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“Fine,” I said. “But just to reiterate—”
“I know. I know,” Taylor said. “I’m not forgiven.”
TWO HOURS LATER,walking up Jack’s driveway, as I battled intrusive thoughts of Jack’s many, many past girlfriends, it seemed pretty clear I’d made the right choice.
If you’re ever going to let Taylor do something for you, it should be hair and makeup. And she’d talked me into wearing the slinkiest red dress I had.
I’d been tempted to put on a pantsuit.
Did I feel achingly vulnerable with my shoulders bare and the silk hem whispering around my naked thighs? Of course.
Emotionally—and physically—I felt naked as hell. And not in a good way.
“They’re the ‘befores,’” I repeated, like a mantra, as a veritable catwalk of ex-girlfriends strutted through my head. “You’re the ‘after.’”
Everything about me was quivering.
I was fine with caring as long as it was mutual. But was it? It had seemed more than mutual yesterday, when he was pressing me up against the wall in his parents’ hallway.
But yesterday was a million years ago.
I wondered if the triple punch of it all—losing my mom, then losing Robby, then losing Taylor—had left a bigger scar than I’d realized.
Was I lovable? I mean, are any of us really lovable if you overthink it?
It was tempting to chicken out.
But then I thought of Jack going bwok, bwok, bwok, and then I wondered if having faith in yourself was just deciding you could do it—whatever it was—and then making yourself follow through.
So I decided something right then: Every chance you take is a choice. A choice to decide who you are.
And so that’s what that long walk up Jack’s driveway was about for me. Not about what Robby and Taylor had done. Or what Jack might or might not say or do or feel. It was about me choosing who to be in the face of all… and refusing to give up on hope. Or myself.
Was it totally ridiculous for me to try to date a movie star?
Absolutely.
Was I going to do it anyway?
You bet.
