“Actually Helen, I have a confession to make.”
She rubs her hands together. She’s glad this segment may be back on track. “Do tell.”
I take a deep breath. “The contest is over.”
“Over?”
I nod. “Yes, I made the decision this weekend, and I’m announcing it now for the first time. It’s over because I don’t want a Trophy Husband. It’s over because I don’t want to marry a younger man just to get even. It’s over because no contest, no boy toy, no hot young thing will ever change the fact that my ex-fiancé ditched me for another woman. But most of all, and most important, it’s over because I met someone along the way, and he’s the one I want. And there’s one more thing I want to say, and I hope you don’t mind me saying this on your show.” I look to her as a flock of nerves descends on me, beating their wings. But I have to live with this vulnerability. I have to be okay with it. I think I am.
Helen is surprised with the curveball, but she’s not a national TV show host for nothing. “As long as you don’t swear on my show.”
“I didn’t just meet someone. I fell for him. I fell in love with him. I couldn’t help it, and he swept me away. That’s what happened. That’s how I feel. Like magic, and music, and everything the love songs promise. The kind where there’s no question about it, and it can’t be any other way. And that’s why there will be no Trophy Husband, because if he still wants me like I want him then I’m here to say that I’m much happier with a boyfriend than I could ever be with making a point.”
Her lips quirk up, as if she’s assessing me. But then she looks to the studio audience. “What do you think?”
They clap and they cheer, and soon there’s a collective sort of “aww” coming from the crowd.
Helen pumps her fist and nods appreciatively at me. “I love this woman! She had the crap kicked out of her by love, and she got up on the horse and rode again. Forget revenge fantasies. You are the poster child for taking a chance again at love.”
I like that title better. A lot better.
Chapter Nineteen
I wait in the lobby for Tristan. I keep checking my phone, but Chris won’t have called because he hasn’t seen the show yet. It won’t air until this afternoon. Even though all my instincts tell me to run over to his apartment, jump into his arms and smother him in kisses, the reality is I am in a holding pattern for hours. It’s as if I’m flying cross-country, sans phone, sans connection to the world, until later today.
Soon, Tristan reappears with a thumb drive. He hands it to me with a flourish then kisses my cheek. “In all its technicolor glory. Now, don’t post it until four-thirty. That’s when the segment will have run live. You can post the clip anytime after.”
“Promise.”
“You are a brave woman, and I hope that man knows he’s damn lucky to have you.”
“I’m damn lucky if he’ll still have me.”
Tristan gives me a confident wave. Then he leans in to whisper. “And if you met any men along the way who bat for my team, you just send them my way.”
“You know, I might actually know someone for you. Take a picture with me.”
He drapes an arm over my shoulder and smiles for the camera as I turn my phone around to capture us. Then I take down Tristan’s number.
* * *
Andy has never looked happier than when he shoots today’s video. He high-fives me when it’s over. “I cannot wait to edit that clip in. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you. Her show airs in about thirty minutes, so we can run when my segment is over. But let me know the second it’s live, okay?”
“I will.”
“Oh, and what do you think about this guy?”
I tap the photos on my phone and show Andy the one I shot a little while ago. He peers at the screen. “He’s not bad,” Andy says, and there’s a flirty sound in his voice. My Andy is back. My Andy helped bring me back.
“He’s single.”
“Then he’s really not bad.”
“He lives in San Francisco. He has a good job.”
“You really can’t resist engineering things, can you?”
“No,” I say with a laugh. “Do you want me to set you up?”
“Sure.”
Then he waves and drives off.
* * *
I brace myself when Hayden bangs on my door. I answer it, hunching my shoulders forward, fully prepared for her to launch a verbal attack of why did I have to learn this on TV and how could you keep this from me?
But she’s the first to congratulate me. “I heard the news. You sneaky bitch! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know,” I say, but I’m smiling. “I guess I was scared.”
“I am pretty frightening.”
“I didn’t want to let you down.”
“I will be seriously let down if you don’t tell me everything now.”
So we move from my doorway and sit on the steps, and her eyes grow wider at the Fish Out of Water Studios part, they become saucers when I tell her about Qbert, and then she shrieks as I recount the news of my on-air admission.
“Wow,” she says, with something like awe in her voice. “I feel like that has the making of some crazy romance novel.”
“Oh, stop it with you and your romance novels.”
“No seriously. The best ones have these crazy plots, and earth-shattering orgasms, and then some big gesture like confessing your love on a billboard, and then the happily ever after.”
“I’m hoping for the latter. But I feel terrible. You guys worked so hard to help me find a Trophy Husband and I just bailed on it.”
“We cheered you on because we thought it would make you happy. Because we thought you’d be able to move on.”
“So you’re not mad at me for dropping the contest?”
“I told you, McKenna – I’ve always wanted you to be happy. Whether you’re happy with a guy, without a guy, with an older guy, with a younger guy, even if you decided to go girl on me. All I want is for you to be happy. I could never be mad. Especially because you are crazy and insane and you make us do things we haven’t done since college.”
“But now it’s all over.”
“We may have to resort to egging people’s home or toilet papering trees.”
“Such low-brow pranks.”
“I am confident with enough time you will devise something new.”