“You can,” he says. “But let’s turn them on the count of three. One… two… three.”
“Ta-da,” I say.
I turn my canvas so he can see my mediocre attempt, including the triangle for his nose, but I’m struck by his. It’s me. It’s abstract but it’s me when I was fourteen. I’m standing by the weeping willow tree in his backyard. The tree looks sad, its branches limp like it’s actually weeping. Blood drips from the “C + S” carved in it. And I know the exact feeling of his art because it tore me apart too, when he had to move.
Justin is watching me, but when my eyes meet his, he looks away.
“I remember that day,” I say.
He nods. “That’s why I didn’t need you to pose. I’ll never forget that.”
Emotions flood through me. It’s sad, of course, but also filled with warm memories. And he’s just so talented.
I smile. “I love it.”
He smiles too, relieved, I think. “I’m glad. You can have it.”
“Really?” I say.
“Of course.”
“You’re such a good friend,” I say.
He stares at me for a second. But what I said is true. I missed him as a friend. I don’t feel the kind of way about him as I do with Eugene, but I’m so happy and content to be near him again.
“I’m glad I found a way back into your life, Candy,” he says.
“Me too,” I say. I lean against his arm. “Come on, Stardust. I know a place we can actually be served drinks.”
“Boba?” he says.
“Exactly. On me.”
We leave our “art” to dry overnight and walk out of the museum. It was fun—a lot more than I thought it would be—and it was good to spend time with Justin. But I still check my phone once I’m in my car.
No new messages.
I sigh and start the Rolla.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
THE LITTLE BACHELORETTE PODCAST EXCERPT
S1, EP 4—JUNE 15
Anonyma: Hey, and welcome back to The Little Bachelorette podcast. I’m your host, Anonyma.
We are now officially at the midpoint of The Little Bachelorette contest!
For those just joining us, it’s hard to believe this all started a few weeks ago with my family’s idea of finding three boys to compete for my little sister’s heart.
So much has changed. Ariel has been on some great dates and truly is coming into her own. Through getting to know the bachelors, she seems to be understanding how she should be treated and what she wants. She may even be falling for one or more of the boys.
As the competition is now halfway over, I have a special treat for you all. For the first time ever, we’re going to hear from one of the contestants himself! Stay tuned to find out which bachelor will be joining us.
First, let me recap this important week of the competition. Ariel has now been on third dates with each of the boys. This week she went to an art museum night with The Boy Next Door, minigolfing in the evening with The Pro, and she had a day at the beach with The Cook.
RSP, our uninvited fourth bachelor, showed up at her work with takeout, but she turned down his offer to spend time together. Instead, she went home with me—something she never would’ve done before the competition.
I asked if she’s still thinking about going back to him in August, since it’s only a month and a half away, and she denied it. She was uncharacteristically quiet, though.
I have to say the downside to this competition has been having less time as a family. She hasn’t confided in me much since between the boys, her work, and her friends, she’s been so busy.
But, here with much more knowledge about Ariel’s whereabouts these days is none other than The Pro. Welcome, Bachelor Number Two.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
It’s Father’s Day, and I’m trying to keep a smile on my face. As we do every Father’s Day, Mom and I made Dad’s favorite breakfast: sunny-side-up eggs and tocino—it’s a Filipino sweet bacon. We served it with Cuban coffee, which was a habit Paul’s family introduced. My dad used to prefer Grandma Yap’s traditional tsokolate.
We had breakfast together and I forced down some food, but really, I haven’t been hungry. I didn’t even care when Davey stole half my tocino.
I’ve had a lot on my mind—Eugene, mostly. I messaged him one more time and now it’s undeniable: he’s ghosting me.
I kept trying to rationalize his silence—that he works full-time in a demanding kitchen, that we communicate differently, etc. But after the paint and sip, I knew in my heart something was wrong. And I know I’m going to sound like a megastalker, but on Friday I was so worried, I drove by the parking garage near Lantern & Jacks to check if his truck was there—i.e., if he was still alive. I saw it and drove off.
For everything people say about Paul, he never did anything like this to me. Never just dropped off the face of the earth without another word. He never left me worrying and wondering without an explanation. I know it was wrong to keep Paul a secret, but Eugene could’ve just told me he didn’t want to talk to me anymore. This is just… heartless.
Needless to say, I didn’t have dinner with him at Lantern & Jacks last night. I tried to not let it get me down. But it really hurt. Maybe he took another girl instead. Maybe that girl who was flirting with him at Speedway.
But my week wasn’t all bad. Paul showed up at my work on Tuesday with my favorite soup. It’s from a Vietnamese restaurant located all the way across Orlando. And just the smell of the broth lifted my spirits.
“Thank you,” I said, walking out of Berry Plum. He brought it in at closing and waited around for me to be done.
“Anytime,” Paul said. “Can you maybe hang out for a little while?”
I shook my head. “I can’t.”
“Oh,” he said. “I thought maybe we’d eat together.”
“You don’t like Vietnamese,” I said.
He hated the soup and used to complain that it stunk up the car if I brought home leftovers.
