Chapter 16

In a perfect universe, Lauren's hometown date would've happened in Manhattan: They'd get dinner at Balthazar, she'd take Josh to a rooftop bar in Chelsea, and somehow finagle a fully financed shopping spree in Soho. In a perfect universe, her hometown date would also involve Damian. But there's no way she could get away with inviting an ex-boyfriend to meet her potential future husband, and production insisted Lauren show Josh where she's really from: not New York, or Newark, but Pinevale, population 6,106, about thirty minutes southwest of Jersey City.

"There's really not much to do," Lauren had tried to tell Penny. "We should just go into the city. I basically live in the West Village, anyway."

"Absolutely not," Penny said. "Come on. Cute local ice cream shops? Diners?"

Lauren paused. "Does Wawa count?"

Penny frowned, typed something into her phone, and shook her head. "Let's think bigger. How far away is the Jersey Shore?" Her eyes widened. "Maybe we can revisit your high school? The site of your first job, or first kiss? Somewhere really formative."

This is why, today, Lauren is back at the Pinevale Deluxe Mall, dressed in a black bodysuit, matching leather boots, and tastefully ripped jeans. She's so focused on the possibility of running into someone from high school that she almost doesn't recognize Josh until he's a few feet away.

"There's my Jersey girl!" His face cracks into a grin, and Lauren gives a little squeal before hugging him.

"I can't believe you're here," Lauren says. "It feels so unreal."

"It's good to be back on the East Coast." Josh takes a deep, satisfied breath, even though the air smells like greasy pizza and an amalgamation of old lady perfumes. "There's really nothing like the tri-state area, huh?"

Lauren can't tell if he's joking, so she just smiles placidly. "I practically lived at this mall," she says. "So, you know, I thought I'd show you around a bit before you meet everyone tonight."

Josh reaches for her hand, then follows her as she leads him up the escalator. "So who am I meeting tonight, anyway?"

"My parents," Lauren says. "Their names are Steven and Trina. And then I told you about my sister, Rachel."

His eyes twinkle. "Anyone I should worry about?"

"They'll all love you," she assures him, but truthfully, Lauren has no idea how this will go. No one in her family has met anyone she's ever dated—probably because her relationships have all been short-lived, kept on the DL, or strictly sexual. They knew Damian, obviously, but sometime around high school, they picked up on the fact that Lauren wasn't his type. They asked her about it once, after he drank a few too many glasses of wine and accidentally made a pretty choice comment about Shawn Mendes in front of Trina. Lauren responded that she was helping out a friend who wasn't ready to come out to his parents, and Trina had just nodded sympathetically. ("That Barbara Thomas is a piece of work," she'd said. "Poor boy. He's lucky to have a friend like you.")

Lauren thinks back to last week, when Krystin asked if she was out to her family. The truth is, her parents wouldn't care about her sexuality. Her town in Jersey isn't necessarily a progressive paradise, but her parents have always believed that science is real, women's rights are human rights, Black lives matter, and love is love. In fact, they have a massive sign on their lawn proudly proclaiming all of these sentiments.

People would like you, Krystin had said, if you did get close to them.

"You good?" Josh gives her hand a squeeze, and Lauren realizes she's stopped in front of a Bath Body Works.

She blinks. "Yeah. I'm just nervous, I guess. I haven't done this in a while."

"Hey. It's going to be great," Josh says. "I'm so happy I'm here with you."

He looks like he wants to continue, but Lauren abruptly squeezes his arm. "Let me show you some of my favorite places here."

She leads Josh through the mall, brings him to the Francesca's, where she had her first summer job ("It's how I got really into fashion," she explains), and the food court where she went on a very chaste double date with Zach Meyer in eighth grade. As they walk from store to store, it hits Lauren that a lot of her most formative, traumatizing, and thrilling experiences did happen here. But it's not like she can tell him about the time she and Rachel had a pretzel-eating race at Auntie Anne's and both ended up throwing up on the floor. It's not like she can tell him that, back in middle school, she used to sneak into Victoria's Secret just for the free lingerie catalogs; that she'd sometimes look at them before falling asleep, thinking, I just want to be them.

