Meant to Be Podcast
Alec and Luna
Kelsey: Welcome, listener, to the Meant to Be Podcast, where we talk to madly-in-love couples about the way they met. Alec and Luna, thank you so much for joining me today.
Alec: Our pleasure. Luna could not stop raving about you.
Luna: Guilty. I’m obsessed with this podcast.
Kelsey: Thank you so much. So then, you must know how we run things over here. The intro is you two giving us a quick rundown on your meet-cute. Think you can do it?
Luna: We can.
Alec: She made me practice.
Kelsey: Ha-ha. Well then, take it away. How did you two become meant to be?
Luna: My brother got engaged to his boyfriend and they couldn’t afford a big, fancy wedding, so I signed him up for a DIY wedding show called The Wedding Game.
Alec: My brother, Thad, was a groomzilla and wanted to win the grand prize at the end of the show, an apartment overlooking Central Park, and laid a guilt trip to force me to help.
Luna: First day of shooting, Alec assumed I was a PA and demanded I get him coffee.
Alec: Asked, not demanded. Let’s keep things straight, but, yes, I did. And you can imagine how the little spitfire next to me reacted.
Luna: I had it out for him. He was the competition and he was going down.
Alec: I didn’t care about the competition at all and was counting down the days until it was done. Then I realized what a bad brother I was being and how sad Thad was, so . . . I put in the effort.
Luna: Effort meant following me around a baking store so he could learn how to bake a cake.
Alec: I knocked over some nuts, and she helped me pick them up and found me out. She took pity on me and showed me how to bake a cake to help Thad.
Luna: That day in my apartment changed everything. I didn’t see him as competition. I saw him as a brother trying to make a difference.
Alec: She’s a sucker for family, and so shortly after that, I asked her out.
Luna: We got married last spring.
“CAN you two stop making out? Honestly, I came here to have dinner with you, not see you lick each other’s faces.”
Lottie pauses and looks over her shoulder. “But he smells so good. Have you smelled him?”
“I haven’t, because he’s not my boyfriend.”
Huxley twists Lottie off him onto the outdoor couch they’re sharing and lifts her chin to his lips. “I’m going to go check on the pizza.” He presses the lightest of kisses to her lips and then stands. “Kelse, can I get you a refill on your drink?”
I hold up my wineglass to him and say, “Please, thank you.”
Huxley has the best wines. He doesn’t drink much of it, so I always make a point to put a dent in his labels when I’m over for dinner, which is at least once a week. And eating outside is always my choice. Huxley and Lottie have a gorgeous, coastal-style house with white walls and black accents just outside Beverly Hills in The Flats. The backyard has a breathtaking infinity pool that stretches the length of the property and expensive yet massively comfortable patio furniture. Tall palm trees add privacy. Their backyard is my favorite place.
When he disappears into the house, Lottie leans toward me and asks, “Kelsey, you know that vibrator I showed you the other night?”
“Yes?”
She looks over her shoulder, checking on Huxley, and then says, “I blacked out. He legit had to shake me back to consciousness. He won’t use it on me anymore even though I’m begging desperately for it.”
Keeping my expression neutral, I say, “Isn’t that lovely. Congratulations on the intense orgasm.”
Lottie’s brows tilt down. “Hey, am I sensing some sarcasm?”
“What clued you in?” I cross one leg over the other, wishing I didn’t ask for a refill on wine.
“Uh, the attitude. What the hell is going on?”
Sighing, I look my sister in the eye and say, “I’m very happy for you and Huxley and your love, but I’m the perpetually single one, and it’s hard to watch.”
“Are you jealous?” she asks.
“Yes,” I answer, not even trying to avoid the truth. Lottie is my best friend and I tell her everything, even if it makes me look bad. “I’m very jealous that you have this consuming relationship with a man who worships you, and I don’t even have one prospect.”
“That’s not true,” Lottie says as Huxley rejoins us, handing us both glasses of wine. “What about JP?”
“Oh, please,” I groan and then send my apologies to Huxley. “No offense to you since he’s your brother, but JP is a moron.”
“No offense taken. I agree with you,” Huxley says as he drapes his arm behind Lottie and pulls her against his side while bringing his beer bottle to his lips.
“How is he a moron?” Lottie asks.
“Where to start?” Huxley asks, looking so composed and regal. If Huxley, JP, and Breaker—their other brother—didn’t all look so much alike, I would question their relationship to each other.
I’ve always liked Huxley, even when Lottie hated him. It was easy to get along with him because he’s very business-minded, smart, and can remain impartial. He’s savvy with work decisions, enjoys helping, and loves deeply. He’s the total package. I’m very grateful Lottie found him, but God, if only JP had an ounce of Huxley in him, it would make being around him bearable.
“JP is fun, the kind of fun you need,” Lottie says. “I love you, Kelse, but you’re a bit uptight.”
“I am not uptight,” I defend. “I just know what I like and what I don’t like, and trust me when I say I don’t like JP. He’s annoying and thinks too highly of himself and, frankly, he’s far too messy for me.”
“All facts,” Huxley says. “Kelsey deserves better.”
“That’s your brother,” Lottie says.
“I’m aware, babe. But I agree with Kelsey. They aren’t a good match.”
