If West saw this side of me, he’d leave. That’s what people do. They see you can’t always keep your shit together, no matter how hard you try, and…they leave.
Or they simply don’t show up in the first place.
My parents never showed up. And I’ve never had a man show up, either. I’ve never had a boyfriend stand by me when I stumbled, let alone fell flat on my face.
Better that West doesn’t see how flat I am right now.
When I see him again, I’ll be the me he loves.
The fabulous, dressy, confident me.
Not the penguin-mauled-by-an-otter me.
Only two people get to see gross, mortified Gigi. The two people who will never leave me, no matter what.
I lean forward, give the cabby a new address, then text my gram, letting her know I need pie stat.
And her.
And my brother.
With them, I’m always safe.
I try to be grateful for that, to play the gratitude game for my two fonts of unconditional love.
The people who have always been by my side, through the years.
My sun and my moon, and I love them both to the bottom of my messy, needy soul and back.
As the cabby drives, I try to convince myself I don’t need—or want—more.
But I miss West terribly.
It turns out I’m not very good at gratitude tonight.
Or anything else.
29
Gigi
At Gram’s, I stumble through the door and dive bomb into her couch, stuffing my face into a cushion, hiding.
“Oh, sweetie pie, what happened?” She sits next to me, petting my hair like she did when I was younger. When I’d escape to her house for comfort and a break from trying to keep my parents from breaking.
“Is this about the contest?” she presses. “You should be there now, right?”
The couch sinks near my feet. Harrison. He lives just down the block and, like Gram, he’s always there when I need him. I’m so lucky, but I still feel so fucking awful. The thirty-minute cab ride did nothing to banish the misery gnawing away in my chest.
My brother squeezes my ankle. “Yeah, she should be. I was actually on my way there when you called, Gram. I was going to surprise her with this.”
I look up to see Harrison holding a tiny trophy like the ones we used to win at the field day races in elementary school. Upon closer inspection, I see the plaque at the bottom reads—Top Goddess of Pie Mountain, Bitches, And Don’t You Forget It.
See? These people are my sun and moon.
Fresh tears stream down my face at the sweet gesture and the story all spills out. I tell them about the rule violation and awful, miserable, smug Hawley and finish with, “So I’m out. Disqualified. I will not now or ever be Mrs. Sweet Stuff.”
“That’s bullshit,” Harrison says with a scowl. “When’s the last time you spent quality time with Mr. Skips? Or even his kids? We’ve barely seen them since they moved to Dumbo sixteen years ago.”
I sit up with a hard sniff. “That’s what I said, and Mr. Skips agreed. But the other organizers didn’t, so I’m sweet stuff history.” My breath shudders out as I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I just feel so stupid. And embarrassed. And ashamed of myself.”
“For goodness’ sake why?” Gram hugs me close with one arm as she gathers Joan—who’s yowling by her ankles—onto her lap with the other. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But I did. I should have realized there might be a conflict of interest. I should have been prepared just in case someone—”
“Stop it,” Harrison cuts me off with a slice of his hand through the air. “We’ve talked about this before. No one can prepare for everything that could possibly go wrong. There is no Girl Scout with that many badges, Geeg. No superhero with that many special powers. Trust me.”
I shake my head. “But I skimmed right over the fine print. Who does that?”
Gram huffs. “Everyone. For all I know, I’ve sold my soul to the devil a thousand times over. I haven’t read a cell phone agreement or disclosure on my meds in years.”
Before I can chide Gram about ignoring possible drug interactions, she continues, “And what about your new friend? How did he take the news?”
I bite my bottom lip, fighting another wave of tears. “West texted right after to ask what he could do to help. And I told him to stay and beat Hawley, and he did stay. Even though he’s told me a dozen times the contest isn’t a big deal to him. And now…” I flail an arm in the general direction of Williamsburg. “He’s probably deep in dark chocolate soufflé mode by now. And I’m glad, I really am, but…”
“But you wanted him to come after you, which is understandable,” Gram says, shushing Joan when the big floofy beast meows in irritation, clearly not happy that Gram is still rubbing me instead of her.