Page 2 of Jessica's Hero
Well, I’m going to try to channel Nora on this one. Whocaresif someone sees? Why do I care what they think about me?
In theory, that sounds great. Reality, though? I still care a lot, no matter how many times I tell myself not to.
Just as I start the car, my phone chimes with a text. It pops up on the dashboard—thank you, bluetooth technology—and my lips lift as I read Thea’s message.
Hey, just making sure you’re still coming for the Bachelor premiere next week. Ari, Rose, Shea, and Penny will all be there. According to the previews, this is supposed to be the *most dramatic season ever*!
When Thea first extended the invitation last month, it was a surprise, given our rocky history. While she accepted my apology years ago, I didn’t think we’d ever come close to regaining the friendship we had back in high school. But there she was, extending an olive branch to me; one that I was happy to accept.
I still feel a little uneasy being around Thea and her friends—I think a part of me will always worry that they see me as the villain of the story—but I look forward to it, too. It’s a welcome break from my solitary life; spending a few hours laughing, drinking too much wine and making bets on which contestants aren’t there“for the right reasons.”
So before I shift the car into drive, I snag my phone from my purse and send a reply.
Yes, I’d love to. What do you need me to bring? Snacks? Wine?
Three dots blink for a few seconds before her response blinks onto the screen.
Bring anything you like! Wine is always a safe bet. We’ll be at Shea’s place this time, and Oliver offered to drive anyone home if they get tipsy. Which we might if we play the “here for the wrong reasons game.”
My smile expands. Thehere for the wrong reasons gameis simple, requiring that everyone drink whenever a contestant claims that someone isn’t on the show for theright reasons. The only appropriate right reason is finding love with a person they’ve only known for a matter of weeks. But what I’ve learned since I started watching these shows with Thea and Ari is that most of the contestants are just there to further their careers.
As I pull out of the parking lot, I let my mind wander to an imaginary scenario whereIwent onThe Bachelor. I wouldn’t care about being a social media influencer or getting a spot on the next season ofDancing with the Stars. I would be there for the right reason. I’d be there to find love.
One face flashes before my eyes at the thought. Not acontestant, but a man who lives right here in Sleepy Hollow. A man who’s a relative newcomer to town—well, he’s lived here for six years, but in a small town like this, six years is basically nothing. A man who’s been nothing but respectful and kind, despite the stories I’m sure he’s heard about me.
And he’s not just kind. He’s incredibly good-looking, too. Tall, muscly, bright sky-blue eyes and dark red hair that glints with copper and gold whenever the sun hits it.
He’s far too handsome for me, really, and too young. During one of our brief conversations, he let it slip that he’s thirty-one, four years younger than me. Which doesn’t seem like a lot, but for a guy like him, a young cop with practically all the single twenty-something women in town swooning over him, my thirty-five-year-old self can’t compete. Even if I looked normal, which unfortunately, I don’t.
“Argh.” Baring my teeth at the rear view mirror as I glance into it, I scold myself again. “Stop being negative. What did the counselor say? Positive visualization is key?”
Yes. That is what our very sweet counselor, Robin, said at the end of our meeting last week.“Positive visualization can help manifest positive outcomes. It doesn’t matter if it’s something small, like facing a trigger for a few seconds. It’s an achievement you can be proud of.”
Yes. Positive visualization. Manifesting positive outcomes. I can do that.
While I pull into a parking spot at the grocery store, I run it through my head like a mantra.Positive thoughts lead to positive outcomes.
As I collect my shopping bags from the trunk to bringinto the store, I visualize my trip inside, followed by the rest of the evening.
I’ll buy dinner for the next few nights, of course. But I’ll also pick up a bunch of ingredients for baking. Enough to make a couple dozen cookies for our TV night next week. Enough to make those cheesecake brownies Nora said she loved so much the last time I gave her some; the ones she said her husband pounced on the second she brought them home.
I’ll walk through the aisles with my head held high, not paying attention to the long-time locals’ stares and whispers.
Then I’ll go home, feeling accomplished and ready to settle in for the weekend. I’ll enjoy a home-made dinner while I watch the most recent episode ofNCIS. And then I’ll jump on the computer to spend time with my online friends, the ones who don’t care about old mistakes or what I look like.
In my head, it’s like a perfectly arranged line of dominos; everything falling just as it should.
In reality? Not so much.
The first few minutes in the store are fine. I start in the produce section, which is filled with harried moms trying to drag their kids away from the precariously arranged piles of fruits and vegetables. So they don’t have time to worry about me.
But once I hit the baking aisle, that’s when I get the first narrowed glare.
In the dairy section, Mrs. Pilliston bumps into me with her cart with enough force to know it was intentional.
As I’m still rubbing my sore hip, Andrea Rogers walks past me, muttering, “Haven’t you movedyet?”
It’s getting harder and harder to keep up my smile.