It's not like she can tell him about the time she made out with a girl in the Nordstrom dressing room. As they pass the department store, she remembers trying on prom dresses with Sierra, a bubbly, strawberry blonde from the outskirts of her friend group who joked that Lauren looked so hot, that they should just ditch their dates and go to the dance together, and wouldn't that be iconic? Lauren didn't respond—there was no way she'd ever ditch Damian, anyway—but then Sierra's zipper got stuck, and Lauren had to help her out of the dress, and it felt weirdly natural as one thing led to another.

Sierra went to NYU, and sometime in college, she came out as bi. Lauren quietly followed her life on Instagram as she publicly dated people of all genders, moved to a charming walk-up in Brooklyn, and posted cute videos every time Pride Month rolled around. Sometimes, Lauren thought about DMing her—maybe they could get a coffee or something, and just laugh about their brief situationship—but she was clearly thriving with a cool, super-queer group of friends. She probably didn't have any interest in reminiscing about her repressed, closeted days with an ex-hookup who was … well, still pretty closeted.

Now, Lauren points at a fountain filled with rusty pennies, a few straw wrappers, and aqua-blue water. It used to look majestic, but to her adult eyes it's kind of sad and dumpy. "I kissed Zach right there," she says.

After the mall, they walk around the boardwalk a bit, but it's windy and cold and the cameras can't pick up anything Josh says, so they leave after fifteen minutes. To Penny's dismay, they aren't filming any footage at Lauren's house: Trina put up a fuss about their ongoing kitchen renovations, and argued that they should just go to the local Olive Garden instead. Lauren's pretty sure her mom is just trying to get out of cooking a TV-worthy dinner—no one in her family can make anything besides scrambled eggs, pasta, and frozen meals—but she doesn't exactly want Josh in her childhood home anyway, so it all worked out.

"Mom, Dad, hi!" Her parents both jump up from their seats in the corner booth, and Rachel politely smiles as she puts down a breadstick. "I'd like you to meet Josh Rosen."

"I'm so excited to be here," he says, his voice dripping with sincerity. He looks like he can't decide whether Lauren's dad would be receptive to a hug, so he settles on shaking his hand. Probably a safe bet. "Thank you so much for setting this up."

Everyone at the table knows that Lauren's parents did not set this up: In fact, the network is paying for the entire family-style meal, which explains why Trina's already double-fisting margaritas. If Lauren inherited anything from her mother, besides her silky brown hair, it's her ability to get what she wants.

"Tell me everything," Trina says. "First of all, have you gone on any fun trips?"

Clearly, her parents haven't been watching the season. Lauren takes a seat next to Josh, who places a hot hand on her thigh. "We actually had our first one-on-one date in Argentina," she says. "We learned how to tango."

"Let me tell you, your daughter is a natural." Josh smiles. "She's an amazing dancer, an amazing person—I mean, I'm in awe of her, really."

"That's nice," Steven says, as if he couldn't give even half a shit. He clears his throat. "Where did our server go? I'd love another beer."

"Dad," Rachel hisses. "Don't be rude."

"Who's being rude?" he asks. "I'd like to get our man Joshua a beer, too. Hear a little more about this dating show."

"Journey," Penny interrupts. "Or experience."

"Right." Steven isn't usually one to shirk, but he actually seems startled by the venom in Penny's voice. "Should I repeat that?"

"I'm actually going to slip to the restroom super quickly," Lauren interrupts. "Let you get to know each other."

She almost feels guilty about leaving Josh with her moody sister, buzzed mom, and oblivious father, but then she switches off her mic pack and slips into the all-gender, single-stall bathroom, and in a matter of seconds, Damian is there: hilarious, brutally honest, beautifully familiar Damian, with his dark wash jeans and Calvin Klein button-down. He locks the door behind him and hugs Lauren so tight, she has to pull back to catch her breath.

"God, I missed you," he says. "I know we only have, like, five minutes, but I need to hear everything, especially about Josh. I can't believe I can't sit with you guys and see him up close."

Lauren reaches into her pocket and pulls out a lip gloss. "I'm just glad we pulled this off. I was so scared a producer would catch us DMing."

