by Archer, Amy
He sat across from Carson on a big couch at the front of the stage, and Carson leaned in toward him, as though they were the only two people in the room. I was sure he wanted Andrew to feel that way, to give up his secrets, accidentally say something he meant to keep in.
“Andrew, thanks for joining us,” Carson said. “You’ve really had quite a ride, haven’t you?”
“I have. It’s been a very special experience getting to know all of the women up here today, and there have been some big ups and downs along the way. Some high highs and some low lows.”
He was still talking in clichés, I noted, smiling to myself imagining what Ben would’ve said if he’d heard him. Would Ben be watching the show when it aired in California later that night? I doubted it. Ben had told me the first day we’d seen each other again that he hated reality TV. He’d only watched with me to be nice. Now, he had no reason to.
“Yes, let’s talk about those lows for a moment,” Carson said. “I think everyone watching was shocked when you asked Abby to marry you and she said no, and I’m sure you were more shocked than anyone.”
Andrew shifted uncomfortably, then put on a bright, false smile. “Yes, that was a hard day. But I’ve moved on quite a bit since then, really had a chance to rethink my priorities, and in the end, I think it’s what was best.”
Carson called Abby up to the front, and the three of them chatted for a few minutes about why she’d said no to the proposal. Abby was polite and managed to answer Carson’s questions without saying anything hurtful, but I remembered her less guarded words in our hotel room the night before — that Andrew was only out for himself and his company, that he was probably happy to take the path of greatest publicity.
As they talked, I wondered about Ben. What was he doing right now? He’d probably just be getting off work and would be fighting his way back to the apartment on the crowded BART. Our apartment. I wondered whether he’d started looking for a new roommate yet, whether he had any promising leads. I hated the thought of someone else taking the bedroom I’d come to think of as my own, someone else sitting with him on the couch in the living room, cooking in the black-and-white-tiled kitchen.
My attention snapped back to the present when Abby returned to her seat and I heard Carson say, “Now, probably the biggest controversy this season was over January Burleigh’s involvement in the show. As I’m sure the audience remembers, early on January made some comments both in the confessional and to some of the other women that made a lot of people question her motives. And Andrew, I understand that you want to address that controversy here today.”
“That’s right,” Andrew said, and my stomach twisted violently. What would the man who had gone on the show to further his career say to me about the rumors that I’d gone on the show to further my career? Whatever it was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it.
But it wasn’t up to me. “January?” Carson said. “Why don’t you come up here.”
My heart fluttering, I stood and crossed the stage toward the man who had hurt me so badly, and sat down next to him on the couch. “Hi, Andrew,” I said.
“January.” He looked at me seriously. Whatever this was, I just wanted it to be over. I wanted it all to be over, to get back to San Francisco and my new life, to find Ben and tell him how sorry I was for all the trouble I had caused. “I watched the episodes as they aired, and I saw how you were portrayed,” he said.
I nodded.
“The show made you out to be a really manipulative, conniving person,” he continued. “And that surprised me, because that’s not the January I got to know. At first I thought, maybe you were just really good at hiding it when you were with me.”
I stared down at my hands. I had a hangnail on my right index finger, and I brushed over it with my thumb a few times, then forced myself to look up at him.
“But then I saw the way you responded to people online. You didn’t get mad. You handled mean comments with a lot of grace. And I read your blog, and it made a lot of sense what you said. I think that you were being sincere with everything you said and did on the show, and I want everyone watching tonight to know that.”
I stared at him. This was taking a very unexpected turn. “Thank you,” I said, genuinely touched that he would defend me.
“I think the producers took a lot of liberties in the way your scenes were edited,” he continued, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed one of the producers gesturing wildly at a clipboard. Andrew was not supposed to say anything negative about the show. We were not even supposed to reference the fact that it was a show, that it was anything more than real life caught on film.
“They also encouraged me to fan the flames about you to the press. I regret doing that. But what I really want to talk about is this: after the night that we spent together, you told me you were falling in love with me,” he said. I swallowed. Did we really have to talk about this? “And I didn’t say it back, and then I cut you. I’m sure that must have really hurt.”
“It did,” I said. I was still wary of where he was going with this, so I didn’t say anything more.
“All I can say is that I was scared. I was hearing a lot of rumors from the other women, and I allowed myself to get caught up in them and believe them, rather than believe what I saw and heard directly from you. In retrospect, that was a big mistake. Maybe the biggest mistake of my life.”
Andrew turned to the audience at this point. “You all have just seen these episodes. To you, it just happened. But to all of us, it ended four months ago. That’s a long time. It’s a long time to think through everything that went on, to sort out our thoughts about the show, what we did wrong and what we wish we’d done differently.”
He turned back to me. “And in those four months, you’re the one I couldn’t stop thinking about,” January.” My eyebrows shot up. This speech was nothing but surprises. “I’ve thought about the dates we had while we were filming the show. I’ve thought about the way you handled criticism in the time since. You’re a good person, and I think your declaration of love was sincere. I only wish I’d done then what I’m going to do now.”
