I’m still upset. Richard can be such an ass. After the proposal, I went to the bathroom and checked for more spitballs in my hair. I had a student double-check too. Not a high point for me. Having to ask a teen to check my hair for “You know, like, wads of tiny wet paper.”

  I see Richard at the far end of the tent, making himself a plate. After we were done filming, I told him he should stay and enjoy the free meal. I felt I had to. Just common courtesy. Besides, on our last day of filming, we splurge and order from three different places. There’s no reason anyone should have to miss out on pizza, fajitas, and an expansive roast beef station. As I get to the pizza, I notice Richard is already gone.

  I walk around a corner and find him sitting at a lone picnic table under a breezy canopy-covered area of the school.

  I can’t turn around now. He’s seen me. As I approach, he looks bothered so I skip the spot directly in front of him and sit at the far end of the table. As soon as I sit down, I regret it. It’s childish to sit diagonally across from him like this.

  “Here.” Richard stands abruptly and hands me a metal accordion-like plate holding three small tacos tidily upright. “Have one.” He sounds curt but holds the tray with care. “I noticed you skipped the Mexican section altogether.”

  My stomach clenches. Mostly because it’s oddly sweet that Richard’s gruff but still trying to share his food with me.

  “In case you were wondering, I wasn’t avoiding you,” I say, matching his tone. “And thanks.”

  “Two are veggie and one’s grilled fish,” he says when he sees me inspecting them.

  “Oh good.” I place a taco on my plate. “Here.” I stand up and pass three sliders in a small, oval plastic basket. “Since you didn’t make it to the roast beef.”

  His eyes light up as he peeks inside the basket. “I don’t know how I missed those,” he says, a little less testy.

  “Napkin?” I offer, just as he takes a messy bite.

  I grab my taco, and he tosses me a packet of spicy sauce.

  “Thank you.” I crack a smile. We’ve never had lunch together, but we’ve obviously been paying attention to how the other one eats. In no time, we’ve divvied up everything on our trays.

  A balmy breeze swings by, and I close my eyes to enjoy it. I’m relieved TJ’s still inside, breaking down the gear. I’d prefer to avoid any more awkward moments between us. No need for Richard to be jumping to conclusions…or facts.

  When I open my eyes, Richard is holding his sparkling water in the air toward me. “Cheers. To another episode in the can.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I reach my coffee cup across the table, tap his drink, then place it back down on the table.

  Richard watches me thoughtfully. “You still have one more season to go. You should celebrate the wins till then.”

  He’s read my mind. And he’s right. We did just have a successful proposal that went off without a glitch. Except for Steven wrecking his free-throw reputation.

  “I just wasn’t feeling it today. On the last day of filming an episode, I usually have the crew stand in a circle and hold hands while everyone makes their own proposal. You know, like a vow to do something they’ve always wanted to do.”

  “That’s cute,” he says just loud enough for me to hear.

  There’s my stomach clenching again. Not that I need Richard’s approval, but it’s nice to feel backed up at the moment.

  I think back to all the episodes that have ended this way. The ones before Maria and Jorge. Some of the crew thought the little ritual was cheesy, but I could tell they were into it by the time we were done.

  We’d all be high off the proposal that had just taken place, and I loved how everyone would cheer in unison for all our silent vows. I started it because I wanted to make the magic something we could all experience. I can’t believe I completely forgot about it today. Then again, it seems kinda pathetic now that the show has been canceled.

  Richard squints, his interest piqued. “Let’s do it,” he says, suddenly rising from his bench.

  “Really? But it’s just us here.”

  “So.” He holds out his hands, beckoning for mine. “Come on,” he says in a sweet, parental tone.

  I take a deep breath. At the moment, breaking my tradition seems to make the show ending more dismal.

  “Okay,” I say as I rise, dropping my hands into his.

  His fingers intertwine tightly with mine, and I stifle a nervous laugh. He seems to stiffen up too. This is not how we do it with the crew.

