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I expect my dad to argue, but all he does is shrug. “We’ll see.”
“Yeah, we will see,” I answer in a clipped tone.
We’re both silent the rest of the drive. I fume while my dad turns on the radio to a country music station. He hums along as though he doesn’t have a care in the world, which quite frankly makes me even more furious. When we finally pull up, I let out a big sigh. “I don’t know why you felt the need to tell me all this stuff I don’t want to hear. It’s not going to change anything.”
He looks at me, his face filled with love. “Because I know my opinion matters to you, and I didn’t want you to turn down your one chance at happiness because you think I don’t like him. I like him. He’s a good man.” Shrugging, he says, “He’s not Italian, but nobody’s perfect.”
“My one chance at happiness,” I scoff. “That’s ridiculous. There are plenty of good men out there.”
“Not like this one, cara. This one makes your eyes light up.”
“He does not,” I snap. “Maybe he did for a minute, but that’s over.”
“Is it possible that you’re fighting so hard to believe he’s pepper because deep down, you don’t think you’re good enough to finally have tomato paste?”
I stare at him for a long moment, not wanting to think about what he just said. “I have to go.”
He pats me on the hand. “You deserve tomato paste. You always have. You just have to believe it.”
38
And It All Comes Down to This…
Allie
Zurich is one of those places that would be perfectly romantic if you’re in love. It’s like something out of a movie—a beautiful, historic city on the banks of Lake Zurich. There are endless options for dining, shopping, and chocolate. A blanket of fresh snow gives the city a serene feel, and if I were happy, I’d love everything about it. But I’m not happy. I’m miserable. And this stupid gorgeous city isn’t helping. The snow only reminds me of being stranded at Black Creek with today’s stupid keynote speaker. The chocolate only reminds me of him telling me he’s ‘not a sweets guy.’ Talk about a red flag. How did I not pick up on that? Not a sweets guy is code for ‘I’m pure evil.’
But at least I’ve come to a very important conclusion—I’m not to blame. I’m not to blame for being tricked by a man who has spent his entire life lying. I’m not to blame for Lando using me, then stealing my work and dumping me, and fifteen-year-old me certainly isn’t to blame for stupid Ian Miller either.
I spent most of the flight thinking about what my dad said, and he was right about one thing—I do deserve tomato paste. There’s nothing wrong with me. In fact, I’m pretty damn great and I have got to stop being so fucking hard on myself. They’re the problem, not me. I won’t be dipping my toes in the dating pool anytime soon, but when I do, I’m not going to rush into it. I’ll take it nice and slow. Maybe get to know the guy as a friend for a year or two before even attempting a date. I’ll run background checks and ask all sorts of questions and analyze the answers for red flags. Have you ever washed your junk in the sink? Yes? Move it along. Are you dating a cheerleader at the moment? Get the fuck out of my house. Not a sweets guy? No thank you. But that’s all stuff for Future Allie to consider.
Right Now Allie has shit to do. My most important job is to wow everyone with Frank at that breakout panel, which is happening tomorrow. Today’s focus is to avoid Hudson like he’s the plague and the world just ran out of antibiotics. So far, so good on that front. Our team arrived at the hotel and conference center last night, and I haven’t seen Hudson even once yet, even though I know he was already here when I arrived. I could tell by the excitement in the air and the horny women everywhere. Also because of the all-chocolate gift basket he had delivered to my room with his room number and a note:
Allie,
I really need to talk to you before I give my speech tomorrow. There are things you need to know.
Love,
H
I read it over again while I nosh on a magical hazelnut, dried fruit, and creamy dark chocolate bar. “No, thank you. I already know enough.”
And I’m going to be late for the opening of the conference if I don’t get my butt down to the auditorium. I drop the note in the waste bin and hurry out of my room. My plan was to arrive right on time, and not a minute early in case it means we cross paths. All I have to do is get through his stupid keynote speech without looking at him, heckling him, or rushing the stage and pulling a Will Smith, and I’ll be fine. It’s going to be really fucking hard—it’ll require every ounce of self-control I have and then some, but I cannot let him get the better of me. Not in front of Lando and Chad and all the other assholes that will be in the room (and there are plenty).
Yes, I shall keep my dignity intact throughout the day. I am Allegra Cammareri, serious astrophysicist, and future global leader in SETI research. One day, I’ll be the new Frank Drake, except they’ll call me the mother of SETI for obvious reasons. But first, I have to get through today without any sign of weakness.
I get off the elevator on the main floor and walk down the wide carpeted corridor to the auditorium. A sign next to the door says, “SETI Conference in Progress.”
Pulling the door open, I step inside and stand at the back of the room, scanning the audience for Gwen, who has saved me an aisle seat. She turns and waves to me, and I hurry over to her and sit down.
“You okay?”
“Yes, I have a plan. I’m just not going to look at him the entire time.”
“How will that help?”
“Because then I won’t have to see him,” I say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ll be fine if I never have to look at or smell him again.”
