Then, 2018
"So you're telling me," I said numbly, "that the reason he's been ghosting me was because he was... filming?"
Clara Gibbs nodded, almost frantically. "And he signed an NDA—I'm not supposed to tell you anything about it. Not until the contest's over and the show's finally airing. But, um, apparently, he made it to the finals. And they're inviting the families to come watch and support. I've talked to Mom and Dad and we all think it'd be nice if you could also be there."
I blinked, still digesting the information she'd been telling me in the past half hour. That early last year, Jonah had applied to audition for a new, MasterChef-style cooking competition that was casting for its first season of the show. Initially, as a joke between him and Clara, but once it actually looked like he had a chance, he began seriously working on his submissions.
Clara told me that the auditioning process had taken months before it was even determined that he'd made it to the shortlist. There were so many forms to fill in, interviews, self-tapes, and even psych tests.
Apparently, that week after we saw each other at the campus and he flew back to New York, he was informed that he'd made it to the top 48 candidates. Our communication after that weekend was sparse, because he was busy sending self-tapes of himself cooking in his kitchen and meeting producers and other contestants to make it to the top 24, and he was unsure about telling me just in case he didn't make it.
And he couldn't really explain any of it to me, anyway, because he'd signed a bunch of paperwork that prevented him from doing so.
"And... you and your mom and dad... think it's a good idea for me to be there?" I asked hesitantly.
Clara smiled at me, and reached out to squeeze my wrist. "I mean, you're practically family already."
I shook my head and scoffed. "No, I'm—Clara, you know I didn't even say yes."
"Yet." She shrugged. "I know my brother's stupid. I spent weeks yelling at him to just... tell you. But he didn't. That's his fault."
"What if he doesn't want me to be there? I mean, I did ghost him back." I laughed, but it wasn't a funny sound. "I left him kneeling on the ground with a ring, and he didn't pick up when I finally called him. Are you sure he hasn't returned the ring to the shop he bought it from?"
"Hannah. My stupid brother loves you."
My heart did a funny fluttery thing in my ribcage.
"He only didn't pick up your call because he couldn't. He was already in LA like, two days after New Year's. They confiscated his phone for privacy reasons. We could only communicate with him through e-mails, once a week."
I thought it over, and the timing made sense. I'd left Tony's wedding with Freddie—initially, to just help him pack his stuff and get him a taxi to the airport so he could be with his sick dad as soon as possible. But then he'd completely broken down in his hotel room, and I couldn't just send him away like that.
So, in a rush, I'd booked the earliest flight to New York for Freddie and myself, called Leann to tell everyone I had to skip Christmas dinner with my newly wedded brother and that I was very sorry but my friend really needed me, and spent the next few days shadowing Freddie in case he collapsed from sheer exhaustion as he waited by his dad's hospital bed.
It was only during my flight back home, the morning of New Year's Eve, that I realized I'd left Jonah at the wedding without even giving my answer to his proposal. That I'd just left him hanging there.
I'd cursed myself over and over again, but was too nervous to call him. I didn't even know what I was going to say to him on the phone—if I was going to say yes at all, or how to even begin to apologize. I didn't want to give him a call or ask to meet him only to stumble over my words and make everything so much worse.
And then, by the time I'd braved myself and decided to actually dial his number, the call wouldn't go through.
Because he was already filming and wasn't allowed communication. But I hadn't known that. And I'd only been wallowing since, for three months.
Clara's voice brought me out of my thoughts. She asked me, "You were going to say yes, right?"
"I... I don't know," I told her, honestly. "I love him, Clara. I do. But it's... I'm only twenty. I'm not getting married at twenty years old."
She hummed in understanding, nodding a little.
"I would've said yes, if the timing was right," I added quickly, but genuinely. "I mean, I'd still say yes, I think. I know I regretted it when I couldn't reach your brother. I knew I wished I'd said yes. But maybe it could be something like... like a promise ring, instead. I don't know."
"Yeah, Hannah. I get it," she said gently. "I mean, I did tell him he was crazy for buying the ring. But then he said, if you guys loved each other..."
"I do. I love him."
"He almost pulled out of the competition, you know," she told me quietly. "But he'd gotten this far, and I convinced him to stay. I'm sorry if this kinda ruined things between you guys."
"No, no, Clara." I shook my head. The smile on my face was genuine when I said, "I'm glad you convinced him. He's in the finals. That means he made the right decision to stay. He could win the competition!"
She chuckled. "Yeah, we still can't believe it. He really made it. We've always known that he loves cooking, but knowing that he's really close to winning a national cooking competition..."
And to see the proud grin on her face... that was the moment I finally made my decision. "I'll come to the finale."
Clara's face brightened even more. "Really? You will?"
"Yeah. I will. Just, um, don't tell him in your e-mails. That I'm coming. I'll be there to surprise him."
