Good To Be Bad

by Lili Valente

  “I should have known better,” I mutter as I march out of the hotel, rustling around in my bag for my sunglasses.

  I find a pair and shove them on my face, but not before fat, salty tears streak down my cheeks.

  My throat tightens, a hard, hot knot of humiliation.

  Yes, this is more than a ten.

  My eyes sting, and I gulp back more tears. But they’re relentless, determined to flood my eyes.

  Outside in the muggy evening air, I make my way to the subway that’ll take me home, and my phone buzzes.

  Rooting around in my purse, I grab it, spying a notification. A text from West.

  All my emotions try to throttle me.

  Amid all the awfulness, a spark of hope flares inside. I can’t help it. I want West to stay and beat the shit out of Hawley, but I also want him here with me. I want to run away with him, find somewhere safe to curl up together, and let him hold me as I drown in a sea of tears.

  He’s just so good at holding me, and right now I feel so small and ashamed and alone.

  My heart slams against my ribs.

  I hope.

  I hope so damn hard.

  West: Fuck, that was awful. I’m so sorry, love. Are you okay? What do you need? How can I help? Tell me, and I’ll do it.

  The knot in my throat tightens impossibly more, and tears slip faster down my cheeks.

  Such a simple question.

  So hard to answer.

  But as much as the wounded part of me wants him right here, right now…

  Gigi: You need to kick Hawley’s ass in the contest. I’m going home. Just need to be alone for a while, but I’m fine. I swear. And I’m rooting for you! Talk later.

  I add a gif.

  *GIF OF SASSY WOMAN SAYING GO KICK ASS*

  I close my phone, stuff it into my purse, and head to the subway entrance, proud of myself despite the black hole of pain in my chest.

  This is my fault, and I should be alone with my misery and broken dreams. No need to drag West down with me.

  Especially when I suspect he wouldn’t really understand my devastation.

  But I don’t care if it’s just a contest.

  It wasn’t just a game to me.

  This was a chance to prove myself—to my community, my family, and myself. And I let it slip through my fingers by forgetting that contests have rules.

  You can’t just buy any property you want on Monopoly. You have to land on it. And you have to have the money.

  You don’t get to make up words in Scrabble.

  And you don’t get to enter contests you’re desperate to win without studying the fine print.

  “Stupid,” I mutter. “Stupid girl.” But as I’m about to round the corner and start down the steps to the train, I spot a taxi stopped at the light.

  Unoccupied.

  Rush hour has died down.

  I can grab that cab and let it whisk me home without baring my mascara-streaked cheeks to dozens of strangers. Or, knowing my luck, one of my regulars will be on the train, and I’ll have to explain why I’m a mess to a concerned patron who will, from this day forward, think of me as a crybaby loser.

  Thrusting a hand into the air, I hail the cab with a whistle added in for good measure.

  As the light changes, the yellow car jerks out of its lane and shimmies toward the curb. I jog the ten feet to the door, praying I won’t tumble and crack open my chin.

  Stitches would be the cherry on this shit ice cream sundae.

  I grab the door handle with a rush of relief and slide into the taxi, give the driver the address, and slump down in the sticky, cracked leather seat.

  Then I turn to the window, and hope grips my heart, squeezing it harder than I expect with the wish that I’ll see West coming after me.

  28

  Gigi

  There it is.

  My secret, selfish wish.

  To find West running after me.

  Racing along the sidewalk, flagging me down. Hell, maybe he’d even dart onto the street, bang on the window as the cab pulls into traffic, and shout stop the car.

  Then he’d grab the handle, slide inside, and gather me close. Tell me he couldn’t dominate the chocolate challenge because he’d rather be with me.

  Screw the damn chocolate, love. Let me smother you in kisses, instead.

  Yes, I want my prince to save me.

  Then I catch sight of myself in the rearview mirror and wince.

  Cringe.

  I look like a penguin who’s been attacked by a sea otter. Those deceptively sweet-looking creatures are actually twisted creeps. No one wants to hear the ugly truth about otters.

  But that’s who they are.

  And that’s who Hawley is. He’s an evil otter, and I am a wounded penguin. I don’t want a magnificent unicorn man like West who always has his horn and lush coat all together to see me like this.

  That would be worse than Theodore sneering from the bottom of the slide. Many times worse than running into Nelson on the street with his new girlfriend.

  Thank God, the sidewalk is empty of unicorns and West isn’t chasing me after all. He’d see the worst of me.

  My flawed, hyper-critical side that hates disappointing others and really hates disappointing myself.

  I’ve done both today, by massive amounts.

  I don’t want West to know how much I’m hurting right now.

  He’d think I’m being ridiculous.

  Someone who feels too much, who loses perspective, who’s too intense about too many trivial, embarrassing things.

  Most people can’t handle big displays of emotion and Lord knows mine are a kitchen explosion waiting to happen. I’m a chili pot of feelings, bubbling over to scorch on the burner.

  Leaving an awful, stinky mess.

  What if he doesn’t like this side of me? The side that occasionally loses control and ruins her makeup. The side that takes things too personally and sees every tiny failure as a sign she’s fundamentally flawed.

