Aunt Lisa nods vigorously. “Oh, I liked that boy too. Never spoke a word, the little thing,” she says with an evil grin, turning to Aunt Rachel. “You know I like a man who can be easily controlled.”
Aunt Rachel makes a whip motion with her hand, followed by a swish sound. “I think Tara needs an equal. A man who can match her personality and energy. Someone outgoing, extroverted, not afraid to take up space.”
Aunt Lisa disagrees. “Oh, no. It never works when both parties are talkers. Only leads to frustration and resentment. Opposites are ideal.”
I move my fried rice around my plate absentmindedly while they bicker about which ex is least likely to grow tired of me. My mind trails to Trevor again and how he explicitly stated he never gets sick of my stories. That was weeks ago. I wonder if that’s still the case.
Aunt Rachel clasps both hands together, prayer-style. “Oh, I hope your true love is Cody. I always adored him. Such a little gentleman.”
I sigh, dipping my sesame ball. “Turns out, Cody Venner is happily married with kids.” I say happily sarcastically, though my meaning goes over Aunt Lisa’s head.
“You’re telling me he’s married? Happily? Nonsense,” she says, waving my words away.
As Mei pushes a basket of dumplings in front of Mel and me, my phone lights up with a text.
TREVOR: Hey. Hope you’re having a good bachelorette day. Scott almost threw up at the Ninja Warrior gym. Too many pancakes this morning.
TARA: Lmao! Oh no. Hope he’s okay! You would never catch me dead at the Ninja gym. Things are dandy over here. Crystal got pampered this morning. Now we’re eating.
I send him a photo of the table spread.
TARA: Are you guys having a good time? Heading to the club tonight?
TREVOR: Ya.
TARA: Have fun!!
TREVOR: Thx.
TARA: I’ve been meaning to tell you . . . I think you still need some help with your texting game. You better not be texting Kyla like this
TREVOR: My texts are perfectly fine.
TARA: For the 39434th time, you simply cannot punctuate with a period. It’s a mark of death! You’re an emotional person’s nightmare texter
TREVOR: THE HORROR!!!! From now on I’ll make sure I end all my texts with exclamation marks okay?! Just for you!
TARA: I feel so special
TREVOR: You should! I’m only doing this for you!
“Is that a heart-eye emoji? For Trev?” Crystal peeks at my screen as she reaches for a dumpling. Her Bride to Be sash nearly dips onto my plate.
I dispose of my phone in the back pocket of my jeans and lean against the island. “Yes. But don’t read into it. There’s nothing going on with us.”
“Figured as much,” she says casually. I don’t know why her knowing tone irks me so much, but it does.
Mel analyzes me, her expression marginally less critical. “You’re not telling us something.”
I buckle immediately under the pressure of her callout. “Fine. He kissed me. When we did surveillance at Daniel’s work. One minute, Daniel was coming out of the elevator, and the next, Trevor was kissing me. With tongue.” I elegantly gnaw at a chicken wing, awaiting my crucifixion.
Crystal’s eyes bulge, as if I’ve regaled them with a tall tale about running a 10K, or something equally unbelievable and outlandish.
I rehash our hot-and-heavy make-out, explaining his justification—how he was diverting attention away from us. When I say it out loud, it sounds weak. Surely, he could have taken less drastic measures, like tossing his coat over my face or pushing my head down.
Crystal scrutinizes me, shifting out of the way as Aunt Lisa inches behind us to the perimeter of the kitchen, eager to serve her lemon cake. “You’re not overthinking this, are you?”
“No,” I say quickly, my eyes turning to my chicken wing bone.
“You are. I can see the wheels turning,” she says leerily.
“Okay, fine. I can’t help but wonder sometimes. We have the best conversations. He’s opened up to me a lot in the past month. There’s actually a lot more to him than meets the eye. He’s sensitive and he listens, like, really listens,” I gush.
Crystal gives me a pitiful look, like she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. “Is he still . . . sleeping with other women?”
“I don’t know.” I hang my head. “The last girl he brought home was Gabby. From your gym. Though he is casually texting one girl he used to date. Kyla.”
