Eight Weeks to Mr. Right (3 page)

Flash to me in the confessional, saying, “I don’t know what to expect. Maybe sparks will fly, but maybe not. Either way, it’s fine. It’s just about finding out whether we’re right for each other.” Really I’d been thinking,
There’s no way in hell I’ll wind up with this pretentious idiot
, but I’d known I had to go through the motions. Oh how things had changed in just a few weeks’ time.

Then cut to Isabella: “I really think we’re going to fall in love. I’m
ready
to get married. I
deserve
this.”

The juxtaposition was kind to me, and I smiled in relief. Ben made a wide-eyed, did-she-really-just-say-that face at me. I seemed like the normal, reasonable one. Isabella seemed like the freak who expected way too much of a man she’d hardly met.
 

Back in the bar, Isabella was kissing Andrew on the cheek in greeting, and I shook hands with him and smiled. “Ladies, can I get you a drink?” he asked. I watched myself say, “Do they have anything here that isn’t dyed an unnatural color?”

But Isabella had squealed and pushed me gently, pretending we were buddies. “Oh, come on, be fun! The bright-colored stuff always tastes the best.” Turning to Andrew, she’d suggested, “Let’s take shots!”

And so it was. Andrew went to the bar to order us three horrendous-looking blue things, and he winked at me as he dropped them back off with us at the table. “Blue raspgasm,” he said. “Neon enough for you?” I’d done my best to laugh and psych myself up for it.

I sniffed at the shot without realizing Andrew was doing the same. Isabella gave him a quizzical, chiding look, ignoring me. “I always smell my drinks before tasting them,” he explained to her. “As the CEO of a perfume house, scent is one of the most important aspects of any experience to me.”

She’d smiled as though to say,
You are so cultured and worldly
.

“Smells like ripe blue fruit with hints of orange,” I deadpanned, pretending I was tasting a fine wine. “And corn syrup.”

He turned to me with a grin. “I see that I’m not the only one.”

I nodded. “I actually work in scent too,” I’d told him. “I’m a fragrance developer.”

“Oh really?” he said, his interest obviously piqued. We’d chatted about that for a few more minutes while Isabella’s pout grew bigger and bigger, but that part hadn’t made it into the show. I guessed work talk was a little too dry for reality TV audiences.
 

Back in the apartment, Ben turned to me. “You’re a charmer,” he said, and I felt myself blush. I took another sip of wine to try to cover it, and realized my glass was empty. “I take it you made it to the next episode, and this girl got cut,” Ben said, leaning over to refill my glass.

I smiled. “Keep watching.”

On the show, I watched us taking the bright blue shots, which looked as sugary and fake as they’d tasted. “Hmm, not too bad,” TV-me said diplomatically.
 

“Disgusting,” I told Ben now.
 

“Why am I not surprised?”

All in all, I thought I came off very well in the episode, and I started to relax as our segment continued. We got a longer slot than the others, I realized, some of whose dates were shown for less than a minute before Ben made a cut. That had to be a good sign. I was dying to know what viewers were thinking about us all, but I forced myself to watch the rest of the show before going online to check what was being said on Twitter.
 

When our segment came to an end, it was time for Andrew to choose between us. I remembered how I’d felt in that moment: sickeningly nervous, even though I didn’t think it was possible for Andrew to have chosen Isabella.
 

But then again, I knew nothing about him. Maybe he liked vapid, vain women who enjoyed taking blue shots? I was desperate to go on to the next round, but not because I wanted him to fall in love with me. I never thought I’d make it to the final round, to the marriage proposal if it happened; I only wanted to stay on the show long enough to allow him to get to know me. And more important, to show him what a good nose I had. To show him that he
needed
me at his company.
 

On the screen, I gave a shy smile while Isabella batted her long, dark lashes at Andrew. He ran a hand through his hair. “This is such a tough choice,” he said, shaking his head and looking back and forth between the two of us. “Two smart, sophisticated ladies…I really don’t know what to do here.”

“Really?” Ben said skeptically. “He doesn’t?”

Then the show cut to commercial break, leaving viewers wondering which of us he would choose. It was fun having a secret that I knew hundreds of thousands of people were wondering about at this very moment.
 

