I’m so happy and content with how things are at this exact moment that I’m suddenly overcome with a deep pang of shattering sadness. We’re leaving. This is all going to end. This strange but wonderful and unexpected adventure that finally brought Owen and me together… will end.
I’m thankful for the sunglasses I’m wearing, covering the unbidden tears forming. I’m just about to excuse myself to go inside for a moment to collect my emotions when the crew vans begin to arrive.
Gloria rubs her hands together like she’s lighting a fire. “Oh, looks like it’s time, y’all. I can’t wait to see what they’ve got for us today.”
Owen puts his glove down, stretching his throwing arm high into the air, then in large circles up and over his shoulder.
“You okay?” I ask, going to meet him and rubbing his shoulder. “You shouldn’t work it so hard. You’ve got to baby it.”
“I feel great, Babe. More than great.” He turns, pulling me into a sweaty hug, though I don’t mind a bit. “I feel like I could get out there tomorrow. To be honest, I probably wouldn’t have taken it so easy if we were back home, but resting so much here and getting that extra TLC…”
He winks. Like our marital activities have somehow magically healed his wounds.
“I’m excited to see what the docs say when we get back. Maybe I’ll get to do some real off-season training and be ready to go next spring.” He kisses my nose, then rubs his wet face across mine. He’s nothing but a hopeful, happy golden retriever, looking for affection.
I love him, and especially this version of him. So much, it hurts.
“Gross, O!” I swat him away, feeling heavier somehow, though I can’t quite put my finger on why.
“I’m gonna jump into a quick shower before filming, but I’ll be back in sec,” he says, kissing my cheek like he’s done every time he leaves me for any amount of time since we were sixteen. And for some reason, though he’s only going downstairs, I have the urge to beg him to stay.
There’s an excited energy running through the crew and contestants today. The sense that everything is coming to an end at the forefront of our minds and every conversation around us.
What will they offer us? What will the challenge be? Will they ask us to vote each other off again?
Sumer Morrison’s wearing a denim, ankle-length jumpsuit with her hair and insanely long extensions styled and crimped like a mermaid, flowing all the way to her waist. I wonder how she hasn’t sweat herself into an early grave in that outfit, and also, who did those crooked extensions? I know she has a team of professionals, but as they primp her makeup and tease her hair more and more, no one has adjusted the improper placement of the extension right at her midline on her dominant side. It’s honestly offensive.
“Todd,” I hiss, trying to get his attention from where he unpacks his equipment just below our trailer. “Toddy Boy. Up here.”
Todd looks up, silent as usual.
“I need you to get Sumer. Her hair is a mess.”
His hand springs up to his chest, in question, as if there were a million Toddy Boys running around this oddly busy field.
“Yes, you. Please, go get her. And tell her team I need hair supplies.”
And that is how—after Todd jets across the Tinkerbell circle to fetch her for me—I find myself welcoming Sumer Morrison into my pseudo-home.
“Um, hi… Well… I mean, come on in,” I stammer, stepping back so the superstar singer can make her way up the trailer steps. “I set up a station already.”
She smiles meekly, looking around the space with appreciation. “I thought our hotel season was insane, but this…” She shakes her head and sits on the stool. “This is next-level. How has it been?”
I take the tools her styling team delivered to me and start right away with readjusting the lopsided extension. It looks like it was woven in too loosely but should be a relatively easy fix. “It’s been… nice,” I answer honestly. “Tight, but not bad.”
“Figures.” She sips the latte she brought in with her and fans the invisible glisten of sweat making her look like dew softly dropped on her cheeks, as opposed to my red face and the sweat dripping down my back. Famous people… t hey’re just like us. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but if I had to be cooped up in a tight space with someone who looked like your husband, I wouldn’t think it was so bad either.”
I huff a laugh, but Gretchen’s little rat claws make an appearance. “Thanks? Owen’s been amazing. He always is, butespecially during this whole experience. I’m lucky we were able to do this together.”
“I mean, who else would you have done it with?” she asks, like the idea is laughable. She has no idea.
I suddenly feel nothing but shame that’d I’d even considered signing up for this with Aiden as my partner. As my husband. I’m more grateful than ever that things didn’t go the way I planned.
“Done,” I say, restyling her hair to hang over the extension, which is now in place. I hand her a mirror and hold one up in the back so she can see the entire finished product.
“Girl, you’re a lifesaver. Thank you.” She smiles at her reflection, but her eyes flick to me. “My stylist is, like, super preggo and has been scattered lately. It’s totally not her fault, but I really appreciate… you looking out for me.” She says it like she isn’t used to someone doing so.
“It’s really no problem, at all.”
