“Threatened?” Seth retorts in derision. “I’m just trying to bring you down to reality. I doubt there’s a guy out there that could meet all your demands.”
I back away. “I don’t consider basic honesty, respect, and healthy communication to be demands. And it’s really too bad they’re so unachievable for you. I feel terrible for Ingrid.”
Well aware the hotel staff are listening in, he lets out a barking laugh. Unable to handle feeling smaller than me, he stands, towering over me. “See, this is exactly why we broke up. You get all crazy, reading into every little thing, take everything to the next level.”
The word crazy hits me like a spiked wrecking ball. I’m brought back to the moment Nicky Tannenbaum called me crazy in the second grade when I gave him my homemade Valentine’s Day card. All the times I pretended to laugh it off when that Crazy Ex-Girlfriend meme went viral in high school. The many men who’ve told me I was too clingy. The thousands of times before now when Seth would call me crazy whenever I got the slightest bit emotional, holding his demeaning, gaslighting stoicism over me like a deadly weapon.
You’re acting like a madwoman.
Don’t be so emotional.
You’re acting so irrational right now.
I’ve known since before our breakup that Seth is a master manipulator. I’ve always doubted myself in his presence, second-guessing every word, every action, wondering why I wasn’t enough for him.
The pain of the memories gives me the strength to meet his hawk eyes, once and for all. And this time, I know it’s not me who wasn’t enough.
“You can invalidate me all you want, Seth, but when you close your eyes at night, you know the truth. You know how you treated me. You know how shady you were in the lead-up to the wedding, taking off without telling me where you were or who you were with. Making me think I was nuts for even daring to ask you who you were always texting. Making me out to be a psycho when you suddenly locked down your devices and refused to let me use your phone or laptop.” I pause to catch my breath, noting his shock. “And sure, there were times I overreacted. But I will never apologize for loving fiercely, even though you didn’t deserve it.”
Seth’s jaw hinges open, and I immediately snap a mental photo of this glorious moment. Multiple bystanders have stopped to take in the spectacle. I’ve never roasted someone on a spit in front of a crowd in my life, and damn, it feels fantastic.
I stomp past him, back to the ballroom, imagining I’m in Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” music video, strutting out of the Seth hellfire that’s marked too many years of my life. I’m like the phoenix tattooed on Trevor’s chest, reborn, renewed, and ready for the next chapter, whatever may come.
For three years, Seth made me believe my emotions were my Achilles’ heel. Now I know better. I remember what I loved most about love in the first place. Love has the power to strip you raw, to the bone. And that’s the beauty of it. There’s an immeasurable bravery in opening your heart and baring your soul when all hope is seemingly lost. Knowing, even in the face of heartbreak, that this is not the end. That you’re still standing, after it all crumbles around you.
My heart has now officially broken for the eleventh time. And strangely, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.
LIVE WITH TARAROMANCEQUEEN—THE EX-BOYFRIEND SEARCH CONCLUDES
[Tara is cloaked in darkness in the back seat of an Uber.]
EXCERPT FROM TRANSCRIPT
TARA: Hello, romance book lovers, welcome back to my channel. I wanted to hop on and let everyone know that my ex-boyfriend endeavor is officially over.
I wanted to be transparent and tell you all that as brave as many of you thought this journey was . . . it was actually quite the opposite. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was terrified to get hurt again after my big breakup. I couldn’t handle the thought of someone having the power to do that to me again. And so I gravitated to this idea that I could try to win my exes back. The men I was already familiar with. The men who’d already hurt me. I think I assumed that it would be easier to mold myself to be what they want me to be if I knew them. And I thought getting my heart broken by someone who already broke it would be . . . somehow less painful. I don’t know.
On the bright side, Daniel and I are still really good friends. And going forward, I think I’m ready to jump into the deep end as my authentic self and risk a little more.
In any case, thank you all for being so supportive and for following along.
? chapter thirty-two
WHAT WAS THAT, dear?” Grandma Flo asks for the fifty-third time. She cups her hand around her ear theatrically, pretending she’s losing her hearing. （For the record, she is not, according to her audiologist.）
“I said you should get a ring light for your videos.” This is not at all what I’ve just said, but frankly, Grandma Flo isn’t all that interested in anything else today except Instagram.
“What’s a ring light?” Grandma Flo asks, finally closing her iPad. She takes her sweet time moseying over to the entryway in her slippers. She’s insisting on taking me to the hospital for Angie’s party so she can drop off the hand-knit dolls and blankets from my book stack fundraiser in person.
The party doesn’t begin for a few hours, but I’m already alight with nerves at the prospect of seeing Trevor. We haven’t spoken since last night, when he left the gala. When I got home, he was in his room, door closed, lights off. And this morning, I left to gather things for the party before he woke up.
My chest physically hurts every time I think about that last conversation. I’ve agonized over all the things I could have said differently, wondering if anything would have changed the outcome.
Under normal circumstances, not talking for almost twenty-four hours would drive me to the brink of mental ruin. I drafted a multi-paragraph text on my lunch break that I haven’t sent about how much I love him and how badly I want to work things out. But since texting hasn’t been the best mode of communication for us, I’m remaining uncharacteristically calm until we get the chance to talk in person, after the party.
Today is about Angie, after all. I can’t wait to see Angie’s face when she sees the décor, opens her presents, and blows out the candles on her princess cake. The last thing I want to do is bring down the mood with awkwardness between her uncle and me.
As I shove my feet into my boots, I explain the general concept of a ring light to Grandma Flo and why it may be beneficial for her nighttime videos. She doesn’t need any prompting. Under a minute later, she’s purchased one from Amazon with a single click.
Martin happens to lumber by, a rolled-up Globe paper tucked under his arm. He flashes me a knowing look as if to say, Look what you’ve created.
He’s not wrong.
A year ago, Grandma Flo was your average granny downloading viruses on her desktop computer and sharing Charlie Brown memes on Facebook. And now she’s a social media influencer.
I’m lucky if I catch her when her nose isn’t buried in her iPad. We wait at least ten minutes in the driveway as she finishes responding to the comments on her Instagram video tutorial for her @LoopsWithFlo account. Since she first started her account, she’s gained hundreds of followers. I attribute the rapid growth of her following to her Live video sessions.