Hundreds of thousands. How crazy was that? I was on reality TV being watched by hundreds of thousands of people.
 

I got up and stretched, finishing off my glass of wine again. “Bathroom?” I asked, and Ben pointed me down the hall.
 

I loved his place, this old building with wood floors but modern touches. In the bathroom, I squealed. “You have a claw-foot bathtub?!” I yelled through the door.

“Isn’t it great?”

I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to see myself objectively, as someone would see me who was watching me on TV for the first time. I had long, straight blonde hair, freckles dotting my cheeks and nose, light brown eyes. I supposed I was pretty, but who could really tell about themselves?

What a trip life was, I thought. A year ago — hell, six months ago — I never would have guessed that I’d be on a reality dating show. I’d never particularly liked reality TV, and the dating shows in particular always struck me as fake and forced.
 

And even an hour ago, I certainly wouldn’t have guessed that I’d be watching myself on this reality dating show with my high school boyfriend. We still had that same easy way of talking to each other, as though it hadn’t been a decade since we’d seen each other. Ben looked like life had treated him well in the past decade. His face still had that open, honest expression that I remembered about him, a look that had led me to trust him easily as a teenager.
 

Until he’d broken my heart.
 

But that was so long ago. I was long over it, and now it just felt warm and comfortable to see him again.
 

The show would be on again any moment, I realized, and I washed my hands quickly to go rejoin Ben in the living room. His soap smelled like orange and pine, and I put my hands over my face and breathed in deeply.

Back in the living room, Ben had refilled my glass once again, and I swayed just a little as I sunk back down into the sofa.
 

Just in time. “And we’re back,” said Carson. “Before the break, we watched Andrew go out to a bar with two women who are the total opposite of each other. There’s January, the calm, level-headed fragrance developer from New York. And then there’s Isabella, the party-loving nurse from Miami. Which of these two women will Andrew choose to continue on to the next round?” He cocked his head to the side. “Let’s watch.”

Back in the bar, Andrew was holding his head in his hands as though this were the most difficult decision he’d ever faced. “All right,” he said. “You two have been the toughest choice of all the dates I’ve been on.” On the screen, my eyes shifted nervously to the side, while Isabella’s stayed confident and wide, a fake smile plastered on her face.
 

“But this date is all about first impressions,” Andrew continued. “And the fact is…you both made great first impressions.” He looked back and forth between us, drawing the moment out in a frustrating way I knew the producers had coached him in.
 

“So, Isabella, January…I would like you both to join me in the next round.” This was the moment where the viewers were supposed to be shocked. Andrew had broken the rules! Anything could happen! I glanced over at Ben. He was nodding thoughtfully, not seeming shocked at all.
 

That was the end of the show, but I watched the credits and previews for next week with rapt attention. When it was all over, I poked Ben with my bare toe. “So? What did you think?” I asked, excited. I was no longer nervous at all. I knew I’d come off well in the show, and was looking forward to the exposure this would get me. The nation would love me, and as soon as it was all over, I’d contact Andrew and let him know, very casually, that if he ever had a job opening for a fragrance developer…

And then I’ll make him fall in love with me,
a voice in my head said. I immediately shushed it and put the thought out of my mind. Not tonight. It was too painful to think about. I’d have plenty of time to go back through what happened, especially when the episode rolled around. For now, I just wanted to bask in the excitement. The first episode had aired.
 

“It’s…you know. Interesting,” he said. “I still can’t believe my old girlfriend went on a dating show, but it’s kind of funny to watch.”

I frowned at him. This was not the reaction I’d been hoping for.
 

“Funny?” I poked him again, feeling braver than normal from all the wine. “But weren’t you
shocked
that he kept us both? That he broke the rules?”

Ben shrugged. “People break the rules in reality TV all the time. What shocked me was the he’d want to keep that crazy girl on.”

I laughed, nodding. I was glad that Ben was at least on my side about Isabella. But even if he wasn’t nearly as excited about the show as I was — and why would he be, anyway, I reasoned — that didn’t have to put a damper on my excitement. I pulled out my phone — finally, finally allowing myself to see what the world was saying about me.
 

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.