The Jasmine Project
Page 13
I know what you must be thinking: What the hell, Anonyma? That seems… wrong.
But let me back up a bit. Ariel is eighteen and has only had one boyfriend: her high school sweetheart, a Resident Scumbag Player—we’ll call him RSP for short. Despite him never being good enough for her, despite him not treating her well, and despite our family disapproving of RSP for those reasons, Ariel was getting ready to spend her life with him. That is, until we caught him cheating on her.
Messed up, right?
Well, it gets worse. He convinced her that he wasn’t actually cheating, but that they should see other people this summer before they move in together. And my sister was willing to let him explore his options while she sat home.
The reason Ariel put up with him for so long and the reason we designed this contest are one and the same: Ariel, who has the biggest heart in the world, has never known her true worth. Our family tries. So do her friends. We tell her how great she is, but I guess we don’t feel objective. And boy attention is just a different type of validation. We wanted her to see how many options there are out there. So we tried to come up with something to help show her how she should be treated and valued. And that’s why we created The Little Bachelorette contest. We hope that through the contest she’ll not only find someone to love but, more important, find herself.
The reason the competition is a secret though is because somewhere between her low self-esteem and her dislike of reality shows, she never would’ve agreed to something like this. No matter how much it would help her grow. So under the cloak of secrecy, our family found applicants, hand selected the top three bachelors, and intervened (and endlessly bickered among ourselves) to keep the boys in her path. We all have our personal favorites. We’re all invested. But ultimately, it’s her choice. She can walk away from this with a new boyfriend or just on her own. All we want is for her to realize how she should be treated. What she deserves.
Lately, however, there’s been a wrinkle we weren’t prepared for: RSP, who started this whole thing by wanting to see other people, now seems to be changing his mind. He’s contacting her more and more. And none of us can get a handle on how much she’s affected by it.
He showed up at our door (the nerve) the other night looking for her, and luckily, she was on a date with Bachelor Number Three. I told him she didn’t want to speak to him and to leave. But we may, reluctantly, have four bachelors now.
Yes, that was a long-suffering sigh.
But let me get into the three chosen bachelors, what they bring to the table, and why each one might win her heart.…
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
DAVEY’S OUTRAGED FAMILY GROUP TEXT
JUNE 2
Scumbag Paul was looking for Jaz AGAIN tonight
Aunt Jay
No way
Cousin Crystal
Ugh. Go away
Aunt Regina
Boy, bye
Cousin Wylan
What, and I can’t stress this enough, the…
Aunt Regina
Language
Cousin Wylan
Heck
Cari
I guess he’s been messaging her. He said he was worried bc she hasn’t responded. It was a good thing she was at June’s tonight
Cousin Mai
He needs to take a hint
The parents lost it on him. It was epic
Uncle Vin
Oh, this boy messed with the wrong librarian
Aunt Minnie
What did you do, Ferdy??
Dad
I told him he was no longer welcome at our home. Then I restrained Dee
Mom
You didn’t restrain me
He totally did
Cari
Yes, he did
Mom
He shouldn’t have shown up when I was cooking
Cari
Knives stay in the kitchen, Ma
Nonna
Good for you, honey
Cousin Mabel
Is she actually thinking about taking him back before the summer is over? Or at all?
Cari
I don’t know. We decided not to tell her about him stopping by
Cousin Amberlynn
Why not?
Cari
She may see it as a 'grand gesture'
Cousin Amberlynn
But if she talks to him, won’t she find out?
Mom
Hopefully she won’t. But we can say we forgot—like when Davey 'forgets' to take out the trash bins
ONE TIME!
Dad
Let’s hope she does the smart thing and continues to ignore him
Aunt Minnie
I’m sure she will—our girl is nothing but smart
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I’m meeting Paul for lunch, and I’m running a little behind.
He messaged every day for nearly a week, and I finally agreed to meet him. I picked Chuy’s, but I’m late because Justin Michael sent a funny Jeopardy! video while I was getting ready and we wound up texting.
I’m still not sure if our movie night was a “date.” We had fun, though, and that’s what matters. We housed a pack of strawberry laces and fought over the half-popped kernels (clearly the best, rarest popcorn pieces). It was like old times, but also different. There was more… tension between us. What I felt in the bookstore returned tenfold. Rather than lying all over each other like we would’ve as kids, we kept a respectable distance. I kept wondering if he’d put his arm around me or get closer, but he didn’t. I was both a little bummed and also wondering if I should make a move myself.
Spoiler: I didn’t.
The only times we touched were when our hands brushed while reaching for snacks. It happened too many times to have been accidental, but can it be a date when it ends in a hug and at least one of your family members has been walking through the room or “looking for something” the entire time? Asking for a friend with a super-nosy family.
