Eight Weeks to Mr. Right Page 3

  I could hardly believe it. #MrRight was trending on Twitter! I eagerly clicked the hashtag and began perusing the comments. “People like the show!” I told him, excited.

  “Oh yeah? Congratulations.”

  “Aaaaah! They’re talking about me!”

  He smiled, his eyes sparkling. I’d forgotten how cute he was, and was momentarily distracted from my phone. “Let’s hear it,” he said, and I began reading the tweets aloud.

  “‘January is the only normal one on this show. If @andrewaudrave doesn’t pick her, I’m boycotting.’ ‘I love January’s dress! Anyone know where I can buy one?’ ‘Choice between January and Isabella is obvs. Isabella will murder u in ur sleep.’ Not true, actually,” I told Ben, glancing up at him. “We shared a dorm for part of the filming, and I’m still alive. But the sentiment is right on.”

  I kept scrolling through the tweets, getting more and more excited at what I saw. ‘By far my fave? January. Weird name. Cool girl.’ ‘Only one I’d want to know in real life.’ Even some guys were getting in on the tweets. ‘Think she’s still single? Super hot.’

  I felt like I was going to boil over with excitement. People loved me! Lots of people! I was famous and I was the sweetheart. This was going just how I’d hoped. Now all I had to do was make contact with Andrew again after the show finished airing.

  It was all coming together. My dream was coming alive in front of my eyes. And if the next part of the plan went off as perfectly as the first, I’d be a fragrance developer for La Joie in no time.

  And back in Andrew’s arms.

  “So you feel good about how the first episode went,” Ben said. He was smiling, but something about the way he said “the first episode” made me frown.

  “Yeah, it was great!” I said. “I’m really excited to watch the rest. We had all the components of good reality TV. There was the gossip, the drama queen — that’s Isabella, in case you hadn’t figured that out — all the characters a series needs.”

  “Who’s the villain?” he said, taking his wine glass to the sink and rinsing it out.

  I paused. I went back through the other women in my mind, one by one. “You know…” I said, “we didn’t really have a villain.”

  I took the last gulp of my wine and stood up, then had to hold onto the arm of the couch for support. The wine had gone to my head a bit more than I’d realized. “I just tried to stay out of it all,” I told him. “I hate drama, and I didn’t want to get involved with it.”

  “Bet the other girls loved that,” he said with a grin.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “Why would they want me to get involved in the drama?”

  He just shrugged. “You’re probably right. You’re the one who was actually on the show.”

  But I persisted. “You know how on every reality TV show there’s always that one person who says, ‘I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to win.’?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Well, that’s something that Isabella would always say. And I hated her for it — it’s so cliché! It’s so dumb! Who actually says that?”

  Ben nodded.

  “But,” I continued, “it’s true. You’re not there on the show because you want to make friends with the other girls. You’re there for one purpose — hopefully to get close to Mr. Right. Or in my case, to try to get a job from him!” I was being flippant, but for some reason, I didn’t want to admit to Ben that I’d fallen for Andrew in the end. Maybe it was just because I wanted him to respect me.

  “Okay,” he said quietly. “All I’m saying is…sometimes the friendships are important too.”

  I took a step toward Ben, starting to bring him my wineglass. But then the glass slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor with a crisp crash, shattering instantly.

  “Oh, shit,” I said. “I’m so sorry!” I bent down to pick up the pieces, but he rushed to my side and put a hand on my arm. Even through my embarrassment I recognized how warm his hand was, how reassuring.

  “Leave it. I’ll do it,” he said. “I have a broom.”

  My face felt hot as I stood back up and leaned against the counter, watching him retrieve the broom and sweep up the broken pieces of the wineglass. I was swaying even with the counter to balance against, and I couldn’t deny it any longer: I was drunk.

