Ellie

My mom, Marjorie, and I reach a compromise: I’ll watch the finale—they’re not wrong about me needing closure—but not the whole thing. I’ll watch the final half hour, enough to see who he marries, but I’m not going to endure the entire two-hour nightmare of having to watch as he falls in love with someone else.

God. Even so, I don’t think I can watch this.

I hoped that time and distance would prove to my stupid heart that it was a passing, unavoidable crush on a movie star who’d paid attention to a regular girl.

Wrong.

With each passing day, I’m more aware of one unavoidable, heart-squeezing realization: I love Gage.

I’m all the way, hopelessly, maybe a little stupidly in love with Gage Barrett.

“Are you okay, honey?” my mom asks, setting a bowl of popcorn on the table and sitting beside me, hand on my knee. “You look queasy.”

That’s one word for it. I would also throw miserable, idiotic, and heartbroken into the mix.

“Is it because everyone’s talking about how devastated you were that he didn’t use his veto on you? If it makes you feel better, all my friends think he used you horribly. Seducing you like that, and then sending you home.”

“Everyone thinks that,” Marjorie agrees from the kitchen, where she’s wrestling with a wine cork. “Although for the record, when you’re ready to talk about it, I get first dibs on knowing what actually happened during those twenty-four hours when you disappeared.”

I drop my forehead to my knees and let out a crazy laugh.

“Isn’t it obvious, Marjorie?” my mom murmurs as she pets my hair. “She fell in love.”

“Did you?” Marjorie asks, coming into the room with three glasses. “Is that why you’ve been so weird and won’t talk about it?”

I lift my head. “I haven’t been weird.”

“Super weird,” my mom says, patting my knee, then accepting the wineglass Marjorie holds out. “This guy hurt you, Ellie.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” I say, taking a sip of my own wine. “He gave me exactly what I wanted. What I thought I wanted.”

“How’s that?”

“Right before we walked into the house after our time…away…I told him I wanted to go home. Actually, I was kind of begging him to send me home from the very beginning, but there was always some reason to stay, and the longer I stayed the more I realized that I had to go. You know?”

“Um, no,” Marjorie says. “Not following, babe. At the end, did you want to stay? Or did you want to go?”

“I wanted to go because I wanted to stay.”

“I think I follow,” my mom says slowly.

“Good, because I don’t,” Marjorie mutters, dunking a chip into ranch dip. “It was Gage Barrett, babe. How do you just walk away from that hotness?”

“I think that’s the problem,” I say, plucking at the blanket draped over my lap. “I stopped thinking of him as Gage Barrett the movie star and started thinking of him as Gage Barrett the guy I was falling for.”

“Was he falling for you too?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Maybe. But I killed it before we could really give it a chance, and now he’s…” I wave my hand at the TV. “Getting married.”

“I didn’t know,” Marjorie says, reaching out and squeezing my hand. “I thought you were just preoccupied by the job shift. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“Me too,” my mom says. “And I understand why you didn’t reach out to me. I’m not exactly the poster child for lasting love. No wonder you’re wary.”

I give her a surprised look. I don’t want to say that my mom is shallow, because she’s not. Not in the ditzy, superficial kind of way—it’s more that she’s just unaware. When I was growing up, she’d frantically apologize for forgetting to pick up groceries like she promised. But then the very next day she’d forget all over again. Or she’d break up with boyfriend number 829 just as I was starting to like him, and promise she’d never bring a guy into our lives until she was “sure.” That resolve would last about three days. And so on.

When I was a kid, it sucked. When I was a teen, it was more than a little exasperating. Now that I’m an adult, though, I’ve more or less accepted it as a part of who she is.

But here’s the thing about learning from other people’s mistakes: you miss out on the chance to make some mistakes on your own. And sometimes you get so busy dodging the potential mistakes that you miss the potential magic.

You miss the one.

I look up in time to see my mom and Marjorie exchanging a look.

“What was that?” I ask, gesturing between them.

Marjorie tops off my wineglass even though I’ve only taken a sip or two. “I don’t think watching the last part of the finale’s a good idea after all. How about Gilmore Girls? Some good old-fashioned Stars Hollow distraction?”

For a split second, I’m tempted. I’m relieved that I don’t have to watch Gage fall in love with someone else. But the relief is short-lived, replaced with the knowledge that even if I avoid the pain tonight, it’ll still catch up with me tomorrow. And the next day. And next week, and next month, and all the days until I face it.

And then let it go.

Let him go.

“I think I need to watch,” I say, reaching for the remote. “I need to say goodbye, if that makes sense?”

My mom and best friend exchange a dubious look, but after finding the channel, I tuck the remote into the pocket of my hoodie and give them a stubborn look. “We are watching. Although we may need more wine. For survival.”

It’s a commercial break, and I stuff handfuls of popcorn in my mouth and listen to my mom and friend discuss whether Paisley or Brooklyn will be the winner.

