Chapter 22 #2
“I just want what’s best for you,” Liam had said when I caught them. “Grace gets it. Gets me. You’re just so...” He’d gestured vaguely at my bright dress, about everything and nothing in particular about me. “You’re exhausting sometimes, Tara.”
But that hadn’t stopped him from texting at 2 AM when Grace was busy. Hadn’t stopped me from answering, hoping that maybe this time he’d choose me. God, I’d spent months chasing after him like a desperate puppy, taking whatever scraps of attention he offered.
Looking back, I don’t know why I let him have that power over me. But at seventeen, his approval had felt like oxygen. Every time he said I had “potential” if I’d just be more serious, more focused, more like Grace, I tried to reshape myself to fit his vision.
Now, watching Alfie with Marcie, that same sick feeling crawls up my throat. Because they make sense together. She's exactly the kind of woman the Spencers want for him - she's polished, sophisticated, from the right family.
I mean, they've made it abundantly clear that she is the woman they want for him.
For the first time, I think I understand my dad a little better.
Sometimes it's easier to walk away than to keep fighting against what everyone else wants.
To choose the path of least resistance. Maybe that's what he did - saw my mom's academic world, the chaos of two kids, our intensity, our mess, and decided it was simpler to slip away instead.
My phone feels heavy in my hand as I type.
Space boy
Sorry, not feeling well. Can't make it tonight.
I watch Alfie check his phone, watch his brow furrow as he reads my message. Marcie says something that makes him shake his head, smile that rare smile that makes his eyes crinkle.
What’s wrong? I’ll come to see you.
No. Don’t. Enjoy the dinner.
Tara? Are you ok?
I can bring you something if you need?
I’m fine. It’s food poisoning. You don’t need to be here.
They really do look perfect together.
I turn away before he can spot me, my heels clicking too loud on the pavement as I retreat.
Because I won’t do this again, won’t let myself fall for someone who’ll never really choose me.
Won’t become that girl who waits around hoping for scraps of affection.
I’ll never fit into his world, I’ll never be what his family want and I won’t change myself for them.
Even if walking away from him tonight physically hurts, even if it feels like leaving pieces of myself behind.
Back in my apartment I collapse onto my bed, reaching for my phone before remembering I can’t tell Alex any of this.
Alfie specifically asked me not to. Even though I may have accidently broken that promise with Becky earlier, but I had to tell someone and she has nothing to do with our friendship group.
The urge to call Alex anyway is physical. I need my best friend. I miss her.
She'd know exactly what to say about Mrs. Spencer's backhanded comments, would probably do a perfect impression that would have me crying with laughter instead of just... crying.
My thumb hovers over her contact. I put the phone down.
I should be able to handle this on my own.
The next morning I’m guilt scrolling on my phone ignoring Alfie’s messages asking about my well-being.
My inbox is overflowing with spam, promo deals I can’t afford, and student loan reminders.
I almost miss it.
The subject line:
FWD: London Natural History Museum Opportunity
My heart skips.
I click.
Dear Ms. Hawkins,
I noticed you had been corresponding with Dr. Edward Farnsworth regarding a potential winter internship at the London Natural History Museum.
You must be very talented to have caught the attention of such a respected department head.
I took the liberty of forwarding your interest to a few key connections, and I am pleased to inform you that Dr. Farnsworth has now formally invited you to work under him over Christmas break. Should you accept, I am certain doors will continue to open for you in this field.
I trust you will make the right choice.
Warm regards,
Eleanor Spencer
I freeze.
No.
No, this can’t be happening.
I scroll down, hands trembling, and see the email chain I originally sent months ago. The one where I asked—on a whim—if there were any short-term work experiences available at my dream museum.
Farnsworth had replied politely, saying the program was competitive but he’d keep me in mind.
And now?
Now he’s signed off with:
We look forward to welcoming you this December, should you choose to accept.
I feel like throwing up.
Alfie’s mother didn’t just pull strings—she reached inside my life and twisted it.
She’s giving me exactly what I want.
Dangling it like a deal.
And I already know the unspoken terms.
If I accept this, if I take one step closer to everything I’ve ever wanted, I have to let go of him.
I can’t breathe.
Because for one horrible second, I actually think about it.
About how easy it would be.
To walk away before he does.
To stop pretending this isn’t doomed.
My fingers hover over the reply button.
Then I slam my laptop shut.
No.
I won’t play her game.