“Has he ever given you any hint he has real feelings for you?” Mel asks.
“He smiles at me a lot, mostly when he thinks I’m not looking. Oh, and he feeds me,” I add, grasping at straws. “He even tries to make food I’ll like.” Just a few evenings ago, he made me a flatbread pizza. Half was loaded with veggies, while the other half was plain sauce, pepperoni, and cheese, just for me.
Crystal’s doubtful expression tramples my theory to dust. “I mean, the smiling . . . he’s a bit of a flirt in general.”
I frown. “Maybe. But hypothetically, what if I’m not reading too much into things? What if he did catch feelings for me?”
“Expecting to be the exception to the rule is like eating Taco Bell and being shocked when you get mad diarrhea,” Crystal says pointedly.
Mom huffs at us as she passes by with beady-eyed Hillary. “Crystal! People are eating.”
Crystal mouths a lazy Sorry and looks to Mel for support. “I love you. But the last thing I want is for you to get hurt again.” She watches me for a few more beats. “Do you mind if I consult Scott?”
I barely have time to agree before Scott’s face takes up Crystal’s phone screen. He tells her about the trauma of being kidnapped and nearly punching Trevor in the face. Crystal laughs, her face aglow at the sight of her soon-to-be husband, as if they’ve been apart for days and not mere hours. “Can you step away for a minute? I have a question for you.”
“About what?” Scott asks, taking refuge away from the guys in the gym changing room.
I press my cheek against Crystal’s so I’m visible on camera. “We need your advice. A behavioral analysis, if you will.”
“We need your help with Trevor,” Crystal clarifies, giving him a brief rundown of my situation. “Has he said anything about Tara to you?”
He raises a contemplative brow. “He talks about her sometimes at work.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Crystal waves a hand. “This is important information, babe. Care to elaborate?”
“I didn’t think it was a huge deal.” Scott frowns. “He’ll just laugh at texts she sends at work. Nothing too major.”
“He’s your friend. Could you ask him for us? Get the intel. Whatever it is that dudes do,” Crystal requests.
Scott is mildly taken aback, like we’ve just asked him to commit a crime on our behalf. “You want me to flat-out ask him if he likes Tara?”
“Yes,” we say in unison.
He leans against the hand dryer, accidentally turning it on. “Fine. But he’s gonna know something is up. We never talk about feelings,” he shouts over the fan.
My lips twist like I’ve just sucked a lemon. “Seriously? Never in your decade of friendship have you talked about feelings?”
“Unless you count our feelings toward hockey, Crocs, or fire calls, no.” When we shake our heads in derision, he gets defensive. “Hey, it’s not like I’ve never tried. He’s just not a very open guy.”
I sigh. “That’s . . . pathetic.”
Crystal scoffs in solidarity. “Gotta love toxic masculinity.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Scott rolls his eyes and leans in close to the camera, suddenly channeling FBI agent vibes. “Okay, I’ll ask him tonight when we go out once he’s liquored up. How should I play it? Casual? Or like I’m an overprotective new brother who’ll murder him if he breathes amorously in your direction?”
“I mean, I appreciate the brotherly support, but definitely not the latter,” I warn. “Just be casual and report back.”
“Deal.”
TARA: Hello?? I haven’t heard from you in like an hour. You promised a play-by-play.
SCOTT: Sorry. At club now . . . Trev ordered a beer. He’s hanging out with a girl.
TARA: A girl? Who?
SCOTT: She met him here. I think they already know each other. Her name is Kayla or something.
TARA: Is she tall? Smiles with her mouth open?
SCOTT: Yeah.
Kyla. It’s Kyla.
Trevor’s ex-girlfriend.
LIVE WITH TARAROMANCEQUEEN—THE PLAYBOY TROPE AND WHY I HATE IT
[Tara’s face is partially obscured by poor lighting. She is neck-deep in a hot tub, her hair crunchy and partially frozen, looking like a straight-up mess.]
EXCERPT FROM TRANSCRIPT