Chapter 19

Krystin is going to throw up. She can still hear McKenzie's wails from the villa's courtyard, even as she sits on the tall wooden stool in production's Costa Rican confessional room. She tries to uncross her legs, but her stiletto heel gets caught in her layers of gauzy gown and sends her off balance.

Penny sits across from her, waiting for her to be finished. Whatever made her seem approachable to Krystin is gone now, or at least cracked, because Krystin can see past the veneer of Gen Z humor and charming smiles. She's not a friend.

"Do you need me to repeat the question?" Penny asks.

It's not so much that Krystin didn't hear it as she doesn't know what the fuck to say. How does it feel to be one of Josh's two final Devotees? Just dandy! Except, when one Devotee likes to tongue-fuck the other, does she still count?

Here's what she's really thinking: If it's come down to Krystin and Lauren, the woman who never cared about Josh in the first place, who fully intends to shoot down any proposal she's offered, to leave before the question's even popped—Krystin is going to win. Lauren wouldn't endure a fake engagement, even for the clout. Which means it's going to be Krystin at the end of this, and Krystin is going to throw up.

"Um," she stutters, squeezing her eyes shut in hopes it will clear her mind. The bright film lights etch eclipses against the back of her eyelids. "I just—I'm sorry, can you hear that?"

She pauses, waiting for McKenzie's cries to echo into the room. Penny just blinks.

"Hear what?"

"McKenzie," Krystin says, twisting around on her stool to look out the window, but there's nothing but swaying trees. "I can hear her, like—I can hear her talking to Josh."

"I don't hear anything," Penny says. "Besides, you're mic-ed, and that's what our sound will pick up. Background noise is what we have sound mixers for."

"Okay." Krystin scratches her forearm absently. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes." One, two, three, four, in. One, two, three, four, out. She presses her lips into a smile. "I can't explain in words how it feels to be so close to this journey's end." That part's true. "I didn't know, when I started, the kinds of feelings I'd be experiencing, and—" Lauren's lips hovering above Krystin, her hips arching up to meet them. Josh, his stubble scraping her bare shoulder. "It's crazy to think this all ends with an engagement. I mean, to know. To know it ends with an engagement," she corrects herself, turning to Penny. "Do you want me to say that again?"

"If you want to."

Krystin looks at the camera. "It's crazy to know this all ends with an engagement. The past nine weeks have been leading to this moment. I feel really lucky that Josh is confident enough in our connection that he wants to introduce me to his family." That was good, she thinks, that was enough.

It isn't.

"How do you think the other Honeymoons went?"

Krystin thinks they probably went pretty fucking well, if Lauren's meeting Josh's parents and McKenzie, thinking she was going to marry the man taking prop scissors to the red string around her wrist, fell to a heap on the literal floor.

"I think everyone's Honeymoon went differently. People say this every season—this night is for whatever you want, and that means different things to different people. You don't have to be … intimate. You can just talk."

"Were you intimate with Josh?"

The memories flash against her vision, as if they're projected onto the walls of her skull, some invasive supercut. Josh's teeth tugging on her ear, covering her body with his, making her feel claustrophobic with his mere presence. Eventually, as she had many times before, she pulled away, feigning coyness when really, she just plainly didn't want to. But it still felt wrong. It still feels wrong—and every time she remembers it, she wants to Eternal Sunshine herself, to scrub herself clean again.

The cameras don't know. They were kicked out around eleven, and filmed a blushing Josh closing the door, with Krystin on the other side. But Penny and Holland and Jim and all the other producers don't care what did or didn't happen, because they're going to push the storyline they want anyway.

Krystin doesn't remember when she got this jaded. Maybe it was watching PAs hose down the chateau cobblestones so it always looks like it's just rained, or maybe it was never eating on camera, or pretending to like things she didn't. Maybe she needed to feel something actually real in order to see what was fake.

Krystin clears her throat. "Josh and I used our Honeymoon to continue to learn about each other," she says. Because no matter how she answered, someone would call her a prude or a slut or whatever.

Penny nods. "How did it feel to see Josh send McKenzie home?"

Krystin swallows another wave of nausea. "Seeing McKenzie leave was heartbreaking. It's obvious that she really loved—loves—Josh, and it sucks to see that taken away from her, even though it means I get to stay." It's the most genuine answer Krystin could have given, but it does nothing to alleviate the guilt eating its way to her core.

She closes her eyes again, and when she opens them, she's steady. "This process has been excruciating," she says, staring straight into the lens. "The only thing that has made it worth it is the knowledge that everything I've ever wanted is waiting for me at the end of it."