She full-on squealed, before leaving her chair to give me a hug. I returned it with a laugh—the kind of laugh I hadn't heard come out of my own mouth in months.
"Thank you thank you thank you," Clara kept saying as she squeezed me in the hug. "He's gonna be so happy that you're there. I'm so excited!"
I was too, and I almost told her. But I was more nervous than excited, as a plan began to form in my mind.
"You sure you don't wanna be up in the balcony with us?" Clara asked me for what felt like the tenth time.
The taping for the finale episode was starting in half an hour. We both had our hair and makeup done—all of us who came as the finalists' family—and were waiting for the taping to start so we could walk up and watch the final showdown from the balcony that overlooked the kitchen.
Up from the balcony, you could directly watch the finalists cook and maybe even interact with them. You'd also be on camera—they'd be recording your reaction should anything happen during the cooking. That was why they had our hair made and makeup done—so we'd look presentable on television.
"Yeah. Um, I don't really wanna distract him," I told her. I thought about it as I was getting my hair and makeup done, but I didn't know if my appearance would be a good surprise or a bad surprise, and I didn't want to risk it. "He needs to focus. And I'll come out if—when he wins. Or if he doesn't, then I'll just meet him after the filming's done."
I'd already talked with someone from the show—the producer's assistant or something, I was pretty sure. I'd told her I came here as a surprise for Jonah. That I was his girlfriend—even though I was technically not. She was very ecstatic to listen to my quick story, and she told me she could talk to someone and work something out so that I could still watch him cook without him knowing I was here—not until the end of the competition. Instead of up on the balcony, I'd be with the crew in the control room. Once they were announcing the winner of the show, I'd be ushered out to the stage and join the rest of the family to congratulate the winner.
With the short time I had since finding out about the competition from Clara less than a week ago, I'd planned something to celebrate his win—and I was sure he would win. Me being here would be a big surprise already, but I also had another surprise.
In the months that we'd been together, I'd never surprised him with a grand gesture. Sure, I'd surprise-visit him in New York, the first few months we'd been apart after graduation. But I'd just never been a grand-gesture person. And this thing that I had planned for him, I was pretty sure this would count as one, and I was feeling nervous as hell.
After all, I still didn't know where I stood with him right now. The last time I'd seen him, we both were crying, and he was proposing to me, and I couldn't give him an answer. Then I'd stupidly left him there and we never got the chance to talk about it.
But I had my answer now, and it was sitting in a box I was cautiously guarding inside my purse.
It wasn't meant to be a true wedding proposal ring—just like I'd told Clara, right now it only felt right for me to commit to a promise instead of an engagement. I hoped he'd understand that this didn't mean that I didn't want to be with him—I really, really did.
An engagement at twenty just felt too... much. Too big for me, at this point of my life. Too scary.
We still need to work on a lot of things between us—the biggest being communication. It was what broke us the first time around, and what got us both here in this situation this time.
This ring would be a symbol of that promise—that we'd both try to be better, learn how to love better, the second time around. And when the time came, when we'd finally be ready for a bigger commitment, we could upgrade this promise with a different set of rings.
I hoped.
I was sitting in the control room, surrounded by monitors that showed different angles of the soundstage/kitchen. I was the only non-crew person here—the eliminated contestants with the finalists' family members were already waiting to be called up to the balcony. The host of the show was standing in front of the kitchen, ready to film the intro of the final episode.
After the intro, the four judges dramatically walked into the room. Then, it was time to call up the finalists into the kitchen.
Jonah walked in first, and I was a little taken aback by the confident determination in his eyes. He wasn't smiling even when one of the cameramen gets a closer look on him, and it almost took me back to the early years of high school when I'd first seen him—a grumpy loner who used to glare at anyone who'd come in his way.
The host quickly introduced him: Jonah, twenty-one years old, college student. Then she mentioned some of his best dishes in the competition so far—I was assuming that there would be a quick montage of his dishes during this part once it aired on TV. When the host directly addressed him, Jonah finally cracked a small smile—nothing more than an upward twitch of one corner of his lips.
Then, the host moved on to introduce the person he'd be cooking against. Jonah's rival was a woman who was probably a couple years older than us, whose former occupation was a food vlogger. She was vaguely familiar to me—I might have seen her if she was on YouTube or something. Unlike Jonah's stiff posture, she looked very relaxed with a friendly smile on her face. They looked almost the exact opposites of each other.
I saw Jonah's face break into a real smile when the host finally allowed the family members to walk into the kitchen. His parents looked so proud of him, and Clara couldn't stop waving at him. Her brother returns it with a tiny wave and a sheepish smile, which made everybody in the room laugh.