“I know,” he said. “But I could get something else and we could have dinner at my house. My parents took Gloria on their friend’s yacht. I’m all alone.”
My heart wrenched because I knew how he hated being alone in that huge house. “I… I can’t. Cari is on her way to get me. She’ll be here any minute.…”
“It’s okay,” he said. He stood with his hands in his pockets.
“Thank you again for the soup, though,” I said. “It was a really nice surprise.”
“It’s nothing,” he said.
“It’s not nothing,” I put my hand on his shoulder.
He glanced at it and then into my eyes. “I guess I’ve been trying to remind you of our good times—that we had them at least. And we could again. It’d be different, Jaz. I know what it’s like to lose you now.”
He reached out and stroked my cheek. My eyes drifted closed like they used to.
“I hope you think about it,” he murmured. “Fifty-one days left.”
He looked past me as Cari pulled up in the Rolla, then he kissed me on the forehead and got into his car. I crashed into the passenger seat, thoroughly conflicted, and Cari took me home.
I know everything that happened between us was bad, but I can’t shake that Paul is really trying now. And the soup was amazing. It warmed and comforted me in a way that only good food can.
We still have forty-seven days left until August 1, but maybe I should end this experiment and just be with Paul. Maybe we do belong together, like he says. I’ve changed, but he has too, and maybe we’ll fit together again.
Only, why does the thought make me sad?
I managed to smile through Dad opening his present from us. It was a group gift. Mom, Cari, Davey, and I chipped in and bought him a tablet specifically designed for editing photos. It’ll keep him busy for the rest of the day, maybe the year.
After that I mindlessly helped clean up after breakfast, then retreated to my room. Someone has to stare at my phone. Might a
s well be me.
“Hey, Jaz,” Cari says, knocking on my half-open door.
I shake off my thoughts and force myself to smile as I lie on my bed. “Hey, Cari.”
“You look…” That worry line appears by her eyebrows. “Mom wants me to run over to Qi Dragon. I guess some family is coming over in a few.”
“Oh,” I say. I don’t want to have to fake being okay in front of more people, but I don’t have much of a choice. It’s Sunday—family day, and Father’s Day.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you all summer,” she says. “Would you come and keep me company?”
I bounce off my mattress with as much speed as I’ve shown all week, eager to spend some time alone with Cari as well as avoid my other relatives for a while.
“Sure,” I say.
We get in the car and we’re barely out of the neighborhood before she lowers the music. I should’ve known something was up when she put on country. My siblings hate country.
“So, tell me what’s going on. You’re not yourself,” she says. “You haven’t been in a few days.”
“Boy drama,” I say. I’m as weary as I sound.
I wish it were something meta or more globally important than waiting by the phone, but it’s as complicated and as simple as a broken heart.
“Paul?” she asks without looking at me.
“No. It’s…” I sigh. I guess admitting to being ghosted is a new layer of humiliation in my life. “Eugene cut off contact.”
“What? Why? I thought you guys had a great date. You were beaming when you got back from the beach. You even watched some of Bachelor in Paradise with me.”
She’s right. I did. I got bitten so hard by the romance bug that I was willing to watch a fake show to absorb more of that feeling.
I shake my head. “I wasn’t honest with him and now he hates me.”
“I really doubt that.…”
“I didn’t tell him about the Paul situation and I should’ve. I lied, maybe not by saying anything false, but definitely through not telling him the whole truth. And that’s just as bad.”
The worry line hasn’t left her brow, and Cari is frowning. She almost never frowns.
I sigh. “So it’s all my fault and I can’t do anything to change it.”
“Have you messaged him?” she asks. I give her a look of disdain and she startles. “Okay, that wasn’t a good question. So he just cut off contact? Oh, Jaz, why didn’t you say anything earlier this week?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. By the time I’d figured out he was ghosting me, it was after art night. Then Friday I worked all day. Saturday you were prepping for your show or whatever, and I was at the shelter most of the day anyhow. It wouldn’t have mattered, though. There’s nothing you could’ve done. He probably met someone else.”
Cari is a good driver so she normally keeps her eyes on the road, but her head swivels in my direction. She purses her lips and nods.
We’re headed across town. Qi Dragon isn’t far from the Vietnamese restaurant where Paul picked up my soup. It’s a good twenty minutes away.
We’re silent for a while as Cari turns the music back to normal volume. Eventually, I make it lower.
“The reason I can’t let this go is because he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d ghost. When I explained everything on the way home on Monday, he seemed okay. It feels like I’m missing something and it’s killing me. Maybe he just never really liked me.”
Cari shakes her head. “No, that’s not it. He likes you—really likes you. Maybe he just needs time to think about everything. He’s probably confused and gathering his thoughts.”
She’s trying hard to cheer me up. She wants to believe everything is a love story like on The Bachelor. But not everyone has a happily ever after.
I sigh. “I didn’t think I could get rejected twice in a summer, but ha ha. Joke’s on me”
“Jaz, I… I’m really, really sorry,” she says. “I never wanted anything like this to happen.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. I’m the jerk who wasn’t honest.”
She pulls the car over, but we’re not to Qi Dragon yet.
“What’s going on? Why did we stop?” I say.