"Same, girl. But seriously, back to Josh. How tall is he in real life?" Damian's voice lowers. "What does his aftershave smell like?"

Lauren wrinkles her nose. "Shorter than you, and he wears shitty cologne. But Dames, we don't have time to talk about this. I need you to tell me the truth about my edit. How did my hair look in Buenos Aires?"

"Well, some people think you're inaccessible." There it is. Lauren's spent so many weeks bullshitting everyone around her, and it's beyond comforting to be real around someone. Well, real around someone who isn't Krystin. Lauren swallows—she can't think about Krystin, because then she'll start thinking about Josh meeting Krystin's family, and Josh moving to Montana and fathering Krystin's wholesome, all-American children, and the whole thing is just a long and arduous mental path she'd rather avoid. "But everyone thinks you're hot, and they like that you aren't a whiner."

"Okay." Lauren nods, processing this. "That's good."

"So you're really doing this," Damian says. "I mean, if you make it past this week, you get an overnight date. Would you ever just …"

"Four minutes," Lauren says. "Spit it out."

"Would you ever self-eliminate?"

"No." Lauren frowns. "No, of course not. Why would I do that?"

Damian looks at her like she's an idiot. "Because you don't want to sleep with him? Even though, in my humble opinion, he's the full package. He's, like, the guy you want to bring home to your parents, but also hot. And kind of ripped, which surprised me, but you should've seen his hot tub date with Kaydie. Remember that male model I got with junior year?"

"I don't have to sleep with him on our Honeymoon," Lauren says. "They actually encourage you to just spend the night, like, kissing. Talking about vulnerable stuff you wouldn't want to discuss on-camera."

"Right. And there's a lot of vulnerable stuff you need to tell him," Damian says. "For instance, you need to tell him you don't like guys."

"Shh," Lauren says, suddenly worried a producer might be waiting outside this bathroom. "Why are you acting like this, anyway? I thought you were rooting for me."

Damian pauses.

"You've got, like, two minutes. Or else they'll think I got food poisoning."

"I can't be your ex-boyfriend forever, Lauren," Damian says.

The bathroom suddenly feels very, very cold. "What do you mean?"

"I want to be gay."

"You are gay."

"Okay, well, I want people to know I'm gay." He looks away. "If you want to play straight online forever, I can't stop you. But I'm ready to be me."

"‘Ready to be me'?" Lauren echoes. "Do you hear yourself?"

"I was always going to come out at some point," Damian continues. "You know that."

"You are out," Lauren reminds him. "To the people who matter. To the guys you like. To all of Grindr. Instagram isn't who you really are, Dames. It's just your brand, and—"

"Laur, we've been living this huge lie for over a decade. I'm done," he interrupts. "This is the twenty-first century. I want to go to Fire Island and post about it. I want to post shirtless, oiled-up thirst traps. I deserve to post shirtless, oiled-up thirst traps."

"Oh, please." Lauren rolls her eyes. "What, you want to become a gay influencer? You want an endless stream of unsolicited dick pics from married forty-year-olds?"

"Maybe I do," he snaps. "Maybe I want guys propositioning me in my DMs. Maybe I want an actual boyfriend."

Lauren, oddly hurt, wants to scream back that he doesn't need a boyfriend, that he doesn't need anyone. Because he has her, and together they're unstoppable. Instead, she says, "I mean, you never told me any of this. You had years to back out. You certainly didn't mind pretending to be metrosexual to get into Lavo."

He gasps. "Girl, tell me you're not implying I couldn't get into Lavo without you."

She ignores him. "I just don't get why you're doing this now. When we found out I was going on the show, you said you'd go along with it," Lauren says. "You promised. You were happy for me."

"Yeah, because I never thought you'd make the top fucking four!" Damian hisses. "Bitch, I've seen you flirt with guys before. Remember when someone made you kiss Jeremy from my frat so he'd buy you guys free drinks? You looked like you'd just tried my mom's spice-free, keto-friendly, vegan enchiladas."

"Check my socials, Damian!" Lauren all but shouts. "I'm a good actress. I'm basically a businesswoman at this point. Has anyone offered you over ten K for an Instagram post?"

