Bellamy's Redemption

by Holly Tierney-Bedord

  Chapter 34

  “Tomorrow night? Sure,” I said. I was groggy. I’d been taking a nap when my phone rang. It was Christine Leary, calling to work out the details of my Meet-the-Fam date. I sleepily gave her my parents’ phone number, and jotted down other details on the pad of stationary I kept in the drawer beside my bed:

  Mom and Dad will arrive at 5 pm.

  Limo to deliver them here.

  Bellamy’s plane arrives 5:25 pm.

  Limo to deliver him here.

  Dinner at Fresh Basil at 7 pm.

  Show to make dinner reservations for us.

  Mom and Dad to stay at Park Hyatt Hotel.

  Bellamy to stay at Waldorf Astoria. I may stay with him, if we both choose.

  Bellamy and I to have brunch next day with my parents at 10 AM.

  Bellamy to depart at 4 PM.

  When would I like my parents to leave? Let Christine know ASAP and she will book it.

  When I got off the phone it occurred to me that I hadn’t checked any of my messages for months. Now that my phone was charged and back to life, I was excited to find out what I had missed. Right away I saw I had only fifteen regular messages. Sure, there were over two hundred text messages, but for the most part, they count so little compared to real messages. I felt like a total loser. How could I only have fifteen messages in months? Perhaps the older messages have self-deleted, I told myself, on account of how old they are. But that didn’t turn out to be the case.

  The very first one was from my former boss. She was not happy. In fact, she sounded irate. I deleted it without even getting through the first sentence. Her tension seemed foreign to me now that I hadn’t worked in months. I could still relate to feelings of sadness, or boredom, or nervousness, but that unique, work-related stress that people can catch seemed downright silly to me now. Really, could anything be worse than having a job? I remembered that if I married Bellamy, I probably wouldn’t need one.

  The next message was from Pete. It was from the day I left: “Hey, Emma. Wow. I can’t believe you’re gone. I can’t believe you’re doing this. But hey. It’s okay. I’m not even worried. Really. I think we have something really good. I think you’ll be back. I miss you.”

  I shook my head, hating myself. Why had I ever gone away? How had I let it go so far? I was so confused. The thing about Bellamy was that he wasn’t so bad. He could be sexy and he was really nice. And rich. Athletic. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Pete, I’d probably think he was the best thing ever. But compared to Pete, he was missing something. Or maybe it was me. Maybe the problem was that I was missing something when I was with Bellamy that came naturally when I was with Pete.

  I listened to the next message. It was Pete again, from later that same night: “Hi. I miss you. I really, really miss you. I don’t want you to do this. I want you to come back. I’m not okay with this. I should have said so, but, you know, I’m saying so now. I just, I had to say that.” Then he took a deep breath and I thought he was going to say more, but he didn’t. Had it really just been a couple of months ago that he’d wanted me, and now he had simply moved on and forgotten me? I rubbed my temples, realizing how majorly I’d blown my life.

  “No, no, no,” I corrected myself aloud. “Life with Bellamy is going to be great. Amazing. Seriously, focus on the future, not the past.”

  The next message was from my mom. It was from the next day. I braced myself for a sappy message but instead I got this: “Hi Bug. Listen, your dad and I thought those sheets you got us for Christmas were nice, but I’m not sure about purple. I didn’t take them out of the package because then they probably won’t let me take them back, but I can tell they’re not going to match our walls. So I guess we’d like the receipt if you hung onto it. Let me know. Okay, kiddo. Bye.” I picked at my cuticles, depressed.

  Then she called right back and left another message: “I forgot you went on that show! Don’t worry about those sheets. We’ll use them in the guest room. I’ve wanted to make that room purple. Good luck! Give me a call!”

  The next two messages were Pete, both simply stating that he was thinking of me. They were still from way back during my first week away. It might as well have been years ago instead of just months ago. Again, I reminded myself that I had Bellamy and wasn’t I lucky. Perhaps I should delete all the remaining messages without even listening to them. But of course I couldn’t do that.

  Next was a message from Betsy, from about halfway through my time away: “I thought maybe you’d already been sent home from that show and were hiding out, and maybe I could catch you. I really, really want to get a drink and complain about my day. I got fired. Fired. Can you imagine? I’m so ashamed. Not that you care. You probably won’t even want to be my friend anymore. You probably think you’re too good for me. I think my company is going under, so that’s good news, considering I hate them all now. Oh my God, speaking of stuff like that, Rachel’s company folded. It just happened last week. I think she got some kind of severance package, but still. So I guess the three of us are unemployed losers together. Or maybe not. Maybe you’re a winner. Who knows? Anyway, I miss you. If you’re secretly there, please call me. I won’t tell anyone. I swear.” I wanted to call her right back, but I refrained, somehow.

  And then, apparently the whole world had forgotten about me. There were no messages for weeks on end, until the barrage of recent calls, all from the show, all about plans and schedules for my Meet-the-Fam date. While I was traveling the world, feeling like my whole life before filming Bellamy’s Redemption was nothing but a distant dream, apparently everyone else had been feeling the same way about me.

