Chapter Twenty-Eight

Ginger found zero fault with her sister’s small seafood bistro in San Francisco’s Castro district. The timeless décor included subway tile, a gleaming wooden bar, industrial metal stools, and white lights, which highlighted some of the less subtle nautical features: an anchor mounted to the wall, a vintage life preserver hanging on the swinging kitchen door, and several rope features tied in knots along the ceiling line. The music was heavy on the alto sax and trumpet, sexy jazz that made her wish she weren’t there on her own, drowning her heartbreak in one of Anise’s perfect mojitos.

“You haven’t seen Mom yet,” her twin stated, after pouring herself a Pellegrino. The restaurant hadn’t opened for dinner, but that hadn’t stopped Ginger from eating her weight in shrimp cocktail.

“I haven’t told her I’m in town yet.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I’m afraid she’ll be able to smell the stink of failure on me.”

Anise chuckled, the apples of her broad cheekbones blushing a soft shade of pink. She’d always been the adorable one. “You’re not a failure, Ginj. You’re a trailblazer. Always have been.”

“You mean a loner.”

“I mean independent. Fiercely determined. Tenacious.”

“Obnoxious. Ambitious. Ruthless,” she corrected.

“You’re not obnoxious.”

Ginger groaned, swaying a little from the alcohol. “How do you look so good in this light? Light like this always makes me look like a ghost. You look all healthy and vital and charming all the time.”

Anise reached out to give Ginger’s faltering ponytail a light tug. “I sleep from time to time. But how would you know? You see me once a year.”

“This makes twice,” she reminded her. “Or was the time I spent here this summer that forgettable?” It wouldn’t have surprised her.

“Ginger. Jeez. You’re not acting like you’re having work trouble. You’re acting like someone stole all your hope. What gives?”

Ginger wasn’t about to explain her man problems to her perfect sister. Not when Anise had gone ahead and married her junior high sweetheart and still thought he was the best thing that ever happened to her.

“I had a brief moment where I started questioning my priorities. But I think I’m better now. Or I will be, once I figure out how to deal with this little—stutter.”

“Stutter?”

“Sputter?” she wondered.

Anise frowned.

“I think I need to focus on my work-life balance. It’s all out of whack, and I’m making poor choices. Because the balance is off.”

“If you could be more specific…?”

“Why? Work-life balance is a thing, right? You have one.”

“A job? Balance?”

“A life.”

Anise scooted Ginger’s third motto away from her. “This is about a guy.”

“How’d you guess?”

“Because I’ve never seen you like this.”

Ginger sagged. There was no use hiding it. She was a shred of her former self. Her face heated, embarrassed she wasn’t handling this better. “I don’t know what happened to me. I got all stupid.”

“Aw, sweetie…” Anise gave her arm an awkward rub.

The stilted attempt at affection stood out. Ginger had taken so much of what Elliot offered her for granted—the easy, unassuming way he’d touched her was one of many things she’d have to learn to live without. “You can hug me, you know? I won’t bite.”

Anise laughed, but the sound had a nervous edge to it. She split the difference with a solid shoulder squeeze. It was a slight improvement over the arm rub. “Tell me about the guy.”

“It’s over anyway,” Ginger said. “It was a mistake. A stupid mistake, and now…” She sighed. “Now I need to figure out what I’m doing with my life.”

“You already know what you’re doing with your life. You’re gonna produce your own show. Be the boss. Make millions and win Emmys and make the rest of us look like a bunch of losers.”

The words hit Ginger so wrong, like a flurry of flaming darts. Or maybe Anise had found her target. “Is that what I sound like?”

Her twin didn’t know her well enough to read her dismay. “Only sometimes,” she said with another uncomfortable laugh.

“You think all I care about is my job?”

Anise lifted a shoulder and let it drop unapologetically. “It’s your whole life, Ginj. You work 24-7. You don’t even come home for holidays.”

