What if agreeing to this was a mistake?
I don’t want to feel jealous about Dawson doing another movie with Buffy. If my own life were a movie, Buffy Fields would be my arch nemesis. She’s the quintessential mean girl, sure, but even worse, she’s an opportunist. I gave Dawson one little week to get his priorities straight, and that woman flew in on her space broom and made the whole world think he’d chosen the pampered actress over the makeup artist from a broken home.
Of course, my issues go deeper than that. Buffy reminds me of my only sister, Char. When our parents split, Char and I were just fourteen and fifteen years old. I’m the older sibling, but Char always acted superior. Despite his absence and arrogance, Char worshiped Dad. While I tried to hide or even deny the relation, she bragged about belonging to the one and only Kyler Ray, self-proclaimed Golf God. She adored him along with most of America, and Dad loved her for it.
So, Char went with Dad, I stayed with Mom, and the lines were drawn. Dad with all his glory and pride, rubbing shoulders with world famous athletes in Bali, or playing in charity tournaments with Hollywood’s finest.
And then there was Mom, who remained unseen in all the good she did as a teacher. I have stayed unseen for the most part too, though there are a few exceptions.
That thought is a trigger, one that throws me back in time to a couple years after my parents’ divorce. It was my Grandpa Ray’s funeral. A lot of big names came to show their support for Dad and his loss. Char looked like royalty as she gracefully dabbed tears beside Dad. Meanwhile, I was a mess of puffy eyes, hot tears, and doubts I never knew were there. Would I really see Grandpa again? Did he still live on as I’d always believed people do?
I was snatching a wad of Kleenexes from a decorative brass case when I overheard something I was never meant to hear.
“That’s Ray’s other daughter?” a handsome man with an oversized jaw said. “Yikes. No wonder he doesn’t publicly claim her.”
“She’s not nearly as pretty as her sister,” a female in red stilettos agreed. “Or ambitious. Kyler and Char are two peas in a pod. The other one’s just like her mother—low-class trash.”
A hot knot of anger tears through my chest at the recollection alone. Seventeen-year-old me didn’t know how to process that assessment of my mother and me.
I’ve reflected on that memory several times since the breakup. I hate to admit it, but I’m glad we split before Dawson got as big as he is now. He didn’t gain as much attention back then. Sure, I was seen in photos with him throughout our relationship, but the paparazzi were more focused on breakups and hookups among the A-listers at the time. And our relationship, until our Buffy-infused breakup, anyway, was rather boring by tabloid standards.
If hehadbeen an A-lister at the time, the public might have frowned on me the way Dad’s friends did.‘Yikes, Dawson did right by leavingherbehind; just look at her—trash.’
Fortunately, that didn’t happen. In fact, here we are, two years after the breakup, and Dawson is willing to publicly declare that he wants me back. The fact thrills me as much as it scares me. But there’s something else there too—a level of satisfaction. Or maybe a better word for it is pride. And pride, well, heaven knows that’s one big lead-up to a fall.
I sit in that for a minute. Thanks to my mom, I’ve learned to be intentional in life, pausing to consider the motives behind my actions. Wanting to run an organization that helps kids discover what they’re good at and thrive—good motive. Wanting to post pictures with the A-listers I work with just so I can show my dad and Char that I made it somewhere in life—bad motive.
The act itself is harmless enough, but if I do it seeking validation and approval from people that refuse to give it, I’ll feel wounded when things don’t go my way. I’ll be left feeling even more desperate to gain their approval.
I clear out space in my head with a deep breath, searching honestly.Why did I say yes to this?
I already know I wanted the money for my charity, and I confess eventhatcomes with a level of pride and self-gratification; I want what I started to succeed.
And yes, while I want to see if Dawson really has changed, I can also admit I’d love it if we could somehow…but I can’t even finish that sentence in my mind. Getting back together seems like an impossibility; I sensed that when I said yes, which means I was willing to risk getting my heart broken. But why?
The answer is like a smack to the face.
My motive is not so pure as “money for the children” or “giving love a second chance” which, sadly, I don’t think either of us is capable of. It’s the exact motive I’m aware of when I consider posting on social media and stop myself—I want my dad and Char to see this. To see that I not only got Dawson’s attention years ago but that he wants me even still. One of Hollywood’s most desired bachelors wants whotheyrejected.
I want those horrible people from the funeral to see it as well. I want Buffy Fields to know that Dawson Cain is still interested, even if Ican’tever really have him. I want every one of those guys to eat their own tasteless words.
I stare absently at the clock on the dash until the time sinks in. Forty minutes have passed. Forty whole minutes—which means we’re about to pull up to Time Warp’s new location.
That’s not good, considering I’ve just uncovered a motive that will, like my mom suggested, leave me feeling empty when this is all said and done. I want to stick it to Buffy Fields and Char and my dad, do I? Well, what happens when I fall head over heels for Dawson like some lovesick puppy only to find that he hasn’t changed? That he’s more into fame and clout than he’s ever been? When he refuses to miss the Emmys because they’re more important than me?
“I’m freaking out,” I blurt over the music.
Janis turns down the tunes and shoots me a look. “Good.”
“Good?” I squeak.
“Yes, good. You’re a normal person. I was starting to wonder if you’ve been in full human makeup your whole life and you were secretly an alien underneath.”
I sigh. “This could go very badly.” I wait for her to prompt me on the topic. When she doesn’t, I spit out the list of ways. “There’s going to be cameras and mics surrounding us twenty-four-seven. I could do or say something that makes me look bad. That makes Transform Inc look bad too. We’ve built a solid reputation over the years, and I could just…ruin it.”
Janis looks at me sideways. “You’re acting like me right now.”
“You’ve heard that Warren Buffet quote, haven’t you?” I continue. “‘Takes twenty years to build a reputation and like, five minutes to ruin it.’”
