“My parents were skeptical enough when I went on a reality show, and sure, I was too. I thought I’d get more Instagram followers, that it would be good for business. But there was a part of me that believed in the whole thing too. Part of me that wanted to fall in love.”
“And you did.” I saw it play out, the way her conversations with Lincoln had more depth than anyone else’s, how her eyes lit up when they met for a date. She had been open to it. Open to love. And it had happened.
“Yes. But it wasn’t just what the cameras picked up. It was the little things, like how Lincoln would arrange for a producer to deliver takeout if it was an especially grueling day of filming, or how he’d write notes for me to read on the days we weren’t together.” Maybe my heart isn’t as hardened as I thought it was, because that’s pretty sweet. “So the fact that we’re going to be back on TV, opening ourselves up to criticism again… It’s a lot. I tried to avoid the Twitter commentary last time, but there were entire blog posts talking about how I was shrill and annoying, anti-Semitic shit all over the internet, racists who didn’t want us together…”
“Shit.” I saw the blog posts, but not the rest of it. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was what I signed up for,” she says with a shrug. “That doesn’t excuse it, of course, but I knew it was going to happen. I just didn’t think it was going to be that bad. And it’s going to happen again, so I’m trying to prepare myself.”
“It’s not too late to kick out Streamr.”
Victoria gives me a knowing look. “Ah, but the money,” she says. “I’m always worried, though, about what people are saying about us behind our backs. If they think we won’t last because we met on TV or we haven’t been together that long. And I love Lincoln. I want to marry him. I didn’t even really believe in the concept of The One until I met him. But I’ve been on the verge of a panic attack every night this week, and now, seeing the venue, all of it feeling real… It sent me over the edge.”
“I hear you.” It’s the closest to telling her “I understand,” when the truth is that I can’t, not fully. “Obviously I’ve never been in your position, but people are going to talk. People are going to write horrible fucking things. I overhear so much gossip at weddings, and some of it’s terrible.”
She shudders. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
A couple months ago, I would have cast aside her worries, rolled my eyes and marked them unimportant. Now, even if I can’t put myself in her position, I feel for her. I want to make it better. Right now, I think I see her.
“You’re going to be the one up there looking fucking amazing on the best day of your life, penis paintings or not, internet vitriol or not.” It’s a miracle I say it with a straight face. “I’ve seen a lot of relationship drama, and the fact that you and Lincoln aren’t at each other’s throats, that it isn’t manifesting into something pushing you two apart? That’s a big deal. It’s not about the artwork. It’s not about the venue or the cake or the band or the dress or the fact that thousands of people are going to be able to stream it.”
“It’s a great dress, though,” Victoria whispers, and I can’t help grinning at that.
“My mom does this thing before every bride or groom walks down the aisle. She tells them to look at their partner, and to make sure to take some time with them away from everyone else at some point that day. And she reminds them, no matter what else happens, this event is about the two of you. We’ll take care of the rest.”
“Jesus. How old are you again?”
“Thirty-seven. I have great skin.”
“I like you,” she says. “You’re going to be there, right?”
I tell her yes, and I realize—I want to be there. I want to see Victoria looking elegant beyond belief, and I want to see how B+B pulls off this wedding.
Most of all, I want to witness that moment Lincoln sees her dressed up for the first time. I want to see their first dance. Because despite what I may or may not believe about love, I’m rooting for them.
There’s a knock on the door. “Everything okay in there?” Lincoln’s voice.
Victoria gets to her feet and swipes at her eyes a couple times. “Yeah, hon, I’m just on my way out.” Then she turns back to me. “Thank you,” she whispers, leaning down to squeeze my shoulder.
We wrap up at the museum by ordering some velvet curtains online, express shipping, and Mom taps a crew to handle their installation.
“Hope this rain lets up before tomorrow,” she says as we drive home. Tomorrow: an outdoor wedding at Alki Beach. It’s impossible to make it through a Seattle summer without at least one storm like this, the kind of rain that frustrates everyone because how dare one of our perfect sunny days be compromised. We always need a backup plan, and Mom has more than one favorite tent rental company.
I focus on the swish of windshield wipers. “Mm-hmm.”
After a half dozen hypnotic swishes, Mom lets out a deep breath, like she’s been working up to saying something. “So. I’ve wanted to ask you this for a while, but… you and Tarek?”
A flash of panic. “Did Asher say something?”
One side of her mouth curves upward. “When you’re in this business, you pick up on a lot of body language and nonverbal cues. I had a feeling that something romantic might be going on.”
Jesus, my family needs some hobbies.
I want
