You’re the One I Don’t Want

by Carrie Aarons

  He sighs. “Anna, I’m so happy and proud of you. You have always done exactly what you wanted, and you’ve typically been so successful without any help from me. I’m just … I want you to really think about this before you do it.”

  When I was younger, and in high school, I entered every beauty pageant I could apply for in the hopes that my mom would see something in the paper or online and come find me. That she’d be so proud that I won the biggest pageant in the state, and then she’d have to love me or care about me.

  In a way, it’s the same now. Sure, this deal has its weird stipulations and I am going to fuck over the people who have been so good to me. But … I always said that when it came to be my time, I was going to be cutthroat. And this was it, I was going to mow down anything in my path that prevents my mother from seeing my image splashed over every magazine and website.

  She’ll be forced to reach out to me after my show debuts, after it leads the ratings. I will prove to her that I can be just as grand a business woman as she is.

  Maybe Ramona and James will understand. They run their own business, they know how it goes.

  “Yeah, sure, Dad. All right, I’m almost back to campus, I have to go.” I’m so annoyed and don’t feel supported whatsoever, and all I want to do is hang up.

  “I love you, Peaches,” he says, his tone weary.

  I hang up without saying I love you, because I’m tired and cranky.

  And because, in the back of my head, I know he is right. This isn’t the right deal for me, and he is supporting me by being a parent and voicing that.

  I should tear up that contract. I should find another way to get my mother’s attention.

  Finally, someone got through to me. As I drive toward campus, it all clicks. The one parent who has always been there for me has managed to fix the error in judgment I’ve been sitting on for almost three months. I’m not this person anymore, this selfish, cold person who puts her needs above everyone else. Since Harper and her mother have come into my life, I’ve been changing for the better. And that has only been furthered with Ramona and James, who are like my second family.

  The icing on top has been Boone. He has taught me that even if I screw up, do my very worst to push someone away … he’ll always be there. That no matter how icy I am to him, we are going to figure out a way to stay together.

  Of course I have to say no. Of course I am going to turn them down and go to Ramona and James for advice.

  First thing in the morning, I am going to come clean to everyone I’ve been keeping this from for a while now.

  I’m going to come clean.

  Thirty-Six

  Annabelle

  The sultry notes of Florida Georgia Line’s “Talk You Out of It” fill Boone’s kitchen, and I wipe my hands on the apron I’m wearing.

  “I never thought I’d see the day when Annabelle Mills would be in my kitchen, cooking me dinner.”

  I point the knife I was just cutting tomatoes with at him. “Don’t get used to it. I’m far from Suzy Homemaker. But I wanted balsamic chicken pasta and I make it the best, so you get to reap the rewards, too.”

  Those big hands, toughened from holding a bat and being jammed in a glove every other day, hold my waist, the front of his body coming to snuggle up to the back of mine as I stand at the island, chopping.

  “I’d like to reap some other rewards.” Teeth sink into my earlobe.

  “Just because you put sexy country music on does not mean I’m going to sleep with you.” Except that I wiggle my ass a little, in time to the music.

  I can already feel the outline of his hardening cock through both of our pants. “It’s taken much less, these days.”

  I swat him in the head and he moves back, letting go of me, laughing. “You’re an ass. Now go sit over there before I throw your portion of dinner in the trash. Or better yet, I’ll eat all of it.”

  “Bossy, bossy.” He tsks, smiling as he walks over to the living room couch.

  The lyrics and melody are the only noises in the apartment as I continue cooking, the silence between us comfortable. We’ve fallen into a routine, and while I have always thought that would be boring, it’s one of the most cherished things in my life at the moment. Knowing that he’ll be there to talk to or just to hold at the end of the day, that’s the kind of closeness that songs are written about. A closeness I never knew until Boone and I came back together.

  “What is this?”

  I turn around, and Boone is holding up the top sheet of the contract I’d been mulling over before he got home.

  He’d been at the ballpark, playing a game, and I’d had a conference call with a buyer, so I skipped it. I brought the contract with me because of my revelation yesterday.

  A thought had clinked off my stubborn brain and rested inside of my skull during that drive. If I’m so embarrassed by this deal, by this show, that I can’t even tell my boyfriend about it … why am I agreeing to it?

  “Uh …” My brain stalls, because I hadn’t wanted him to actually see it.

  I wish I’d hidden it. There are things in there I don’t want him to see. The numbers. The stipulation that I must bare cleavage and say certain sex-laced phrases. The section about the show taking over the time slot currently held by Ramona and James.

  The pit in my stomach that has been sitting there since I decided I’d tell Boone, because I was nervous about just telling him, expands until it sinks the organ to my feet. My hands immediately dampen, the back of my neck grows hot, and I realize the instantaneous reaction of shame has taken over my body.

  My plan had been to sit him down and talk it through, tell him about the meetings and contract, but not show him the exact details. To tell him how I felt about it, what it meant to me in terms of my mother, and why I’d considered it. I wanted to show him that I’d seen how selfish it was, that I was a day away from turning it down, to telling Kutch no.

  This had not been part of my plan. And now I couldn’t verbalize a thing.