"Lauren. Watching you put on a show like that week after week after week has started to make me depressed, you know? It was funny at first, don't get me wrong, but …" He takes a breath, then looks her in the eye and speaks again. This time, his voice drips with pity. "I love to watch fun, fake, crazy-edited drama on TV. But I don't want that to be, like, my actual life. There are more important things than followers."

Her mind is spinning. He wouldn't actually do this while she was filming, right? She imagines the tabloid headlines, the Reddit posts. The judgment from Hopelessly Devoted viewers worldwide; the homophobia. Realistically, it wouldn't impact Lauren's narrative—she could still be his ex, someone he dated before he realized he liked men. She might even get some sympathy points. But the idea of Damian coming out, going to gay bars and pride parties without her—if she's being honest with herself, it almost makes her feel … left behind.

As if he can tell exactly what she's thinking, Damian clears his throat and speaks again. "You can come out too, you know. You can leave," he says. "Josh still has other options. You already have your followers. It might even help some people. Like, queer fans of the show, you know?"

Lauren tries to imagine herself on her family's old brown sofa with Damian and Rachel, watching a Hopelessly Devoted contestant tell a lead that, oops, she's actually a lesbian. She imagines a guy like Josh—a picture-perfect straight man—listening and understanding and thanking her for sharing her truth. She imagines former contestants showing their support online, denouncing the franchise's most bigoted viewers. Would all that have actually meant something to her?

She doesn't know. Because there's no way in hell that ever would've happened.

It's not like Lauren's never thought about coming out to her parents, to her followers, to the world. In fact, she's been thinking about it a lot more than usual—more than she should—ever since her talk with Krystin. But the idea of exposing her genuine self to anyone, let alone the world? She could get rejected, harassed. People could unfollow her; she could lose sponsorships. People might accuse her of faking her queerness now, or yell at her for faking her heterosexuality before. She's from a blue state; she knows there's a huge, vibrant community out there, knows it's not just Damian and Krystin and Sierra Ashbery's utopic little NYU friend group. But would that community even want her?

"Listen, I know it's a big deal, and it's scary. And I know you have this massive platform now, but I think Josh wouldn't care if you left at this point. He has other women," Damian continues. "And your family would be supportive, right?"

Lauren says nothing.

"All I'm saying is, the only person trapping you where you are is yourself." He looks her in the eye. "And that's okay, Lauren. It's your life, and it's totally your choice. But you can't keep trapping me there, too."

"Fine." Lauren's throat feels like it's full of chalk. "I get it. Do what you want, but I'm not self-eliminating."

She's giving Damian everything he wants, but for some reason he starts shaking his head. "I just can't believe you're really doing this," he says. "You're going to hurt him, you know. You're going to hurt her, too. And you're going to hurt yourself the most, and as someone who … like, loves you, Laur, I can't watch that happen. I just can't."

Lauren can't remember the last time someone said that they loved her. Damian is probably the only person in the world who does, besides her parents, and he's never been the emotional type. She looks away, half afraid that if she doesn't, she might start to cry.

Then she realizes what he said. "Wait, who's her?"

Damian snorts. "Again, you're a really shitty actress, babe," he says. "You're eyefucking Brokeback Mountain Barbie, like, every time you're both on-screen. You're lucky this show's viewership is too offensively straight to pick up on it."

A series of images flash through Lauren's mind: Krystin at the pool, at the chateau, in Patagonia, on horseback. Underneath her in the ring, covered in mud. Underneath her in bed, naked. Lauren lets out a composed breath. "I need to go back," she says, flipping her perfectly curled hair. "Good luck with your coming out post. I hope you get all the horny comments you want."

She doesn't wait for Damian to respond, just pushes past him and walks back to the table with poise.

"Hey." Josh, ever the gentleman, pulls out Lauren's seat. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Lauren says. "Just a really long line."

The table's silent. Eventually, Steven speaks up. "So, Josh. Knicks or the Nets?"

"Oh, let's not talk about that," Trina interrupts. "I want to hear about the sh—journey you two have been on. I know you gave Lauren the first impression string."

