My mom’s faces appear on the screen.
“Hi, Mom.”
My mom squints, coming closer to the phone as if that will help her see better. “Scottlyn, you look…messy. I thought you were supposed to be maintaining your image out there for the show.”
I pull the phone far away from my face and circle the bathroom to show her. “We just gutted the bathroom and it was a lot of work. It’s hot today.”
My dad comes into view, and I light up when I see him.
“Hi, honey,” he says, taking the phone from my mom. “How’s the house coming along?”
“Good,” I say, nodding repeatedly. “We’re going to finish up the bathroom tomorrow.”
“That’s great,” he says, and I feel pride just from hearing his words.
Then my mom takes the phone from him. “That tank top is not flattering, honey. And why is your hair soaking wet?”
My stomach sinks. “I’ve been working.”
“Working is no excuse to look like you just rolled out of a dumpster. This show is a big deal for you. I just don’t want you to embarrass us, okay?”
My jaw tightens, and this is one of the many moments I wish my dad would step in, but he doesn’t. So I fake a smile. “Sure. I won’t.”
My mom changes the subject to ask me what I plan to wear for the rest of the filming process. Asking me if I have enough outfits so I’m not repeating anything. She tosses in some comments about things I should add to the house during the process, despite my telling her my blueprints were done before we even started.
“I know your dad asked you how the house was coming along already, but will you make the deadline for the show so they can call it a success?” my mom asks. “People will never take you seriously if you don’t nail it. Or whatever the show says.” She rolls her eyes.
My stomach drops thinking about how I only have about twoweeks left. “Yeah. Right on time,” I tell her, even if I don’t know for sure what will happen by the end of this project.
By the time the call ends, my cheeks hurt from faking a smile. I drop the phone back down where it was before. When I stand up and turn around, I catch my reflection in the mirror that’s still mounted on the wall. I don’t recognize the girl staring back at me.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper to no one.
I feel like I’m caught between the version of myself I’m supposed to be and the one I’m scared I might actually become. Tears burn the corners of my eyes as my mom’s words echo in my head, scraping at a part of me I thought I could bury beneath filters and perfect lighting.
I’ve spent so much of my life performing perfection that I barely recognize myself without it.
The person I was on that call? She’s built for approval.
But the person staring back at me in the mirror? She’s real.
She’s messy, but she’s human.
And for the first time, I wish my parents saw me the way Tucker almost did.
Like I’m someone worth choosing, even without the performance.
CHAPTER 21
YOU CAN PUT IT DOWN.
Tucker
It’s been two days.
Two days of replaying our evening in the bathroom on loop.
Thankfully, the bar is busy tonight, as it always is on Friday nights. But even with the packed room and a bar full of regulars, nothing could drown out the memory of Scottie’s breath on my mouth seconds before her phone rang.