This was overwhelming. Everything Andrew was saying was exactly what I had wanted from him, exactly the words I had spent the past four months wishing I could hear him say, but believing I never would. This felt surreal, like some kind of bizarre dream.
“January Burleigh…” Andrew slid off the couch and got down on one knee in front of me, reaching into his pocket. The audience gasped, and I almost choked. “I wish I’d told you this many months ago. I love you too. I don’t care what your intentions were when you first started the show; I know that your intentions when you ended it were pure. I want you to come work at La Joie, and I want you to be a part of my life. Will you marry me?” He opened up a ring box with the biggest, shiniest, most eye-catching engagement ring I’d ever seen.
Yet my first thought was not about how perfect and amazing this moment was, but instead, snarkily, I wonder if that’s the same ring he offered Abby.
Two months ago, back when I’d first reconnected with Ben, this would’ve been the most amazing thing I could ever have hoped for. Andrew wanted me to work for him and he wanted me to marry him. I hadn’t even thought it was possible that I could have both at once, and now here he was, in front of a national audience, offering me everything I’d been dreaming about all this time.
But now, all I wanted was Ben.
I took a deep breath. “There was a time,” I began shakily, “that I wanted to hear those words more than anything. For years I had dreams of moving to Los Angeles to work for La Joie, and later, yes, those dreams changed shape and you were part of them too. I did think that I was falling in love with you, and everything I said on the show was sincere as to how I felt at the moment I said it.”
Andrew shifted awkwardly and sat back down on the couch, peering at me as though unsure where I was headed.
“But like you said, time has passed since then, and things I said on t
he show that were true then were no longer true by the time the episodes aired, and they’re certainly no longer true now. Andrew, I’m sorry, I can’t marry you. I’m not in love with you. Not anymore, and maybe I never really was.
“In the time since filming ended, I reconnected with someone I knew many years ago. His name is Ben. We dated in high school, but we lost touch. But in the weeks since we’ve gotten back together, I’ve never felt so alive, so protected, so happy. He’s the one I’m in love with, and I want everyone to know it.”
I thought about saying more, saying that I’d made some mistakes, that I didn’t even think Ben wanted to be with me anymore. But then I decided, no. That’s enough. Not everything has to be public.
I took in a breath as I finished talking, and looked at Andrew. He looked worried more than anything, hurt and a little embarrassed, but not devastated. Was this proposal even real, or was it just another part of his big publicity stunt? Or was it another scheme by the producers to shake things up, make their show memorable, try to get renewed for another season?
I didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now except getting to Ben.
I sat through the rest of the show, hardly listening as the other women talked about their experiences on the show and tearfully asked Andrew what they had done wrong.
You didn’t do anything wrong, I wanted to assure them. But we can’t all win. What were the odds of finding your soulmate on a reality TV show, anyway? What were the odds of finding your soulmate at all?
I had found mine, though. And if I could get him to listen to me, if I could get him to talk to me, I would never let him go again.
The moment the show was over, I raced backstage, grabbed my purse and suitcase, and stopped only to give Abby a quick hug goodbye.
“You’re always welcome at my place if you come to San Francisco,” I told her.
And then I was off. The cab wove through the city toward the airport, and I sat staring out the window, on edge, wishing we could move faster. I hated how many miles there were between me and Ben.
As soon as I’d gotten in the cab, my phone had started buzzing with unfamiliar numbers, but I ignored it. My contract was over, and I was free. I would be doing no more interviews. If a tabloid wanted to snap a photo of me, so be it. I had nothing to hide.
We arrived at the airport, and I paid the driver, jumped out, and ran inside. I couldn’t wait a moment longer to get to Ben — no more tiptoeing around, texting and waiting to see if he’d respond. I would find him in person, give it all I could, try to tell him just how sorry I was. I just hoped he’d let me.
And then, after that, if he didn’t want to be with me, I would deal with it. But I wasn’t giving up without a fight.
I’d underestimated how long it would take to get from the studio to the airport, and by the time I got to my gate boarding had already ended and the crew was starting to close the doors out to the plane.
“Please, wait!” I cried, waving my boarding ticket. “I’m here!”
The flight attendant sighed and scanned my ticket, and I practically ran down the walkway toward the plane. I’d hardly caught my breath when the plane took off, and I was on my way back to San Francisco. Back to Ben.
I lay back in my seat and closed my eyes. When I got there, how would I find him? I would go to our apartment, of course, but what if he was out? I guessed I’d just have to wait. I would wait there all night if it meant seeing him again.
Less than an hour and a half later, we were touching down in San Francisco. I waited through deboarding impatiently, then strode toward the exit. So close now. Just a few more obstacles in my way. I glanced at my watch. Eight o’clock. The final episode would just be starting here in California. I wondered whether Ben would see it.
My mind was consumed with Ben to the point that everywhere I looked, everyone I saw reminded me of him.
As I started down toward the exit near the baggage claim, I saw reporters waiting down below, cameras at the ready, and was so distracted by thinking of Ben that I didn’t even process at first that they were here for me. In the midst of the crowd, a guy was waiting alone who looked like Ben to my starved brain.
