Chapter 23 #2
Puck needs this conversation to move somewhere else, and fast. There are things they need to say to Robyn that ideally should not be overheard by their boss, or all of the colleagues who—until now, at least—saw Puck as some kind of demigod, capable of bending reality itself to their whims. But Mia didn’t get the luxury of having her dreams shattered in private, Puck reminds themself.
And all these now-gawking contestants, from the very first person Puck ever produced all the way down to Jess Fucking Sandusky, have had their heartbreak repackaged as amusement for the masses.
If there was ever a time to stop and let karma punch them in the face, it might as well be now—when the woman they want so badly is standing in front of them, much sooner than they expected her, but still invigoratingly present nonetheless.
“Of course I wanted to call you,” Puck says, trying to keep their voice low. “There’s so much I’ve wanted to say to you, but I didn’t know how.”
Robyn doesn’t bother controlling her own volume. “And you didn’t want to ask Mia about me?”
“She and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now,” Puck whispers. “And I don’t blame her.”
“I don’t either,” Robyn says, still refusing to match Puck’s hushed tone.
This conversation is confusing for Puck, on multiple levels.
Does Robyn want to mortify them at their workplace or is she simply hurt they haven’t called her?
Is this supposed to be a relitigation of the wedding from start to finish or does Robyn want Puck to profess their love for her?
Puck only knows one thing: They can’t lose their only chance at starting over with Robyn.
She stormed onto the Homewreckers set, and she could storm off it, too.
“All I’ve done since I left the Athenian is think about what I would say to you,” Puck confesses, letting their voice get louder now.
“So what was the plan, then?” Robyn asks, unmoved by the admission. “Because it looks like you hooked up with me, broke up my best friend’s wedding, and then disappeared. You didn’t think you owed me anything afterward?”
Even the whispers among the crew stop at that.
This is juicier drama than they’ve filmed so far this season—and it’s happening inside their own ranks, which only makes it even more scandalous.
If Puck were over there with the crew, they’d be training a half-dozen cameras on this scene, making sure every boom mic operator was limbered up and ready to track the action.
But standing where they are, all Puck feels is deep regret.
“I owe you everything,” they say, feeling their heart pounding as they say it, and finding that suddenly all of the things they rehearsed in the mirror are gone. “I feel like I was asleep until you walked into that sauna. You’re like … the world’s sexiest alarm clock.”
“Sexy alarm clock?” Robyn balks. “That’s what you wanted to say to me?”
Puck takes a breath. Despite the cascading series of epiphanies they’ve had these past few days, there’s no point pretending like they’re already completely reformed.
The kind of changes they need to make will take months, if not years, to take hold.
But Mia’s advice at the motel was to “be honest,” and that’s exactly what they need to do right now.
“Look, Robyn, I’m not a good person,” they begin, not caring who overhears them now.
“I’m not going to become a saint overnight.
But you see that girl over there?”—they pause to point at Jess Sandusky, who seems alarmed to be mentioned in the middle of this argument, but also delighted to see her tormentor thrust into an unflattering spotlight—“I’m supposed to tell her to go to an upstairs bedroom in the house where another girl’s boyfriend is waiting for her.
Then I’m supposed to get them to have sex with each other, or at least go to second base, on camera—the more pixelated things have to be, the better.
And then I’m supposed to make sure the girlfriend walks in on them.
And then everyone will watch it, and talk about it online, and I’ll get another few years of doing exactly this, which isn’t great, but it’s not bad, either.
I have a nice apartment and a beat-up car, and I might actually get to retire one day, which is saying something.
But I would quit right now if it meant we could go on one date.
Maybe to a coffee shop, and we can see if they have a job application while we’re at it, because that’s about the only place I’ll be qualified to work in Atlanta outside a reality TV set.
You could turn down a second date and it would still be worth it.
I would give up everything for a shot at something with you, even if I ended up with nothing.
And I don’t deserve that shot. But I have to ask for it. ”
Robyn looks overwhelmed, but whether that’s good or bad, Puck can’t tell.
The crew has fallen completely quiet. Even if Puck doesn’t actually resign, Ron may fire them for saying all this in front of the crew.
In the kayfabe of reality TV, no one’s supposed to admit how unethical it all is.
Jess certainly looks alarmed to learn about the grand plans the show had in store for her.
But Puck doesn’t care anymore. They only care about trying to get back to the feeling of lying with Robyn on the Athenian lawn, looking up at the stars, feeling their soul expand into the sky.
That’s worth this immense embarrassment.
That’s worth living on a barista’s wages. That’s worth figuring life out anew.
After a painful silence, and her face moving through seven different emotions in a row, Robyn finally speaks. “And what would you order?”
“What?”
“At the coffee shop. On this hypothetical date you’re taking me on.”
Puck just bared their soul and Robyn wants to talk about the menu at Dancing Goats?
“I guess I’d get a latte?” they say, unsure where this is going, but taking heart at the change in tone. “Maybe a mocha if I’m feeling fancy.”
“And what would I order?” Robyn asks. Is that corner of her mouth threatening to turn into a smile? Would she really be so quick to forgive?
Puck considers Robyn’s question for a moment, trying their best to pretend like they don’t have an audience.
“You’d probably have some sort of strawberry matcha with the most nonsensical milk substitute,” they say.
“Like milk made from pine cones or something, because you have to be so specific about everything.”
Robyn is grinning in earnest now, but over her shoulder, Puck notices the Homewreckers crew looking confused by what’s happening.
Eyes are wandering, walkies are pinging, some light conversation is resuming, and Puck can’t even blame anyone.
This is precisely the kind of goopy queer nonsense straight people could never follow.
Hell, Puck barely understands what’s going on.
Robyn hasn’t accepted their apology, but it also feels like accepting a proposal is not entirely outside the realm of possibility, either?
They’re already mentally preparing for a trip to Home Depot to copy their apartment key.
“Well, I think you wouldn’t get a latte,” Robyn says, taking a step toward them. “You’d get a black coffee because you’d think it would impress me, but secretly you’d want some sugar.”
The gayest part of Puck wants to say that Robyn could be their sugar, but they remember that they are still at work—or are they?
Didn’t they just put in their verbal notice in front of Ron and all these witnesses?
Perhaps Puck should use the line, just to spite them.
All their coworkers were clearly hungry for some real-life drama; let them choke on some unfiltered queer sweetness.
“Should we leave … right now?” Puck asks, returning Robyn’s smile, not caring how goofy they look.
Robyn came all the way here for them. But there’s still an aching beneath the obvious affection in Robyn’s eyes. Some parts of her heart must be healing more slowly than others.
“I don’t want you to quit your job, you little gay loser,” she says. “I just didn’t want you to come back here and pretend like what happened between us didn’t happen. This is hard. I’m still so mad at you. But you don’t get to cut and run.”
“I never want to run from you again,” Puck says, giving in to the cringe now. It might just be their imagination but they think they hear one of the camera guys audibly groan at that, but honestly, who gives a fuck anymore?
Robyn is crying a little now, but she’s also moving temptingly closer to Puck. “I didn’t come all this way not to kiss you, you know?” she says.
“But if I kiss you, we can’t talk anymore,” Puck says.
“Exactly.”
And as their lips meet, it’s Nick the PA who lets out the loudest cheer.