“Thank you.” I sip my wine. “And since we’re on the topic, I’ll let you know I’m thinking about joining that local dating app. You know, the one with the blind date restaurant?”
“Wait, the one that Noely Clark from Good Morning, Malibu has boasted about? The one where she found love? What’s it called?”
“Going in Blind,” I say.
“Yes.” She snaps her finger at me. “Oh my God, didn’t you interview her and Jack on your podcast?”
I nod. “Yes, that’s where I got the idea. She was telling me all about it while we weren’t recording, and it seems really interesting. Like, maybe I could actually find someone like-minded.”
“How does it work?” Huxley asks.
“It’s all anonymous through an app, but everyone is put through a background check and screened to make sure there’s no catfishing. Then, the app matches you with people. You don’t know who the person is by name or what they look like, and you meet up at the restaurant, Going in Blind, where you share a meal together and see if you’re a match. Like a blind date.”
“That’s pretty neat,” Huxley says.
“I love it,” Lottie adds. “God, I should’ve thought of that when I was trolling for a rich husband.”
Huxley’s arm tightens around Lottie as he says, “I think you did pretty good for yourself.”
Lottie cups his cheek and pulls him in for a kiss. “I did decent, though you can be quite grumpy.”
I watch Huxley’s hand curl around my sister possessively as he whispers something into her ear. Ugh, great, you’re in love. WE ALL CAN SEE THAT!
I lean back in my chair and drain my wineglass, while they do some sort of secret whispering thing to each other which, frankly, I have no desire to be a part of. Not that they want me to be a part of it either.
What I would like is to be a part of a relationship like theirs where you’re so infatuated with each other that you completely forget the world around you and get lost in each other’s eyes.
I want to be worshipped.
I want to be important in someone’s life.
I want to be the person someone calls when they need advice or have big news . . . or just want to hear my voice.
I want to be surprised with flowers at my apartment door. Whisked away to somewhere I’ve never been. Thought of nearly every second of every day because I consume someone’s thoughts.
I want the real.
The ugly.
The pettiness that comes with relationships.
The teasing.
The arguments.
The laughs.
The love.
The romance.
I want it all. And sitting here, watching my sister experience exactly that, yes, it makes me jealous, but it also makes me realize that if I want all those things, I’m going to have to make them happen myself. I can’t sit back and wait.
If I want love, I need to go find it.
“OH GOD, I feel like throwing up,” I say as I shake my hands at my side. “Why did I think this was a good idea?”
“Because you want to be in a relationship,” Lottie says calmly from where she sits cross-legged on my bed.
“I do.” I nod as I stare at myself in my full-length mirror, examining the purple, strapless dress I chose for my date tonight. “I really want to be in a relationship.”
“And you yourself said this guy sounds nice. Likes dogs, has his own business—something you have in common—and has a secret desire to be in a boy band, which is charming.”
“It is.” I nod again, still staring at myself. “The boy band thing really got me.”
“And what was his favorite quote again?”
“‘Buzz, your girlfriend! Woof!’” I say, chuckling as I turn to the side, checking out my back.
Lottie chuckles too. “See, he seems like a good time as well.”
Now I turn toward Lottie and ask, “What if he’s the one?”
“Okay, you can’t go into this thinking like that. You need to be calm, composed, and just have fun. You can’t go all crazy romantic on him and ask him to have your babies fifteen minutes into the date.”
I give her a glaring look. “I would never do that.”
“Just checking, because earlier you asked me if purple accented your elbow pit veins too much. Who asks that?”
I flash my arms at Lottie and say, “Mom gave me these veins, and they are far too prominent. I don’t need the purple of this dress making them even more prominent.”
“With the way that dress makes your boobs look, I’m pretty sure the last thing he’s going to be looking at is your inner elbow veins.”
I clutch my chest. “Oh my God, do I look like I’m trying too hard?”
“Noooo,” Lottie moans. “You look perfect. Now, if you don’t leave soon, you’re going to be late and I know what you hate most in life is being late.”
“That’s true. Being late just means you’re either a ‘time bender’—that’s a real thing—or you don’t care about other people’s time. And time is the one thing in life you can’t get back.”
“Yes, I know.” Lottie stands from the bed and ushers me toward the door, but before she can push me out, I turn toward her and grip her arms.
“What if this is it, if he’s the one? I’m going to start sweating when I see him. I won’t be able to act cool. What if this is my one and only chance at love?”
“This is not your one and only chance. This is a blind date with a guy that some computer algorithm thought would be a good fit for you.”
“A proven algorithm. The success rate is as high as ninety percent. Do you know what kind of pressure that puts on me?”
“You’re overthinking this. It’s supposed to be fun.”
“Nothing about dating is fun. You lucked out with Huxley. Maybe I should walk a rich neighborhood, looking for a husband.”
“Or you could just go out with JP . . .”
That calms my nerves right away and I put distance between myself and my sister. “By now you should know I have zero interest in him. I’d have better luck dating a houseplant than JP Cane. Now”—I straighten out my dress—“if you will excuse me, I have a blind date to go on.”
“One mention of JP and you’re all fixed and ready to go?”
“Yes.” I pick up my purse and sling it over my shoulder. “Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that any date is better than a date with him.”