Lauren isn't in their suite when Krystin returns from her interview. They didn't get a chance to speak before the string-cutting ceremony—Lauren came straight from her Honeymoon. She didn't look at Krystin the entire time; no knowing glances, no winks, no smirks curling up the corner of her mouth. She was utterly unreadable.

Krystin scrubs at her face in the bathroom, rubbing soap in circles all over her face. She keeps splashing water even after the suds are gone. She wishes she could just sink into it.

The front door clicks shut. Krystin hears shoes kicked off, soft thuds leading into Lauren's room. Krystin towels off her face, and for the first time since she was thirteen, doesn't even bother with moisturizer.

"Lauren?" she calls into the suite. It's dark. She hadn't cared to turn on a light, and it seems Lauren hadn't either. Krystin traces her fingers along the wall as she crosses the room, tripping over the corner of the couch. She mouths a silent fuck.

She approaches Lauren's room, nudges the already-cracked door open. "Lauren," she says again.

She can see her faint outline, just a vaguely Lauren-shaped darkness. It's silent. Then: "Did you sleep with him?"

The words shatter on the floor. Krystin feels an inverted version of racing Ringo along the fence: the air completely sucked from her lungs, her heart ballooning into her ribs. Except where that makes Krystin feel more alive than anything, now she feels like she's dying. She wants to gasp for air, but she's afraid to make a sound.

"Don't answer," Lauren says, before she can. "I already know."

But she doesn't know, because it didn't happen. "It—I don't know what to say." The words feel stupid even as they come out of her mouth. She doesn't know how to convince Lauren that she and Josh didn't go any further than sloppy over-the-clothes groping, and part of her wonders how that's any better. "I don't—fuck, I don't know."

"You must have some idea."

"Josh—" Krystin swears she sees Lauren twitch when she says his name. "Josh is probably the best man I've ever known. He's … everything I've ever wanted."

Lauren laughs, without any humor. "Well, then I'm really happy for you," she says. "Really fucking happy."

And it's this—the way Lauren says the words, her tone entirely even. The way she's knocked down a wall just to brick it back up again; the way that, even in the dark, Krystin can see a hard set to her jaw.

The way Lauren still, even now, won't ever say what she feels.

"This thing we've been doing," Krystin says, "I don't know what it means. I tried to understand it, I tried to understand it with you, but I'm not like you, I—"

"Not like me?" Lauren hisses. "You mean a lesbian?"

"No!" Krystin reaches for Lauren's shoulder, but it snakes away from her grasp. "I mean that I can't do things without thinking about them, all the time, too much."

"You weren't thinking when you kissed me," Lauren counters. "Which was your choice. And it was your choice to kiss me again. I never forced that on you."

"I'm not saying you did!" Krystin is trying desperately to keep her voice even, but she feels the words starting to crack open in her throat. "I'm saying that I have to think very carefully about my decision here. This whole experience here, it matters to me. This is my life."

"I know that." There's a softness in her eyes at odds with the acid in her voice. "Krystin, I ratted someone out to save your ass after the podcast date. I've tried to make sure you were okay, like, every fucking step of the way, weeks before you kissed me in Buenos Aires. I've been on your side with Delia and on your side with Josh, and I—this entire time, all I've done is show you that I understand what this is. That I care about your life and your future and what you want."

"All you've done is make everything harder and more confusing!" Krystin cries. She can already see the end of this, stretching out ahead of her. It's like she's reaching the end of a long tunnel, just to be met with a slab of concrete. She shudders out a breath. "I'm tired of feeling this way. I want everything—I want everything to go back to normal."

"Why?" she asks, and the word is deep and long, brimming with more than it can hold. Krystin's vision has adjusted to the dark enough that she can see Lauren's eyes, fierce and fathomless. "Why him?"

So Krystin answers. "He's always made me feel certain." Certain that we could be something serious. Certain we could have a family, with Thanksgivings and first days of school, and stability.

"You know who else he made feel certain? The thirty-two other women he already sent home. Lily. Kaydie. McKenzie." She spits the last name. "Me, if I cared enough for it to mean anything."

"That's exactly it! You don't care about things the way I care about things." Krystin rakes sweaty fingers through her hair. "You care about things like followers, and brand deals, and doing whatever it takes to get what you want. You don't want a relationship—not the way I do."

"That's really what you think of me?" Lauren asks quietly.

Krystin is silent. She thinks myriad things about Lauren, most of them good—but that doesn't mean it isn't true.

