Page 88 of Fan Favorite

Lauren threw chopped peppers into a sauté pan. “Why don’t you bring me dinner?” Edie begged. “You know I’m too depressed to eat a vegetable alone.”

“I’m not having my picture on TMZ again.”

“You got a lot of ladies in your DMs from that.”

Lauren gave Edie a look. “The last thing I need is some random Instagram girlfriend.”

“I don’t know, what if she’s nice?”

“Edie, is this you believing in love again?”

“Definitely not. I hate love.” Edie stood up and walked to the window. “The paparazzi never leave to go pee. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Sure,” Lauren agreed. “You know, you’re gonna have a lot of career opportunities from this. You could be an influencer. Or start a podcast. After the volleyball date aired, your followers went through the roof. Over 900K on Insta now—way more than Charlie.”

“It’s so weird,” Edie said, peeking out the curtain. “What do you think it’s about?”

“I think it’s about you being a cool fucking person.”

“Be serious, please.”

“I am being serious.” Lauren slid her paella in the oven and plopped down in front of the TV. She picked up the remote. “Like I said, according to most of the internet, you’re an icon for single women everywhere. You’re basically Charlize Theron. Or Selena Gomez.”

Edie didn’t feel like Charlize Theron. She didn’t feel beautiful or powerful or strong. She felt bloated and hungover. Andlike her hair smelled. And like her tear ducts were on fire from three days of sobbing after having her heart ripped out and stomped on by a stupid Prada loafer.

“Do you think he had feelings for me? Like, for real?” Edie asked for the twelve thousandth time. She walked past the immense floral arrangement Carole Steele had sent. The card had been blank, except for Carole’s name and phone number. Edie arrived at the bedroom and crawled into bed, pulling the comforter up to her chin. “Or that he used me, strung me along to make sure I stayed for the finale?”

“I think he was probably just doing his job and things got complicated.”

“Yeah,” Edie said, the tears starting up again.

“But, Edie, it doesn’t matter what I think. It matters whatyouthink. Whatyoubelieve to be true about Peter.”

Edie thought about the last time she’d seen Peter. She’d been furious, storming down the street with Lauren running to keep up. She made it to the front door. He’d stopped her.

“Edie!”

She turned on him. “You’re making him pick me? Are you fucking serious, Peter? Was I always just some joke to you?”

He shook his head furiously. “It’s not like that,” he pleaded. “Let me explain.”

Except she didn’t fucking care anymore. “Don’t bother. This entire thing was a mistake, and I really don’t fucking care anymore!”

He pushed Ted and a boom mic back with his forearm and leaned toward her to whisper. “Edie, please listen to me. I haven’t been trying to hurt you. This is all just—”

“Words, Peter,” she’d spat. “Nothing you say means anything. Anything at all.”

Since then, she’d gone back and forth about what it meant.

“Oh my god!” Lauren shrieked suddenly.

“What?” Edie said, a pillow over her head, no energy left to care. Maybe she’d take a hot bath, put on some Adele, and cry.

“Peter! He’s on TV!”

Edie shot up, dislodging Nacho Bell Grande, who yowled and fled for the kitchen. “Where?” she screeched, running for the living room. “What channel?”

“E!” Lauren yelled from the bed, where Edie had abandoned the iPad.

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