  “You would actually do this to Ramona and James? You would actually do this to yourself? What is this shit, Anna?”

  “I can explain—”

  “All you care about is being famous, isn’t it? About money and the way others view you. You haven’t changed one fucking bit. You’re still the same exact vain, shallow little girl I knew in high school.”

  His eyebrows slash in an angry way over his face, and the lips that have given me such pleasure in the past few months are pursed, the lines around them conveying rage. This is the way he looked at me all those years ago on the steps outside of our high school.

  A tear slips down my cheek, and I realize I’m crying in front of him. My first instinct is to turn away, to shield myself from him seeing any kind of emotion from me.

  But Boone is smarter than that. “You’re going to cry now? Are you sorry that I found it, or sorry that you’re going to take the offer? Say something, damnit!”

  He slams his open palm down on the counter he now stands next to, and my head snaps up.

  “I was … was going to decline, I didn’t want to—” Words still fail me.

  “I was so wrong about you. You’ll never change. You’re always going to be the self-centered, dramatic mean girl you always were.”

  I start to cry in earnest now, his words cutting deep. I thought I’d done it, showed them that I could change. Maybe he’s right, maybe I am always going to be a horrible bitch. But the hurt comes from deep inside, from never feeling good enough to deserve love. And now it was proven; Boone is looking at me with such hate in his eyes that I know all my worst fears are confirmed.

  My entire life, I always felt off when I looked at everyone else. Niceness wasn’t my first base instinct, judgment was. I wasn’t sure when I became the way I am now, but my first reaction is to be closed off, to be an asshole. My worst fear in life is that someone is going to figure this out, that at my core, I am completely rotten. Because no matter how mean I can be, I still crave the love an
d attention that everyone else wants. I want someone to work hard enough to see through my hard outer shell.

  But here it is, the worst has happened.

  The one person who saw through that shell, who decided to love me anyway, has come to the conclusion that I am a terrible person, and there is no longer anything I can do to hide it.

  “Get out.” He turns away from me as the music changes, the fun-loving Little Big Town track mocking the situation playing out in the apartment.

  “Boone, please, I’m so sorry …” I walk to him, reaching out, my brain finally kicking in to survival mode. I have to save myself, I have to save us.

  “I said get. Out.” The words are spit out as he grits his teeth, his back still turned.

  Slowly, with silent sobs wracking my body, I pick up the contract, shove it in my bag, and walk to the door.

  I thought my mother leaving was the hardest thing I’d ever have to endure.

  Turns out, closing that door behind me was even harder.

  Thirty-Seven

  Annabelle

  I know I have to go to Ramona, head anything off before she hears about it.

  After Boone kicked me out—a thought I can’t even think without tearing up—I got into bed for two days and sobbed. Thank God Thea let me sublet her room in her off-campus apartment for the summer, so I at least had some peace and quiet while my heart broke into a million pieces. I’d barely spent any time there at all the past month … Boone’s place had become my place too.

  Two days, three boxes of tissues and a 10 Things I Hate About You bingeathon later, I decide to pull myself out of the breakup hole I’ve fallen into. My first call is to Kenneth Kutch’s office, and I bluntly inform his secretary that I will not be signing the contract and will be staying on in my position on Hart & Home. She’d obviously been flustered, and I didn’t want to know Kutch’s reaction when she told him. Better her than me for the initial news, although I’m sure I’ll be hearing something at some point. But I hadn’t signed anything, they couldn’t come after me. That had been bad business sense on him, sinking money into a college junior that he thought was a lock.

  I could admit I was a little scared of what might happen though. What if they push me out of Hart & Home? Or if Ramona and James fire me. Well … I would deserve that.

  And after that phone call, I put one in to Ramona. She deserves to hear this from me, and I need to come all the way clean. Boone accused me of being a fame whore, of being a selfish mean girl. And I guess I’d been those things by hiding what was going on. I’ll take the consequences that come at me for speaking the truth.

  Speeding to their farmhouse on the city limits of Austin, I find her in her pantry, re-organizing. There are dozens of cans and boxes around her, kid’s snacks and juice boxes and cartons of pasta litter the floor.

  When she sees me, her smile goes wide, and she stands up. “Anna! How did you know that I was just contemplating the design of my entire bedroom? Come in, tell me what you think of this canopy bed I just ordered. I might send it back—”

  Ramona walks around her house, expecting me to follow like I live here too. And I practically do. I’ve probably spent more time with her family than I have on my college campus.

  I cut her off, stopping in the kitchen as she rambles. “I have to tell you something.”

  My tone must convey seriousness, because Ramona turns around and there is worry flooded in her green eyes. “What’s happened?”

  I have to sit on one of the gray metal stools scooted under their white butcher block island. My hands are shaking, because I realize I’m about to disappoint this woman who has always been there for me. Who has been more of a mother to me than my own mother ever was. How could I have been so stupid not to see the wonderful group of people right in front of me? Instead, I’ve been trying to impress a ghost, a shadow in the wind who never cared to look back for me.

