stunned shock as Jenna turns to us in a rage. “How many of you knew? How many of you knew what your super special boy’s been doing behind the scenes, under your noses this whole time. Did you know?” She points at Natalie before turning her fury on Michelle. “You had to know.”
Michelle’s hand darts out at the exact same time mine does. We grip each other tight, weathering Jenna’s accusation together. We’ve been through worse, but it’s been a while.
Jenna’s jaw drops at the gesture. Unhinged, she shouts at Michelle, “He’s fucking you, too?”
Kat waves her arm at me and The Panel. “Get out of here. All of you. The cars are waiting. Go.”
I don’t need to be told twice. Yanking Michelle along with me, I storm away from the set.
“What is going on?” Michelle asks as she hurries to stay at my side.
I can’t speak. My vision grows fuzzy and dark around the edges. Pure, sickening humiliation coats me, weighing down my gait, making it impossible to breathe.
When was the last time I ate? Was it today? Last night?
“Elliot?”
A roaring noise clogs my ears, like a jet engine is right behind me. Blackness swirls, and I stumble.
“Elliot! Somebody help!”
I collapse. My knees hit the ground first, and then, unceremoniously, but in keeping with the theme of the day, my face lands in the dirt.
Michelle’s rose-colored dress fills what’s left of my field of vision as she kneels beside me, turning my head so I won’t suffocate myself. “Are you awake? Are you okay?”
“This is your fault,” I say.
“I know.” Michelle is crying, which means this must be really bad. “I know. I know. Can you get up?”
“No.” I could, but I’m not going to chance collapsing again once the crew has the chance to turn their cameras back on.
“I am so sorry,” she says.
“Now you’re sorry?” Lying down, my blood pressure equalizes. The noise in my ears quiets, and my eyes refocus.
“What was she talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I mumble.
“What did I miss?” Michelle asks. “Did we send the wrong woman home? It wasn’t Elizabeth was it? I’m sure there’s something we could do to bring her back?—”
“She’s not coming back.” I roll myself over to look up at the golden sky.
“Michelle.” Matt swoops in to help Michelle up and send her to a car. He takes a step to loom over me, blocking the light. “Guess that cat’s out of the bag.” He extends a hand.
I take it and lurch to my feet. “Who do I have to marry now?”
Matt takes in the chaos surrounding us and gives me a helpless shrug. “Stay tuned, I guess.”