  Shit. How could I have let this happen? I’d gotten so swept up in the excitement of the show, getting so nervous about how I would be portrayed and then so encouraged by everyone on social media loving me, that I’d lost track of how much I’d had to drink. This was so unlike me. I almost never had more than a couple glasses of wine, if that.

  I tried to plan how I’d get home. Cab, maybe? Could I navigate the BART and buses right now? I could feel my bubble burst as I considered my options.

  But Ben looked up at me as he finished sweeping the last shards of glass into the dustpan. “January, will you stay here tonight?”

  For a split second, I thought he was hitting on me, and a confusion of long-gone emotions filled me. But then he clarified: “Like I said, my roommate moved out. There’s still a bed in the spare room. I’d worry about you trying to get back across town right now.”

  I only had to consider for a moment. “Sure,” I said. “Thank you.”

  And as Ben found sheets and blankets for me and tucked me into bed, I wondered for just the briefest second what life would have been like if he’d never broken up with me all those years ago, if we were still together today, living here in this apartment down the street from the deli that smelled like ham.

  He helped me turn off the bedside lamp in the otherwise-bare room, and then paused there beside the bed. “Hey,” he whispered before leaving me alone in the darkened room. “I’m really glad I ran into you tonight.”

  “Me too,” I said, and gave him a big hug from the bed. He still smelled just like I remembered, and I nestled my face close into his neck, not wanting to let him go. “You’re a good friend.”

  WEEK 2

  When I woke up the next morning, my first impression was of thirst. Next came the pounding headache. And finally, the memory of where I was.

  And how I’d embarrassed myself last night.

  I groaned and rolled over, pulling the covers over my head. Had I really gotten so drunk that I’d broken a wineglass? That I’d had to stay the night in Ben’s spare bedroom?

  Oh my god. I couldn’t believe I’d behaved like that. And worse yet: That as I lay there beneath the sheets, staring out at the light through the tight threads, I realized I had no idea what Ben did for a living. What he’d been up to for the past decade.

  I had been so self-centered, so worried about my show, that I couldn’t remember asking him a single question about himself. I had really gotten away from myself in all my excitement. He must have gotten a horrible impression of the person I’d turned into. Vain, self-focused…

  I whimpered. Then I stopped to listen. I heard faint sounds coming from out in the apartment. Ben must be up and — oh no. Another wave of regret flowed over me. It was Thursday. Ben was probably getting ready for work.

  Knowing my face was already red, I sat up in bed and pushed the covers off myself, then willed myself to put one foot and then the other on the floor and stand up. My stomach turned.

  I found Ben sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal. He was beautiful in the morning light, and I was shocked all over again at how the boy I’d once known had turned into this man. He smiled cheerfully at me. “Good morning! How’d you sleep?”

  “Ben…I’m so sorry,” I started.

  “For what?” He pushed a button on his phone to check the time. 7:35.

  “For…oh, I don’t know. Getting drunk and acting like an ass the first time I see you since high school.”

  “Ah, don’t worry about it,” he said. “I had fun last night. And besides, nothing you do can change my opinion of you. You’re like a long-lost sister to me.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “A sister you
lost your virginity to?”

  He laughed. “That was a long time ago.”

  Ben offered me coffee and breakfast, and I accepted the coffee. “So…will you tell me about yourself?” I asked, sitting down across from him at the table with the steaming cup. “If I’m not keeping you, I mean.”

  “I need to get to work pretty soon, but I have a few minutes,” he said.

  “Great. Let’s start there. Where do you work?”

  “I do communications for a local nonprofit. Have you heard of the San Francisco Mentorship Alliance?”

  I scrunched up my face, thinking. “No. Maybe?”

  “We match up kids who are struggling in school with volunteer mentors from the community. I help find the volunteers.”

  “Wow.” I stared at him in awe. He was absolutely gorgeous and worked to help at-risk kids? It was almost too much. For the first time since we’d seen each other the night before, another question occurred to me. I glanced around me for clues.

  “Wait — you don’t have a girlfriend, do you? Is there someone who’s going to be upset that I spent the night here?”