Both of them put their money on Brooklyn—apparently he and Paisley get along great, but there’s been no romantic chemistry. Which is a relief, what with Paisley being my girl and all.

But the silent implication that he does have romantic chemistry with the oh-so-perfect Brooklyn…

I shove the popcorn bowl at Marjorie. “Take this away. I think I’m going to barf.”

“Too much butter?”

Too much heartache.

Then the show’s back, and my stomach churns for real. The camera zooms in on Adam, dressed in a suit and teal tie, the scene behind him unmistakably bridal. White chairs are lined up to face an elaborately decorated archway. There are no wedding guests yet, but the milling tuxedoed servers in the background and the harpist sitting down at her instrument give a realness to the scene that makes my heart stutter.

“Well, we’re just minutes away from the wedding you’ve all been waiting for. As we heard from Gage himself, there will be a wedding this afternoon. The only thing left to be revealed is, who will be the bride? And will the Runaway Groom finally say his vows?”

There’s a long, meaningful pause as the camera zooms in on Adam’s serious face.

Then he nods. “Let’s find out.”

The footage of Adam fades, replaced by Brooklyn looking every bit the part of the bride in a gorgeous white gown, her hair in an elaborate updo, studded with white pearls.

“Holy shit,” Marjorie breathes. “This is really happening.”

“Not necessarily,” Mom counters, gesturing for the popcorn bowl. “She’s first, which usually means a rejection. And remember what they said in the last episode: both women picked out wedding dresses, as they won’t know until the very last moment which one of them is the bride.” Then she gives me a wary look. “Sorry, Ellie.”

I take a gulp of wine, then another, as Brooklyn talks to the camera about how she’s fallen hopelessly in love with Gage and can only hope he loves her back.

She looks like a beautiful angel, and I can’t help but think how perfect she’d look on his arm at all the red-carpet events and sushi dinner date nights in West Hollywood. How beautiful their children will be.

“Nope, I can’t,” I say, fumbling for the remote I stashed.

Marjorie snatches it away, then grabs my hand and squeezes. “Therapy, remember?”

A second later, Gage appears and I lean forward, hugging my wineglass to my chest, eyes watering at the sight of him.

He walks toward Brooklyn, smiling as he stops in front of her on the secluded beach and presses a kiss to her cheek. “You look beautiful,” he says solemnly.

He looks beautiful. Handsome. He looks…oh God, he’s so good-looking. He’s wearing a tux, which I’ve never seen him do outside of his movies, his hair recently cut into photo-op perfection.

The camera zooms in on his face, and I scan anxiously for any sign of what he’s thinking, but I can’t read him. Damn actor skills.

Brooklyn apparently can’t either, because her smile wavers as he reaches out and takes her hand.

“Brooklyn…”

I sit perfectly still in a state of euphoria and disbelief as he lets her down with what has to be the world’s sweetest breakup speech. He tells her that she’s smart, and beautiful, and as good a person as he’s ever known, but that he can’t marry her—because he’s in love with somebody else.

Somewhere along the line, I realize I’m crying. And I’ll give Brooklyn credit—she handles it with a heck of a lot more grace than I’m exhibiting right now. Her eyes water with unshed tears, a beautiful heartbroken angel now.

There’s a cut to commercial break, and I slump back.

My mom gets up and comes back with a tissue box. I honk noisily. “So. Paisley.”

“Bitch,” Marjorie mutters. “She was your bestie.”

I swallow. “I told him. When I left, I told him to keep her around….”

“That’s what you whispered in his ear?” Marjorie demands. “Social media totally thought it was something dirty. People have been taking bets.”

“Shhhhhhh, it’s back!” my mom says, gesturing frantically for the bowl of popcorn.

This is a good thing, I tell myself as I pass the popcorn from my best friend to my mother and then back again. It’s an excellent reminder that I dodged a bullet. It could have been my love life that’s making gossip fodder for millions of women across America. My heart that could have been broken in front of the entire country instead of my two best ladies.

This time it’s Paisley who comes into view, and I gasp, because she looks every bit as beautiful as Brooklyn. More so, because whereas Brooklyn looked angelic but guarded, Paisley’s joy is written all over her face.

She’s left her hair down, and it falls down her back in wild red curls. Her dress is a mermaid cut, showing off her impressive curves. Her smile is radiant.

“She looks like Ariel!” Marjorie says. “Except without the pesky fish feet.” Then she glances at me with a loyal expression. “Tacky, though. Very tacky.”

I roll my eyes, but still, I’m grateful when somehow I end up holding both of their hands as Gage comes on the screen once more.

I don’t think it’s my imagination that his smile seems a bit wider than it was when he greeted Brooklyn, as though he and Paisley are on some grand adventure together. And why shouldn’t it be? What’s a grand adventure if not the start of a marriage?

Too late I realize that if it had been me, if only I’d been brave, I could have been the one marrying him.

And too late I realize that the cameras aren’t what matter. Neither does the spectacle, or the fact that the start of our marriage always would have been met with eye rolls by the snobby, judgy type of people.