Resentment flared. “Look, just because you’ve peaked, doesn’t mean everyone else has to by the time they’re thirty. And just because I don’t want to sit around for four days while Mom and Dad talk about how great you are, how beautiful your family is, and what a fabulous businesswoman you’ve turned out to be doesn’t mean I’m work-obsessed. I’m not you obsessed.”

“Hey.” The sympathy evaporated from her twin’s warm eyes. “I don’t know why you think life came so easy for me. I started out as a line cook with a culinary degree. Paul and I lived in a shitty bug-infested apartment for six years before we had kids and bought our house. He almost left me twice. First because we were so broke, and second when I started going through a box of wine every two days. Shit’s been hard, Ginger. Shit still is. June is three years old, and she’s still not talking—what’s that about? Hazel’s five and half—she’s getting bullied at school, I’m up there every other day having some parent-teacher meeting, but I’m hardly ever home because I work six nights a week to keep this place up to the level of the reviews I got the first month we were open—it’s not easy.”

“Are you saying you’re not happy?”

“I’m not saying that—I’m wondering why you’re still so pissed at me. What have I ever done to you?”

“What have you ever done for me, Anise?”

She stared back at Ginger in disbelief. “Exactly what you wanted us to do. Left you the fuck alone.”

“Who wants to be alone?” she cried.

A trumpet solo filled the stunned silence between them. The romantic, melancholy melody ripped her heart out. Turning abruptly away from her sister, Ginger said in a softened tone, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Anise’s hushed voice proved she was just as surprised by the outburst as Ginger.

“No, I’m horrible. You’re right. I’ve spent so long fighting to be heard, I don’t even know when to shut the fuck up. I’m really sorry.”

“Ginger. It’s okay. I hear you. I’ve always heard you. I just never knew what to say except I’m here.”

Ginger let her sister hold her hand as the music swelled to a heart-stopping crescendo. She closed her eyes and held her breath until the notes dissolved into a gentler melody, easier to bear.

Anise tapped her palm with her thumb. “So…you don’t have to tell me, but…you seem pretty pissed at yourself. I’m assuming you’re the one who broke things off?”

“It was inevitable. It was never meant to end well.”

“I’m sensing some regret? Maybe?”

“It’s not regret.” Ginger sighed, heavy and world-weary. “It’s grief.” She pressed her hand against her aching chest. “I can’t even breathe with how much I miss him.”

“Does he know?” Anise asked.

“He can’t know,” Ginger said.

Anise gave her hand a tight squeeze. “So you’re just giving up?”

God, there was no way to describe how much Ginger hated those words. The way they bristled and cut. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“What you’ve always done, Ginj. You fight. You win. You speak your truth and you make it happen. Otherwise, who are you and what the hell did you do with my sister?”

Deep, deep down the petulant part of her stretched itself awake, prepared to rally. “But there’s literally nothing I can do.”

“Says who?” Anise asked.

Either Ginger shared the burden of her experience by telling her sister the truth, or she let it fester. Decisions like this were so much easier hundreds of miles away when vague texts and impersonal phone calls were options. But right now, with her sister’s hand in hers, unconditional support literally at her fingertips, Ginger took the plunge and went all in, determined this time not to bite the hand that reached out to her. “I fell in love with Elliot Hale.”

The Panel stood in the center of the formal Luxembourg Garden after giving Hannah their blessing to join the final three. She’d accepted, blushing as she glanced at Elliot while she hugged his mother, his sister, and Michelle. All Elliot managed to give her was a solemn smile.

Kat spoke into her headset after getting a nod from Matt across the circle of cameras surrounding the area. It was late afternoon, and the light was perfect, flattering everyone. Even Kat. The gardens, one of Elliot’s favorite places in the city, were lush with blooms and untamed fragrances. Roses, of course, and jasmine, like Ginger’s hair.

He breathed deeply, closing his eyes and willing himself to forget her again.

He’d done it before. He managed. But the muscle that made it possible seemed to have atrophied.

