Chapter 7 #3
“That’s my point. You’ll never move on unless you face it. And this show is the perfect opportunity.”
“Right, because it will be so much easier to have my rejection blasted all over the internet instead of just telling him privately at home.”
“It’s perfect precisely because it’s not at home.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need neutral ground, someplace you can talk without your parents, or your brother, or a mountain of memories standing between you.”
“And a set full of producers, castmates, cameras, and, oh, I don’t know, ten million at-home viewers is neutral? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“At least you’ll know the truth. If you tell him next time you’re together and he rejects you, it won’t be final.
It’ll be because he needs time to think.
Or because he can’t have that conversation with your family in the other room.
Or any number of other excuses that could mean he’s trying to let you down easy or could also mean he doesn’t know how to get out of his own way, and you’ll never know which.
But if he turns you down in front of an audience of ten million, well, that’s got a finality to it that’s hard to come back from. ”
“Yes. Because I will need to dye my hair, wear color contacts, and completely alter my identity like some sort of criminal on the lam to hide from the shame.”
“Maybe,” Sam concedes. “But at least you’ll have an answer.”
“That’s…that’s…” Winnie shakes her head, unable to find the word.
“Genius?”
“Diabolical.”
“Diabolically genius?”
“I’m leaning just diabolical.”
“You haven’t even heard the best part yet.”
“There’s a best part?”
“Yes, because if he doesn’t turn you down, if he tells you to stay, then you get six weeks, all expenses paid, to travel the world together, no cell phones, no family, and no outside factors.
There’s no other circumstance in the world where the two of you would get time like this to test things out before going public. ”
“Are you forgetting the part where he will be dating thirty other women at the same time?”
“Uldwyna Rusu. I have never known you to cower at the thought of a little healthy competition.”
“I—” Winnie swallows. “I—”
“You know I’m right.”
Are you?
Winnie squeezes her eyes shut, trying to separate Sam’s uncanny ability to win every argument from the validity of her words.
It would be nice to finally know, after all this time, exactly where she stands.
And even if the whole thing ends in her complete mortification, well, it’s not as though that’s something she hasn’t experienced before.
She’s twenty-five years old. She’s not that same bullied kid she once was.
She’s stronger now. She can handle it. Maybe.
Hopefully. Regardless, what’s worse—to have the entire world know her girlhood crush is just that, a childish fantasy?
Or to keep living in this doom loop she hasn’t been able to escape for twelve years?
You’re forgetting one minor detail, you idiot. You already know where you stand.
Ugh. Her heart sinks. The memory brims as strong as ever, those words still landing sharp as a dagger. She’s his little sister. I would never do that to him. Never. He trusts me.
One paragraph.
But one paragraph was all it took to flip her world upside down. And in all this time, she’s never been able to face what he said, never told a single soul what she overhead—not even Sam.
That’s what her friend is missing in all of this.
What Winnie can’t bring herself to explain.
She has her answer. She’s had it for more than six years. She just naively, stupidly, stubbornly refuses to admit it’s true. That last little bit of her hung-up heart still clings to Tyler like a loser in a tug-of-war just before the rope slips free—aware she’s lost, yet unable to surrender.
“You are right, Sam,” she finally says into the phone. “This is a strangely ideal situation. But I can’t do the show. I’m just not ready.”
Not ready to close the door.
Not ready to have her heart broken.
Not ready to admit the happily ever afters she goes looking for in her books are just that—fiction.
“Noooo,” Sam whines, refusing to give up because she may be physically incapable of actually admitting defeat. “Carpe diem, seize the day!”
Of course that’s what her best friend would say.
Sam is the bold one. The fearless one. The one who always leads the charge—whether it be skinny-dipping on a beach in Mexico over spring break, getting fake IDs to go clubbing, signing a lease for an apartment neither of their jobless asses could afford right after graduation, or going on a reality TV show to be dissected by millions of people.
Sam is the main character, not her. Winnie is the sidekick.
The tagalong. Actually, right now, she feels more like the milkmaid in the background staring longingly at the damsel draped across the hero’s lap while they ride off into the sunset.
“Come on, Win,” her friend whispers softly. “For once in your life, take a chance.”
“I—” God, does she want to be the milkmaid forever? “I—”
“You know what? Don’t make a decision now. I’m going to text you Nina’s number. She’s one of the producers.”
“No!” Winnie cuts in. Because she and Sam both know that there is no way she’ll be able to sit idle if that number hides in her messages like an atomic bomb waiting to explode.
The power is too alluring. “Sam—” The phone vibrates in her hand.
“SAM! You did not just do what I think you did. Please tell me you didn’t. ”
“I did,” Sam answers, not a single ounce of remorse in her tone. “I love you. And one day, you’ll thank me for this.”
“I will—” The line goes dead. Winnie squeezes her phone and defiantly shouts, “NOT!”
It’s no use. When she drops her hand to her lap, the text is there waiting. It’s still there one hour and one bottle of wine later. By then, though, her inhibitions are gone. So Winnie clicks on the contact labeled Spawn of Satan and holds her breath as the call rings.
“You lasted longer than Sam thought you would,” a knowing voice answers.
Winnie groans.
I guess it’s time to make a deal with the devil.