Page 13 of Building What's Meant to Be

But she was no shrinking flower because she had a comeback suggesting that I’m a meanie.

Then I practically pled with Taylor to take me back. When he didn’t, I threatened to tell everyone how he misled me and then broke up with me. Which was a manipulative lie if there ever was one.

Shame over that little scene won’t be making it into my memoir.

It was not my proudest moment and encapsulated what John referred to as a Tinsley Tantrum.

Then I sped off. I didn’t make good on my threat because I moved on to...I don’t even remember. Jackson? Jesse? Jasper? It was toward the end of my Nashville phase.

As I drive into the night, the last words Taylor said to me finally catch up. He said, “Tinsley, you’ve created a story in your head. I’m sorry. We were never together so there’s nothing to end.”

Why does the truth have to hurt so much? It’s not because I was particularly in love with Taylor, though there is nothing wrong with #TaylorsGeorgiaPeaches. More like something must be wrong with me. I have made up a story in which I’m the star, and it doesn’t matter who I shove side stage or out of the frame to get the perfect shot of my good side.

After I get yet another tank of gas, I pull out my phone, tempted to call Taylor—and not with the hope of getting together. Rather, to ask what he meant. How he knew. What I should do.

Seems like his life wasn’t going the way he wanted so he made a major change and took a risk. I wonder how that’s working out for him. What it could mean for me.

When I get to theTsection in my contact list, I can’t find Taylor’s name. Then I realize I labeled his number with the wordsDO NOT CALLas in don’t get weak and reach out under any circumstances. There are twelve numbers with the same label. Probably including Jackson, Jesse, and Jasper.

Instead, I keep driving. However, I can’t go fast enough to escape the regrets, the manipulation, and the deception. Not to mention that I was high maintenance. I guess this is my versionof going into the desert, only it gets increasingly humid the farther south I go.

And I get increasingly tired the longer I drive. I pull off the highway with a blue sign for food and lodging.

After several more miles, I cruise pastFortuna’s FunWorld, an abandoned amusement park. The structure of a splintered wooden rollercoaster looks ready for a bonfire. Carts in dull rainbow colors hang precariously from a small Ferris wheel. As I pass, a vandalized carousel horse leers at me.

Ahead, a red neon sign for the Amusement Motel flickers with the wordVacancybeneath.

Hard pass.

I’ve had bit parts in a variety of movies, but I’m not going to volunteer for a horror film. No thanks.

Where are my federal agent bodyguards when I need them? I didn’t notice any of them wearing wedding bands. Then again, that’s probably prohibited while on the job for security reasons. I wonder if Southern Agent was available? He had a well-dressed tough guy look that I could really use right now.

But maybe what I need to do is be single for a while and do all those things the social media influencers say about going on a retreat to find themselves. My man-cation, as it were.

Well, I’m exhausted and may as well be lost here on the side of the road, so surely before long, I’ll find something. The GPS on my phone freezes and while I try to get it to work so I can figure out how to get back to the highway, my phone rings. The top of my bun bonks the roof of the car.

“Sienna!” I say into the phone.

“Hey, Tinsley.” Her voice is tentative. “I, uh, wanted to let you know that the trip to Cannes for the film fest was canceled.”

“They can’t cancel the film festival,” I say, shocked.

“No, just, uh, the trip.”

“But your boyfriend is in one of the films...wait, did you guys break up? I’m so sorry. I’ve been so caught up in—” See? I need to be a better friend.

“No, we’re still together. It’s the trip. We, uh, we think that considering circumstances, that it’s probably best...”

“Oh.” She doesn’t want me to go with them anymore. “Oh. Okay. I understand.”

“Well, um, good luck.”

I manage to croak a pathetic, “You too,” and get off the phone. I feel like I just plummeted to the bottom of the rickety roller coaster except instead of a thrill, my heart remains in my stomach. I’m on the side of the road long enough for the shadows to get long, for the sun to fade into the distance, and for me to realize I just received the finalbuh-byeof my career and social life.

As an aspiring actress, I’ve had my fair share of rejections, passes, and times I didn’t get a callback. But it’s like a door just closed and Sienna bolted the lock.

I turn around and drive back to the intersection for the highway. The yellow glow of a dingy convenience store is the only light around. It certainly isn’t a beacon to guide me in any particular direction. I could turn around and go back to NYC. Find the nearest airport and head to LA. Return to my old life.

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