“But, Dad,” I said, shaking my head. “You don’t understand. I mean…I wrote a romance novel, and I gave it to him, and he hasn’t even—”
My dad blinked at me. “You wrote a romance novel?”
Oops. Yeah, guess I forgot to mention that part to good old Dad. Maybe I could distract him.
“Um,” I said. “Yeah. About that. You don’t have to worry. No one wants to publish it anyway—”
My dad waved a hand like my words were something annoying that was buzzing around his head.
“Mia,” he said. “I think you know by now that being royal isn’t all about being driven around in limos and having a bodyguard and taking private jets and buying the latest handbag or jeans and always being in style. You know what it’s really about is always being the bigger person, and being kind to others. You chose to date J.P. You chose to date him for nearly two years. You cannot not go to the prom with him, unless he’s been in some way cruel to you…which, from what you describe, it doesn’t sound as if he has. Now, stop being such a—what do you kids call it? Oh, right, a drama queen—and come down from here. My leg is getting a cramp.”
I knew my dad was right. I was being stupid. I’d been acting like an idiot all week (so what else was new?). I was going to the prom, and I was going with J.P. J.P. and I were perfect for each other. We always had been.
I wasn’t a kid anymore, and I needed to stop acting like one. I needed to stop lying to everyone, just like Dr. Knutz said.
But most importantly, I needed to stop lying to myself.
Life isn’t a romance novel. The truth is, the reason romance novels sell so well—the reason why everyone loves them—is because no one’s life is actually like that. Everyone wants their life to be like that.
But no one’s life really is.
No. The truth was, Michael and I were through—even if he did sign his letter to me Love, Michael. But that didn’t mean anything. That little ember of hope I’d been carrying around—partly, I knew, because my dad had told me that love is always waiting right around the corner—needed to die and stay well and truly dead. I needed to allow it to die, and be happy with what I had. Because what I had was pretty freaking great.
I think what happened tonight finally killed that ember of hope about Michael I’ve been carrying around. I really do.
At least, I’m almost positive when I climbed down and found J.P. (talking to Sean Penn again, of course) and I went up to him and said, “Yes,” and showed him that I was wearing the ring, that killed it. Killed it pretty much dead.
He gave me a big hug and lifted me up and swung me around. Everyone standing around cheered and clapped.
Except my mom. I saw her give my dad a look, and he shook his head, and she narrowed her eyes at him, like, You are so gonna get it, and he gave her a look, like, It’s just a promise ring, Helen.
I suspect I’m due for a breakfast lecture on post-modern feminism from Mom tomorrow morning. As Lana would say, whatevs. Like any lecture of Mom’s can make me feel worse than the sight of Michael’s back did a little while ago.
Tina and Lana and Trisha and Shameeka and Ling Su and Perin were all over the ring, though Ling Su mainly wanted to know if I could cut plates in half with my new diamond, since she’s doing a new installation piece that involves pieces of broken ceramic (we experimented on some of the dishware from the caterer and the answer is yes, my ring can cut plates in half).
The person who seemed most interested was Lilly. She came over and really looked at it and was like, “So what are you now, like, engaged?” and I was all, “No, it’s just a promise ring,” and Lilly went, “That’s some big promise,” meaning the diamond. Which I’m pretty sure she meant in a semi-insulting way…
And she succeeded.
What I couldn’t figure out was why Lilly hadn’t sprung her “surprise” on me yet…the one she’d said she could only give me if she came to my party. I’d assumed that meant she was going to give it to me at my party—or at least on my birthday itself. But so far she’d showed no sign of doing so.
Maybe I’d misunderstood.
Or maybe—just maybe—there was still some sliver of affection for me somewhere in her, and whatever diabolical scheme she’d been planning, she’d decided not to launch it after all.
So remembering what Dad had said about how being royal is about being the bigger person, I refused to take offense at her “That’s some big promise” remark.
And I also refused to ask her where her brother had gone. Though Tina, of course, sidled up to me and pointed out—in case I’d missed it, somehow—that he’d left…and that he’d done it as soon as J.P. had whipped out the ring.
“Do you think,” Tina whispered, “Michael left because he couldn’t stand to see the woman he’s loved for so long promising herself to another man?”
Really, this was too much.
“No, Tina,” I said flatly. “I think he left because he just doesn’t care about me.”
Tina looked shocked.
“No!” she cried. “That’s not why! I know that’s not why! He left because he thinks YOU don’t care about him, and knew he couldn’t control his unbridled passion for you! He was probably afraid if he’d stay, he’d KILL J.P.!”
“Tina,” I said. It was sort of hard to stay calm, but I remembered my new motto—life is not a romance novel—and that made it a little easier. “Michael doesn’t care about me. Face the facts. I’m with J.P. now, the way I always should have been. And please don’t talk to me that way about Michael anymore. It really upsets me.”