Chapter Thirty-Seven
I’m disoriented when I wake up in my own bed and not on the floor of a shack.
I forgot how nice it is to start your day without a back spasm.
I yawn and reach over to check the time on my phone—my real one that Blue got back for me—and sit up with a jolt.
I have seventy-nine new text messages?! I don’t even know seventy-nine people!
I start reading texts from numbers I don’t recognize.
WTF?! I quickly delete them and open Instagram to look at my apology video Matt posted last night. It has over thirty thousand views, and that’s only on my page! Just then a text from Cassie comes in.
CASSIE: Check out the fundraiser page!!!
I quickly click on the link. Holy shit! We’ve raised over $100,000! I start to do a little victory dance before I see a text from Eliza come through.
ELIZA: We’re still short $200,000.
Typical Eliza. But she’s right. We’re not done yet. We still have a long way to go to keep the program running for another year.
I scan through the rest of my texts, hoping there’s one from an unknown number . . . an unknown lawyerly number with a 310 area code. But nope, nothing from Andrew. Maybe he hasn’t seen my apology yet? Or maybe he has, but doesn’t care?
That thought is enough to make me plop down on my bed and contemplate going back to sleep. But as I put down my phone, it vibrates with another text. I hold my breath and quickly check to see who it is.
It’s only my brother, Jesse. But when I read his text, I feel a little spark of something that resembles hope.
JESSE: Frogger is about to go live. Let’s make some money!
Maybe this day won’t be miserable after all.
I defy science and cross my fingers for luck, then run to my laptop and click on the link Jesse sent me.
It takes me to his gamer friend’s YouTube channel, and holy crap, there are already twenty thousand people logged on, waiting for the live stream. Don’t these people have jobs?
The old-school 1980s graphics pop up, and I hear my brother’s familiar voice welcoming everyone to the live-streaming fundraiser.
He’s joined by his gamer friend, whose username I wouldn’t even begin to know how to pronounce.
Then, without further fanfare, Jesse shouts, “Let’s get retro!
” and his buddy starts playing the game.
I assume he’s playing well because the first frog avoids getting hit by cars and trucks rather easily and Jesse is using words like “epic” and “dope.” The digital amphibian makes it across to what I assume is supposed to be a river.
Then it jumps on the backs of blinking red and green turtles and hops onto floating logs until it makes its way safely to the grass.
All while Jesse is animatedly describing the action.
I understand only about 20 percent of what he’s saying.
I’m guessing he’s referencing other video games and cracking jokes because I hear his gamer friend laughing and the comment section is filling up with LOLs.
Then my heart swells when I hear Jesse say, “Did you know my sister Grace is a biologist?”
The comments come in quickly.
MineCraft23438!: IS SHE SINGLE?
gamez420: ive got some biology to show her
rollin4u: She sounds ugly
I shake my head, wondering if this is what trolls are, as Jesse continues. “She works to save endangered frogs IRL.”
His gamer friend laughs and says back, “No shit? Do they actually get hit by cars?”
“Well, she says humans are to blame for a lot of their problems. You know, pollution and ruining their habitats and shit. Which is why she’s trying to save them.”
I continue listening with pride as my little brother explains conservation to a bunch of teenage gamers—or maybe old men living in their parents’ basements?
I don’t know who watches these things. But I do know there are way more of them than I thought.
The longer I watch, the higher the viewer number gets. It’s almost seventy-five thousand now!
I can’t watch anymore. It’s making me too anxious. Between the fate of my lab hanging on a guy whose name contains numbers and symbols and the fact that there are now hungry alligators in the virtual river these little froggies have to cross, I’m a nervous wreck.
So I stupidly decide to distract myself with something even more nerve-racking. If Andrew isn’t going to reach out to me, I’m going to go to him.
Thanks to LA traffic, it takes me an hour and many curse words to get to Andrew’s hip Silver Lake neighborhood. I finally pull up to a historic-looking building and double-check the address Blue gave me. Of course there’s nowhere to park.
As I’m circling, looking for a parking spot, my phone rings with an unknown number. I’m so nervous about seeing Andrew that I distractedly answer on my Bluetooth. “Hello?”
“Grace?” Wait, I know that voice.
“Andrew?” I look at the phone and then at his building as I drive past it again.
“Hi,” he says tentatively.
“Hi. I’m not creepily driving past your house. I’m just looking for a parking spot,” I blurt into the phone.
“What?”
“Oh, uh, nothing. What’s up?”
“I wanted to see if you had any time to meet up today. For coffee or dinner?”
I laugh. “Are you free right now?”
“Yeah. Sure. Where do you want to meet?”
A spot finally opens up across from his building, and I pull in and throw my car into park. “Um, your place? I’m outside.”
Andrew laughs, and moments later he walks out his front door. I meet him, standing at the bottom of his stairs with my heart thundering in my chest.
“You’re here,” he says, smiling like he’s happy to see me.
“I am.” It’s all I can manage because I’m so taken with the way he looks in a pair of worn jeans and a T-shirt. “You own jeans,” I finally say.
“I do.” He grins and gestures for me to come in.
I recover and try to be a normal person. “I hope it’s okay I’m here. I just stopped by to give you something.” Not completely true, but luckily I have a decoy motive ready to go. I hand him a postcard with a picture of a yellow-legged frog on it.
A smile spreads across his face. “Are you hand-delivering these to all your donors?”
“Only the special ones.” I smile back as I look around his small but tidy apartment.
It’s tastefully furnished and reminds me of a CB2 catalog.
“I have a few things I’d like to tell you,” I say, suddenly feeling nervous being alone with him in his personal space.
He gestures for me to sit on the low tufted couch, so I do.
“Firstly, I’m sorry you got you fired,” I say softly.