  I got out of bed and stretched, trying to figure out what to do with myself. It was late afternoon. In twenty-four hours, I’d be about to introduce Bellamy to my parents. To say I was dreading it was really far too strong of a description. It was more like I just wished I could put it off indefinitely. It was then that I realized I had to talk to Pete. Even if he was happily shacking up with the pillow fight hipster. I picked up my phone and called him, praying she wasn’t nearby.

  “Hello,” he answered after just a couple of rings.

  “I got my phone back,” I told him.

  “So I see,” he said.

  “Are you alone?” I asked.

  “Uhh. Not really.”

  “Oh,” I said. I wished I could backtrack. Calling him had been a terrible mistake. “Oh. Well, good. That’s good.”

  “Why is it good?” he asked.

  “Just cuz. I mean, it’s not good. It’s more like, you know, that’s fine.”

  “Alright,” he said.

  I realized I was pacing and I stopped in case he could hear me. “So anyway,” I said, “is your power on over there?”

  “Sure. Is yours out?”

  “No. Not at all,” I said.

  “Are you okay?” he asked me.

  “I don’t know. Do you really want me to answer that? I mean, can I really start a conversation like that with you? Don’t you have company?”

  “She’s taking a shower,” he said.

  “So you have… what… two minutes to talk?” I asked.

  “I guess so,” he said.

  “Fine. Then I’m just going to tell you what I have to tell you.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  Why wasn’t he stopping me? Did he really want me to put myself though this? I opened my mouth, but instead of words coming out, there was just a raspy sound catching in the back of my throat. It sounded like paper being torn. I gagged a little and tried again.

  “Hello?” asked Pete.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” I said.

  “What did you need to tell me?”

  I tried again, and this time the words came tumbling out. “I want you. I want to be with you.” My words sounded squeaky. Like more of a question than a statement. Not strong and sexy. Not appealing at all. I sounded like a mouse asking for a cheese crumb. I couldn’t believe I was saying it. I waited for him to respond. He said nothi
ng.

  “Are you there?” I asked, after he was silent for far too long.

  “Yes.”

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “I don’t know what to say,” he said.

  “If you can’t say it back, then I guess there’s nothing to say.”

  “This is very bad timing. I need to go,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said. That completely told me where his priorities were. “Bye, Pete.”

  “Bye,” he said.

  I calmly set my phone on my bed. I felt very… numb. Weightless almost. Instead of being emotional, it was as if my mind and body had shot straight to detached rationalism in an effort to protect myself.

  He didn’t like me anymore. Okay. That was that. What could I do about it? Apparently nothing. Apparently it was too late. I had ruined my chances with him. Maybe I had ruined my life.

  For once I didn’t start bawling, I just sat there staring at the wall. I was incredibly humiliated. Yet empty. A small part of me wondered if this was a bad dream I might wake up from. The soup, the toast, the bra on the radiator, the meadow painting. They all kept flashing in my mind.

  I felt like I was about thirteen years old. That was the last time I’d liked a boy so much and been flat out rejected by him. It was the worst feeling in the world, and now that I was older and there was so much more at stake it was that much worse. It felt like heartbreak and hopelessness and unpopularity all multiplied together infinitely.

  “You need to start over with Bellamy,” I told myself. “You need to let go of Pete and try to evaluate Bellamy without comparing him to anyone else. You might as well just like him. Right? You might as well just do this. It’s amazing that he likes you. Really! And if you gave him a real chance, without distractions and backburner boyfriends, you would probably be insanely crazy about him.

  “You are the luckiest girl in the world right now. Everyone thinks so. So enough of the Pete Vincent obsession. Seriously! Remember how he liked you forever? Why’d you have to go and like him back? You can never like a guy like that back. They only want the chase and you know it. Quit doing things you know are dumb. You knew he was trouble! You knew he was a player! Let it go! In fact, move away from here. Living near him is half the problem. Marry Bellamy, or Dirk, or whatever his name is. You’ll have a super huge wedding on television, and you’ll be rich, and actually kind of famous. At least for maybe a year or two. In fact, your picture is probably going to be on magazines in grocery stores. How crazy is that? Didn’t you kind of always want something like that to happen to you? Why are you fighting this? This is fun. This is like a totally fun ride. And he’s a totally great guy. Go for it.”

  I nodded at my reflection in the mirror above my dresser.

  “And if this is all a big mistake, you can always get divorced later,” I added, a moment after I thought my conversation with myself was over.

  I got up and went to my closet to pick out what I’d wear to dinner the next night.

  “Tomorrow night definitely calls for sparkles,” I said with false, hysteric enthusiasm, pulling a gold sequined miniskirt from my closet and laying it over a chair.

  Clearly the pep talk hadn’t worked completely, however, because there was already a new thought forming in my brain: If Pete doesn’t contact you all day tomorrow, then give Bellamy a chance. For real.

  Chapter 35

  “Aren’t we having a wonderful, wonderful time?” asked my mom, smiling deliriously into the camera like someone who had just downed a bottle of methamphetamines.

  “We sure are,” said Bellamy.

  “Mmm. This crab cake is so flaky,” she added.

  “This steak is juuuust right,” said my dad, holding up a pink piece to prove it to us.