  “Well, close your eyes.” I try to sound professional, but my voice is jittery. “Uh, so this is what I normally say: ‘Everyone, close your eyes. Make your proposals, and make them count. On three, we’ll send them off.’” I sneak a one-eyed peek at Richard obediently playing along. I try to consider what I want, but it’s hard to think. Richard’s hands feel nice. Like I’ve slipped on a warm pair of gloves.

  “And then I count,” I say to move things along, but I can’t think of a single thing to make a vow about. I feel Richard tighten his grip on my hands. To develop my own show, emerges in my thoughts. “And three, two, one…” We open our eyes.

  We stare at each other for a few vulnerable seconds before he lets go of my hands and sits back down. “That was nice,” he says calmly.

  “Mm-hm. Thanks.” I feel like I’m recovering from a dizzy spell.

  “You know, they didn’t have much pizza.” Richard sounds different. He’s testy again and suspicious. “Do you need to go get some for anyone? You know, maybe to set aside for someone in particular?”

  “No.” I huff like I have no idea who he’s talking about. “I don’t need to do that.”

  He raises an extremely skeptical and judgmental eyebrow and chugs the rest of his water.

  Chapter 20

  There’s still a good chance Richard doesn’t know I’m dating TJ. One little spitball in my hair is totally inconclusive evidence. What could that prove?

  Still, he hasn’t said much the past few days. Except this morning, to tell me he has to leave a little early to go to a concert. “Hot new Brooklyn polka band?” I joked, but he only chuckled halfheartedly and turned back around.

  I’ve been watching the back of his head for a sign, and the only thing I’ve gathered is that he’s tense and uncomfortable. His thin gray cotton scarf is making my neck itch.

  His legs are stretched out lazily under the table, like he doesn’t want to be here. I’m pretty sure he’s upset with me and it has something to do with the proposal shoot. I just want things to go back to when he was mad at me for no reason.

  Plus, our trail mix bowl is dangerously low for the first time. Don’t know how to say, “Hey, buddy, don’t forget to keep the nuts coming,” without sounding like an ass.

  We’ve made steady progress editing the proposal, but every time Richard sees Usher on the screen, he shakes his head or shuffles in his seat. He taps the keyboard slowly like it physically hurts. It’s hard to watch. Can keystrokes lead to actual strokes?

  It’s been especially tricky to edit the performance. It’s tough getting the pacing right. Richard says it’s because we have too many cameras to choose from. Which makes him the only editor in the world to complain about having too much coverage. I personally love the view from the basketball hoop. But totally agree we could live without Usher Fedora Cam.

  Ultimately, it’s taken four days to edit a three-minute song. We’ve heard “U Got It Bad” so many times, I’m pretty sure I could pick up an electric guitar and nail the solo.

  Richard rewinds the source material, stops at an image and lets it play. Usher makes a smooth 360-degree spin on his heels at the top of the bleachers.

  “That’s a nice shot.” I try to sound upbeat.

  Richard nods slightly. He slowly taps on the keyboard and brings up a sequence he put together of student reactions. A couple of guys singing along, one of a girl who looks over at her friend and screams, and another one of a young student who fumbles with his backpack, finds his phone, and starts to record what’s going on. With a few more key taps, Richard has placed the students’ reactions after Usher.

  “What if we slow-mo the spin?” I make an extra effort to sound non-commanding.

  Richard’s response is a side-to-side head wag.

  Some slightly harder typing on the keyboard alters Usher’s speed. It all comes together. Now the kids seem to be reacting to Usher’s ability to defy gravity. Just as the last kid is fumbling with his cell phone, the screen goes gray and a small message appears in the center.

  The message of doom.

  It’s rare, but every once in a while the editing system will freeze for no particular reason and devour all the work you’ve done since it last saved. The computer is supposed to autosave every few minutes, but inevitably, whatever made the system freeze will also have affected its ability to autosave for the past few hours.