She looks at me, but her eyes are behind black sunglasses so I can’t read her. She parts her lips a couple of times and I wait, but no words come out. Cari looks away then back at me.
“You have a good heart—” she says.
“You’re the same,” I interrupt.
She shakes her head.
“We have the same heart,” I say. I take her hand in mine.
“I didn’t want to… if he can’t see how great you are, then it’s his loss,” she says.
And it means a lot. Although she’s chosen to be single, my sister has had an endless number of suitors, yet she sees value in me. Even when I can’t see it myself.
“Want to go to that playground for a while?” she says.
I glance through my window and there’s a kiddie park. It’s tempting. It’s somehow not a million degrees, and playing around seems worlds better than being asked about my love life by my well-meaning but overbearing family. The three boys I’ve been hanging out with are endlessly fascinating to my cousins. I have no idea why.
“Don’t we have to go to the bakery?” I say.
Cari shrugs. “We’ll tell them there was a long line. And you know people will bring pastries over anyhow.”
Unlike me, Cari can lie and think on her feet. It’s impressive.
“When was the last time you were on a swing?” she asks.
“I don’t know. When I was thirteen maybe. Probably Justin Michael’s tire swing—so fourteen.”
“I think it’s time, then.” She shuts the car off. “You can’t be sad on a swing. It’s science.”
I arch an eyebrow at her sincerity. “So glad you’re prelaw not premed.”
We get out of the car and make our way to the swings. I sit on the rubber seat and Carissa jumps onto the one next to me. Because of course she just dives in.
Old memories come rushing back as the chains rattle. Mom used to bring us to playgrounds all the time. Davey would be in her arms, but Cari and I would play for hours. Before I met June, before I really got to know Justin Michael, Cari was my first best friend.
I reach over and take her hand. I’m so glad I have my sister. We are different, that’s for sure, but I love her.
We start swinging low together. Then we drop hands and swing on our own. Oddly enough, she’s right. The more I swing, the farther away everything feels—the ground of course, but also everything weighing down my mind.
I look at Cari, her long curls waving behind her, a carefree smile on her face. She’s always wanted the best for me. But I somehow fell into believing I deserve less than her. Yes, she’s good at nearly everything, but that doesn’t mean I’m good at nothing.
I push higher. If she can do this, I can try.
With a few more leg pumps, I’m at the end of my comfort zone. As much as I broke through it with Eugene, his ghosting me made me retreat, hard. I even started looking at apartments for August. Because I put myself out there and got burned yet again.
We swing a little higher and my stomach swoops. I put my legs out to slow down, to stop. But Cari isn’t stopping. In fact, she’s leaning back more. And just as I’m ready to accept that I can’t be like her, I try.
I pump my legs and grip the chains through the spike of fear, and something happens: nothing. Nothing happens. I don’t fall. I don’t get hurt. I may not be as carefree as Cari, but I can do things too.
I keep swinging, holding on tight, until it feels like we’re flying together.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
NEWS CHANNEL 2
JUNE 18
“Good afternoon, this is Felicia Strong with your news at noon. Our top story this hour: The governor has declared a state of emergency for all twenty-six of Florida’s Atlantic coast counties projected
to be in the impending path of Hurricane Beverly.
“Your News Channel 2 weather team has been monitoring the storm since it formed days ago. As we reported this morning, Beverly was upgraded to a Category 4 hurricane by NOAA, making it the first major storm of this early season.
“The massive hurricane is on track to make landfall in the Caribbean within the next twenty-four hours, bringing with it damaging winds and torrential rains. Current projections have Beverly maintaining strength and striking Florida by Saturday morning.
“While the storm may change paths at any time, meteorologists predict Beverly will directly impact the Central Florida region, bringing high winds and a dangerous storm surge to the Daytona area. Florida coastal residents are urged to make evacuation plans and to heed mandatory zones. The Orlando area has been placed under a hurricane watch, and residents are encouraged to take storm precautions.
“Stay tuned as News Channel 2 will continue to update you with the very latest.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
A hurricane watch for Central Florida meant two things for me: 1) a total shift in focus to the storm, and 2) manual labor. So much manual labor as my entire family helped one another prepare for Hurricane Beverly.
In the Ventura/Yap households, the regular storm protocol of checking hurricane shutters, assembling supplies, gassing up chain saws and cars, and storing patio furniture somehow gets paired with a midsummer clean out. I don’t know why, but it’s a tradition. And lately the cousin generation is put to work while the aunts and uncles supervise from a dining room table or claim to be too weak to lend a hand.
Yeah, it’s some BS.
But Aaron helped out on Tuesday at my grandparents’ houses, and that was both fun and super embarrassing, as my family could not help themselves. Between Nonna commenting on how I’d “blossomed” (kill me) and my cousins inviting him to my neighborhood hurricane party even though they don’t live on my block, I was not looking forward to Justin Michael lending a hand the next day.
But the family is more used to Justin and less starstruck, so he and I replaced and painted a windowsill at the bookish Venturas’ house in peace. Mostly. My cousins still stared over at us every 0.2 seconds and Aunt Kim offered us lemonade no fewer than six times.
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