This time, Lauren doesn't wait for an answer. "Maybe I've done some selfish, bitchy things, like go on a dating show for the wrong reasons and ‘lead on' a guy who's dating a few dozen other women. But if you seriously think I just faked everything with you …" Her voice catches. "Clearly, I'm not like Josh. At all. And if that's the kind of person you want to be with, we were never going to work out. But just because I'm not like him doesn't mean I don't …" She turns away, looking out the window. "It doesn't matter. I hope you and Josh buy a beautiful house, and fill it with seventeen babies, and name them all Josh Junior."

Krystin feels a dull ache scrape into her stomach. There's still so much to say; she can see the words flashing behind her vision, but she can't string any of them together. "I'm sorry," she manages, even though she can't pinpoint what exactly she's sorry for.

Lauren steps toward her, then past her, stopping at the door. Krystin stares at her, the way her hair reflects the moonlight. She knows how it smells.

"Look," Lauren says, her voice quieter now, but still sharp to the touch. "I know Holland is capable of manipulating things for the sake of the show, but she wouldn't explicitly lie. I know you accepted the Honeymoons card, and I know you spent the night in his room." She takes a breath. "Is that true?"

Krystin hesitates, then nods, because it is, and she can't defend herself anymore. Let Lauren think what she wants. She's tired of having to explain herself—to Delia, to Lauren, to everyone. It's easier this way—clean break—and she wants this night to end. "Yes," she answers, barely a whisper.

Krystin walks slowly toward where Lauren stands, wavering. Lauren shifts her weight, one foot in front of the other. For a moment, Krystin thinks Lauren might lean into her and remind her how she smells, and how she tastes. But Lauren just takes another step, and closes the door.

Josh's house looks different than it did on TV last season. They changed the landscaping in the front yard: where there had been tattered shrubs, a small tree has been planted, and the walkway is now lined with daffodils. Krystin wonders idly how they've survived the early fall, before she remembers the answer—Holland sent someone to plant them this morning.

"Feels like we just did this, huh?" Josh says, chipper. "Except, obviously, now you'll be meeting my folks. Oh, how the tables, right?"

"Uh-huh." Even though she's been off the plane since it arrived in New York last night, Krystin feels like the motion sickness didn't end with the flight.

"Well, no point standing around here. Shall we?" He offers Krystin an arm. She accepts, if mostly to steady herself.

When the door opens—a heavy oak thing, stained a different brown since its appearance on Amanda's season—Krystin's vision becomes a flurry of hugs. Josh's mom envelops her first, squeezing her into her tiny athletic frame. She almost looks too small for her hair, which falls in brassy waves to the middle of her back.

"Sweetheart," she says into Krystin's shoulder. "Let me get a good look at you." She releases Krystin, leaning backward in exaggerated appraisal. Then she turns to Josh. "She's a beaut, Joshy."

"Joshy?" Krystin says.

Josh shrugs, sheepish. "Since I was a kid. Heyyy, little bro!"

And Krystin can hardly believe it, but Josh pulls his little brother into a headlock, and gives him an honest-to-God noogie. Krystin thought she had a pretty good idea of Jeremiah from watching his scene-stealing performance at Josh's Hometown—but the cameras only captured a fraction of Jeremiah's effervescence.

At a generous five eight, Jeremiah Rosen is a blonde, boyish interpretation of his brother, composed of more energy than flesh. He wrestles away from Josh, fluffing out his curls.

"Jerry," Josh says, reaching an arm around Krystin, "I want you to meet Krystin."

"Hi," Krystin says, offering a timid wave. Should she hug him? Do nineteen-year-old boys like being hugged?

Jeremiah matches her greeting, something distinctly mischievous in his grin. "Hey, Special K."

"Jer," Josh warns.

Krystin has already lost the plot. "Like the cereal?"

"Precisely," Jeremiah replies, ignoring Josh's admonition. "Classic, all-American, wheat-based—"

"Wheat-based?"

"A little basic to some, but at the right time, exactly what you need."

"Jer!" Josh is already more exasperated than Krystin has seen him all season.

"Basic?" Krystin wonders aloud.

Josh spins to face Krystin. "You're not basic, babe."

Krystin knows it isn't the point, but she lingers on the word babe.

Josh's mother, Wendy, brushes a hand lightly over Krystin's hair. "Come on, sweetheart, let's get you settled."

She leads them through the house and out onto the back deck, the cameras shadowing them obediently. Holland hovers a few feet away.

