The Reunion by Kayla Olson(77)
Hi, y’all.
It’s been a rough few weeks. Sorry to go so quiet on here, I just—(sigh) Sorry, I’m not even sure where to start. You already know Ransom and I are over. I’ve seen all your shade, and I guess I want to just, like, clear a few things up.
First. Everyone keeps calling me a heartbreaker. I’m not. Show me a single photo where Ransom has looked heartbroken these past few weeks, please! Go on—I’ll wait. And I’ll wait and wait and wait, because you know what? It doesn’t exist.
It. Does. Not. Exist.
Let me let you all in on a little secret here: Ransom isn’t heartbroken, because he was never in love with me to begin with.
Do I need to say it again?
Ransom wasn’t in love with me. Maybe he thought he was, for a while, but I could tell there was something missing—and I knew it a long time before he did.
Okay, so I didn’t know for sure. But now I definitely do.
You’ve seen the news by now: Ransom’s with Liv.
He’s loved her forever. I think I knew that a long time before he did, too.
As soon as I found out they were going to do the reunion special, I knew we were done. It was only a matter of time.
He never meant to make me feel less than special, because he’s a good guy, really. He just didn’t realize it, how his face lit up whenever he saw something about Liv online, or when someone asked if he was looking forward to seeing his old costars again. The way he looked at her in old photos and on the show; even though they’re supposedly acting, I could always tell it was real.
I’m not Liv. No one will ever be like Liv for Ransom.
So. All this to say, I’ve had it with your hate mail and your harassment at my bookstore, so I am begging you to please, please stop. I never broke Ransom’s heart because I never had it in the first place. I loved him—I loved him so, so much—but I ended things because I knew I could never make him happy, not truly. Please move on and let me live my life.
23
Miraculously, I show up five minutes early to my call time.
Bre banged on my door first thing this morning to make sure I wasn’t late again. “Go in there like the knockout you are, okay?” she ordered. “You’ve got this, and if anyone makes you feel differently, screw them.”
It set things off on the right foot.
I blew my hair out into billowy waves, dressed in a creamy silk top and drawstring linen shorts the color of toasted ochre, added simple-but-sparkling touches of gold jewelry—hoops as gigantic as they are thin, a stack of delicate bangles on my right wrist—and did my makeup to perfection even though Gretchen will redo it all for the shoot. I picked out my most gigantic pair of sunglasses, with sandy frames and lenses to match; they’re mostly for the sake of making an entrance to remember.
Jimmy was in particularly good spirits this morning, too—Bre followed through on tracking down an advance copy of the latest Eric Zhang novel, and he’s halfway through it already. I’ve never seen him so giddy.
It’s going to be a good day, I tell myself now, as I climb out of his car and face the swarm of photographers waiting just outside the studio lot gates; I’ve got Millie’s latest song playing in my AirPods so I won’t hear their cameras or their questions.
It is going. To be. A good. Day.
I beam at the cameras, pretend I’m glowing under their attention. This way, I have as much control as possible over the headlines: no LIV LATIMER, HEARTBROKEN MESS! or LONELY, LOVELESS LIV LOOKS LIKE A TOTAL WRECK! this morning, not if I can help it.
The mood when I walk into reception is a complete one-eighty from yesterday. Sasha-Kate and Millie are chatting over in the corner, actually looking quite chummy—they’re definitely not stressing over my love life blowing up, or the fact that Fanline wants to put them front and center of the reboot. Ford chats amiably with Gretchen and Emilio; Bryan’s off by himself in one of the low chairs, his laptop open on the coffee table in front of him. He’s on a call right now but gives me a nod when I come in. Starting off strong with Bryan bodes well. I need every ounce of good luck today.
Ford breaks off from Gretchen and Emilio when he sees me, and pulls me off to the side. I’ve already tucked my sunglasses in my bag, but now I wish I hadn’t. His eyes search mine, his usual lightness displaced by something heavy.
“Get any sleep last night?” I ask.
“Define sleep. You?”
“Is it that obvious I’m running on next to nothing?” I ask, trying to play it off.
It doesn’t work.
“No,” he says. “It isn’t. Which makes me think maybe you’re working extra hard to make it look like you got a full night.”
I laugh, despite myself. Count on Ford to always be more perceptive than anyone ever gives him credit for. “I hardly slept at all,” I admit.
“I feel you,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “Ransom called me. He’s a mess.” He shakes his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that, but I hate to see things go down like this. For the record, I think Gemma’s take on it all is spot-on.”
“Gemma’s… take?”
He mutters a curse under his breath. “You haven’t seen it yet?” He holds out his hand, gestures for my phone. “Might want your earbuds for this.”