Page 82 of Fan Favorite

Yes, he’d made some mistakes. He could admit that. For one, he’d underestimated Edie’s need to be butterfly-kissed at dawn. And he should’ve called for extra security; Peter knew better than to let key players out of his sight. And when he was hunched over in the lobby adjusting his laces and Jessa said in a voice from above, “What the hell happened last night?” he shouldn’t have wavered. He should’ve told her then that they were changing course.

Honestly, he thought he had more time.

Still, Peter had the feeling that what he considered his fault and what Edie considered his fault were two different things. Why was he an asshole for taking a minute to figure thingsout? And why was shenotan asshole for fleeing the set like this was some episode ofPrison Break? Now the press was circling, Carole Steele was on the warpath, and an entire day spent not in production was costing them hundreds of thousands of dollars and creating a cascade of logistical problems for the already overwhelmed production team to solve. And what about Peter’s own bruised feelings—did she not even think about how her little escapade would affect him? Not to mention his complete and total infuriation at having any feelings at all! And the terror that periodically rushed up his spine like a spider, reminding him that he was really close to the worst-case scenario, a total PR shitstorm where Peter himself ended up on the cover ofPeople.

To be clear, it’s not like PeterwantedEdie to go on the lock-in with Bennett. Peter didn’t want Edie to doanythingwith Bennett, except perhaps say goodbye to Bennett, dramatically and in front of the cameras.

What he wanted was a second to think through his options.

The bottom line was that this entire drama could be traced back to the fact that he was a producer, Edie was a contestant, and they were stuck in the middle of the most dramatic season ever. And as much as Peter would like to make some grand gesture and grab Edie by the hand and run off into the night, this was real life, where Peter had significant responsibilities to every single person who worked onThe Key, plus the network, the audience, the advertisers, the various prongs of industry driven by each season—the podcasts, the merch, the live traveling tour—and even Bennett Charles, who Peter certainly fucking hated, but who Peter had dragged into this mess and who would, unfortunately, have to be the public face of it.

Peter rounded the corner of the stairwell. Framed in a doorway was his runaway, beautiful in baggy sweatpants and a T-shirt that readBRUNCH SO HARD. Her hair was wild in a waythat reminded him of how she’d looked in bed, and instantly he was filled with regret. For a moment it was clear he should’ve ignored his thrumming anxiety and desperate need for escape and instead turned to her and woken her up by running his hands all over her body and sliding his tongue inside her until she moaned. And then Peter thought he might take the steps two at a time until they were tearing each other’s clothes off right next to what appeared to be an umbrella stand in the shape of a frog. But then another woman stepped into the frame, her face set in a best-friend-kicks-terrible-boyfriend-in-the-balls sort of way, and Peter was once again reminded that real life so rarely had anything to do with the movies.

He paused on the landing. “Hey,” he offered.

“Hey.” Her smile was suspect. All lips, no teeth.

They stared at each other, neither of them willing to speak first. Peter stuffed his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and kept his face impassive. He knew his assessment of this entire situation and subsequent actions were fueled by that secret, hurt place inside of him, but knowing that and being prepared to make different choices were two very different things.

“Well,” she said. “Are you coming in?”

Edie’s Chicago apartment was charming in a way that Peter’s Malibu condo decidedly was not. Weeks ago, before he knew this woman would change the course of his life, Peter had seen glimpses of it in the background of Edie’s intro package and hadn’t thought much about it at all. But standing here now, with the radiators clanking and Edie’s cat tiptoeing between his legs, Peter was surprised by how drawn he was to the place, to the vintage crown molding, the hardwood floors, the bigwindows overlooking the tree-lined street, the cozy blue couch that looked perfect for an entire day reading.

“I like your apartment,” he said. He knelt to scratch the cat. The cat purred and lifted its chin.

“Oh. Yeah. It’s sort of a mess.” Edie gestured vaguely. “I moved in right before the show.” She pointed. “There’s still an entire room filled with boxes.”

Peter straightened. “You must be Lauren,” he said to the woman standing sentry at the doorway to a long hall. He tried smiling his best smile to distract from the flood of worry that not only was this reunion going to be a three-way dialogue with the best friend, but the best friend was also a journalist.

“Hi, Peter,” Lauren said tersely.

“We’re off the record, right?” He tried to keep his tone cute.

Lauren rolled her eyes. “I write about politics. And education. Not everyone thinks Hollywood is the most important thing in the world.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

Lauren gave Edie a look. “I’ll be listening from the kitchen if you need me.”

Peter was relieved to see her go. “She’s tough.” He smiled at Edie, ready to make nice, but the hurt and disappointment on her face made him sick with regret, and then he was annoyed all over again.

“Remember when we first met?” she said finally, twisting the cord from the blinds around her finger. “And you accused me of being the type of person who was, how did you put it, ‘trying to escape the hellscape of human experience through love and marriage’?”

“Vaguely.”

“When I saw you coming up the stairs, that popped into my mind. And I thought, how could I be with someone who thinks there’s no escape from the hellscape of human experience? Orthat the human experience is a hellscape in the first place?” She shrugged. “You know what Oprah says: When people show you who they are, believe them.”

Peter gritted his teeth rather than correct her. Oprah didn’t say that; it was Maya Angelou. Oprah just said it on TV.

“Can we be nice, please?” he said.

“I am being nice.”

“Okay.”

They stared at each other.

“I’m really mad at you, you know.”

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