Twenty-three
Becca
Preston ends up giving me a tiara at the next ceremony—which Swiss reminded us yet again was “a very important tiara ceremony”—and sends both Sheree and Daisy home. Sheree is pissed as hell and refuses to “take a moment and bid farewell” to any of us, including Preston, and I’ve got to admit, for a girl who never stood up for herself against the badgering of Madison and Addison, I think her giving us all the finger as a parting shot is impressively ballsy. I kind of wish I had taken the time to get to know her.
But the real drama comes from Daisy. We’re all stunned when Preston doesn’t choose her, given that they had this super romantic date at the Neuschwanstein Castle.
Daisy is the most stunned of all, and in a move which will surely go down inChasing Prince Charminghistory, has a total meltdown right there on the courtyard steps. Like, a full-on toddler-level meltdown with wailing and weeping and becoming a boneless puddle of chiffon and melodrama. She whines that Preston could only be sending her home because she was framed for sabotaging our dresses (an incident I think Preston has long since forgotten) and that he never really gave her a chance and how the producers never let her go to a salon to get a facial treatment and if they had, she might not have this gigantic zit on her chin (which I couldn’t tell was there even when she pointed it out). She also wails about how unfair it is that men always go for “the old women,” which is aimed directly at me and also not a generalization I’ve ever heard before. She decides she’s going to lie down on the steps and die, and it takes a combination of Preston trying to talk to her, then Swiss, then Preston again, then several producers, then finally a threat that she’ll be carried out by security, before she at last gets to her feet and stumbles into the waiting carriage.
At one point during this, Nate and I exchange one of those “Holy shit, is this really happening?” looks of shock and amusement that we used to send each other on the regular.Then it’s as if we both remember that this isn’t part of our relationship anymore, and he looks away.
I feel gutted all over again.
The next several days, as the contestants and crew fly to our next location in Normandy, France, and get settled in the hotel to begin the round of family visit dates, I hardly see Nate at all. Since I can’t really control which producers I interact with—short of specifically requesting not to be interviewed by Nate, which would be too suspicious—it seems obvious that he’s the one avoiding me.
Because he’s so hurt?
Because it’s not worth keeping up the facade anymore?
Because the only reason he was spending time with me was to get my secrets on tape, and now that it’s done, there’s not really a point?
I shuttle back and forth between these and other possibilities.The knot in my mind becomes even more tangled. But the thing that I can’t deny is how much I miss him. Not just the touch of his skin against mine or the way he whispered my name when we made love. Not just the all-consuming passion of that night, which I already know I’ll never feel again with anyone else, not like that.Those memories are intense, crushing. But it’s more than that. I miss seeing him grin at me from behind the camera. I miss us communicating without words at the crowded cocktail parties. I miss the bits of sign language he would do just for me. I miss hearing him call me “Becks.” I miss laughing together, our conversations that felt like the most natural thing in the world, no matter what we were talking about.
I miss the man I’m desperately in love with, but he wasn’t just that. He was also my best friend, and I miss that man, too.
I think so often of seeking him out.Telling him that I love him. Begging him to tell me the truth and agreeing that I’ll trust him now if he says again that he didn’t know about the cameras.
But every time I almost take that step, the fear seizes me, clamping down on my heart like a vise. Fear that I still can’t trust myself or anyone, because that was a part of me broken a long time ago. Fear that I’ll open myself up and he’ll confess that he never did feel strongly for me, after all. Fear that he did, but he doesn’t anymore and I’ve already ruined the only chance I’ll ever have at actual love and lost my best friend in the process.
I can’t tell him, so I write all these things in that stupid journal—every conflicting thought and worry and anger I have. My therapist has always recommended I keep a journal, and I’ve made several half-hearted attempts in the past.Turns out what I really needed was a shattering heartbreak and complete lack of access to mind-numbingTV and Ben and Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk.
It’s becoming increasingly difficult to mask the details surrounding “P,” but I do my best anyway. Most likely, anyone who reads this will think I’ve cracked under the dating show pressure and am writing one of those crazy stream-of-consciousness manifestos that may be used as evidence if I snap and sew bottom halves on all of Addison’s shirts so I don’t have to see her perfectly toned stomach anymore.
It’s a good thing it’s family visit week. Even though I saw my girls not long ago, I need this, desperately.
For today’s date, I’m going to meet Preston—and my family!—at the nearby Mont Saint-Michel, which is breathtaking even from a distance. It’s a castle atop a hill surrounded by a small town, all of which is on a tidal island. It’s low tide in the channel now, which means it’s surrounded by sand rather than looking like it’s floating in a glittering sea, but there’s a majestic look to the sand and marsh, too.
The limo takes me—and the camera guy and producer, Mustache Dan this time—right up to the walled edge of the town. I see Preston, in his usual princely outfit, with several cameras already set up and filming. Nate isn’t there, which is not surprising but has the usual effect of making me feel extra hollow.
Preston grins as I emerge from the limo, and I smile back, though I’m far more excited to see my family.
I’m trying, though, to be more open to the idea of dating Preston.That was the point of me coming on the show, right?
He gives me a hug and tells me how excited he is for today, and I can truthfully say the same back. Especially when I hear that squeal of “Mommy, look, it’s a real castle!” from behind me, and Rosie andThea come running toward me like they did back in Germany—oh god, Becca, don’t think about that night—and I hug them, tears running down my cheeks.
Behind them come Paula and Kurt, at a much slower speed, but grinning all the same. I run to meet them, practically launching myself at Paula.
“Oh, honey,” she says after our hug, pulling back and putting her hands on my cheeks. “It is so good to see you.”
“You too, Mom.” I started calling them Mom and Dad soon after Rob and I got married, though they’d been trying to get me to do so for much longer. I was hesitant, though. Could they really mean it?
But it became easier and easier, and they never once seemed to regret offering that gift to me.
Now, though, I feel sick. Will they regret it once they know what I’ve said about their real child onTV?
Will they even believe me?
Kurt wraps me in a big hug, too, and then the two of them turn to greet Preston, who’s waiting behind us with a nervous smile.