"So, Krystin," Wendy says as they sink into the outdoor furniture. "Tell us about yourself. Something we haven't seen."

"Um." Krystin reflects, trying to think of something they wouldn't know about her, even after having watched the past eight episodes of Hopelessly Devoted, something that doesn't start with an L. "I'm a Cancer?"

Josh's father leans forward in his wicker chair. "Let's just cut right to the chase. How about you tell us why you think you're a good match for our son."

Wendy slaps her husband lightly on his bicep. "David, can we learn a bit about her before launching into it?"

"I think this is the perfect way to learn more about her," David replies. His tone is firm, but he has the same softness in his eyes as Josh, the kind crinkle at the corners that used to make Krystin feel like everything was going to be okay.

"We make a good team," Krystin answers, looking over at Josh, who nods in encouragement. "We bring out the best in each other."

"I think that's true," Wendy says, bringing a hand to her heart. "Seeing you two together the past two months—" She sighs. "It's been a treat. You're an absolute doll."

Krystin smiles, but her heart is still racing. She worries she isn't smiling big enough, so she smiles harder, but then she worries she looks scary, or scared, so she just settles her lips into a gentle curve and hopes for the best.

"Krystin has been right there by my side throughout this entire experience," Josh tells them, reaching an arm around Krystin's waist. She fights the urge to squirm under his grasp, then scolds her own instinct. "She's been my rock."

"Has that been true for you too?" Wendy asks Krystin.

"Oh, definitely," Krystin responds. You know who else he made feel certain? "I always knew that he had my back."

She feels Josh flex his fingers into her skin. She wonders if he can feel her pulse.

"Time for an important question," Jeremiah says, brow furrowing. He steeples his fingers on his knee. "The very first time you met Josh, you said you ‘know how to ride 'em, cowboy.' Have you—"

"Jer!" Josh nearly leaps from his seat. "Jesus Christ, dude!"

But Jeremiah is laughing, having already delivered the essential lines. Krystin shifts in her seat. She breathes through her nose, but it feels like she's sucking air through one of those tiny red cocktail straws.

And then Wendy's at her side, pulling her out of her seat. "Krystin, let's go have a chat, shall we?"

Wendy leads her back through the house and into the kitchen, where she pours them both a substantial glass of iced tea. Krystin inspects it, turning the icy glass around in her hands.

"Don't worry," Wendy whispers. "It's the Long Island way."

Krystin isn't sure alcohol is the best thing for her persistent nausea, but she takes a sip anyway, in an attempt at graciousness. Wendy takes a seat at the kitchen table, then gestures for Krystin to join her.

"You really are just the sweetest thing," Wendy says, watching Krystin as she slips onto the chair. "Your parents really raised you right. I can't wait to meet them," she adds.

"Oh," Krystin says, setting the glass down on the table. "Thank you. But, I mean, we aren't—it's not—"

"I know, I know. David keeps telling me not to get ahead of myself, but I think you know as well as I—well, you know." She winks.

Krystin nods, then slides the tea closer to her. Wendy must take her silence as nerves, because she reassures her:

"Between you and me," she says, voice low, as if Holland and her crew of cameras aren't standing five feet away from them, "I can see it for you. I can see him getting on one knee."

Krystin wonders how strong a Long Island iced tea has to be in order to make your head spin after two sips. "Really?"

"You're going to fit in so well here." Wendy reaches a hand across the table to Krystin's. "You already do. And—" She takes a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. When her eyes meet Krystin's they're glassy and bright. "After last season, after Amanda, I just—I really hoped that wouldn't break him. It was so hard to watch that." She swallows, clears her throat. "Krystin, let me tell you something. When you have a child, from the moment they're born, they start to leave you. First, they leave your body, and then they leave again for preschool, and then for dates and for college and for work, and they don't stop leaving for the rest of their life."

Krystin must look mildly panicked, because Wendy waves a hand through the air. "Oh, sweetie, I'm not trying to scare you. It's—they leave you, and the most you can hope for is that they find someone else. That the leaving isn't the end—for them, it's the beginning." She dabs at the corners of her eyes. "Anyway, I'm glad he's found you. He deserves it. I'm sure you do, too."

Krystin flicks her eyes over to Holland, who's looking back at her expectantly. "Um, I'm sorry, do you think I could have some water?"

Wendy looks from Krystin to Holland and back again. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't even ask." She hops up from the table and fills a glass from the refrigerator door.

Wendy places the glass in front of her, then sits back down. Krystin takes a long time drinking, feeling every gulp stream down her throat.

"Krystin," Holland prompts, when she's finished, "what's your response to Wendy?"