  If West saw this side of me, he’d leave. That’s what people do. They see you can’t always keep your shit together, no matter how hard you try, and…they leave.

  Or they simply don’t show up in the first place.

  My parents never showed up. And I’ve never had a man show up, either. I’ve never had a boyfriend stand by me when I stumbled, let alone fell flat on my face.

  Better that West doesn’t see how flat I am right now.

  When I see him again, I’ll be the me he loves.

  The fabulous, dressy, confident me.

  Not the penguin-mauled-by-an-otter me.

  Only two people get to see gross, mortified Gigi. The two people who will never leave me, no matter what.

  I lean forward, give the cabby a new address, then text my gram, letting her know I need pie stat.

  And her.

  And my brother.

  With them, I’m always safe.

  I try to be grateful for that, to play the gratitude game for my two fonts of unconditional love.

  The people who have always been by my side, through the years.

  My sun and my moon, and I love them both to the bottom of my messy, needy soul and back.

  As the cabby drives, I try to convince myself I don’t need—or want—more.

  But I miss West terribly.

  It turns out I’m not very good at gratitude tonight.

  Or anything else.

  29

  Gigi

  At Gram’s, I stumble through the door and dive bomb into her couch, stuffing my face into a cushion, hiding.

  “Oh, sweetie pie, what happened?” She sits next to me, petting my hair like she did when I was younger. When I’d escape to her house for comfort and a break from trying to keep my parents from breaking.

  “Is this about the contest?” she presses. “You should be there now, right?”

  The couch sinks near my feet. Harrison. He lives just down the block and, like Gram, he’s always there when I need him. I�
��m so lucky, but I still feel so fucking awful. The thirty-minute cab ride did nothing to banish the misery gnawing away in my chest.

  My brother squeezes my ankle. “Yeah, she should be. I was actually on my way there when you called, Gram. I was going to surprise her with this.”

  I look up to see Harrison holding a tiny trophy like the ones we used to win at the field day races in elementary school. Upon closer inspection, I see the plaque at the bottom reads—Top Goddess of Pie Mountain, Bitches, And Don’t You Forget It.

  See? These people are my sun and moon.

  Fresh tears stream down my face at the sweet gesture and the story all spills out. I tell them about the rule violation and awful, miserable, smug Hawley and finish with, “So I’m out. Disqualified. I will not now or ever be Mrs. Sweet Stuff.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Harrison says with a scowl. “When’s the last time you spent quality time with Mr. Skips? Or even his kids? We’ve barely seen them since they moved to Dumbo sixteen years ago.”

  I sit up with a hard sniff. “That’s what I said, and Mr. Skips agreed. But the other organizers didn’t, so I’m sweet stuff history.” My breath shudders out as I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I just feel so stupid. And embarrassed. And ashamed of myself.”

  “For goodness’ sake why?” Gram hugs me close with one arm as she gathers Joan—who’s yowling by her ankles—onto her lap with the other. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “But I did. I should have realized there might be a conflict of interest. I should have been prepared just in case someone—”

  “Stop it,” Harrison cuts me off with a slice of his hand through the air. “We’ve talked about this before. No one can prepare for everything that could possibly go wrong. There is no Girl Scout with that many badges, Geeg. No superhero with that many special powers. Trust me.”

  I shake my head. “But I skimmed right over the fine print. Who does that?”

  Gram huffs. “Everyone. For all I know, I’ve sold my soul to the devil a thousand times over. I haven’t read a cell phone agreement or disclosure on my meds in years.”

  Before I can chide Gram about ignoring possible drug interactions, she continues, “And what about your new friend? How did he take the news?”

  I bite my bottom lip, fighting another wave of tears. “West texted right after to ask what he could do to help. And I told him to stay and beat Hawley, and he did stay. Even though he’s told me a dozen times the contest isn’t a big deal to him. And now…” I flail an arm in the general direction of Williamsburg. “He’s probably deep in dark chocolate soufflé mode by now. And I’m glad, I really am, but…”

  “But you wanted him to come after you, which is understandable,” Gram says, shushing Joan when the big floofy beast meows in irritation, clearly not happy that Gram is still rubbing me instead of her.

  “But also understandable that he stayed,” Harrison counters. “He knows you, right?”

  I nod and sniff.

  “So, he knows you’re competitive as hell and winning Mrs. Sweets was important to you,” he says.

  I nod again.

  “And you flat-out told him to stay.” Harrison is in big bossy brother mode now. “And because he’s a full-grown man who trusts the full-grown woman he’s dating to know her own mind, he respected your wishes and stayed to fight for the both of you. Even though it isn’t his top priority.” With an eyebrow arch that says you got what you asked for, he pauses before adding in a softer voice, “And even though you aren’t there to cheer him on.”

  I press a fist to my chest, a horrible suspicion rising inside of me. “Oh no. I should have stayed, shouldn’t I? Even though I’m a gross, blubbering, mortified mess.”

  “No, baby,” Gram says. “What you should do is be kinder to yourself. You should have started about thirty years ago, and I should have done a better job of helping you.”

  Joan takes a sneaky swipe at my skirt, claws fully bared. The cat has never scratched me outright, but she’s shredded her share of innocent clothing in her attempts to show me my place.