Cassie approached with the confidence of someone who knew she was in.

She gave a nod of solidarity to Elliot. He quickly glanced away.

“Cassie, honey. Welcome,” Lavonne said.

“Thank you.”

Irene, stone-cold sober this afternoon, gave Cassie a warm smile as she greeted her. “You’re such a wonderful, intelligent woman. You’ve stuck with this process through good times and bad. We are so grateful that you’ve decided to share your life and your time with us, with Elliot, to see if you could be his match. We love your vibrancy, your humor, and we’re all huge fans of those dimples.”

Get the fuck on with it, Mom.

“Unfortunately…”

“Wait,” he heard Cassie whisper.

Elliot’s eyes remained trained on the ground at his feet.

“We can’t give you our blessing to be one of the final choices for Elliot.”

“What?”

“We’re so sorry, dear.”

“Hang on.”

“Oh, brother,” Michelle muttered. She was the one standing closest to Elliot, and he felt her tension rising. Goose bumps erupted on his skin.

“He promised me—hey—look at me. What was with all the things you said, Elliot?”

Lights on the cameras went from green to red. One by one, the cameramen lowered them as Kat and Matt rushed into the clearing. Kat’s voice carried. “Cassie, girl…you gotta keep it together.”

Cassie did not keep it together. She raised an arm and pointed at Elliot—“He said it was me. He said it would be me after—”

“Cassie!” Kat barked, cutting her off before she spilled every single ounce of tea. “Elliot doesn’t get to pick. Remember?”

“He’s gotta have something to do with it,” she argued.

Elliot nearly laughed out loud, a victim of his own terrible decision-making. It was funny—what a joke it all turned out to be.

Kat grabbed Cassie by both arms and forced her to face her. They were both tall, but Kat was taller by an inch or three. Cassie’s heels put them eye-to-eye that afternoon though. “We’ll make this up to you. Do you understand? The show’s got you.”

Cassie sucked in a hissing breath through her teeth. She lifted her chin in a quick upward nod. “I don’t believe anything anymore.”

“Trust the process.”

Elliot sneered. Fuck this process.

“Let’s take it from, ‘we’re so sorry, dear.’”

Cassie, her hands trembling, nodded again and turned to face The Panel and Elliot. She glared at him. His face went still as stone. He wouldn’t react. He’d be another statue in the garden. A prop in this play.

“Okay, we’re rolling.”

Cassie took the news much better the second time around. Gracious, accepting, but sad. Her voice shook. A tear or two fell. It was convincing.

More importantly, it was enough to break America’s heart. Mission accomplished. Cheers to the production team. They’d done it again.

Elliot stared at the grass and waited for the big payoff.

Jenna approached like a crowned princess taking a walk on her palace’s grounds. She had a warm smile for Elliot. For the entire Panel. She stopped at her mark, her hands folded solemnly and her head bowed. She looked beautiful. “It’s good to see you all.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Michelle said. “How are you holding up? It’s been quite a road this time.”

“It has. I’m hopeful. Terrified. Reeling a little.”

“So are we,” Michelle confided. “Jenna, when Elliot came home from last season, he was a different man. He was a man who’d fallen in love. A man who’d had his heart broken. A man who finally knew what he wanted out of life, and I knew—we all knew—you were the one who woke him up.”

Michelle wasn’t entirely wrong, but she only had half the story.

“It’s easy to get confused in this process, to doubt your true feelings, to question them. But I know my friend here. He’s been there for me through things that would shock you, and I’ve stuck with him, too, because I’ve never met a more passionate, loyal, genuine person. He’s rare. And he’s incredibly special to me. To all of us.”

It was nice what she was saying, but maybe he knew her too well. It took everything in him not to roll his eyes and sigh heavily. Just get on with it.

“We think he’s that special to you, too. He’s struggled here, understandably. Anyone would. But when we saw you reconnect at the Louvre, we knew our instincts were right. This was meant to be. We’re so happy to be able to offer you our blessing and invite you to be Elliot’s choice in the final three.”

