“The entire ex search, all you did was edit my texts, telling me they were too much,” I point out.
“But you weren’t with those guys, Tara.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re still one to talk. You barely texted me yourself.”
“I sent you Valentine’s Day flowers, for Christ’s sake.”
I freeze. “What? You sent me flowers?”
“Roses,” he says. “You didn’t get them?”
Something pinches in my chest at the realization. The roses were from Trevor. Not Daniel. I didn’t have time to check the accompanying note because I’d just assumed. I never even considered they could be from Trevor. “I—I did. I thought they were from . . .”
“You thought they were from Daniel. Exactly.” He shakes his head.
“Trevor . . .” He doesn’t respond. A silence hangs in the air, like an invisible fog between us. “Don’t leave. We should talk about this,” I plead.
He gives me one last tormented look, his powerful arms pushing through the door. “Please, just go back inside.”
I watch helplessly as he leaves me behind without a second look. I’m tempted to pursue him, chase him into the cold air in my heels. I want to scream into the void until he comes back. I want to tell him how badly I missed him. That I’m desperately in love with him. No one else.
The other half of me is burning red, shaking with anger. Watching Trevor give up and walk away so easily catapults me to the night Seth officially ended things with me. Our relationship had deteriorated long before that night. And yet I held on to it like a life raft, regardless of the fact that it was punctured, dragging me down into the choppy sea. I begged for him to take me back for weeks, because I mistook wild emotional turmoil and dysfunction for love, yet again.
I wasted months trying to put the pieces back together, trying to pinpoint where things went wrong, and I don’t think I ever fully bounced back. I’ve been on a relentless search for love again, trying to prove to myself that I’m worthy of the fairy tale I thought I had, that what’s old can be new again. And what could avenge my damaged ego more than someone who once broke my heart coming back to me?
Maybe Trevor was right. There’s something cheapening about chasing all these men who don’t want me. Maybe I’ve felt more comfortable romanticizing my past, convincing myself all those toxic relationships were true love. Maybe that was more comfortable than moving forward.
But after Friday night, I’m now all too aware that I’ve spent my entire thirty years loving in the shallow end. It’s different with Trevor. It’s a hard-hitting gravitational pull in my very core, grounding me to the earth, filling in every last crater of my heart. The ones I never knew could be filled. The ones I never even knew were empty. It’s confirmation that a different kind of love—love in the purest sense of the word—is real.
And I might have screwed it up already.
Someone clears their throat behind me.
It’s Seth.
He steps forth, both hands in the pockets of his slacks. “You all right, T?” His brows knit together in convincing concern.
“I’m fine.” I squeeze my eyes shut, praying he’ll vamoose by the time I open them again. No such luck.
He advances to usher me to the small bench near the doors. “Hey, come sit down.”
I follow him, too stunned by my interaction with Trevor to protest.
When Seth’s shoulder brushes against mine, there’s no comfort. Only confusion. Hurt. Anger. “What happened? Was that one of your exes?” he asks.
“No. He’s the guy I’m seeing. Or at least . . . was. I don’t know.”
“Ah, I see.” He leans forward slightly. “Things not working out?”
I blow the air out of my cheeks. “Ha. You could say that. But that’s the story of my life, it seems. Every time I get close to finding someone—”
“If I could give you just one piece of advice—” His tone is pompous, and he plows forward before I can even protest. “It would be to lower your expectations.”
“Lower my expectations, really, Seth?”
“I’ve always said your books and movies have filled your head with unrealistic expectations. Men aren’t like that in real life. And I think it’s time you finally accept the fact that life isn’t a fairy tale.” If I had a dollar for every time Seth whined that my books were tainting my expectations of real relationships, I’d be a baller.
I stand, refusing to look at him, my face stiff, masking the emotion overflowing on the inside. “I’m well aware of that, thanks to you. And I’m sorry you feel so threatened by depictions of fictional men doing more than the bare minimum.” For a fraction of a second, the self-righteous look on his face is swapped for momentary disbelief. I relish my small victory, the rare opportunity to shake him to his core.
“Threatened?” Seth retorts in derision. “I’m just trying to bring you down to reality. I doubt there’s a guy out there that could meet all your demands.”
I back away. “I don’t consider basic honesty, respect, and healthy communication to be demands. And it’s really too bad they’re so unachievable for you. I feel terrible for Ingrid.”
Well aware the hotel staff are listening in, he lets out a barking laugh. Unable to handle feeling smaller than me, he stands, towering over me. “See, this is exactly why we broke up. You get all crazy, reading into every little thing, take everything to the next level.”
The word crazy hits me like a spiked wrecking ball. I’m brought back to the moment Nicky Tannenbaum called me crazy in the second grade when I gave him my homemade Valentine’s Day card. All the times I pretended to laugh it off when that Crazy Ex-Girlfriend meme went viral in high school. The many men who’ve told me I was too clingy. The thousands of times before now when Seth would call me crazy whenever I got the slightest bit emotional, holding his demeaning, gaslighting stoicism over me like a deadly weapon.
You’re acting like a madwoman.
Don’t be so emotional.
You’re acting so irrational right now.
I’ve known since before our breakup that Seth is a master manipulator. I’ve always doubted myself in his presence, second-guessing every word, every action, wondering why I wasn’t enough for him.
The pain of the memories gives me the strength to meet his hawk eyes, once and for all. And this time, I know it’s not me who wasn’t enough.
“You can invalidate me all you want, Seth, but when you close your eyes at night, you know the truth. You know how you treated me. You know how shady you were in the lead-up to the wedding, taking off without telling me where you were or who you were with. Making me think I was nuts for even daring to ask you who you were always texting. Making me out to be a psycho when you suddenly locked down your devices and refused to let me use your phone or laptop.” I pause to catch my breath, noting his shock. “And sure, there were times I overreacted. But I will never apologize for loving fiercely, even though you didn’t deserve it.”
Seth’s jaw hinges open, and I immediately snap a mental photo of this glorious moment. Multiple bystanders have stopped to take in the spectacle. I’ve never roasted someone on a spit in front of a crowd in my life, and damn, it feels fantastic.
I stomp past him, back to the ballroom, imagining I’m in Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” music video, strutting out of the Seth hellfire that’s marked too many years of my life. I’m like the phoenix tattooed on Trevor’s chest, reborn, renewed, and ready for the next chapter, whatever may come.
For three years, Seth made me believe my emotions were my Achilles’ heel. Now I know better. I remember what I loved most about love in the first place. Love has the power to strip you raw, to the bone. And that’s the beauty of it. There’s an immeasurable bravery in opening your heart and baring your soul when all hope is seemingly lost. Knowing, even in the face of heartbreak, that this is not the end. That you’re still standing, after it all crumbles around you.
My heart has now officially broken for the eleventh time. And strangely, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.
LIVE WITH TARAROMANCEQUEEN—THE EX-BOYFRIEND SEARCH CONCLUDES
[Tara is cloaked in darkness in the back seat of an Uber.]
EXCERPT FROM TRANSCRIPT