It was finally time to start. The host first described the challenges of today's cook. The two finalists shook hands just before the clock started—a bright smile on the woman's face, and a small nod from Jonah in return. Then, from the dozen different monitors scattered around me, I watched Jonah as he rushed toward his station to draw a sketch of his vision of the three-course meals he'd be cooking for the day.
He worked like a machine, like a complete pro—the way he fluttered about the kitchen, knowing exactly the dishes he'd be cooking and where to get his ingredients from the pantry. The way he kept his station busy but neat—all ingredients and equipment perfectly organized as if it was his second nature to do so. He used the time he had efficiently, and I just sat there completely in awe.
I knew he was good at cooking. But this was an entirely another level of amazing.
The first hour came and went and Jonah and his rival both served their starters. The judges would taste-test the first dishes while they both continued working on their entrées. My focus was split into two—watching Jonah work and the judging process. They nit-picked every single little thing that was on the plate, and it irked me a little—the way they just kept looking for a mistake. I guess I understood that they needed a true winner.
But still... I mean, a single piece of garnish that was placed slightly the wrong way couldn't possibly be his downfall.
Jonah's laser focus remained throughout the game—up until he injured himself with 30 minutes left in the competition. He accidentally burned the palm of his left hand while taking out a scorching hot sheet pan from the oven for one of the elements of his dessert dish. My heart dropped from my chest when I heard his sharp gasp of pain that was very clearly caught by the mic clip on his apron, before he instinctively went for the sink to run cold water over the burn, holding up his uninjured hand to call for medic.
I could only watch as he gritted his teeth—both in pain and what I assume was annoyance because he was losing precious time while the medical team quickly tended to his injury. They wrapped a piece of cloth around his hand, and he wasted no time before returning to work, finishing his final dish mainly using one hand before he ran out of time.
And then, it was over. Both Jonah and his opponent held up both hands to the air after the host yelled "Time's up!", and Jonah's eyes blankly followed his dessert dish as the servers took it away to be judged in a separate room. Once the dish was out of sight, he visibly slumped in relief, breathing hard with his eyes closed. It was over.
I wanted nothing more than to run out of the control room and into him, but I couldn't. Not yet.
The woman from earlier—the producer's assistant or something—tapped me on the shoulder to let me know that it was nearly showtime for me, a big encouraging smile on her face, which I really appreciated. The judges had finished tasting the final dishes and were all writing down their scores and putting it in sealed envelopes, and they'd walk to the main stage anytime now.
After this, the family members would be allowed to come down from the balcony, to stand on the sides of the main stage so they could celebrate with the finalists after the winner was announced. She told me that that would be the moment where I could pop out from behind to surprise Jonah—whether he won or not. She also explained to me that this was a reality TV show, which meant that they were allowed to use whatever that was caught on camera and edit it in certain ways to add elements of suspense or drama or humor that the show would need, however they saw fit.
Truthfully, this scared the fuck out of me, that I'd be on camera when I had no idea how Jonah would react to my presence, knowing that the cameras would be recording that moment from at least three different angles.
As grand gestures go, this was the grandest I could have ever imagined. I wanted to throw up.
The ring box clutched in my tight grip, I followed the assistant out of the control room and toward the family members who were already standing on the sides of the main stage, where the two contestants and the four judges and host were standing, ready to be filmed.
From where he was, Jonah still couldn't see me come in through the side door, and I was pretty much hidden in the back row. Though, I could see that Clara was turning her head around to look for me, and it took her another few seconds until she saw me at the back. I waved at her with a shaky, nervous smile, and held up a finger to my lips. She returned it with two thumbs up, before returning to the front.
With my fingers crossed, I held my breath as the judges revealed their scores for each contestant's dishes. So far, Jonah's opponent was leading with two points ahead. The room felt tense, everyone knowing that the results could go either way from the next two judges' scores.
And because this was a reality TV show, there was a long, dramatic pause as the last judge very slowly opened her envelope, taking her time as she described her criticism for every single dish by the two finalists before finally revealing her scores.
And then.
A loud cheer erupted as the final calculation was presented on the score board.
Jonah won the competition by five points, crowning him the first winner of this cooking competition.
I could see Jonah's mom and dad bursting into the stage to wrap their arms around him, but for some reason, I still held back. My feet felt glued to the ground, the hand that was holding the ring box shaking on my side. I knew I had to move, that it was my chance to slip into the crowd and surprise him. But I couldn't move my legs.
I was scared of his reaction. What if he was angry me, for leaving him hanging with an unanswered wedding proposal? What if he regretted ever proposing to me?
What if he hated me?
Little did I know, I would end up regretting that pause for the next years that followed.
Jonah finally broke away from his family, and from the stage, I could see Clara trying to signal to me to come in. Jonah's back was still turned to me, so I couldn't see his face yet. Couldn't see the handsome smile on his face, as his former opponents intercepted him to congratulate him with handshakes and hugs.