  I suck in a breath. “A couple of months ago, Kenneth Kutch approached me about doing my own show. The young, sexy, basically soft-core porno version of Hart & Home. There were all of these stipulations in the contract about wearing skimpy clothes and holding tools a certain way. And … I was going to sign it. I held out, but they had the ball in motion. A photoshoot was done, marketing materials were drawn up, and …”

  I couldn’t say the next part. Her face was void of judgment or anger, but I knew she’d be devastated after this one.

  My voice comes out in a choked whisper as I cast my eyes down. I can’t look at her when I say this. “He wanted me to bump you out of your time slot. They were going to demote the show to the earlier hour.”

  The breath I’d swallowed was trapped in my lungs, and the shame burning my cheeks made my whole body overheat.

  “Sometimes I forget how young you really are because you act so mature. You’re even more shrewd than I am at times, and it makes me think you don’t need the emotional support that someone your age needs.”

  That is the first thing that this angel of a woman says to me in response to my betrayal. It makes a sob crack open in my throat, and she clicks her tongue and hugs me. Instead of anger, instead of kicking me out just like Boone did, Ramona holds me as I collect myself.

  I shrug, wiping a tear. “I try not to need people. Being clingy or seeking attention has always made people in my life run the other way.”

  “And those people suck, because a child should never be abandoned or blamed for something they can’t control. If a person is not happy, that is their problem. But, you … you, Annabelle, are a gem. Never forget that.”

  Sniffing, I finally look at her. “Do you … hate me?”

  Ramona pauses a second, and then folds me into her arms again. “Oh, honey, I could never hate you. I think you saw the error in your ways, right? Because you wouldn’t be here telling me this if you hadn’t eventually turned Kutch, that bastard, down?”

  I nod, sitting upright once more. “I called yesterday and told his office that I wouldn’t be going forward with my own show. I’m sure they’ll find a way to kick me off yours. That is … if you still want me on it.”

  She gets up, rolling her eyes, and fills the tea kettle with water before putting it on the stove. “Stop with that pity party, of course we want you on the show. You’re a part of our family, and the only way you’re getting out is in a body bag.”

  That makes me laugh. “What are you, the renovation mob now?”

  “Something like that. But I’m serious, Anna. You’re going to be harder on yourself for considering that contract than I could ever be. I’m not upset or angry, you work your ass off and someday, you’ll have your own show. Or line. Or whatever it is that you want. You deserve that. But we both know that wasn’t the right opportunity for you. And as for Kutch and his minions, I’ll handle them. They’ll be reminded how much money we bring in for this channel and will have no problem keeping you on because I say so.”

  Ramona sets two large, white mugs on the counter and plops a green teabag in each. I watch her, taking shaky, relieved breaths.

  “I was so nervous to tell you. You … you and James have done so much for me. I’m sorry I lost sight of that for a second. I’m sorry I let a lot of people down trying to get the attention of one person.”

  My voice hitches again, thinking about Boone’s eyes as he smashed what we had to smithereens.

  “Oh, Anna, what else?” Ramona turns around, panic on her face again.

  I don’t cry, which is probably why she is freaking out every time I show emotion. Turns out, my weakness was a completely split open heart. It apparently has the power to make me a weepy mess.

  “Boone found out that I’d been keeping the contract a secret and kicked me out of his apartment. He hasn’t spoken to me in almost a week, isn’t returning any of my texts or calls. He’s done with me.” I shrug, my heart literally aching in my chest. “I guess I should have seen it coming, I lied to him. Again. I’m a horrible person.”

  Ramona clucks at me, her expression anno
yed. “Stop saying that crap about one of my favorite women. You’re not horrible, you made a mistake. We all make mistakes, it’s part of being a human. I’m sure he’ll come around in a few days. Just keep on him, keep badgering him, apologizing, anything. Did I not tell you before? Do anything to claim your man. They’re lazy, pigheaded and oftentimes don’t know their ass from their nose. That’s why you have to figure it out for them. He’s your one, and you’re going to do anything to get him back. I know that because you’re Annabelle Mills. And Annabelle Mills gets whatever she wants.”

  Her pump-up speech, because that’s what it was meant to be, fills my broken heart with a little hope. But my spirit is wilted, my pride dashed, and the love I have for him burns like a fresh wound.

  It would take a lot for me to pick myself up and go after him, even if chasing him is the only thing I want to do.

  Thirty-Eight

  Boone

  For almost five years, I tried to convince myself that anything outside of baseball and school would distract me. That I had to forgo alcohol and friends and love because it would only bring me down. That it would only destroy me like it had my father.

  But since the blowout fight with Annabelle, where I kicked her out, that has proven to be the furthest thing from the truth. I haven’t seen her in two weeks, ignored her calls and texts, and since then, everything in my life has gone to shit.

  My relationship is obviously in no man’s land and isn’t coming back anytime soon. I struck out in consecutive games, something I’ve never done, ever. Not even in little league or tee-ball. The other day, I learned that I was turned down for a marketing campaign with a big name sports company. And to top it off, I got my first professional error in our game tonight. I dropped a damn ball because I was squinting into the overhead field lights and lost track of it.

  Now, as the road trip bus rumbles along the highway in the dark, I lean my head against the window and sulk.