  Ben smiled down into his nearly empty bowl. “No. I don’t. I dated someone for a couple of years, but we broke up a few months ago.”

  Sunlight streamed through Ben’s kitchen window, illuminating a patch of the black-and-white checkered tile of the kitchen floor, and I found myself wondering how anyone could have broken up with him. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “It’s okay. We weren’t right for each other anyway. She loved reality dating shows, for instance.”

  I laughed. “She sounds awful,” I joked.

  “Nah, not awful,” he said, contemplative. “But way too full of drama. I think it goes with the territory.”

  “Ugh.” I made a face. “I hate drama queens.”

  I could tell he didn’t believe me, and I wanted to rush to reassure him that just because I’d been on a reality show didn’t mean I was into reality TV myself. And it certainly didn’t mean that I was into reality TV drama — or real-life drama, more importantly. I’d always made a point to stay away from overly dramatic people, who tended to suck my energy away and make me lose focus on what was really important.

  But now wasn’t the time. I was done talking about myself, at least for the time being. Right now I wanted to focus on Ben.

  “So what else do you do? In your spare time?”

  He glanced at his phone again. “Unfortunately, I need to get going right now, or I’ll be late to work. But I’d love to catch up with you again soon. I’ll tell you all about it then.”

  I jumped up, my head throbbing at the sudden movement. “Of course.”

  Ben held up a hand. “No rush. You can stay as long as you like. Just lock the door on your way out.”

  But I didn’t want to cause any more trouble for him. I went to the bedroom and found my phone and purse, calling out to ask him what to do with the sheets. A minute later, I was back in my shoes and standing by the front door.

  “Really,” he said, “that’s sweet, but there’s no hurry. In fact…” He paused, and I looked at him, waiting. “In fact, if you wanted to move in here…I mean, I need a new roommate, and I know you said you’re looking for a place.”

  I stared at him in surprise. After my performance last night, this was the last thing I expected from him.

  “No pressure. Just think about it,” he said. He told me the rent and then gave me his phone number, which I entered into my phone as I tried to suppress another wave of queasiness from the night before.

  “I’ll think about it,” I promised.

  “Either way,” he said with a grin, “feel free to come by for next week’s episode if you’d like.”

  I smiled back at him. “That sounds great.”

  I started down the stairs as he locked up behind us, but before I got to the street, Ben said, “January?”

  I turned. “Yes?”

  “You didn’t end up with him, did you?”

  I smiled up at Ben, feeling a mixture of sadness and warmth. How many times had the producers reminded us of our contractual obligation not to tell a soul how long we or anyone else had lasted on the show?

  “No,” I admitted, looking down at the smooth steps between us. “I didn’t end up with him.”

  On Saturday afternoon, my phone rang while I was waiting for the train. It was Megan.

  “Hey, sorry again about the other day!” she chirped. “How’d it go?”

  “It was great!” I told her, and explained what a thrill it had been to go online after the show and see people around the country talking about how I was their favorite.

  “Fantastic,” she said in a tone that suggested she was only half listening. “So listen. I’m going out of town next Thursday, but I wanted to see if you’d like to come by on Wednesday to watch the new episode with me and Mario. Maybe grab dinner beforehand.”

  I scanned my memory. “Mario?”

  “My fiancé.”

  “Oh, I didn’t even realize you were engaged!”

  “Yeah, for a few months.” I was surprised at the extent of her nonchalance. Wasn’t she excited about getting married?

  “That sounds great,” I told her, then remembered that I’d already promised Ben I’d watch with him. “Except…remember Ben Strafford? He and I dated when we were fifteen and sixteen?”

  “Oh, yeah, cute guy. I had such a crush on him after you two broke up. But he was never interested.”

  “Really?” I said, amused. “I didn’t know that. Anyway, I ran into him last night. We ended up watching my episode together. Mind if I bring him next week too?”

