Page 31 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
Our gazes meet in the mirror, and I quickly look away.
A little over a year ago, Dad and Susan took the whole family on a cruise to celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary. All three of Susan’s kids are married, and she’s got a grandchild. Her whole crew was there, and of course so were Ginny and I. Adam and I were already engaged, so he came along, as did Ginny’s boyfriend du jour. I can’t remember his name. Rick, maybe? Jeremy?
Most of my memories of that cruise involve the sinking feeling I got every time I saw Adam staring at Ginny in her tiny string bikini. I told myself it was no big deal. After all, the swimsuit was indeed microscopic, and Ginny definitely wore it with confidence. He probably couldn’t help himself. He was only human.
But weeks after we’d come home and I realized he’d bookmarked her Instagram on his iPad, I began to wonder. It turned out that following her on Instagram was only the tip of the iceberg.
Could I have been any more blind? Or pathetic?
It’s in the past.
But it doesn’t feel like history. The humiliation is still raw. Fresh. I know I should be over everything that happened, but I’m not. And standing here staring at myself in Ginny’s swimsuit feels like pressing a tender bruise.
“I need some air.” I yank one of the hotel bathrobes off a hanger in the closet, shove my arms in its sleeves and head for the door.
“Wait. What?” Ginny chases after me. “You can’tleave. We have loads of work to do. You have to be onstage in less than four hours.”
“This is a lot, Ginny.A lot. You’re used to it. Youchoseit. I didn’t. I’ll only be gone for a little bit.” I grab Buttercup’s leash. If I’m going outside, I might as well take the dog with me. Otherwise, I’ll just end up having to do it later because I’ve somehow become responsible for every living creature in this room. All three of us. “Four hours is plenty of time.”
I’m sure it’s not. No amount of time would prepare me for this.
“But we’ve got to practice your walk, and your poses, and...”
Poses? There areposes?
“Ugh, never mind.”
I yank the belt of my bathrobe into a tight knot, scoop Buttercup into my arms, and march toward the door.
Ginny is fluttering around me in a panic.
Doesn’t she know how hard this is for me?
No, she doesn’t. And that’s precisely the problem.
“Promise me you’re coming back,” she blurts, throwing herself between me and the exit.
I’m not sure how she thinks I’m going to permanently disappear wearing nothing but a bathing suit and a bathrobe. On second thought, I would totally head to the airport like this if I didn’t think it would crush the only dream she’s ever had.
I sigh. “I promise.”
“Okay.” She eyes me warily, then produces her Miss Texas sash from behind her back. “But you can’t leave the room without this, remember?”
Somehow, I suppress the very real urge to rip it in two. I let Ginny slip it over my head and one of my arms, so it sits diagonally across my torso. I’m sure it’s killing her that I’m leaving the room without being dressed as if I’m walking the runway at Fashion Week, but she seems to know better than to press the point.
If I stay in this room another minute, I will hyperventilate.
Or worse.
I’ll tell her everything that transpired with Adam, and I can’t do that. It wasn’t her fault. Of course it wasn’t. But she’d feel terrible about it. She’d feel responsible. I know she would.
I can’t look her in the eye right now, for fear of spilling my guts. My gaze is fixed on the floor, and I finally see her feet step out of my way. I hold Buttercup tightly against my chest, a barrier of sorts, and walk out the door.
I have no idea where I’m going. I just need to be someplace where I won’t be bombarded by anything pageant-related for a few minutes. Someplace where I can just be myself—before I forget who I actually am.
I slip down the stairwell and take Buttercup for a short jaunt around the patch of grass behind the building. Even back here, I’m aware of other pageant girls staring at me with mouths agape. Surprisingly, most of them are dressed casually, in skinny jeans and wedges. But my robe is a standout.
“Come on, Buttercup,” I mutter.