"I did." Josh beams. "I mean, we had a connection right away. And, um, definitely the Nets, sir."

Steven, satisfied with this answer, nods and finishes his glass of beer in one gulp.

"So how does Lauren compare to the other women?" Rachel asks bluntly. "It seems like you have some pretty strong connections."

Josh looks taken aback. "Well, Lauren is—I mean, look at her. She's so beautiful and strong. And our chemistry is amazing."

Lauren doesn't know which is cringier: the fact that he's talking about their "chemistry" in front of her parents, or the fact that he actually thinks they have it. She feels more when Krystin just walks into a room than she's ever felt during a makeout session with Josh.

"Right," Rachel says. She gives Lauren a quick look, and even though they haven't had a heartfelt conversation in years, she still knows exactly what Rachel's thinking: that he didn't answer her question. "Well, I'm glad you two are happy."

"So happy, really," Lauren emphasizes. She tries to subtly scan the restaurant for Damian, but he must have left right after their conversation.

You're going to hurt yourself the most.

She swallows it down.

After kissing Josh goodbye and watching him exchange another tense handshake with Steven ("Yeah, I'm really not a hugger, but take care," he'd said gruffly)—and after a fifteen-minute, camera-free car ride with her family that was utterly silent, save for Trina's drunken snores from the passenger seat—Lauren finds herself in the bathroom she shared with Rachel growing up. Even more than her bedroom, which she's revamped almost as many times as her Instagram bio, the bathroom feels like a time capsule. There's the tacky P.B. Teen shower curtain that hasn't been replaced in ten years; the dozens of half-empty, flowery lotions no one's bothered to toss out; the faded, cloud-shaped bath mat that's turned a gross, yellowy color. But as she washes off her face of makeup, Lauren doesn't feel disgusted or depressed by all the bathroom's small, outdated details. It feels like home, somehow, even if it isn't as romantic as the life she wants in New York. Or, for that matter, as charming as she imagines Krystin's Montana hometown to be.

She doesn't know why she keeps thinking of Krystin. It's not like they're, like, dating.

There's a knock at the door, and Rachel slips in. "I need to brush my teeth," she says. "Move over."

It's funny. Rachel's always been different from Lauren—she's someone who coasts through life more naturally and approaches her friends, interests, and probably guys with an unfiltered earnestness. But they have the same dark, shiny hair and the same brusque, unafraid way of entering a room. Lauren says nothing. She just moves a few inches, giving Rachel just enough space to open the cabinet and pull out her toothbrush.

"So. Josh," Rachel says. "He's kind of a nerd. Not like that one Romantic we were all obsessed with. The ex-NBA guy?"

"Victor," Lauren agrees. She definitely wasn't obsessed with him, but his season was good.

"Right. Victor." Rachel brushes her teeth, and then Lauren reaches for her travel toothbrush too, and they both brush in silence for what feels like three minutes. Finally, Rachel spits. "I'm just surprised you're so into this guy."

Thirty seconds later, Lauren spits too. "Why? Not cool enough for you?"

She turns to face Rachel, and for a moment it's like staring into a mirror. Then Rachel softens, and she's just Lauren's little sister, always hyper-excited to spend her Monday nights cuddled up on the couch with Damian, always bursting into her room unannounced and begging her to play a game. "He's fine," Rachel says. "I mean, he's definitely hot. Damian's type, for sure. I bet he's salivating over him."

"Probably," Lauren says. She wonders if she should tell Rachel about their bathroom meet-up, but decides not to. The fewer people who know about it, the better.

"He doesn't seem like yours, though."

"My what?" Lauren puts her brush and toothpaste back into her Kate Spade cosmetic bag.

"Your type."

"And how, exactly, would you know my type?" Lauren snorts. "I don't know yours."

Lauren could swear Rachel looks exactly the way she did at age eight, when she brought up Wedding Garden Special and Lauren shot her down in front of her friends. There's some hurt, and a lot of confusion, and then in an instant, it's all replaced by something like acceptance. "I guess I don't," Rachel says.

"I should go check on Mom," Lauren says. "She had way too many margaritas."

And, just as she did with Damian a few hours ago, she leaves Rachel in the bathroom.