I forced my feet to unglue themselves from the floor, for my big, grand-gesture surprise, and finally took my first step forward. And just as I took the first step up the platform, the other contestant—his losing rival—broke away from her own family and moved toward Jonah.
And grabbed him.
And kissed him.
On the lips.
With her arms sneaking around the back of his neck, fingers digging into his hair, while suggestive whistles and hoots suddenly erupted around me.
I nearly lost my balance as I retracted my steps. People were clapping at the pair on the stage, but I couldn't hear a thing.
I felt numb as I stood there. Watching, waiting.
Waiting... for what?
For Jonah to, maybe, break away from the kiss. Shove her away, tell her that he didn't feel the same way. Tell the crowd that nothing was going on between him and his opponent. That this was a mistake. That his girl was waiting for him back home, and he was coming home to her. Me.
I stood there and waited, and waited, and waited. And the cheers that I couldn't hear in my ringing ears only got louder.
I guess he's already moved on.
It's over now. I've lost my chance.
I shouldn't have left him at the wedding.
They finally pulled away, and from where I was standing, all I could see was the woman gently embracing the sides of Jonah's face, a happy smile on her beautiful face, and his hands slowly moving to grasp both of her elbows. I saw her mouth move as she said something to Jonah, but I couldn't hear what she said. It could be either "congratulations" or "I love you". I would never know.
That was when I noticed that there was a camera next to them, that had been capturing what felt like such an intimate moment in this crowded room.
My vision whited out for a split second.
I turned away and stumbled to the door. The producer's assistant was standing by the open door, mouth gaping, face falling into a sympathetic frown as she caught the look on mine. I didn't even know what my face looked like right now. I couldn't feel anything. I couldn't even feel my legs. I just needed to leave.
As I passed the door, she gently stopped me with a hand on my forearm, an unsure look on her face.
"Can I—was I—" I cleared my throat, that had suddenly felt so dry. I felt so embarrassed. I felt like a fucking fool. "If you got footage of me in the room at all... can you... please—"
She nodded understandingly. Pityingly. I couldn't understand why she cared so much, but I was thankful for it. She told me, "Don't worry. I'll make sure you're edited out completely."
"T-thank you. Thanks," I stuttered. "Don't... Just, make sure he never knows. That I was ever here."
I rushed out through the door, nearly getting lost in the hallways trying to find the backstage where I'd left my things.
Once I finally found the room, I numbly collected my things. Put the box back into my purse. Quickly changed out of the outfit that was loaned to me by the people that had dressed me up. Hastily pulled out hairpins that had held my curls in place. Shoved both of my arms into my thin hoodie, and slipped my feet into my flats so I could quickly slip out of the room and out of the building and out of this fucking city.
I turned to the door, where Clara stood—thankfully, alone. I glanced away, unable to look at her regretful face.
I was shaking, and my breath was choppy, but my eyes were still dry. I'd thought to myself, as I was changing out of the dress, that I couldn't allow myself to cry yet. Not until I could clean my face of the layers of camera-ready makeup they'd spent over half an hour putting on me.
If I cried, there would be streaks of mascara running down my face, and I'd look so fucking stupid running to the airport with racoon eyes. I almost laughed to myself at the sheer absurdity of it all.
I sighed. All I could say to Clara was, "Please don't tell him I was here."
"Hannah—"
"Please, Clara," I begged. "I was never here, okay?"
"Hannah." Clara's voice cracked, and I hated it. I didn't want her to cry. It would break me. "I'm so sorry."
I shook my head. "Don't. It's fine." I braved myself to look up and give her a smile. I didn't know how convincing it looked. "It's fine. I'm going home, okay? I'm happy he won. I really, really am. He was amazing. You guys must be so proud of him. I'm proud of him."
Clara's lips trembled, her face crumpling. "I didn't—Hannah, I shouldn't have—"
"Don't apologize, please, Clara," my voice dropped to a whisper. I didn't know how much longer I could keep my own voice from breaking. "It's not your fault, okay? Promise me, please. You won't tell him."
She only stared at me.
"Please."
Clara closed her eyes, and finally nodded in resignation. "Okay. I promise. I won't tell him you were here."
"Thank you." I shouldered my bag and pulled her into a hug.
I felt her shaking in my arms, and it took everything in me to keep my own tears at bay. I needed to leave now.
"Take care, Clara," I said into her ear, before letting go and leaving the building as fast as I could.
It wasn't until hours later, on the plane taking me away from Los Angeles, that I finally broke down. I cried silently, tears falling down my cheeks as I stared out at the night sky.
Never again, I promised myself. I'd never fall in love and allow my heart to be broken again.
That night as I blocked his contact for the second time, I vowed to myself I'd never fall in love again. And for the next five years that followed, I managed to keep that promise.