He sits down next to me, skewering me with the concern in his eyes.
“It’s not your fault. I made the choice to go on the hot-air balloon with you.
If anything, I should be thanking you. I shouldn’t have taken that job in the first place.
” He reaches for his water bottle and seems to remember host etiquette. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No thanks, I’m good,” I say, watching him take a sip from his reusable bottle. Even the way Andrew drinks is sexy. And he cares about the environment. God, he’s perfect.
“You know Love Shack was never my dream job,” he says and I nod. “Kristina’s machinations were a posthumous nail in the coffin.”
Ah, the Sumatran elephant in the room. They’re the most critically endangered and therefore need to be approached with care. Much like this conversation. “So . . . you saw my video then?”
“I did,” he says with an unreadable glint in his eyes.
Before he can say anything else or I chicken out, I continue with what I really came to do.
I inhale and blurt out, “Andrew, I’m really sorry for the way everything went down and for not telling you what was really happening.
But if you’d give me the chance, I’d like to get to know you better.
And for you to get to know me. The real me.
The one who doesn’t go on reality shows or give in to producers’ evil schemes.
” I look down at my sensible outfit. “This is the real me.”
I look back at him, and something in his eyes tells me that he likes the real me just fine.
“I think I was starting to get to know the real you,” I continue.
“And I really liked what I saw.” I exhale deeply.
There. I said it in the video, and I said it in person.
There’s nothing else I can do. So I just sit there waiting for him to say something.
Anything. Putting your heart on the line is fucking terrifying.
Finally, he smiles at me and his whole face lights up.
It makes my stomach feel funny, like the gravitational free fall of a roller coaster.
“Our one-on-none date was the best date I’ve ever been on,” he begins.
“And it did feel like I was getting to know the real you.” He reaches his hand toward mine, and I greedily take it.
He smiles and continues. “I wanted to meet up with you today for a few reasons. First, to thank you for your montage. No one has ever ‘grand-romantic-gestured’ me before.”
“Ah, you were talking to Blue.”
He nods. “He filled me in after he sent me the video. And, you know, once it went viral on the internet.”
I use my free hand to shamefully cover my face. “I hope he told you that releasing it to the general public was his idea.”
Andrew laughs and nods. “It was a little embarrassing when my grandma texted me that she saw it, but it was still pretty sweet overall.”
I cringe while simultaneously hoping his grandma likes me. “I guess I’m sorry about that too then.”
He squeezes my hand. “I was upset when I saw you kissing Javier. It made me jealous.” He shakes his head as if in disbelief.
“I’ve never been a jealous person until I met you.
” I try not to smile, taking this as a secret win.
“But I realize it wasn’t fair of me to be jealous or to get upset.
I knew that you were a contestant on the show and that we weren’t supposed to be together.
And it’s not like we were dating or anything .
. .” My heart drops at this, but then he continues.
“But it made me question what I thought was happening between us. After the hot-air balloon ride and everything after that”—he looks at my lips briefly, and I feel a twinge of something deep inside—“I was hoping that we’d start seeing each other after the show ended. ”
I want to scream, Yes! Yes, let’s do that! But I keep quiet and let him finish speaking.
“Now that I know why you did what you did, I get it. And if I were in your position, I hope I would’ve done the same thing. You chose to save an entire species over me, and I’m okay with that.” He looks at me and says sincerely, “You’ve inspired me, Grace.”
My heart swells at his words. Is this what falling in love feels like?
Andrew smiles and squeezes the hand he’s still holding. “You’re constantly standing up for others, you have a passion for something important, and you’re making a positive change in the world. I want that too.”
I wait for him to continue and tell me that we can save the world together. But instead, I notice him glancing at something in the corner. I look and see two suitcases.
I deflate. “Are you going somewhere?”
He nods, then takes a deep breath, steadying himself like what he’s about to say next is difficult. “I took the volunteer position in Syria.”
“What? You’re going to Syria?”
“The program just started last week so I haven’t missed much. I called them this morning, and they said they still have an opening. I leave tomorrow.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t know what I would say even if I could speak.
Part of me is heartbroken that the only guy I’ve ever wanted to date is about to fly across the globe.
Another part of me is happy for him for taking the risk and following his passion.
And then there’s the part of me who’s kicking myself for encouraging him to save the world. What a dumbass.
“There’s something else you said in your video that resonated with me.” Andrew takes my other hand. “I realized I can’t be the partner I want to be until I’m the person I know I can be.”
Ouch. Using my own realization against me. “So that’s why you really wanted to meet today?” I ask. “To say goodbye?”
He looks sad when he responds. “I wanted to tell you in person that I’m going to figure out what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. And once I do, I’ll be ready to share it with someone else. And I hope, one day, that someone is you.”
With his words comes a conflicting wave of misery and bliss. It’s reassuring to know that my feelings for him aren’t one-sided, but I still feel the bitter sting of rejection every time I look at his luggage.
If I’m being honest, I can’t say I don’t understand. Hell, I wasn’t ready for a relationship until a couple days ago. So I nod and say, “I respect that. I hope you find the answers you need, Andrew. Because you really do deserve all your dreams coming true.”
“Thank you,” he says softly.
I have a million more things I want to ask him—like, When you say “one day,” does that mean twenty years from now or a few months? But the emotion I hear in his voice is destroying me and I need to retreat before I lose it.
I stand up. “Well, I should go. You probably have a lot to do before you leave.”
He immediately reaches for me, pulling me into a hug. And as I inhale his expensive cologne for the last time, I marvel at the fact that, despite it being broken, my heart still feels safe with him. “Goodbye, Grace.”
“Goodbye, Andrew.” I give him one final sad wave and turn to leave before the tears begin to fall.
Welp, I think as I walk away crying, I’ve still never been on a second date.