“The internet and your show, yes.” Leo’s voice is a calm pond, zero ripples. I’m damn proud. “Nothing brings two people together more than the love of the game.”
Leo’s words resonate deep in my heart.Madcap Marketbrought Mom and me together during her darkest days. Now it’s bringing Leo and me together, parting the storm clouds of grief and loss—of both my mom and my longest romantic relationship. This game really has given me a lot.
“And what made you decide to audition for us right after your initial meeting?” the woman asks, eyeing our paperwork. “You’ve written that you met only a few days ago. Is this a de facto first date?”
Aside from our thwarted attempts to fuck and our rehearsals, this is the closest we’ve come to a full day together. It is nearly a date and, from her expression, I can tell she likes the angle so I nod vigorously. “We thought this would be the true test of our connection—a high-pressure game show to see if it’s really love at first sight.”
The wordloveis dark chocolate on my tongue, a bittersweet shot of dopamine.
“I have to say, we’ve been on the air for so long and that’s a new story for us,” the man says, nodding to an older dark-skinned man nearby who is wearing a turtleneck despite the heat. He must be the director.
“We’d use the prize money,” Leo adds, “to make long-distance work while we figure out our relationship. Maybe even set some aside to find a together home.”
A heat travels down me. This wasn’t part of what we rehearsed. It’s good, though. Even I get swept into the fantasy he weaves as he talks about wanting to meet my dad and about how I cooked dinner for his mom the other night. He’s making us sound like we’re a real couple and he has real feelings and I’m real light-headed. So much so that I don’t even notice when they lob the next question at me: “What drew you to this show?”
Before I can question it, I’m gushing about Mom, telling them about her cancer and our cookie baking and the way we’d place bets on which team we thought would come out victorious. We never gambled more than loose change, but once I filled up a mason jar full, Mom would take me out for soft serve in a waffle cone.
Maybe it’s the lights in my eyes, but I swear I see the white man pull a tissue from the box on the table. I wasn’t pulling out the sympathy card on purpose. After talking with Mrs. Min and Leo about Mom, a dam erupted inside me. All the words I held back for years suddenly flowed, didn’t feel like they were drowning me from the inside.
“Thank you for sharing that with us.” The woman offers me an understanding smile before nodding to the cameraperson who stops rolling. “It was lovely to meet you both. We’ll be in touchverysoon.”
When we exit the studio, dusk blanketing the city, Leo’s car in the distance, Leo jumps up and does a bell kick. “We fucking did that!” He bangs his fists on his chest and lets out a “Whoop!”
“We didn’t get cast yet,” I say as we cross the asphalt parking lot.
His eyes bug out at me. “Did you see them? They were eating it up! They were practically singing ‘Holden and Leo sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!’ We have to go out and celebrate.”
He’s so joyous. I hate to crush his high, but: “That’s a little premature.”
Leo unlocks his car but stops me from getting in the passenger’s side by leaning against the door, placing a hand around my waist, and tugging my body into his. He sets me ablaze. “I’m an adult who just flew through a bouncy obstacle course for the chance to grocery shop like the apocalypse is coming. I deserve a nice drink.”
I think about what Leo said on our hike, about relationships not being deserved but earned, and I realize that he’s right. All this time, I’ve been so down on myself over all the miseries life has dealt me, assuming the universe owed me happiness now in return, but perhaps happiness doesn’t work that way.
Happiness is something we make for ourselves.
Happiness is finding people who care.
Happiness is a former faux concierge driving you to a bar for drinks and driving you wild with his smile.
Fifteen
“The Silver Pig Café is the spot to go,” Leo says.
I don’t know the city well enough to offer up another suggestion, but I don’t remember seeing it on any of the travel blogs. My reservations come to a head when we walk up and I see: Karaoke EVERY SINGLE NIGHT.
The sign makes my stomach drop.
“Leo, this is a karaoke bar.”
Leo raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, and? This is where I come to celebrate good news.”
“Again,” I say to his back as he opens the door, “we haven’t gotten any good news yet.”
“It’s coming soon. I can sense it, so let’s sing about it.” I got a taste of Leo’s singing in the car the other day. It’s good thatMadcap Marketisn’t anything likeAmerican Idolor we’d have been cut way sooner.
We enter a nondescript office building through a green door instructing us not to bring in any outside food or drinks. It’s a tiny dive with low-lit lanterns on the ceiling and purple and blue DJ lights spinning on the walls.
The tables and chairs are light wood. There are screens speckled around the perimeter of the room. One shows the lineup of waiting singers. The others show the lyrics to the current song: “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.” Two women do a duet up on a stage. One is excellent. The other is trying her best.
