Seth takes that as his cue and heads back into the dressing room. When he reemerges, he’s in his original clothes, arms laden with items to purchase. I stand off to the side as he checks out and pays. A flash of yellow catches my eye as the cashier is bagging up all his new clothes.
He bought the tie.
My heart implodes.
Without excusing myself, I rush to the front of the store, pushing my way outside, finding a shady spot away from allthe foot traffic of the midday shoppers. A stupid piece of shiny fabric should not be the thing that sends me over the edge. But it just might be. He bought the tie. He bought it, knowing full well what it means and what it represents. One little glimpse of sunflower yellow brings back all the memories I’ve been trying so hard to forget—trying so hard to bury under our banter and verbal sparring. I wrap my arms around my midsection, as if I can somehow hold myself together.
I shut my eyes tightly, forcing myself to focus on more painful memories of Seth. The horrible reunion night rushes in, burned in my brain, and I sink into the emotions. The shame and the humiliation. The rejection and the hurt. And the anger. The pure, unfiltered anger.
Anger is easy. Anger doesn’t leave any room for what might have been. Anger doesn’t allow for confusion and what-ifs.
“Parker? Are you okay?” He places a single hand on my shoulder.
I spin around to face him. “No, I’m not fucking okay!” A few people stop or turn to look at us, and I remember we are in public and lower my voice. “I’m not okay, Seth. Why the fuck did you buy that tie? More important, what are you even doing here, honestly? Do you really think you can just waltz into my life and insert yourself where you don’t belong? After everything you did!”
His eyes harden, shifting from concern to ire in the span of a few seconds. “WhatIdid? Are you kidding me? What about whatyoudid?” He takes a step closer into my space. “You are not the victim here, Parker.”
I take my own step closer, shortening the distance between us until just a few inches remain. “Neither are you, Seth.”
He lowers his head, his mouth a breath away from my ear. “I’m allowed to be angry too.”
“Well then, if you’re so angry, why are you here?” My heart pounds so loudly I’m afraid he’ll hear it. There’s so much heat between us—the furious feelings and the tension and the proximity—my skin tingles from head to toe.
He pulls away just enough so he can look in my eyes. “I don’t know, Parker. I just couldn’t be anywhere else.”
After another glance full of emotions I can’t parse, he gives me a helpless shrug, turns, and walks away.
11
They say the clothes make the man, but to be totally honest, I’ve always thought that line was kind of bullshit. Swapping out an old T-shirt in favor of a spiffy button-down doesn’t change who I am underneath, does it?
—Seth Carson, “Head to Toe, Let Your Whole Body Talk”
I had originally planned on saving therapy for much later in this whole competition process, because honestly, I know I’m going to need it once I’ve been alone for a few weeks. But after May’s nudge to do something for myself and seeing how torn up I got from just one shopping session with Seth, well, the need for therapy has been expedited. I’m no stranger to the process, so I schedule an appointment with my favorite former therapist, Dr. Lawson. She’s kind but tough and already has the backstory on my mom, so hopefully I won’t need to repeat that mess.
So of course her first question after the standard “how are you” is “How are things with your mother?”
I sink back into the plush navy-blue love seat in thecenter of her office. “Um, fine, I guess. Nothing much has really changed there, I don’t think.”
“When was the last time you spoke with her?” Dr. Lawson pulls her eyes from her notepad and studies me while I fidget.
“A couple weeks ago. She was traveling but she could be home by now.” The throw pillow in the corner is calling my name, begging for me to pick it up and hug it to my chest, but I don’t want it to seem like I’m hiding anything, so I clasp my fingers together to keep from reaching for it. “But that’s not really why I’m here.”
Dr. Lawson picks up her pen. “Oh? What can I help you with today?”
I let out a long breath. “Well. I just got out of a relationship. A long-term one. I thought we were going to get engaged, and instead he ended it.” How has it only been a couple of weeks since Evan and I broke up? It feels like forever given how little it matters at this point. If our breakup hadn’t spurred this whole competition, he probably wouldn’t even be a blip on the radar, which only further reinforces how completely wrong we were together.
Dr. Lawson’s pen scratches across the paper, but she doesn’t say anything, so I keep talking.
“And then my best friend, May, pointed out that I have trouble with being single, that I tend to jump from relationship to relationship. And when I told Natasha—my boss—she basically said the same thing and challenged me to stay single, for myself and for work. She wants me to try a bunch of new things and write about it for the website.”
Dr. Lawson’s eyebrows raise, just the slightest bit.
I take a sip of water before I continue. “And then my high school ex-boyfriend showed up. He has an interim position at our site and when it came out that he never has serious relationships, Natasha turned it into this whole competition thing. My tasks are supposed to help me branch out and explore being single, and his are to prep him for a relationship. The winner gets their own column.”
“Wow.” Her pen glides across the paper for a solid minute. “That was a lot.”
“Hence my being here.” I need someone to tell me how to feel about all of this, because I sure as hell have no idea.