  You’ll call the software company and a tech person will walk you through all the things you need to do, and when none of that works, they’ll tell you to turn the computer off and on.

  The editing system will come back to life and run smoothly again like it never had a care in the world and didn’t just spit out hours of your toil and creativity. Like a spaceship that’s thrown out the trash, your edited masterpiece is floating away forever somewhere in the ether.

  “Should I call tech support?” I ask in as soothing a tone as I can muster.

  “No need.”

  “You sure?”

  Richard doesn’t respond. Instead, he just clicks away at the computer. I’m bracing myself for a reaction. A system crash brings out the worst in an editor. I’ve seen it all. Keyboards slammed toward the wall or yanked out entirely. Nina once yelled a nonstop row of curses at a software tech. There were so many, it was almost comical. The next day, she sent them a spa coupon for a massage.

  Typically, I manage this curveball pretty well. It’s my role to stay positive and get things back on track.

  But at the moment I feel something welling up inside. Defeat. I had everything pretty much worked out a second ago. This episode. My life. But it feels like someone has pricked my balloon.

  Mostly, what’s coming up is Gia. I’m seeing her after work, and I know she and I have been off-kilter lately, but each day that goes by and I don’t tell her I’m seeing her brother, I feel more awful.

  She rang on my way to work, and when I told her about the network canceling Marry Me after one more season, she was so supportive. She said she’d always be there for me and that I just need to start believing in myself.

  I watch Richard methodically go through every single step to recover the edited scene.

  I’m surprised by his composure. I’m convinced people show you who they really are when faced with infuriating or awful circumstances. So far, I like Crisis Mode Richard.

  I hear a few more clicks and then the familiar low boom sound of the computer shutting down. After a few seconds, Richard turns the system back on and opens the folder that should contain the proposal scene. Nothing. The folder is empty.

  “Oh well.” Richard sounds weirdly calm. “I can redo it. I remember what we did.”

  “I have the number right here.” I search for the technician hotline on my cell as quickly as I can.

  Richard turns toward me. “It’s okay. There’s nothing they can say that I didn’t already try.” He doesn’t even sound upset anymore. I’ve heard him but continue looking for the number.

  He comes closer and places both hands gently on the edge of my desk. His fingers are stretched out like he’s trying to settle an earthquake. “We lost it. So what? Reworking it can lead to better ideas, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s true.”

  His hands on my desk have a soothing effect. They’re like a weighted blanket comforting the table and everything touching it, including me.

  He’s right, and I slowly feel some relief. I also know what I need to do to let the rest of my tension go. I need to confess to Gia.

  Keeping the most exhilarating thing I’ve ever done from her makes it all feel like it’s not really happening. I need to come clean to my best friend. Just how clean, I’m still not sure. Maybe not squeaky clean.

  I sit up straight and place my cell down a few inches away from Richard’s hand. “Should I be worried?”

  “What do you mean?” He lifts his hands to grab some nuts from the trail mix bowl.

  “Are you holding in all your frustration only to explode on me one day when I ask you to change something?”

  “You never know,” he says and turns toward his computer. After a moment, he looks at me over his shoulder. “But it’s best not to test it.”

  * * *

  “Thank you! Thank you!” I yell at my doorman as I sprint out the front door of my apartment building, balancing the giant wedding dress bag over my arms. It’s so heavy, my biceps are burning.

  I slide onto the middle seat of the cab and negotiate the long puffy white thing on my lap. I have to fold it over twice and can barely see where we’re going. And it smells like someone’s been smoking a cigar in here. Gia’s going to flip out. I’m going to be late to her fitting, and her dress is going to stink. I try to open the windows, but the wind makes the bag go berserk. I hold it down and take a deep breath.

  “Finally!” Gia says to my reflection coming through the door as she checks herself out in the grand triple mirrors.

