TARA: Hello, romance book lovers, welcome back to my channel. I wanted to hop on and let everyone know that my ex-boyfriend endeavor is officially over.
I wanted to be transparent and tell you all that as brave as many of you thought this journey was . . . it was actually quite the opposite. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was terrified to get hurt again after my big breakup. I couldn’t handle the thought of someone having the power to do that to me again. And so I gravitated to this idea that I could try to win my exes back. The men I was already familiar with. The men who’d already hurt me. I think I assumed that it would be easier to mold myself to be what they want me to be if I knew them. And I thought getting my heart broken by someone who already broke it would be . . . somehow less painful. I don’t know.
On the bright side, Daniel and I are still really good friends. And going forward, I think I’m ready to jump into the deep end as my authentic self and risk a little more.
In any case, thank you all for being so supportive and for following along.
? chapter thirty-two
WHAT WAS THAT, dear?” Grandma Flo asks for the fifty-third time. She cups her hand around her ear theatrically, pretending she’s losing her hearing. (For the record, she is not, according to her audiologist.)
“I said you should get a ring light for your videos.” This is not at all what I’ve just said, but frankly, Grandma Flo isn’t all that interested in anything else today except Instagram.
“What’s a ring light?” Grandma Flo asks, finally closing her iPad. She takes her sweet time moseying over to the entryway in her slippers. She’s insisting on taking me to the hospital for Angie’s party so she can drop off the hand-knit dolls and blankets from my book stack fundraiser in person.
The party doesn’t begin for a few hours, but I’m already alight with nerves at the prospect of seeing Trevor. We haven’t spoken since last night, when he left the gala. When I got home, he was in his room, door closed, lights off. And this morning, I left to gather things for the party before he woke up.
My chest physically hurts every time I think about that last conversation. I’ve agonized over all the things I could have said differently, wondering if anything would have changed the outcome.
Under normal circumstances, not talking for almost twenty-four hours would drive me to the brink of mental ruin. I drafted a multi-paragraph text on my lunch break that I haven’t sent about how much I love him and how badly I want to work things out. But since texting hasn’t been the best mode of communication for us, I’m remaining uncharacteristically calm until we get the chance to talk in person, after the party.
Today is about Angie, after all. I can’t wait to see Angie’s face when she sees the décor, opens her presents, and blows out the candles on her princess cake. The last thing I want to do is bring down the mood with awkwardness between her uncle and me.
As I shove my feet into my boots, I explain the general concept of a ring light to Grandma Flo and why it may be beneficial for her nighttime videos. She doesn’t need any prompting. Under a minute later, she’s purchased one from Amazon with a single click.
Martin happens to lumber by, a rolled-up Globe paper tucked under his arm. He flashes me a knowing look as if to say, Look what you’ve created.
He’s not wrong.
A year ago, Grandma Flo was your average granny downloading viruses on her desktop computer and sharing Charlie Brown memes on Facebook. And now she’s a social media influencer.
I’m lucky if I catch her when her nose isn’t buried in her iPad. We wait at least ten minutes in the driveway as she finishes responding to the comments on her Instagram video tutorial for her @LoopsWithFlo account. Since she first started her account, she’s gained hundreds of followers. I attribute the rapid growth of her following to her Live video sessions.
In her latest video, she’s parked in her La-Z-Boy in a pale pink sweater with a faux white collar. For twenty consecutive minutes, she does nothing but knit a pair of socks while listening to Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion, profanity and all. This is the woman who used to make a cross over her chest at the word shit and exclusively listened to Christian music (Amy Grant).
Ever since she and Martin got together, she’s been living her best life. And despite Mom’s concern, Crystal and I are loving Flo 2.0.
Besides, Grandma Flo is much the same in most ways. She’s still a hoarder, made evident by the box of old TV Guide magazines busting out of the drawer in the entryway table (because you never know when you’ll need a cable schedule from the nineties) and the pile of Oprah magazines on the cusp of toppling over under the living room coffee table. She still attends Sunday and Tuesday sermons and reads her Bible daily. And she’s still an excellent host. When I arrived to pick up some party supplies from her basement, she’d already prepared a cheese and meat plate, a tray of blueberry muffins, and a bowl of hard candies.
I grab the Holy Shit handle when she floors it, reversing out of the driveway in Martin’s massive Lincoln faster than greased lightning, while simultaneously cranking the volume on the Hot 96.9 radio station. No wonder the family has discouraged her as much as possible from driving.
“Did you see my latest ex video?” I ask once we’re safely in our own lane on the road.
She gives me a grave look, nearly missing the stop sign. My head lobs forward when she slams the brake partway through the intersection. “I did. It’s a shame none of them panned out.”
I grit my teeth as we take a sharp corner. I’m half contemplating asking her to stop so I can Uber the rest of the way. “On the plus side, I did come away with a good friend. Remember Daniel?”
“The kid with the bowl cut?”
“Yup. He doesn’t have a bowl cut anymore,” I inform her. “We decided we’re better as friends.”
She eyes me for longer than comfortable before shifting her focus back to the road. “You aren’t as distraught as I assumed you would be.”
“I don’t know. I really hyped myself up for some epic, novel-worthy second-chance romance. But I think I was just trying to play it safe, really. And even the ones who seemed perfect on paper weren’t quite . . . right.”
“Spoken like a woman who knows what right feels like,” she says knowingly, cranking the wheel to take a last-minute left-hand turn.
Trevor’s easy smile invades my mind. I tug on the collar of my knit sweater as the heat gathers to my neck.
We’re silent the rest of the way there. The hospital parking lot is crowded as usual as she careens into a rare open spot. She’s dangerously close to the van next to us, so much so I’ll probably need to exit through the driver’s side. But I don’t complain. It’s truly a miracle we’ve arrived without mowing anyone over.
“I accidently fell for my roommate,” I blurt, unfastening my seat belt. I lean my head against the headrest and close my eyes, desperate for a few minutes to regroup.
“I know. Your sister told me yesterday during yoga.” Grandma Flo is unperturbed by this revelation.
“Of course she told you,” I grumble, mildly bothered they went to yoga without inviting me (not that I’d go, but an invite would be nice), but mostly pissed that Crystal had the gall to talk to Grandma Flo about me. “Anyway, so Trevor . . .” I give her all the details of Trevor’s and my relationship over the past four and a half months.
She turns down the radio and listens intently, smiling the entire time. “Isn’t it obvious? He was trying to declare his love for you at the gala. And seeing you on Daniel’s arm last night, on Valentine’s Day of all days, spooked him.”
“But I told him how I felt and he didn’t believe me. I think this is the first time a guy has accused me of not having enough feelings.”
“Maybe he’s projecting because his own feelings scare him,” Grandma Flo posits. “You mentioned he’s experienced a lot of loss, with his parents and his brother. And now with his poor niece’s health complications . . .”
I consider that. “Maybe.”
“Some people struggle with communication. Especially if they’re afraid to get hurt,” Grandma Flo points out, drumming her thin fingers on the steering wheel.
“Still. We’ve only been dating a couple days, and so far it’s just been misunderstanding after misunderstanding with him. And I hate pointless misunderstandings in romance. Why can’t people just have conversations like adults? Lay it all out on the line and avoid the next three hundred pages of turmoil?”
“Then there wouldn’t be a book, would there?” Grandma Flo snorts, tossing me a schooling brow raise. “My dear, you have a lot to learn about relationships if you think all problems can be solved with a single conversation. Give yourself a break. You’re in the beginning of your relationship. You’re two very different people ironing out the kinks.”