Seth:I know what you meant.
Seth:Good night, Parker.
Me:Good night, Seth.
I have the sudden urge to email Natasha and beg her not to publish my piece. But I know that a) she wouldn’t care, and b) the words need to be out there, even if I’m scared shitless. Seth needs to hear them. Or read them, as it were. And I need them to be read.
I turn my attention back to Roy and Keeley and let them lull me into thinking true love is possible.
Miraculously, after all that, I manage to fall asleep.
32
THE ONE
By Seth Carson
Well, friends. Here we are. The end of the road. Cue the Boyz II Men. If you saw the recap of ourATF/Chronicleparty posted earlier this week, then you know I’ve already withdrawn myself from the competition. I didn’t complete the tasks as assigned to me and have forfeited, making Lana Parker the undisputed champion of whatever the hell you want to call this whole fiasco.
And, not going to lie to you, readers, there were a lot of moments over the past several weeks that felt like a disaster. At least to me. Because throughout this whole experience, I’ve been lying to everyone. To you, to my colleagues, to Parker, and to myself.
I told myself I was moving to Los Angeles to pursue new writing opportunities. I wanted to settle down, and living and writing in LA has always been a dream of mine. All of that is true, at least partially. But there’s really only one reason I chose to move to LA, instead of New York or Chicago or London, and it has nothing to do with the weather.
It has to do with love.
The woman I love is here in LA, and she has been for the past twelve years, ever since we broke up. Ever since I made the biggest mistake of my life in letting her go. But that’s selfish of me to say because it was my biggest mistake. But I don’t necessarily know that it was a mistake for her.
This woman, she has always been remarkable. Strong. Independent. Smart as fuck. Talented. Gorgeous. Kind. She was all those things when I fell for her at fourteen, she was all those things while we were together. And she was all those things when she flew across the country to pursue her dreams, promising we would find a way to make it work. We didn’t. Because of me. Maybe we would have grown apart on our own; maybe I would have moved to LA a lot sooner; maybe we’d be married with a couple of kids right now. All those were possible paths for us, if I hadn’t decided I knew what was best for her, without asking for her input.
And yet somehow, in the space of the twelve years we were apart, all of those traits that she embodied have multiplied by a million. Because she’s still strong and independent and smart and talented and gorgeous and kind, but now she’s also confident, and comfortable in her own skin, and knows who she is. She may not think she does, but she does.
I’m so proud of the woman she’s become, and maybe we needed to be apart in order for her to become that person. Again, I had no place in making that decisionfor her, but the results are undeniable. She’s simply magnificent and I count myself lucky to even know her.
But, readers, I don’t just know her. I love her. I’m in love with her. I always have been, and I probably always will be. I hurt her, both in the distant past and in the recent past. That kills me. I’m so sorry for any and all of the pain I have ever caused her. I hope she can forgive me.
The final task required of me was to find someone I could be happy with in the long term. I knew back on day one that this would be the easiest on the list. Because I already found that person. I know who I am supposed to be with, not just long-term, but forever.
And to that person, you know who you are, I’m sorry, and I love you.
—
I read Seth’scolumn with a bleary gaze. It’s just barely eight a.m. and my morning-crusted eyes are already clouded with tears.
Our articles are published as one post, with one of the photos of us from our tourist day positioned between our stories. In case anyone out there didn’t realize who these mysterious people we each spoke of were.
By eight fifteen my phone is chirping and beeping like R2-D2 is having a full-scale meltdown. I turn it off without checking any of the messages, needing to sit with this on my own for a little while. I read Seth’s words a second time, and then a third. By round four, I hop out of bed, throwing on the first clean items of clothing I can find.
I think I finally understand what Billy Crystal meant at the end ofWhen Harry Met Sally. Because I know who I want to spend the rest of my life with, and I want the rest of my life to start right now.
I pull my hair into a ponytail but take the time for a full teeth brushing. There’s going to be a lot of kissing on the other side of this and I want to be ready.
Once I’m halfway presentable, I grab my car keys and my still-turned-off phone and throw open the front door. And stop in my tracks.
“Hi.” His smile is sheepish, his clothes as rumpled as mine.
“Hi.” My smile is bright, my greeting as breathless as his.
He hands me a single sunflower.