  A few minutes later, she’s back on the pedestal, this time in her wedding dress. A consultant with hair slicked tightly back into a bun is darting around her, making minute adjustments. The gown is skintight down to her knees and then flares out like a mermaid in a dozen layers of delicate lace. On top is an extremely low-cut bust that makes her boobs jut out like they’re coming up for air.

  This is the fourth time I’ve seen Gia in her wedding dress, and it blows me away every time. The first time was when she picked it out, the second time was when her mom was in town, and then again for her actual fitting. That should have been her final fitting, which is why I took the dang thing to my apartment. But now the custom veil has arrived, and she wanted to see how it looked with the dress.

  “What is going on with you? I’ve been worried.”

  “Just busy,” I say after a moment.

  “I know how you get sometimes. You don’t let anyone in when you’re down.”

  “I’m not down.” I stand up hastily from the fuchsia upholstered bench I’ve been sitting on and walk around the pedestal for a better view. In the mirror, Gia’s eyeing me doubtfully. “Just because I’m not returning calls right away doesn’t mean I’m down. I’m up, actually. Way up!”

  “Sorry. I’m just looking out for you.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry,” I snap.

  “Great,” she says with a hint of worry.

  “Great!”

  “So…” Gia snaps a few photos of herself with her phone. “Are you bringing a date to the wedding? You know, like whoever it is you’ve been spending all your time with lately?”

  Gia knows things. Sometimes I think she inserted a tracking chip behind my ear.

  “No, I’m not bringing anyone.”

  “Here we are.” The fitting specialist returns from the back room holding the veil across her arms like it’s an ancient relic. She attaches it to Gia’s head, and with a few skillful flicks of her wrists, the thing fluffs out, fulfilling all its potential. As soon as she steps away, Gia lets out a happy squeal. The veil has hundreds of tiny sparkles all over it, making her go from unbelievably sexy bride to glowing unbelievably sexy bride.

  “Each one of these crystals is sewn on by hand,” boasts the consultant.

  “What do you think?” Gia asks me. She knows she looks amazing. No one on earth has ever looked this good in a wedding dress.

  “It’s incredible,” I say as I step behind her and look in the mirror.

  “Thanks for bringing the dress.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “And for being my family here. I know Fernando moved back, but”—I try not to flinch or look away—“you’ve always helped me miss them less.”

  “Of course.” I feel a wave of gratitude. I’m grateful she’s grateful for me, and I’m grateful I get to be here for her. “Love you.” I give her hand a little squeeze and let go.

  “With fondue?” she says sweetly.

  “Of course. Globs and globs.”

  This is exactly what I had hoped wedding planning would feel like all along. But instead, it’s been a stressful couple of months dealing with her cousins’ lack of organization and simultaneously being disappointed that Gia’s still flirting with other men.

  But I do feel bad she’s been worried about me. Especially when that’s the last thing she should feel. I’m flying to Vienna next weekend!

  Now is the perfect time to tell her about the four guys. I’m sure she’ll be impressed. I just won’t mention any names.

  “I’m actually seeing a couple of guys right now.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” What a relief. I’m so excited to tell her everything that I can’t get my thoughts in order quickly enough. “I found that list and—”

  She cuts me off. “No, stop. Not this again.”

  “No, you don’t understand, not just any list. The list. Remember the one we wrote back in college?”

  “No.”

  “The list. You said we should write what we wanted in a guy. But we could only write four things. And Matt, by the way, is exactly what you wanted because I remember your list. Isn’t that crazy?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You said you wanted a guy like Brad Pitt, and Matt looks like Ryan Gosling and Ryan is today’s Brad Pitt, so you got that. He had to be rich, about six two, and worship you. And then at the last minute you added waffles. I mean how crazy is that?” This is a relief. It feels so nice to be honest with Gia again. “So right now I’m checking off my list. With four different guys, but whatever. I started out giving up on the list altogether, but…I mean, the plan has evolved, and now…”

  “Here, take some pictures.” Gia cuts me off, handing me her cell.

 

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