The last thing she’d told me before I left for California was to not embarrass the family.
“Where is everyone?” I ask there, in the midst of embarrassing my family, in the massive, nautical-themed foyer.
“Oh, they’re all in the den,” she says. “Your father has—well, he’s made quite an interesting situation for us.”
I raise an eyebrow, following my mom and the crew into the brightly lit den. It is huge; wide and spacious, with colorful décor and white accents, a balcony overlooking from the second floor. Dad, Austin, and Eileen are all sitting around the television, Dad and Austin with glasses of bourbon, Eileen with rosé. Henry told me they’d even tried to convince Sarah, Josh, and the baby to fly in for the meeting, but Sarah had scoffed at the idea of being on camera.
“Sweet baby Jac!” my dad calls, getting up from the couch and wrapping me into a hug. I manage to keep my composure this time, quickly making the introductions to Marcus, who seems to have no problem charming my family with his easy smiles and quick words. I start thinking about what Henry said, about him mimicking people, and I see little moments of it. Pivoting from decoration talk with my mom to college football with my brother to rosé and outdoor concerts with Eileen but always sounding genuine. Last season, I’d felt compelled by the way he spoke to Shailene, his emotions present, but always held slightly at a distance, his openness about his struggles.
I didn’t want to think about that too hard, though. Not anymore. Not now that I knew who Marcus really was.
“Game just finished up,” Dad says. “Told them they’d have to push back filming if it went into overtime.”
“Brendan said we won,” I say.
“You’re damn right,” Dad agrees. “Told ’em they could set up whatever they needed in the house, but I was watching the game. Got them invested eventually.” He points at the person behind me, and I turn to find Henry.
“Clemson fan now?” I ask him.
“The biggest,” he agrees. But I notice as he says it, he slurs his words slightly. “Your dad’s the greatest, Jac.”
Dad enthusiastically claps him on the shoulder. “For a Hollywood guy, Henry isn’t half bad,” he says in his thick Lowcountry accent.
I tilt my head to the side, watching him. “Henry . . . are you drunk?”
He smiles, slowly. “It was a good game. And good bourbon.” And then, as if it’s a defense: “Most of the crew is drunk, too.”
“That is . . . accurate,” Dad agrees, scratching his chin, like he doesn’t know how they got that way. I glance at Austin, sitting behind him, and he meets my eyes and nods, Eileen laughing at his shoulder.
“Well,” my mom says, drawing her words out just as slowly as my father, “I was just making some appetizers . . . or as we call ’em around here, Marcus, tailgate foods.” She is really hamming it up.
Marcus smiles gamely. “Ma’am, I come from Big Ten country—you won’t be able to keep me away from the tailgate food.”
Mom fawns, and I know why. Marcus is charming; he’s handsome, square-jawed, and almost absurdly broad and tall. My life has been a shit show for the past two years, and now I have this. She can never admit it’s what she wants for me, but it’s exactly what she wants for me.
Eventually, the six of us, Brendan, Henry, the cameras, and everyone else head into the kitchen, standing around the island and pretending to eat jalapeño poppers.
“Where all have the two of you been?” Mom is asking us, soaking up every moment of camera time.
“Let’s see,” I say. “The mansion in LA . . . we went down to Malibu, too, Cancun . . .”
“Chicago,” Marcus supplies helpfully, and our eyes meet, and I nod.
“Chicago, that’s right.”
“Maybe while Henry is having so much fun, he’ll share where you’re off to next,” Eileen says with a conspiratorial smile. Eileen is a dedicated watcher of the 1 and knows enough to know what Henry’s job truly is on the show, unlike either of my parents or my brother.
“You ask of me the one thing I cannot give you, alas,” he says.
“Do you become Shakespeare when you’re drunk?” I can’t help but rib him.
He’s moving a little slow as he says, “Look, we have all bonded while you were on your date, Jacqueline,” and the way my family all look at him, I can tell it’s true. Marcus looks slightly miffed as Priya takes over the situation.
“Okay, we’re going to do a couple of one-on-ones in groups. Jac, why don’t you and your mom start? Carol, if you don’t mind, just ask Jac on camera if the two of you can go chat.”
Mom lights up. “Jac, honey, why don’t we go outside and have a little chat?” She picks up her drink and I grab mine as well, smiling at Marcus over my shoulder. As we walk out, Henry calls, “Absolutely nailed that, Carol. You’re a natural.”
“He’s so charming,” Mom says, swatting my hand as we go. I bristle but don’t say anything. The two of us sit out on the deck of the house, lit up with a thousand watts, in a little swing that I’m fairly sure production brought in themselves based on its strange placement on the deck.
“You look so good, sweetie,” she says, which is a lie. I look tired and too skinny, and I know that because I’ve stared at myself in front of every mirror for longer than I should have.
“I’m just happy to see you,” I say, feeling near tears again.
“Oh, hon, I know you are,” Mom says, giving me a hug then. “Tell me about Marcus.”
I search for the words because there’s nothing I want to say, except to beg her to not make me talk about Marcus. “He’s really . . . Marcus has something about him. There . . . there’s been something magnetic between the two of us since the start.”
Her face wrinkles up in confusion at my lack of enthusiasm. “And what kind of person are you with him?” she asks.
“With him?” I repeat, scrambling for anything to hold on to in this conversation. It’s just like my mama to do that, to strike right to the heart of something. “I guess it goes without saying that in a situation this strange, things have been complicated. Messy, even.” I realize in that moment that this will be easier if I just talk about Henry. If I forget Marcus altogether. I stare down at the space between the two of us, the swing, seeing him so clearly in the back of my mind. “But I guess being anywhere with him makes me feel okay being me, not constantly questioning how I convince him to love me. This show makes it so hard to say things that are real because everything is always a fairy tale. With him, it goes beyond that. I think . . . we really understand each other.” I glance at the camera as I say it, and Priya, looking fascinated, silently redirects my attention to my mother.
“Do you love him?” Mom asks me. I immediately look her in the eyes, taken aback by the question. It was planted by a producer—Priya, if I had to guess—but when I meet her eyes, I know Mom wants to know, too. She’s my mother and she loves me; she wants to know if I did what she asked. If I truly gave finding love a shot.
I bite into my lip. I don’t think about what I’m really saying when I automatically reply, “Of course I love him.”
My mom, who I know desperately wants this to be true, looks cautiously surprised. “You love him?” she asks, not unkindly. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I know this seemed like an insane lark to all of you at first,” I tell her. And you were right, my eyes say. “But, it’s given me clarity. On myself. The clarity I think I was missing.”