"I think …" Krystin begins, looking directly at Wendy, but she doesn't know what she thinks. She just keeps picturing Josh on a white sand beach, or on the top of a skyscraper, or in a fucking helicopter or something, leaning his knee into the ground and pulling out a ring and asking her and asking her and asking her. And then she sees it on her finger, because she knows that if he asked, she wouldn't know how to say no.

And now, at the worst possible time, in the worst possible place, Krystin knows what she wants. Or really, she knows what she doesn't want, because even if Lauren wasn't part of all this, Krystin couldn't marry Josh. And the realization makes everything—Wendy's hopeful eyes, Holland's omniscient gaze, the family portraits with everyone dressed in khakis—so much worse.

"I have to talk to Josh," she says, and leaves the room before anyone can stop her.

Krystin finds Josh outside, drinking a Stella in an Adirondack across from David. It feels colder now, the wind's serrated edge skating across her skin.

"Josh," she says once she's close enough. "Can we—" But it isn't a question. Not this time. "I have to talk to you."

"Now?" He looks from his dad to Penny and the cameras. They were clearly in the middle of a father-son heart-to-heart. Penny looks pissed that Krystin interrupted what was about to be very good television. If they can just wait, I'll give them something better, she thinks bitterly.

"Yeah, sure," Josh says, once it's clear Krystin isn't moving. "Of course."

He leads her through a footpath along the house's side that opens onto the front yard. The cameras follow shakily behind them; Krystin registers distantly the front door opening, and Holland stepping onto the porch.

"What's up?" Josh asks. "Is everything okay?"

"Um—" Krystin takes a breath, but her lungs quiver. "Fuck."

"Krystin, hey." Josh reaches out for her, leaning into a hug, but Krystin dodges him. He peels back from her, visibly hurt.

"Don't touch me," she says. "You don't—you don't want to touch me."

Josh's brows knit, confusion pooling between them. "What's going on? Why are you so upset?"

"This isn't going to work," Krystin cries. It's the first time she's said it, the first time she's even thought of it as a full sentence. "This isn't going to work," she says again, quieter, for herself.

Josh is incredulous. "What? Is this because of what my brother said? He's a dick, but—"

"No, of course not. I would never—" But she stops herself, because the list of things she would never do is evidently shorter than she ever believed. "Your family is great, truly."

He looks unconvinced. "I know they can be a lot, I mean, I told you—"

"It's not them," Krystin says. "I swear."

Josh crosses his arms in front of his chest, realization dawning. "Then it's me."

"It's not you either." Krystin shivers. "Trust me, I wish it was you."

Josh scoffs. "So you're saying ‘it's not you, it's me.'"

"I—Yeah, I guess I am."

A breeze rustles through the trees, sending the hairs on her arms on edge. A browning leaf fumbles drowsily through the air, landing at Josh's feet. He bends to pick it up.

"You said ‘knew,'" he says after a moment, rolling the leaf stem between his thumb and forefinger.

"What?"

"Back on the deck. You said you knew I had your back. Past tense. Like you don't know that anymore."

"Josh." Krystin sighs, her shoulders dropping. "I just meant that was how I felt, in Costa Rica."

"Still," he says, still twirling the leaf. "I don't think you would have said it like that if you saw us at the end of this." He drops the leaf. Krystin watches its clumsy descent.

This is the worst feeling in the world, Krystin thinks. The worst feeling in the world. She wraps her arms around herself, clutching at her elbows. The only thing worse would be staying with Josh anyway, without letting him find someone who reciprocates his feelings—without letting herself find the same.

"This isn't the end for you," she says, remembering Wendy's words.

Josh laughs, mirthless. "Isn't it, though?"

"It's not," Krystin insists. The wind sends a piece of her hair flying out in front of her face, and she brushes it back behind her ear. "You have so much ahead of you, Josh, I promise." She almost mentions Lauren, but she knows that pretty soon he won't have her either. It's too much, the gravity of everything, her decisions from the past nine weeks falling like shrapnel all around her.

Krystin hears a whimper, and when she turns toward it, she sees Wendy standing in the open doorway. David comes from behind her, leading her away at Holland's instruction.

She looks at the house then, at its East Coast grandeur, and back at Josh, who became himself inside its walls. And then she realizes, without an ounce of humor, that this is the second time Josh's heart has been broken by a woman in his front yard.

"I don't know, Krystin," Josh says. He rubs the back of his neck. "Whatever you wanna call it, this looks like a clear fuckin' ending to me."