Rainer shakes his head. “It’s not your fault,” he says. “But you also can’t expect things to just return to normal. That’s not the way life works.”
“What would normal even be?” I ask. I have no idea anymore. Nothing is the way it used to be, least of all me. I’m not Paige Townsen, employee of Trinkets n’ Things. I’m Paige Townsen, star ofLocked. And I love both of these boys. In ways that are different and the same, all at once. Standing in that audition room last year, I never would have thought my life could change this much. But that’s just the thing—it has. For better or worse, this is where I am. But where I’m going is something I’m not sure I’m ready to face yet.
Rainer exhales. He runs a hand over his forehead. “The two of us need to get back to set,” he says, gesturing toward Jordan. “We need to duke it out over August some more.” He tries a smile.
They both stand up. I follow them to the door, where Jordan stops, leaning against the frame.
The light is fading. I see the shadows across both their faces. “What’s done is done,” Jordan says. “We can’t change that.”
“I know.”
“But we also can’t move forward like this.” He exhales. “You think you’re saving us by not choosing, but you’re not. You’re holding us here. I know we’re supposed to say we’ll be patient; I’ve seen the movies—” Jordan breaks off, shaking his head. “But until you act, Paige, no one is going to be able to move forward. And I just have to figure… I mean… that isn’t what you want, is it?”
“Come on,” Rainer says. He cocks his head, and Jordan unhinges himself from the doorframe. They take off down the corridor.
I watch them disappear around the corner, and when they’re gone, I’m filled with the biggest, deepest sense of loss. Because, for the first time, I realize I don’t understand love at all. I thought it was sacrifice. I thought if I committed to Rainer when he needed me, if I refused to choose, if I let Jordan go, that that was love. But maybe love isn’t about the things we give up. Maybe love is the thing that—after everything is gone—remains.
CHAPTER 19
The next morningI pull myself out of bed at five. The sun is still sleeping, and I make my way, half-conscious, into a bathing suit, grab a towel, and slide on sandals. My morning Maui ritual.
I pad down the pathway to the beach, and sure enough, I’m met with that familiar calm at the water’s edge. The soft lapping of the water, the moon passing the baton off to the sun.
I toss my shoes off and towel down, and when I sink my feet into the sand I instantly relax. The water is cool, but not freezing. It’s early, and the sun is getting ready to rise—a sorbet sundae of color. As I swim I let my thoughts spread out with the sky.
It feels like coming clean. Like I’m washing the last six months off me. With each stroke I let go a little bit more. I give it to the water. Greg’s evil influence, I let slide off me. My sister’s betrayal, I send down deep. The scandal with Jordan—it floats away on a wave. The photos and paparazzi and endless tabloid stories are no more than a drop out here. They seem silly, frivolous. Our lives, the minutiae of our celebrity, are no more than a blip on the radar of humanity. They don’t matter. If I’m with Rainer or if I’m with Jordan or if I go back to Portland and start dating a customer from Trinkets n’ Things—it’s irrelevant. We’re insignificant, all of us. Just a speck on the face of one tiny planet. And doggy-paddling now, out in the great Pacific Ocean, I have never felt so liberated by the realization of my own unimportance. I feel the weight fall off my shoulders right along with the water. I’m just one girl. I can’t possibly be responsible for all that I think I am. Fulfilling the expectations of strangers is not in my job description. There’s no way to make the whole world happy. It’s just not possible. Responsibility isn’t about pleasing others—it’s about doing your best to be true to whoyouare, and letting people see that.
I’ve been so afraid of screwing up, letting people down, that I’ve made the greatest misstep of all: I haven’t beenhere. I haven’t paid attention. Because if I had, if I hadn’t been so busy being panicked over the press and my relationship and whatever image I’m projecting, I would have seen what was right in front of my nose this whole time. I would have gotten it.
I’m just coming in when I see Jordan on the beach. This is his routine, too. Morning swims, sometimes surfing.
I swim up to the shore and jiggle the water out of my ears. He’s a little ways down on the beach. I grab my towel and wrap it around me before heading over to him.
He’s sitting with his elbows on his knees, gazing out at the awakening horizon. He’s not wet; he hasn’t gone in yet.
“Hey,” I say.
He looks up at me, confused, and then his face changes. “Good morning.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’re not.”
He gestures to the sand beside him. I tuck my towel underneath me and sit.
“I’ve missed this,” I say. Jordan leans over and chucks my shoulder with his.
“Me too,” he says.
“You were right,” I say.
I hear Jordan breathe next to me. “I’ve had a lot of opposing opinions lately, and I’ve been expressing them with embarrassing frequency. You may have to be more specific.” He closes one eye and peers at me. It makes me crack up.
“Yesterday,” I say. “The thing about us not being able to move forward.”
“Ah.” He leans back on his hands. “You think?”
“I do.”