Too late I realize that it’s not the time on camera that defined what Gage and I had. It was the time spent off camera. In that damn closet, in the car, in the ocean, in that hotel room…those were our moments.

That’s what mattered, and I threw it away.

My eyes water again. I’m turning into a regular weeper over this guy, and I’m not digging it.

“Oh my God,” Mom whispers, squeezing my hand.

My attention snaps back to the present, and I glance at Mom’s and Marjorie’s shocked faces before forcing myself to turn my attention back to the TV.

Gage is holding both of Paisley’s hands, and she lets out a happy laugh. “I get it,” she says, her words gushing out. “I so get it, and it’s more than fine, and I’m so happy for you, because…and I think you already know this…I’m in love with someone else too.”

My jaw drops open. “What? What? What did she just say? What?”

Marjorie reaches out and puts a hand over my mouth as all three of us watch Gage wink at Paisley. “You’re absolutely right, Pais. I did know that. In fact…” He offers his arm. “Care to walk with me a bit?”

Paisley sets her fingers on Gage’s arm and the camera follows them for the short walk along a winding pathway until they reach the wedding set where we saw Adam earlier. Except this time the chairs aren’t empty. They’re full of people, all of whom turn and smile when they see Paisley and Gage.

“I don’t understand,” Mom mutters. “Are they getting married even though they’re not in love?”

“If they do, I’ll boycott this show so hard,” Marjorie says threateningly.

A moment later Adam steps up to greet the couple. “Gage. Paisley. I can’t say any of us at Jilted saw this ending coming, but if this is what the two of you want…”

Gage shakes his head. “This moment’s not about me. This is all about her.”

Adam fixes his attention on the bride. “Paisley?”

She doesn’t answer, but her eyes scan the gathering until they find what she’s looking for, and her entire face transforms with blissful happiness. The camera follows her line of sight to reveal…

My jaw drops. “Ed?”

“Oh my God, is that the hot surfer guy?” Marjorie asks.

Mom reaches behind me to bat excitedly at Marjorie’s shoulder. “I told you they had chemistry!”

“Chemistry, yes, but…”

The camera’s back on Paisley now, who lifts a hand to hide her giggle. Adam’s smile is just the slightest bit pinched, but his words are kind. “We’re all delighted about your secret romance, Paisley. All we’ve ever wanted at Jilted is to help people find love, and we’re glad we could do that for you, albeit not exactly as we planned.”

I swear I see Paisley give just the tiniest of eye rolls, making me love her all the more, but then she thanks Adam graciously and turns to Gage. “You’re sure you don’t mind me hijacking your wedding?”

Gage’s smile merely grows wider, and he lifts his hand to gesture someone forward.

Paisley’s eyes go wide as a gray-haired man steps into view. “Daddy?”

Gage bends down to kiss her cheek. “Be happy, Paisley.” He says it quietly, more for her than for the cameras.

She lifts a hand to his cheek. “You too.”

Gage leans down and whispers something in her ear that makes them both smile.

“What’d he say?” I demand. “What’d he say?”

I don’t get any answers. My mom and Marjorie still look stunned at the twist, and the camera shifts its focus from Gage to Paisley and her father.

A moment later the processional begins, and we watch as Paisley proceeds to marry Ed the surfing instructor.

I mean, what the what?

I’m happy for her. So happy for her. And now, more than ever, I regret that I turned down the invitation to be there for the finale and the wedding. The rest of the women are there, even Brittany B. and Eden, looking pissy as ever. As far as I can tell, Brooklyn and I are the only ones missing.

In what feels like both the fastest and longest wedding of all time, Paisley and Ed say their vows, seal the deal with a slightly PG-13 kiss, and are promptly surrounded by the rest of the Jilted gang.

Except Gage.

Where’s Gage?

A moment later, we pan to Adam again, blabbering on about the surprising nature of true love, and some other crap.

He inserts another of his dramatic pauses, and the camera zooms in. “And for those of you wondering about Gage…the Runaway Groom has done it again. In true movie star fashion, he’s currently on his way to Dubai to film the next Killboy movie.”

“Wait, that’s it?” I say as Adam quits babbling and the camera pans to Paisley and Ed walking along the beach. “That can’t be it. There has to be more.”

Marjorie lifts the remote, turns off the TV. “I think that’s it, babe.”

“But—but…my closure. That’s not closure! That’s an opening!”

My mom strokes my ponytail soothingly, but I’m in no mood to be soothed. I want answers, damn it. I want—

All three of us go still at a knock on the door.

“You expecting anyone?” Mom asks.

I shake my head. “No. But one of my neighbors gave me a spare key, because she’s forever locking herself out. Probably her.”

I open the front door. It’s not my neighbor.

My breath catches, my heart stops.

Gage.

Gage Barrett is standing in my doorway, wearing jeans and a white dress shirt, holding an obscene number of flowers.

He flashes a cocky-as-hell grin as he lifts his free arm and rests it on the doorjamb. “Miss me?”