magnificent unicorn man like West who always has his horn and lush coat all together to see me like this.
That would be worse than Theodore sneering from the bottom of the slide. Many times worse than running into Nelson on the street with his new girlfriend.
Thank God, the sidewalk is empty of unicorns and West isn’t chasing me after all. He’d see the worst of me.
My flawed, hyper-critical side that hates disappointing others and really hates disappointing myself.
I’ve done both today, by massive amounts.
I don’t want West to know how much I’m hurting right now.
He’d think I’m being ridiculous.
Someone who feels too much, who loses perspective, who’s too intense about too many trivial, embarrassing things.
Most people can’t handle big displays of emotion and Lord knows mine are a kitchen explosion waiting to happen. I’m a chili pot of feelings, bubbling over to scorch on the burner.
Leaving an awful, stinky mess.
What if he doesn’t like this side of me? The side that occasionally loses control and ruins her makeup. The side that takes things too personally and sees every tiny failure as a sign she’s fundamentally flawed.
If West saw this side of me, he’d leave. That’s what people do. They see you can’t always keep your shit together, no matter how hard you try, and…they leave.
Or they simply don’t show up in the first place.
My parents never showed up. And I’ve never had a man show up, either. I’ve never had a boyfriend stand by me when I stumbled, let alone fell flat on my face.
Better that West doesn’t see how flat I am right now.
When I see him again, I’ll be the me he loves.
The fabulous, dressy, confident me.
Not the penguin-mauled-by-an-otter me.
Only two people get to see gross, mortified Gigi. The two people who will never leave me, no matter what.
I lean forward, give the cabby a new address, then text my gram, letting her know I need pie stat.
And her.
And my brother.
With them, I’m always safe.
I try to be grateful for that, to play the gratitude game for my two fonts of unconditional love.
The people who have always been by my side, through the years.
My sun and my moon, and I love them both to the bottom of my messy, needy soul and back.
As the cabby drives, I try to convince myself I don’t need—or want—more.
But I miss West terribly.
It turns out I’m not very good at gratitude tonight.
Or anything else.
29
Gigi
At Gram’s, I stumble through the door and dive bomb into her couch, stuffing my face into a cushion, hiding.
“Oh, sweetie pie, what happened?” She sits next to me, petting my hair like she did when I was younger. When I’d escape to her house for comfort and a break from trying to keep my parents from breaking.
“Is this about the contest?” she presses. “You should be there now, right?”
The couch sinks near my feet. Harrison. He lives just down the block and, like Gram, he’s always there when I need him. I’m so lucky, but I still feel so fucking awful. The thirty-minute cab ride did nothing to banish the misery gnawing away in my chest.
My brother squeezes my ankle. “Yeah, she should be. I was actually on my way there when you called, Gram. I was going to surprise her with this.”
I look up to see Harrison holding a tiny trophy like the ones we used to win at the field day races in elementary school. Upon closer inspection, I see the plaque at the bottom reads—Top Goddess of Pie Mountain, Bitches, And Don’t You Forget It.
See? These people are my sun and moon.
Fresh tears stream down my face at the sweet gesture and the story all spills out. I tell them about the rule violation and awful, miserable, smug Hawley and finish with, “So I’m out. Disqualified. I will not now or ever be Mrs. Sweet Stuff.”
“That’s bullshit,” Harrison says with a scowl. “When’s the last time you spent quality time with Mr. Skips? Or even his kids? We’ve barely seen them since they moved to Dumbo sixteen years ago.”
I sit up with a hard sniff. “That’s what I said, and Mr. Skips agreed. But the other organizers didn’t, so I’m sweet stuff history.” My breath shudders out as I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I just feel so stupid. And embarrassed. And ashamed of myself.”
“For goodness’ sake why?” Gram hugs me close with one arm as she gathers Joan—who’s yowling by her ankles—onto her lap with the other. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But I