  Megan sounded noticeably more interested now. “Is something going on between you and Ben?”

  “No — no, that was a long time ago,” I assured her. “I just thought it might be fun. I don’t know anyone around here anymore.”

  “Hmm.” She sounded disappointed. “Yeah, of course. Bring him. But I still think you should hit that.”

  I laughed. We decided on a time and place to meet on Wednesday evening, and then I hung up as my train was approaching. I was looking forward to next week, though less, I realized, out of excitement to see Megan, and more because I was looking forward to seeing Ben again.

  The next Wednesday, I felt antsy all day. I wasn’t meeting Megan, Mario, and Ben until six o’clock, early to give us plenty of time to get back to her place for the show. In mid-afternoon, I took the BART into town from my parents’ place and wandered along the street with nowhere in particular in mind to go, following whatever caught my attention. I absentmindedly ducked into clothing shops, watched tourists eating ice cream, and passed little boutique grocery stores. But my mind wasn’t on what I was seeing. I was thinking about Ben.

  He had easily agreed to the change of plans for this week, and I appreciated how laid-back he was. But I still hadn’t decided whether or not to move into his apartment. I loved the place, and I knew that he and I got along well, but as roommates? Having just met again after so long, that seemed like a jump.

  I needed place to live, though. I’d been back with my parents for two months now, and that was pushing it. At first it had been comfortable to be back in my old childhood home on the edge of the city, but soon staying there had started to make me feel like a child again. And my mom was starting to ask pointed questions about me looking for jobs.

  I’d had some money saved up when I quit my job in New York to go on the show, but it wasn’t a lot. My salary there was pathetic, especially for the cost of living. And part of me knew my mom was right, that I’d need to find something rather than pinning all my hopes on getting a job at La Joie from Andrew.

  But still. I couldn’t give up, not yet. I could feel in the depths of my heart that he would come to understand that he needed to hire me. I wished I hadn’t been contractually forbidden from talking with him about outside business deals while I was on the show — not that we ever would’ve had the privacy to do so — and still n
ow while the show aired. I couldn’t wait for it to all be behind me, so that I could get in touch and put things in order, start living the life I knew I was meant to live as a fragrance developer for La Joie Perfumerie.

  As I walked past a bakery with the scent of fresh pastries wafting from the open door, I realized that I’d forgotten to eat all day. I stopped in and bought a cinnamon roll, and absently began picking at it and popping the flaky, sweet pieces into my mouth as I walked.

  What would it be like to wake up in Ben’s spare bedroom every day? Would we cook together in the evenings, or would I hardly see him? Eventually he’d start dating some perfect girl who volunteered for his nonprofit, and they’d giggle together on the couch late at night.

  Not that it would matter, I reminded myself. Andrew still appeared in my mind every time nothing else was front and center, with his strong arms and broad chest, his smell of one of La Joie’s stronger colognes. I wondered whether any of the other women would’ve been able to name his cologne, whether they even recognized that he smelled the same from one day to the next, or whether it had just been integrated into their overall perception of him.

  The pang of heartbreak hit me again. I was near Golden Gate Park, I realized now, had maybe even been heading toward it subconsciously on purpose. Once I reached the edge of the park, I found a bench at the edge of a clearing and sat down with the remaining half of my cinnamon roll.

  So who had wound up with him? When I had left the show, Abby and Isabella had been the only contenders left. The thought of either of them with Andrew had haunted me in my first couple of weeks after it was over, and I had eventually had to force myself not to think about it. By then, filming was done, and Andrew and his fiancée, assuming he’d proposed to one of them, would be living with the thrill of a giddy secret.

  At the time, I’d simply blocked the thoughts out, forcing myself instead to look to the future, when it was all over and I could contact Andrew again and discuss my interest in working for him. That was how I’d gotten through the pain: I’d told myself it wasn’t over, that I’d be seeing him again. That the job was what mattered, not the fact that I’d…