I also don’t know if going to Aaron’s baseball game qualifies as a date. Probably not, but it was really cool to see him pitch. I cheered for every strike, swept up in the excitement. Right after the game, he looked up at me and waved me down to the field. Everyone in the stands turned to stare, probably wondering how I knew their star pitcher. And I felt so special being singled out. Like I was a VIP. He took me on a full tour of the clubhouse and introduced me to the coaches and players. It would’ve been intimate, but both my siblings tagged along for every step. Can it be a date if you have two annoying chaperones? I don’t think so.
He and I are going to the batting cages (alone) this week, and it’s all my fault. When Aaron was talking about off-speed pitches messing with a hitter, I mentioned I’ve never swung a baseball bat. He swore he could teach me how to hit in one session. Because I haven’t embarrassed myself enough lately and I said “bet,” like a fool. So, it’s on. He’ll buy me ice cream if I don’t get a hit on Thursday—the next day he’s back in town. If I successfully connect with a baseball, I’ll owe him a cone. I’ll win and drown my shame in rocky road, so it’s all upside.
My phone dings, stirring me from my thoughts. I shut the car off and check it. Okay, maybe I’m hoping it’s Eugene finally texting. But even after he brought me to his restaurant, he hasn’t messaged at all.
I frown. It’s not Eugene. It’s Paul asking if I’m still meeting him.
I take a deep breath and get out of my car. June and Emily said it’s a really bad idea to see Paul again, but I know I can handle it. I truly haven’t thought as much about him lately, but I do want to see what he has to say. And as he said—it’s just lunch. It’s not getting back together. I can do this.
I pull open the door to Chuy’s, and the hostess greets me.
“Hey, there,” she says. “Table for one?”
“Hi. Actually, I’m meeting someone,” I say, looking around. The place is mostly empty since it’s a Monday, but there are more people here than I’d expected.
Lady, you’re not helping.
But I nod, follow her, and find Paul sitting in a blue vinyl booth. Still handsome. Still so familiar. Old emotions flood my veins as he smiles and stands.
“Hey, Jaz,” he says.
I stop close enough to smell him. His cologne sets off so many memories. Each one is tinged with good and bad.
He leans down to kiss me.
I stare at his lips. I want him to kiss me.
No. No. Bad idea. We aren’t together. The last thing I need is the confusion of kissing him. What happened to the resolutions I just made in the car? Come on, Jasmine. Make it a full minute.
I turn my head at the last second, and his lips mash against my cheek.
It’s as awkward as it sounds.
He clears his throat, looking thrown for a moment before composing himself again.
“Thanks for coming,” he says.
I utter an mm-hmm and slide into the booth across from him. He only has water. I guess this time he waited to order, despite my twelve-minute lateness. I open my menu right as the waiter arrives.
“Hey, can I get you guys something to drink?” the waiter asks.
“Ginger ale,” Paul says, not waiting for me to order. He never used to wait, but this is the first time it’s occurred to me to mind.
“I’ll have a Coke, please,” I say.
“Not diet?” Paul says.
I stare at him. “I’m not on a diet.”
“I’ll be right back with that,” the waiter says, clearly eager to get away from us.
“I didn’t mean you were on a diet, but I thought you liked Diet Coke better,” Paul says.
“I hate it, actually.”
“But you used to get it all the time,” he says. He’s genuinely confused—he used to wear the same expression when trying to do his trig homework. As his girlfriend, I tutored him for free. He was my worst student.
“I made a lot of choices I wouldn’t make again.” I give him a pointed stare and return to the menu.
Everything looks good, but it’s hard to focus because I actually landed a shot at Paul and that’s never happened before.
The silence drags on and I glance up. Paul is staring at me. He tilts his head. I swallow hard and brace myself for his reaction.
“You’ve changed,” he says.
“In a good or bad way?” I ask.
“Good,” he says. “You seem… more confident. You look great, by the way. Did you do something different to your hair?”
Now he compliments me? I wish I could say it doesn’t matter, but it does. The part of me that was starving for his approval drinks it in and revels in the fact that Paul Reyes thinks I look great.
The Coke and ginger ale arrive and the waiter scurries away.
“No, my hair’s the same, but thank you,” I say. I can’t resist adjusting the silk headband holding back my hair.
I took a page from my sister’s book and dressed to impress. Turns out, when I dress up, I feel more confident. It’s a self-esteem cycle.
“What are you going to get?” I ask.
He frowns at the menu. “I don’t know. I’m in the mood for a burrito, but I’m not sure if I’ll like theirs and they come with cheese.”
“They’re really good and also enormous. You’ll like them. You can ask for no cheese.”
“Big As Your Face Burrito, huh?” he says. “Would that be bigger or smaller than my ego?” He raises his eyebrows.
“Definitely smaller,” I say. “They don’t have that kind of room here.”
Note: the place is massive, with high ceilings.
I look away. I can’t believe I just said that to him. I never would’ve made fun of him a few weeks ago, but everything feels different now. There isn’t the pressure of trying to make him happy or walking on eggshells to avoid a fight, because we’re not really together. And I’ve never felt that before. I used to care so much about his feelings that if he had a bad day, I’d absorb it and have a bad one too. It’s refreshing to not feel that weight. A small voice in my head wonders if this is how we could be going forward, if we’ve both changed for the better, but it’s too soon to tell. Right?