  Which is second place. Behind her majesty, the princess.

  But Gram catches the cat’s paw.

  Fitting, since Gram never made me feel second best. “You did,” I assure her. “That’s why I’m here. Because I know I’m loved. Safe, no matter what.”

  “But you should be safe and loved anywhere,” Gram insists. “Anywhere you are. Anywhere you want to be. You’re always worthy of that. You don’t have to be perfect all the time or do everything right. That’s your birthright.”

  I swallow hard, rolling her words and Harrison’s over in my head, mashing them together like ingredients in a pie crust.

  Mixing until they come together.

  Maybe I’m like a pie, one that just needed a little more time in the oven. A little more love—from these two people, but mostly from the baker.

  From myself.

  I’m the only one who can give me that.

  It’s my choice. I don’t have to be just so.

  I can be just me.

  “If I weren’t so hard on myself,” I say in a halting voice as the new possibilities emerge, “then I wouldn’t have been so upset. And I would have been able to stay.”

  And be there for West.

  Be there for my man.

  Harrison smiles proudly, squeezes my hand. “Or to stay even if you were upset, trusting that it’s okay to feel the way you feel. That there’s no shame in having a cry in public once and a while.”

  I level a hard look at my brother’s always-in-control face. “When’s the last time you cried in public?”

  “Second grade, I think,” he says with a soft laugh. He shrugs. “But I’m still a work in progress. And I’m a guy. That has its own set of challenges. I’m supposed to be strong and tough and take the lead. I bet it wasn’t easy for West to stay there and let you go. I’m sure a part of him wanted to ride to the rescue, despite your wishes.”

  I mash that into the pie crust too, and it almost sticks, but…

  “But what if he doesn’t think it’s okay to cry in public?” I whisper, a little afraid to say this next part, even in front of Gram and Harrison. They know my horrid dating history, of course, but I’ve never let on, even to them, how much it’s messed me up. How much it’s made me doubt I’m worthy of that safe, loved space Gram’s talking about. “What if he’s like the other men I’ve dated. What if the second I show weakness or a side of myself he doesn’t like, he’s out the door?”

  “Then he’s not the right man,” Harrison says.

  “And he’s not worthy of you.” Gram tucks Joan between her leg and the arm of the couch then turns to face me fully, taking my hands in her smaller ones. “And maybe West isn’t the man for you. But sooner or later, you’re going to meet someone who sees how wonderful you are, sweet girl, and who appreciates every part of you. Even the weak parts and the scared parts. He’ll realize loving those parts of you is not only his job, but his honor and privilege. Just like loving those parts of him will be yours.”

  Harrison swipes at his cheek with the back of his hand. I look over to see his eyes shining. I free one of my hands so I can wrap an arm around him. “You okay?” I ask.

  “Don’t mind me,” he says, the words thick. “Just kind of looking forward to that. Sounds pretty special.”

  “It is,” Gram says, giving my hand another squeeze before she pulls away. “So is the bond between a woman and the cat who hates the entire world on her behalf. I’m going to take Joan into the kitchen for a treat before she has a meltdown and tries to assassinate the drapes. Be right back with pie and ice cream.”

  “Actually, I won’t have time for pie.” I pull in a deep breath. “I’m going back. If I hurry, maybe I can get there before they announce the winners.”

  “You’re sure?” Gram asks. “No pressure here, either way.”

  I nod. “Yes, I want to be there for West, even if I am a bedraggled baby penguin.”

&nb
sp; Harrison frowns. “Excuse me?”

  “Long story,” I say, grabbing my bag from the floor beside the couch. “I’ll tell you later.” I start for the door then pause and turn back. “Or maybe I won’t. I don’t think you really want to know. But I will tell you this—” I point at one dear one and then the other. “I love you both. Thank you for giving it to me straight.”

  “Haven’t given it to anyone straight since junior high,” Harrison deadpans.

  I wiggle my finger his way again. “Which reminds me. West’s oldest brother plays for your team. So maybe, if all goes well…”

  He hums beneath his breath. “I get laid by a hot Brit at your wedding?”

  “I was thinking double wedding, but whatever sounds good to you,” I tease, some of the old spring in my step as I wave goodbye to Gram and hurry out the door.

  But on my way back to the competition, in my third car of the night, I’m nervous again.

  Nervous, but determined to do my best by the man I love.

  If my best isn’t enough, that’s okay, too. Gram and Harrison are right. I don’t have to be perfect. I just have to give my full heart and be good to myself, even when I fall short.

  And if I’m lucky, I’ll get to be good to West too, even when he falls short.

  Surely, even unicorns have an off day now and then. I just hope I get to be there for him on those days.

  And all the ones between.

  30

  West

  Two hours and twelve minutes.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t aware of every second that’s dragged by since Gigi left. Every moment I’ve spent tending a fussy dark chocolate soufflé on this rooftop while wishing I were wherever she is now.

  But I had a job to do and, damn it, I did it.

  I have no doubt this chocolate creation is orgasmic.

  Now, it’s in the judge’s hands, and I hope it’s enough to take home the prize.