Seconds passed in complete silence. The moment stretched so long, Michelle cleared her throat, as if reminding Jenna it was her turn to speak.

The hairs on the back of Elliot’s neck stood up. Something was wrong.

Jenna lifted her head, slow and deliberate, meeting The Panel’s gazes one by one. “Elliot’s choice?”

“Yes.” Michelle was still smiling.

“How many choices does he get?”

“Um…three?”

Elliot glanced at Kat, who was already moving in closer.

Jenna laughed, the sound abrupt enough to make Elliot’s adrenaline spike. “Because I thought he might have had more. It’s just—the rules seem a little lax this season. I mean with my being here, I kind of assumed it was a free-for-all.”

The other night. Ginger’s hotel room.

Jenna knew.

And she was pissed.

She spoke fast before everyone else fully caught on. “My Panel didn’t choose Elliot,” she stared coldly at him now, “because Elliot is a liar, and a player, and a cheat. He’s here to save face and get a fat paycheck. He didn’t love me. He took all the opportunities I gave him to fuck me, and then he fucked someone else—”

“That’s it,” Kat yelled, sprinting toward them, arms waving wildly. “This is over. What the hell, Jenna?”

The cameras turned off again.

“Mics off. Everybody,” Matt barked.

Kat reached behind Jenna and flipped hers off herself, the motion as aggressive as a slap in the face.

Elliot and The Panel stared in stunned shock as Jenna turned to them in a rage. “How many of you knew? How many of you knew what your super special boy’s been doing behind the scenes, under your noses this whole time. Did you know?” She pointed at Anna before turning her fury on Michelle. “You had to know.”

Michelle’s hand darted out at the exact same time Elliot’s did. They gripped each other tight, weathering Jenna’s accusation together. They’d been through worse, but it had been a while.

Jenna’s jaw dropped at the gesture. Unhinged, she shouted at Michelle, “He’s fucking you, too?”

Kat waved her arm at Elliot and The Panel. “Get out of here. All of you. The cars are waiting. Go.”

Elliot didn’t need to be told twice. Yanking Michelle along with him, he stormed away from the set.

“What is going on?” Michelle asked as she hurried to stay at his side.

Elliot couldn’t speak. His vision grew fuzzy and dark around the edges. Pure, sickening humiliation coated him, weighing down his gait, making it impossible to breathe.

When was the last time he’d eaten? Had it been that day? Last night?

“Elliot?”

A roaring noise clogged his ears, like a jet engine was right behind him. Blackness swirled, and he stumbled.

“Elliot! Somebody help!”

He collapsed. His knees hit the ground first, and then, unceremoniously, but in keeping with the theme of the day, his face landed in the dirt.

Michelle’s rose-colored dress filled what was left of his field of vision as she knelt down beside him, turning his head so he wouldn’t suffocate himself. “Are you awake? Are you okay?”

“This is your fault,” he said.

“I know.” She was crying, which meant this must be really bad. “I know. I know. Can you get up?”

“No.” He could have, but he wasn’t going to chance collapsing again once the crew had the chance to turn their cameras back on.

“I am so sorry,” she said.

“Now you’re sorry?” Lying down, his blood pressure equalized. The noise in his ears quieted, and his eyes refocused.

“What was she talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Elliot mumbled.

“What did I miss?” Michelle asked. “Did we send the wrong woman home? It wasn’t Elizabeth was it? I’m sure there’s something we could do to bring her back—”

“She’s not coming back.” Elliot rolled himself over to look up at the golden sky.

“Michelle.” Matt swooped in to help Michelle up and send her to a car. He took a step to loom over Elliot, blocking the light. “Guess that cat’s out of the bag.” He extended a hand.

Elliot took it and lurched to his feet. “Who do I have to marry now?”

Matt took in the chaos surrounding them and gave his head a long, slow shake. “Stay tuned, I guess.”