Page 48 of Fan Favorite

P eter Kennedy trudged up the stairs to Edie Pepper’s apartment, the apology he knew he was going to have to make stuck in his throat like one of those Key to My Heart–shaped cookies craft services would inevitably trot out at the finale.

Peter hated those fucking cookies. So dry. So predictable. So Instagrammable.

Yes, he’d made some mistakes. He could admit that.

For one, he’d underestimated Edie’s need to be butterfly-kissed at dawn.

And he should’ve called for extra security; Peter knew better than to let key players out of his sight.

And when he was hunched over in the lobby adjusting his laces and Jessa said in a voice from above, “What the hell happened last night?” he shouldn’t have wavered.

He should’ve told her then that they were changing course.

Honestly, he thought he had more time.

Still, Peter had the feeling that what he considered his fault and what Edie considered his fault were two different things.

Why was he an asshole for taking a minute to figure things out?

And why was she not an asshole for fleeing the set like this was some episode of Prison Break ?

Now the press was circling, Carole Steele was on the warpath, and an entire day spent not in production was costing them hundreds of thousands of dollars and creating a cascade of logistical problems for the already overwhelmed production team to solve.

And what about Peter’s own bruised feelings—did she not even think about how her little escapade would affect him?

Not to mention his complete and total infuriation at having any feelings at all!

And the terror that periodically rushed up his spine like a spider, reminding him that he was really close to the worst-case scenario, a total PR shitstorm where Peter himself ended up on the cover of People .

To be clear, it’s not like Peter wanted Edie to go on the lock-in with Bennett. Peter didn’t want Edie to do anything with Bennett, except perhaps say goodbye to Bennett, dramatically and in front of the cameras.

What he wanted was a second to think through his options.

The bottom line was that this entire drama could be traced back to the fact that he was a producer, Edie was a contestant, and they were stuck in the middle of the most dramatic season ever.

And as much as Peter would like to make some grand gesture and grab Edie by the hand and run off into the night, this was real life, where Peter had significant responsibilities to every single person who worked on The Key , plus the network, the audience, the advertisers, the various prongs of industry driven by each season—the podcasts, the merch, the live traveling tour—and even Bennett Charles, who Peter certainly fucking hated, but who Peter had dragged into this mess and who would, unfortunately, have to be the public face of it.

Peter rounded the corner of the stairwell.

Framed in a doorway was his runaway, beautiful in baggy sweatpants and a T-shirt that read brUNCH SO HARD .

Her hair was wild in a way that reminded him of how she’d looked in bed, and instantly he was filled with regret.

For a moment it was clear he should’ve ignored his thrumming anxiety and desperate need for escape and instead turned to her and woken her up by running his hands all over her body and sliding his tongue inside her until she moaned.

And then Peter thought he might take the steps two at a time until they were tearing each other’s clothes off right next to what appeared to be an umbrella stand in the shape of a frog.

But then another woman stepped into the frame, her face set in a best-friend-kicks-terrible-boyfriend-in-the-balls sort of way, and Peter was once again reminded that real life so rarely had anything to do with the movies.

He paused on the landing. “Hey,” he offered.

“Hey.” Her smile was suspect. All lips, no teeth.

They stared at each other, neither of them willing to speak first. Peter stuffed his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and kept his face impassive.

He knew his assessment of this entire situation and subsequent actions were fueled by that secret, hurt place inside of him, but knowing that and being prepared to make different choices were two very different things.

“Well,” she said. “Are you coming in?”

Edie’s Chicago apartment was charming in a way that Peter’s Malibu condo decidedly was not.

Weeks ago, before he knew this woman would change the course of his life, Peter had seen glimpses of it in the background of Edie’s intro package and hadn’t thought much about it at all.

But standing here now, with the radiators clanking and Edie’s cat tiptoeing between his legs, Peter was surprised by how drawn he was to the place, to the vintage crown molding, the hardwood floors, the big windows overlooking the tree-lined street, the cozy blue couch that looked perfect for an entire day reading.

“I like your apartment,” he said. He knelt to scratch the cat. The cat purred and lifted its chin.

“Oh. Yeah. It’s sort of a mess.” Edie gestured vaguely. “I moved in right before the show.” She pointed. “There’s still an entire room filled with boxes.”

Peter straightened. “You must be Lauren,” he said to the woman standing sentry at the doorway to a long hall.

He tried smiling his best smile to distract from the flood of worry that not only was this reunion going to be a three-way dialogue with the best friend, but the best friend was also a journalist.

“Hi, Peter,” Lauren said tersely.

“We’re off the record, right?” He tried to keep his tone cute.

Lauren rolled her eyes. “I write about politics. And education. Not everyone thinks Hollywood is the most important thing in the world.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

Lauren gave Edie a look. “I’ll be listening from the kitchen if you need me.”

Peter was relieved to see her go. “She’s tough.” He smiled at Edie, ready to make nice, but the hurt and disappointment on her face made him sick with regret, and then he was annoyed all over again.

“Remember when we first met?” she said finally, twisting the cord from the blinds around her finger. “And you accused me of being the type of person who was, how did you put it, ‘trying to escape the hellscape of human experience through love and marriage’?”

“Vaguely.”

