“I’ve always known Nikki was destined for great things. Ever since her first pageant, I knew she’d make her mark on the world. She always does everything she can to make us proud.”
My heart clenched. At the time, getting on national television truly felt like it could be the culmination of all the sacrifices my parents have made over the years: the miles of driving to pageants on weekends, the money spent on dresses and dance classes, the hours spent helping me with school projects. It hadn’t ever been my explicit dream to be on TV, but now, it was easy to rewrite my childhood and imagine that ithadbeen. By then, I was so used to being looked at, to performing and presenting a version of myself I thought others wanted to see, that this turned out to be the perfect natural extension of everything I’d worked at. I’d always imagined having this big, beautiful life, but the idea of it in my head had been hazy, vague.LovedBygave it shape, gave me a sense that Ihadbeen headed in the right direction all this time. Without ever explicitly doing so, the show told me what my fantasy was, and I believed it.
Last but not least, the producers wanted some montage pickup of “an average day in the life.” Sloane asked me what a normal Sunday looked like for our family, and I told her that usually, we’d go to church and then to The Chicken Factory since frying chicken is the one thing my mom refuses to do at home. But after the team scouted our locations, they nixed The Chicken Factory, saying it wasn’t quite the “quaint Southern atmosphere” they wanted, and the lighting was no good. Instead, they’d chosen this place called Sadie’s—an old-fashioned diner with original red leather booths, about a half-hour drive away. We’d never eaten there before, but Sloane asked us to act like this was our family’s go-to.
And that wasn’t so difficult once we got there. The place turnedout to only serve variations on grilled cheese, but the food was surprisingly delicious. It was inviting and cozy, and as we fake-ate for the cameras while makingrealconversation, I found it wasn’t actually that hard to imagine…
That this was my real life and always had been.
21
ICUT LONG, SLOWstrokes through the lake, coming up rhythmically for air, savoring the cool, mineral softness of the water against my skin. After my run this morning, I made sure not to miss the chance for a solo swim. After a few hardy laps, I roll over and float on my back. Out here, everything is calm, peaceful. Out here, my restless thoughts ease, until there’s nothing but the gentle rippling of the waves, the sway of the willow trees along the shoreline, blue of the lake kissing the blue of the sky.
I swim over to the floating dock and climb up the ladder, lying flat on my back to absorb a little sun as my skin dries.
I want to stay like this forever, but I can feel myself burning, and I didn’t bring sunglasses either. So eventually, I make a clean dive off the dock and swim back toward the shore.
I step out at the sandy area and grab my towel off the ground, drying off a bit before tying it around my chest.
Mom wants me to go to the flower farm today for those arrangements, but I’m dragging my feet. As I get closer to the house, I see Nate.
He’s working on the gazebo yet again today. My heart swells with appreciation for the way the gazebo is starting to be restored to its former glory… and appreciation for Nate’s strong back as he holds a drill up to one of the supporting beams.
And I’m hit with the most obvious wave of clarity, that he never intended to actually help me try to stop this wedding. Not for a single second. He’s been restoring the gazebo lovingly—so that his sister can get married in it. Nate loves his sister, clearly, and whatever relationship trauma he may still be carrying, he’s not going to stand in the way of her happiness.
Which means all his banter about subtle sabotage has been just that: banter. Just humoring me. An excuse, maybe, to have something to bond with me over. Surprisingly, the thought makes me smile as I approach, makes me appreciate him even more.
He has a small radio playing, and as I get closer, I can hear him singing along to the music.
“Aretha fan?” I ask.
He turns around and switches off the drill, dropping it down to his side. “R-E-S-P-E-C-T!” he sings.
I laugh. “You actually have a pretty good voice.”
“Prettygood? I was in my school’s best a cappella group, I’ll have you know. We won every local competition.”
“Ah,” I say, surprised. “A fellow competitor? I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“I literally had to quit the group sophomore year because I was so tightly wound during competition season that the tension was doing damage to my vocal cords.”
I laugh. “Seriously? You really don’t strike me as a perfectionist. No offense.”
He raises an eyebrow. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Nikki.”
I swallow hard, realizing how badly I want to know exactly what he means by that.
“Okay, well… here’s one thing I’d like to know about you. I’d like to know if you’ll accompany me to the flower farm.” I feel myself blushing like I’m a seventh grader asking a boy to the Sadie Hawkins dance—which gives me an idea… “I’ve gotta pick out some stuff for the day-of,” I tell him, “and as you know, my relationship with Reba these days is pretty on-again, off-again.”
“You just using me for my wheels, Bennet?”
I smile, squinting into the sunlight behind his face. “Guess we’ll have to find out if there’s anything more to it than that.”
He grins and puts down the hammer. “I’m intrigued now.”
I look him up and down, absorbing the sweaty yet insanely attractive whole of him. “Actually, while you’re at it, throw on something suitable for public consumption.”
“Why, are the public planning to consume me?”
