My laugh is forced and fake. I go in for another sip of margarita, but the tequila is sour in my mouth. “That’s definitely not it. We just barely got back to being friends.”
They all give me anOh, sweetiesmile, even May.
And I get it. I’m sure it’s easy for an outsider to misinterpret Seth’s actions. But I know him better than anyone, and Seth Carson is not jealous. Jealousy implies feelings. And feelings are things we can’t have for each other. Not anymore.
16
One, going to therapy is awesome and everyone should do it if they can. Two, therapy should be FREE because see point number one. Three, I’ve only been to a couple of sessions, but I already feel a sense of inner peace that three months of crying alone in bed did not bring to me. Weird.
—Seth Carson, “Check Your Mental Health Before You Wreck Your Mental Health”
When I wake up the next morning, my fugue state isn’t due to the alcohol. Not even a margarita the size of my head could mess with me the way Seth Carson does. The events from last night have been playing in my mind like I’m a Loki Variant trapped in some kind of nightmare loop reel, and each time I run it all through my brain, I come out with less clarity and more embarrassment.
On the one hand, I accomplished another task, and it was one of the ones I was dreading the most. Five down, five to go. On the other hand, that was so much mess Andy Cohen couldn’t even begin to untangle the web of what-the-fuckery. Was I really the one who broke Seth’s heart? How is that even possible when I’m the one who got dumped? And why did he get so upset about my kissing someone when he’s technically the one who made me do it?
My phone chimes with a text as I’m vacillating between pity for myself and pity for Jessica, who really got thrown into the deep end last night.
Seth:The way I see it, we only have one more task left that we have to do together.
Seth:So let’s figure out a plan for this volunteering thing and get it over with.
Well then. I guess we’re done mincing words and playing nice. If he wants to be done with me and move on, then who am I to argue. Wouldn’t want to unknowingly break his heart again.
I don’t have a plan for volunteering just yet, and I don’t particularly like his tone, so I don’t respond to his text. I toss my phone to the side before I finally pull my lazy ass out of bed and into a hot shower. Coiling my wet hair into a messy bun, I leave my face mostly bare before slipping into one of my favorite dresses: a navy-blue T-shirt silhouette with a white pattern that from far away looks like an abstract print but up close is really all the droids fromStar Wars.
I have two articles I need to write, and given how things are shaking out with the competition, they need to be good. But I don’t want to go into the office and risk running into Seth, so I shoot Tessa a text to see if she wants to meet up atAlcove for a coffee/work/vent session. She promises to meet me there in an hour, so I grab my stuff and head out, knowing I need at least a little alone time to get some work done before I fill her in on everything that happened.
After I nab a primo parking spot, I order my coffee and pastry and snag a table on the expansive patio, taking just a few minutes to breathe in the fresh city air. Once my food and drink are delivered, I open my laptop and pull out my notes about the tourist day. I think this one has the potential to be a real knockout piece, but also, given how I spent the entire day with Seth, I know I have to be careful not to spark another round of shipping among the readers. He’ll have to appear to some extent, but maybe instead I can focus on writing about moving on from the past and finding closure in unexpected places. Maybe tie something in about appreciating said past but not lingering on it, much like the tour did with old Hollywood landmarks.
Writing about kissing a stranger isn’t going to be so easy. Even though Seth and I found something bordering on friendship on my tourist day, I can’t help but wonder if we totally blew up our fragile peace last night at the bar.
But it’s not like Seth has any right to be upset. He’s the one who assigned me the task in the first place. He wasn’t even supposed to be there. And while I was merely kissing a stranger and sending said stranger on his merry way, Seth was there with an actual date. Probably some perfect marriage-material girl who will help him find his long-term potential and finally heal from his heartbreak or whatever.
If I was worried about how long I’d be bitter about thiswhole “woe is Seth” deal, something tells me the limit does not exist.
“Your face is doing that scrunched-up thing again. Like you’re thinking about someone who really pissed you off.” Tessa grins as she sinks into the seat across from me, hefting her bag onto an empty chair.
I open my mouth to deliver some kind of witty retort but find I don’t have one.
Her eyes automatically soften. “Oh, honey. What happened?”
Not skimping on the details, I barf out everything that went down between Seth and me not only last night, but over the past couple weeks. The flirty banter, the supposed broken heart, the tentative truce, and the look on his face when he left the bar. I avoid her gaze until I finish spewing everything out, which turns out to be a good decision because the kindness and sympathy in her eyes make me want to cry.
Okay, so I may let a tear or two slide anyway.
She pushes back her chair and stands, coming around to wrap me in an awkward seated hug.
I hastily wipe under my eyes. “Thanks. I don’t think I realized how much I needed that.”
She sits back in her seat and looks me dead in the eye. “We have two options here. I can go get us a round of mimosas and we can talk about how much men suck and we hate them. Or I can go get us a round of lattes and we can try to actually work some of this out and hopefully get you some clarity.”
“I don’t know if actual clarity is possible without me talking to him, which I’d prefer not to do right now.” And to be totally honest, I’m not sure what he could say at this point to make me feel any better.
She shakes her head. “I don’t mean clarity about him, I mean clarity about you.”
I flash her a cheeky grin. “It’s going to take more than a mimosa or a latte to get that.”
“Okay.” She gives me a look and slowly reaches over to grab her laptop from her bag. “Quiet writing time works too.”
