‘Full sentences. Yes. Got it.’
Someone re-angled a light and it shone right in my eyes, like when you’re looking off into the distance and the sun reflects off a passing car and just for a second it feels like someone has sent a laser beam right through your brain.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ the tech guy said, moving the light again. ‘There was a weird shadow on your face.’
‘It’s okay,’ I said, dabbing at my watering eyes. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Make-up, can we get a touch-up, please?’ Murray said.
A make-up woman scurried over to me.
‘Unless you want to keep the tears, Amanda,’ Murray said. ‘You just broke up with your ex, right? If you’re going to cry anyway—’
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘I’m not going to cry. No more tears.’
‘All right, then.’
The make-up woman dabbed at my face with a small brush, touching up the contouring around my eyes. She was wearing a bright purple mask with little white polka dots. It was super cute, and I made a mental note to ask her where she got it.
‘Okay, Amanda,’ Murray said, when she was finished. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m ready.’
‘Why did you come onMarry Me, Juliet, Amanda?’
‘I came onMarry Me, Julietbecause I believe in love,’ I said, willing myself with everything in my being not to cry. ‘I’m here because I’ve had my heart broken, but I don’t want it to be broken forever. I’m here to try and put it back together again.’
It was about two pm on a Tuesday afternoon when I decided to apply forMarry Me, Juliet. It was two months, three weeks, five days and twenty-ish hours after Jac broke up with me. I was at work, writing up some maintenance instructions for a client. He leaned over the desk, looked at what I was writing, and said, ‘Nice handwriting.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, genuinely a bit flattered. ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever complimented my handwriting before.’
‘Most mechanics write like doctors,’ he said. ‘Totally unreadable.’
‘I do my best,’ I said, finishing the instructions, folding them neatly in half and handing them to him. ‘You look after that beautiful car now, all right? I don’t want her back here in car hospital with me again.’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, winking at me. ‘If she has to come back, then I get to see you again. If I weren’t already married…’
I made myself keep smiling as I rang up the cost of his repairs on the till.
‘You single?’
‘Yes!’ Dave, one of the other mechanics, called over his shoulder. ‘She got dumped!’
I shot him anOh, come onlook. He gave me aWhat? You did!look back.
‘Trust me,’ the customer said, leaning a little too close over the counter, ‘the guy’s an idiot.’
I gave Dave a pre-emptive look before he could shout outShe got dumped by a chick, mate!or anything like that. I was already about to get propositioned by a married man. I knew from lots – like,lots– of experience that the grossness factor would go up at least ten times if said married man knew I was into women.
But the customer just looked a bit thoughtful. ‘You should go on that dating show,’ he said, handing over his credit card. ‘That Romeo and Juliet one. You’re hot enough.’
If he hadn’t said that thing about the dating show, I wouldhave forgotten about the interaction immediately afterwards (well, immediately after I’d given Dave the 793840329840thversion of my ‘can you please not tell customers I’m single, you know it makes them hit on me’ lecture). Being a petite blonde lady mechanic meant that men said far grosser things to me than that on a daily basis. I mostly just filed them away in an ‘ugh, just another day in the office’ box in my brain.
But hehadsaid that thing about the dating show.
I knew exactly which dating show he meant. I watchedMarry Me, Juliet(where a bunch of women compete for one man),Wherefore Art Thou Romeo?(where a bunch of men compete for one woman), andJuliet on the Beach(where a bunch of rejected contestants get drunk and hook up on a beach) religiously. I followed a lot of past contestants on Instagram. I was a pretty dedicated fan.
The thought of actually being on it had never occurred to me before though.