  “My meal is great too,” said Bellamy. He smiled affectionately at his baked chicken and fries, and then turned to me. “How are you doing, Sweetie?”

  “Great,” I answered. “Sweetie,” I added, just to try it on for size. He beamed and squeezed my leg and shoveled some fries into his mouth.

  So far my parents and Bellamy were hitting it off like old pals. The three of them were doing a good job carrying the conversation amongst themselves, somehow collectively missing that I was vaguely removed from it all. I took a big swallow of ice water, hoping it would wake me up.

  “How’s everyone’s meal?” asked a waitress who wasn’t even assigned to our table. I felt like telling her that they would edit her out, despite how much lipstick she put on or how many times she stopped at our table, which was now reaching double digits. She was wearing a tuxedo jacket over a low-cut blouse, blue jean miniskirt, and cowboy boots. In her defense, all the waitresses had on similar getups.

  “Mmm mmmm,” said my mom and dad, nodding with their mouths full.

  “I like these sweet potato fries because they’re sweet like you,” Bellamy said to me. He dipped one of the fries in ketchup and stuck it in my mouth before I had a chance to protest that it had been nestled beside his chicken.

  The four of us were having dinner at Wally’s Steakhouse. Despite the producers’ best efforts to send us all on a date that would reflect my vegetarian ways, we’d ended up at a place that made my parents comfortable instead. It was for the best, I decided, as I nibbled on iceberg lettuce and ranch dressing over a bed of crouton stones. Like a golden retriever puppy, Bellamy seemed pretty happy anywhere, and if my parents weren’t choking down tofu kale smoothies we’d all be better off.

  It was after eight o’clock, late for my parents, and but neither was showing any signs of fatigue. They were both a little drunk and hyper, invigorated by the cameras and something close to fame. Topping it off was the prospect that their youngest daughter, who until recently they’d feared was unmarriageable, was now potentially about to wed a rich, handsome man in a ceremony they wouldn’t have to pay for. You can see why their adrenaline was maxing out. As if reading my mind, my dad said, “I think I’m going to get one of those little cups of coffee. What the heck if I’m up all night?”

  “Waitress,” called Bellamy to the cowgirl passing by, “four expressos over here please.”

  I’d decided around three o’clock in the afternoon, when Pete had made no effort to contact me, that I was going to entrust myself to Bellamy. I would commit to whatever he had to bring, whether it was a proposal or just a whole lot of logrolling. I’d shaved, waxed, plucked, lotioned, and perfumed every inch of my body. I’d made my way through all twenty-three minutes of my Killer Thighs from Hell workout DVD that I’d received for Christmas eight years earlier and had never previously opened. I was wearing a silk thong and matching bra, and was determined to accept an invitation to the Waldorf Astoria if it should present itself. And not just for the high-end shampoo samples. Remembering that I might soon need to have as flat a stomach as possible made picking at my salad instead of enjoying some kind of delectable vegan potpie less painful.

  “It’s a shame you’re not meeting Emma’s brothers and sisters and their families,” said my mom. “But there’s so many, what with all the grandkids, that it gets a little intense for a new person.” She couldn’t stop staring at the cameras when she spoke. My dad had the opposite problem: he couldn’t stop staring at his plate.

  “Emma’s told me a lot about them all,” said Bellamy.

  I looked up from slicing through my pink tomato wedge. Had I really? I listened up, curious to hear what nuggets of wisdom he’d been gathering about my family.

  “She’s told me that she’s the youngest, and that even though everyone lives around the country now, you’re all Midwesterners.”

  “That’s right,” said my mom.

  Bellamy nodded affirmatively, proud of himself for passing the test, and added a poopy little squirt of mustard to the thick pile of ketchup he’d made on the side of his plate.

  I wondered if he was going to ask my dad for permission to marry me. On other seasons, this was the night. Some guys asked both parents. Most just asked the dad. Some di
dn’t ask either. I’d never thought I’d be the kind of person whose parents got asked by someone for permission to marry me, but if this show was teaching me anything, it was that perhaps I was less picky than I’d thought.

  I decided I should excuse myself from the table to give Bellamy a moment alone with my parents. Or better yet, maybe I could get my mom to come with me, so it would be just him and my dad. I cleared my throat but no one seemed to recognize that it was a secret code. I tried again and my mom reached into her purse and found a lint covered unwrapped cough drop for me.

  “Mom,” I said.

  “Hmm? What, Bug?”

  “I think I’m going to go to the ladies’ room. Would you like to join me?”

  “No thank you. I’m still working on these crab cakes. Say, did you bring that receipt for the purple sheets?”

  “It’s at home. Are you sure you don’t want to join me?”

  “No, I went before we sat down. Remember?”

  “Okay,” I said. I rose from my chair while the three of them continued with their meals. I felt a brief surge of annoyance. If I was Alanna Rutherford, everyone would have stopped eating, stood up, and stared at me adoringly, too distraught to eat until I returned. Well, whatever.

  “Excuse me,” I said as I backed away from the table, prepared to be followed. Not one cameraman so much as shifted. Apparently they were all thinking what I was thinking and didn’t want to miss a potential big moment.