Paul laughs, actually laughs. It’s confusing because Paul has no sense of humor. But the waiter comes back and we order. He gets a cheeseless burrito and I order the appetizer sampler. The sampler has queso, but that’s okay—it’s just for me.
He rests his arms on the table after the menus are cleared. I keep my hands by my legs, my foot shaking.
“How have you been? I was worried about you,” he says.
“Why’s that?”
“Well, it took you a while to respond to my messages,” he says.
“I’ve been busy,” I say, playing with my straw wrapper. “I’m sorry.”
Honestly, I’m not that sorry, but it’s easier to appease him.
He clears his throat. “I know you’re still mad at me,” he says. “And you have every right to be.”
“Actually, I’m not.” I say, then I think about it and it’s true. I’m not mad. I was hurt and I wanted things back the way they were before, but I was never angry.
I take a sip of Coke—it’s so much better than diet. As the bubbles fizz on my tongue, the question dances in my head: Could I keep this newfound me if I got back together with Paul? Or would we revert to the way we were last year?
“I, uh, I stopped talking to her, by the way,” he says.
I blink a couple of times, my train of thought derailed. Is he really going to tell me about his relationship status with the Instagram girl? Okay, now I’m annoyed.
“I just… I miss you, Jaz,” he says. “I didn’t say it when you texted, and I probably should’ve because it’s true, but I needed more time to think about things. This… us… it’s a lot. Before this summer we’d only ever dated each other, really. And I got a little freaked out about going to college a virgin, and moving in together, and all that. But I miss you. And I miss us. I drive by Tijuana’s and I miss going there. That was our place—not here.”
It was everything I wanted two weeks ago. All the words I would’ve paid to hear. Paul doesn’t do emotional declarations like this, and it means a lot. He’s really trying. But for some reason my heart doesn’t leap for him the way it did in the past. And it’s not the Instagram girl. Not really. It’s more feeling like I deserve more now. That this isn’t enough.
My phone dings and breaks up the silence.
I glance at the screen, secretly grateful for whoever interrupted the conversation, but it’s Eugene. Happiness bursts in my chest like a firework. I try not to smile because Paul will think it’s about him. And it’s not. Maybe it’s the possibility of Eugene, of something better, that holds my heart back.
Paul still waits for me to respond, obviously expecting me to make some sort of declaration in return.
“It’s…” I pause and put my phone away. “Why did you ask to meet?”
His brow wrinkles. “Well… we miss each other. I thought we’d stop this summer apart thing. It was a mistake.”
“Oh. No,” I say.
It’s as hard and definite as those two words—oh and no. But I sit with my mouth open because it’s impossible that I said them out loud.
“No?” Paul repeats.
He looks confused and I am too. For four years I was willing to do anything to keep us together. So why wouldn’t I jump back into this? I feel the pull of him, of our history. How could I not? But a bigger part of me feels that I owe it to myself to see this through.
I shake my head. “I… I need more time, I think.”
“Why? It’s not like you’re gonna find someone better,” he says.
I stare at him. It’s so… mean. And manipulative. Not to mention that it’s untrue. There is better. Or at least there are guys who’ll treat me better. I don’t feel the same ease with Paul that I do wi
th Justin Michael, or the same rush of stardom like with Aaron, or whatever it even is with Eugene.
The words “It’s over” should come out of my mouth. Now. Like right now. But for some reason I can’t say it. I’m still holding on. I can’t let go of the plans we made for the future. And yes, even though I don’t want to leap back in, I’m still hoping he’ll change. And there is a worry deep inside me that the weird attention from boys will fade as quickly as it arrived. That I’ll play myself for a fool like I did years ago. That in the end, Paul is right—I won’t find better than him.
He reaches across the table and his hand lands on my arm. “I… that didn’t come out right.”
At that moment the waiter arrives with our lunch. Paul retracts his arm as the waiter puts my sampler in front of me and Paul’s huge burrito in front of him. Paul immediately digs in with a fork and knife.
He takes a hesitant bite, chews, and swallows. “This is… really good,” he declares. Like he still doubted me.
I stare at him, not touching my food until he puts down his fork.
He gives me a look like he doesn’t know why I’m not eating. I raise my eyebrows to remind him that I’m still waiting.
“What I meant to say is that you and I belong together, Jaz,” he says.
“You weren’t so sure last time we spoke,” I say.
He frowns. “She was… something I needed to get out of my system before going forward with you.”
I don’t even know what to say to that, and it appears Paul is done, so I eat my flautas and dip them in queso. We don’t talk much as we eat our lunch. Instead, I roller-coaster through the emotional high of him saying that we belong together and the new low of him saying I’d never find better. The memories and familiarity push me back, and the brand-new thought that we don’t fit together anymore pulls me away.