“When I saw you coming up the stairs, that popped into my mind. And I thought, how could I be with someone who thinks there’s no escape from the hellscape of human experience?

Or that the human experience is a hellscape in the first place?

” She shrugged. “You know what Oprah says: When people show you who they are, believe them.”

Peter gritted his teeth rather than correct her. Oprah didn’t say that; it was Maya Angelou. Oprah just said it on TV.

“Can we be nice, please?” he said.

“I am being nice.”

“Okay.”

They stared at each other.

“I’m really mad at you, you know.”

“I can tell.” Peter sighed and took a step toward her. “But don’t you think this is just a misunderstanding?” he offered. “That if you really think about it, there are all these outside factors—the show, whatever. But without them, everything would be fine? We’d be happy?”

“In what way?”

“In the way that obviously I didn’t want you to go on an overnight date with Bennett and that I want us to be together.”

Edie threw her hands in the air. “How is that obvious, Peter?”

“How does everything that happened last night not make it obvious?”

“You left! I woke up and poof, you were gone!” She crossed the room toward him, her gray eyes angry. “And then Jessa shows up to get me ready for my lock-in. You do the math—it’s literally not obvious at all.”

“Edie, come on. I just wanted a second to figure out how to handle things.” Peter took off his glasses and pressed the heel of his hand to his eye. “You forget I have to deal with an entire show. I can’t just drop everything.”

“How could I forget that, Peter?” she yelled. “And am I not part of the show? Isn’t it your literal job to make sure I’m okay?”

“You don’t get it!” he yelled back. “To run something like this, you have to be willing to piss people off. To hurt feelings. You think the CEO of Starbucks doesn’t know his plastic cups are suffocating the planet?

That sea turtles have them stuck on their heads like fucking party hats?

But to lead an organization like that, you’ve got to be willing to say, fuck the turtles, what my board wants is plastic cups, and I serve at the pleasure of the board.

It’s the same here—I don’t want to be concerned about the narrative, but it’s literally my job to think about this from all angles. You’re already all over the tabloids—”

“Wait, what ?”

“I’m handling it. The important thing is, of course in theory I want to run off together, but you don’t get what that means in practice .

Do you want paparazzi staked out in front of your apartment?

Do you want me to get sued by an entire television network?

Do you want the narrative to get so out of control that all of a sudden you’ve got Bennett Charles giving interviews about how you used him, lied to him, cheated on him?

” Peter held his hands up. “I get it—it’s not like that—but it doesn’t matter what it’s like.

What matters is who’s in control of the story, and right now, thanks to your little escape routine, it’s not us. ”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Edie said, her tone saccharine. “I’m so sorry that being abandoned by a man who may or may not love me is triggering for me.” She slit her eyes. “I see now it was inconvenient for you.”

“I didn’t abandon you! I left because I needed to figure out what we were going to do!”

“Exactly!” Edie pointed a finger at him, victorious. “That’s not how relationships work, Peter. You don’t leave and decide what’s going to happen next. We decide together what’s going to happen next.”

For a second, Peter felt like he’d been slugged.

He’d never once considered that perhaps he should get her input on how they should proceed.

And then, all at once, he realized that at no point when he was lying there losing his mind did he ever think, even for a second, that he could turn to her and ask what to do.

Or even just seek comfort in her arms. This knowledge, that Peter had no idea how to actually be a partner to anyone, took his breath away.

“I just… I just…” Edie wiped a tear with the back of her hand. “I just don’t understand why you have to be so disappointing,” she said finally.

The truth of that statement was almost too much to bear. Without thinking, Peter struck back. “Maybe because I’m an actual fucking person, Edie, not just some idea you made up in your head. And maybe if you’d drop the romcom bullshit and meet me here in the real world, we could work it out.”

Edie took a step back like she’d been slapped. Immediately he was filled with regret.

“Edie—”

Peter’s phone began to ring. He fished it out of his pocket. Carole Steele. Fuck. “Just give me a second.” Peter braced himself for whatever came next. “Hi, Carole.”

“Peter, I look at you and I think, ‘How in the hell did men ever rule the world?’ you’re so fucking stupid.”

“Good to hear from you, Carole,” Peter said flatly. He paced the living room. “I’m happy to report we’re close to getting today’s drama worked out.”

“I’m so glad to hear it. Except it’s just like a man to take credit for a woman’s work.”

Peter’s stomach dropped—what in the hell was Carole talking about?

Sweat pricked his neck and his ears started to ring, like the tinny sound of trumpets, far away but increasing.

He paced past the coffee table. Beneath a sweating glass of water was a yearbook, flopped open to a spread of senior portraits.

One in particular—one Peter was all too familiar with by now—was framed in a thick, hand-drawn, heart.

Suddenly, Peter was struck by the fact that Edie never explicitly said she was falling in love with him, too.

And that, perhaps, he’d just decided that she was.

“Once it became clear you couldn’t bring this over the finish line, I stepped in,” Carole continued. “So why don’t you meet me outside. We’ll have a little chat.”

Suddenly Peter couldn’t breathe. Carole Steele was here? In Chicago?

The sound of trumpets was rising, louder now, and Edie was at the window. There was a whoosh of air as Lauren rushed to join her. Drums. Cymbals. Flutes. The cacophony came closer and closer until he understood what Carole had done.

She’d taken over.