I snort a laugh at this reminder. Maybe I shouldn't enjoy the fact that Paris, no matter how hard she tries, can never get back into the pageant circuit in any way, shape, or form. But I do enjoy it. I relish it because it might be the only petty thing about me.
"Yes, that's true," I reply, and I hear the confidence in my voice returning. Amazing how Jet can talk to me like one of his crew, and I respond so positively. He inspires me at every turn.
"All right then. Now gird up them loins and go get that fucking crown."
How does he do that? How does one man manage to make me laugh, fire me up, and rattle me apart in the same breath?
"Baby, you know that saying, 'find a man who ruins your lipstick, not your mascara'? Well, you're ruining my mascara."
"Then what's my Rocket gonna do about it?"
The way he says it makes my spine straighten in attention. I stare in the mirror as he speaks, my eyes wide.
"Rocket's gonna fix her makeup," I say.
"Fuck yes, because Rocket is not soft. She's strong. And then what's she gonna do?"
I blink in the mirror. "Baby, can I stop referring to myself in the third person now? It's getting weird."
"Fine. What are you gonna do next?"
"I'm gonna go out on that stage and I'm gonna nail that flaming baton."
He wheezes. "Babe."
I wag my head. "I mean—you know what I mean."
"That's right because you're made of stone. You know how to win, you just have to go up there and do it. You're a winner. What did your mama say?"
"That I was meant to fly to the stars."
"I don't see anybody else who knows this contest like you do."
I cock my head in the mirror. "Well, of course not, because you're not here."
"Right, I'm not there. But I'll be there—I mean with you—as soon as I can and I want you wearing nothing but that crown and that sash."
"Well, it's not a crown, it's a tiara."
"Babe."
"What?"
"I love you."
My heart pounds. Even though I miss him so damn much I can't help it, I feel so lucky to have a guy like Jet building me up. I don't ask for him to do it, but he reads me like a book and knows exactly what I need to hear to get me through.
"I love you too. Now get out of here before I have to do my mascara a third time."
"I can't wait to mess up your lipstick for real."
As I stand on the stage, I go over every part of the competition in my head. The swimsuit portion was on point. Again I went with a Navy theme, this time in dress whites with rhinestones. The flaming baton routine was twice as hard as the year before, and I added a handstand with the help of a coach. And I nail the random question at the end, which is "If you could give any piece of advice to your younger self, what would it be?"
I smile and give it my best shot. "I would tell her to be kinder to herself, and not to worry about what other people think. And maybe to spend more time being a kid. But ultimately, I would tell her to stay on the same path, because all of her choices led me to where I am today, and I love myself."
When the governor announces the next Butter Queen, I don't hear the words, because suddenly out of the corner of my eye, something disrupts everything.
Dressed in his officer whites, standing against the fence, watching me, is Jet.
The sounds that come out of me are neither human nor animal. It is a supersonic sound that only can be heard in space. I am running in heels.
For the first time in weeks I've got my baby in my arms and I'm never letting him go.
"Sweetheart, you're ruining your hair, mascara, and your lipstick."
"I don't care," I blurt out, tears pouring down my cheeks. And there goes my foundation as well.
"You will care because they're calling your name."
I suddenly remember where I am, but I don't want to take my eyes off of my Jet.
Aleesha affixes the crown on top of my head and fits me with the sash, all while I'm still wrapped around my boyfriend like a monkey. I'm feeling pretty grateful for the long slit up the leg, otherwise I'd never be able to climb my man in this dress.
Jet whispers in my ear, "Babe, I'm gonna have to set you down."
"Oh no, I must be ruining your back," I say.
He quirks up one side of his mouth. "Not at all, but you gotta take your bow, and there are about 25 other women up here in formalwear who are staring at me, and I think they want to hug you."
My heart still hammering in my chest and throat, I let Jet set me back down on my feet. An avalanche of arms and legs surrounds me, and now I'm crying because the reality has set in that I finally won.
"Congratulations, sweetie," says Aleesha, who hugs me tight. And then the sobbing begins anew. She pulls away for a quick second to dab at my face with a tissue and makeup sponge.
"You are miraculous. Where are you hiding all of that stuff?" I ask, incredulous.
"Pockets, honey. My dress has pockets."
"Genius."
"No, you're a genius. How in the hell did you do a full backflip and not miss a beat with a flaming hoop? You are insane. Insane. You know that, right?"
Jet drags my attention away from Aleesha, and I can just barely hear him over the clapping and whistling from the crowd.
"Excuse me, ladies. I don't mean to break up the party, but…"
I turn to look, and Jet is on one knee—the knee of his dress whites probably picking up all kinds of sweat and tears from the stage—in front of me,