The closer I got, the figure came into focus. And then I realized with a shock that it was Ben.
Ben was waiting for me in the airport.
My heart leapt and I got a lump in my throat. He cared. He missed me too. He was here.
The escalator couldn’t have moved fast enough.
“Ben!” I said when I finally got to him. “What are you doing here?” I wanted to touch him, to grab him and hug him and kiss him, but I did my best to hold back, not sure what he wanted. Around us, reporters were jostling to get closer to us, but I ignored them all, focused solely on my love.
“I saw the show,” he said.
“You did? But…it’s only airing now,” I said, confused.
“I couldn’t wait.” He shrugged. “I streamed it live. I had to know how you did. I was pulling for you.”
“So then you saw —”
“Yes. I saw.”
And then my words came all at once, in a jumble. I couldn’t get them out fast enough, not caring who heard. “I’m so sorry. I messed everything up. I shouldn’t have dragged you into that. I never really loved him, it was just the idea of what he represented. I shouldn’t have lied to you, I was just so confused.”
And he was shaking his head, and saying, “No, I shouldn’t have run. I should have been there for you when you needed me. I know you didn’t want the drama. I love how passionate you are about your career.”
“You were right, though,” I insisted. “I tried to take the easy way out. I wanted a job I hadn’t earned.”
“January, I don’t want to be like my dad. I don’t want to leave when things get hard.”
I looked up at him, daring to step closer. “So you mean…you can forgive me? We can try again?”
Ben gathered me up into a big hug. “We can do more than try,” he whispered into my ear, and I breathed deeply, taking in his wonderful scent.
And then he kissed me, surrounded by cameras, and I melted into him as the flashes went off in our faces. I wondered what publications we’d show up in tomorrow, but I didn’t care. I welcomed it. I was happy to have others documenting our love, preserving this perfect moment for us.
Then he pulled back. “Come on,” he said, grabbing my hand. “Quick. Let’s go.”
And I ran out of the airport after him and jumped into a waiting cab as the paparazzi hurried to try to follow us.
“We’re going to Battery Spencer,” Ben told the driver as I craned my head back, trying to see whether anyone was successfully following us. Battery Spencer? I wondered. The name sounded familiar, but I didn’t ask. I was too happy and content to question anything right then.
The sun was nearing the horizon as we sped through the city, the colors heating up as we drove along. It was so beautiful — this city was so beautiful. I didn’t want to drag my eyes away.
But there was more to say.
“I’ve been so focused on myself lately,” I said. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head like it didn’t matter. “I don’t even know how you could still be interested in me,” I admitted.
“You’ve been going through a pretty crazy time,” he said, stroking my hair, and I leaned into his touch. “Anyone would have a hard time concentrating on other stuff. But I know you, January. You’re thoughtful and considerate. Yes, you’ve gotten caught up in what’s going on in your life lately, but you recognize when you’re doing it, and you make an effort to ask about other people, what’s going on in their lives.”
“I don’t want to be fake,” I said. “I don’t ever want to lie to you, or keep things from you.”
“I don’t either,” he said, staring at me with such tenderness it was hard not to cry.
But then a thought occurred to me that through my happiness at seeing Ben again I hadn’t thought to ask yet. “Ben,” I said quietly, cho
osing my words carefully, “why didn’t you respond? All those times that I tried to reach out to you? I thought you didn’t like me anymore.”
He hesitated, thinking. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I needed some time to myself to think everything over, figure out what I really wanted.”
“I was worried you’d never talk to me again,” I said in a small voice. Just like high school.
“No.” He looked me straight in the eye. “That never would’ve happened. I just wasn’t ready yet. I never stopped wanting to be with you. I just didn’t think we could. I didn’t think you were over Andrew, or were over what people thought of you — not until I saw you turn him down.”
I blinked back tears that now stung at my eyes. “I needed you.”
“I know.” He squeezed my hand. “I should’ve been there for you.”
“And I shouldn’t have made you watch it with me.”
He shrugged then and grinned at me. “It was my choice. Ever since you came back into my life, you’ve made things go from black and white to color for me. Being with you has been a bit of a roller coaster, it’s true. But you know I love roller coasters.”
I grinned back. “You and I both.”
Before I knew it, we were crossing the Golden Gate Bridge toward Sausalito. Of course — Battery Spencer was an old fort with panoramic views of San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge, and the ocean below. I’d been there years ago as a child. I stared out at the water in silence, drinking in the beauty.
A few minutes later, we’d reached the Battery Spencer parking area. We hopped out of the cab and walked the short trail to the lookout. Together, we stood staring out at the ocean, at San Francisco, and at the bursting sunset splashing over the clouds. My heart felt like it was going to burst with happiness, at Ben, at this moment, at everything.
“This is how life should be,” I said, stepping closer to him. “No cameras, no audience. Just you and me.”
“Just you and me,” he repeated, and took my hand. “January, I love you. I don’t want anything to get between us, ever again.”
