Some Like It Perfect (A Temporary Engagement) (7 page)

Justine was still smiling when she got home.

I haven’t seen what I didn’t want in you.

As far as declarations of love went, that was pretty pathetic. But she knew exactly what he meant because she hadn’t seen what she didn’t want in him, either.

Sometimes she thought love was like a flowchart.

Does this man attract you physically? Yes, continue to the next step. No, return to the beginning.

Keep moving and see if you could make it to the end of the maze or if it was back to the beginning with someone else.

And she knew that her sixteen-year-old self would be looking on with horror. Would see that as a business transaction.

She’d wanted that knight on his white horse. She’d wanted a man to swoop in and sweep her off her feet. To make her forget everything and everyone. To have the fairy tale.

But that wasn’t what real life was like. Only sixteen-year-olds
could
get swept off their feet. The older a woman got the less likely it became because the older you got the more you realized that getting swept off your feet was a little. . .dangerous.

Getting swept off your feet meant you weren’t expecting him to do whatever it was that bowled you over which meant you didn’t really know him.

Romantic love, fairy-tale love, was ignorant.

It was hopeful, and maybe hopeful
was
romantic, but Justine thought that really it was just stupid.

She went straight to her closet, pulling down her overnight bag and digging through her closet.

When Delia came home, Justine’s entire wardrobe was piled on her bed. Delia stopped in the doorway and raised her eyebrows.

Justine held a sheer robe up, clasping it to her chest and twirling. “His place this weekend.” She stopped twirling. “I was a complete wreck in his office. I cried. I told him I was thirty-six.”

She closed her eyes at the memory and Delia said, “And now his place this weekend so it must not have been too weird for him.”

Justine chuckled weakly and opened her eyes. “Do you think he’s telling his friend right now that it got weird? Don’t answer that.”

Delia just smiled at her.

Justine said, “We’re going to alternate weekends. He’ll be here next Saturday.”

Delia groaned. “I guess I’ll be finding a new apartment this week. I can’t unsee Paul wearing his Ralph Lauren boxers.”

“Boxer briefs,” Justine said and Delia held up a hand, shaking her head.

“Please, stop.” Then Delia sighed. “Boxer briefs. I should have guessed that.”

Justine held up two sweaters, a classy argyle and a tight pink, and Delia pointed to the tight pink one. Justine folded it up and placed it neatly in the bag.

Delia came all the way into the bedroom, digging through the clothes and taking all the classy wool slacks and button-up shirts out.

She said, “Jeans and sweaters. And no lingerie.”

Delia took the sheer robe, hanging it back up in the closet. “This weekend will be comfortable and cozy. Don’t cook for him the whole time, don’t clean up after him. Start as you mean to go on.”

Justine sat on the bed and put her head between her knees. She breathed in and out and mumbled, “I thought moving forward would feel good. But now I’m thinking if it ends after this I’ll have to go through this again. If it ends after this, it will be worse.”

Delia sat next to her, rubbing her back. “Repeat after me: I have been given this life.”

Justine groaned. Not Delia’s
the universe will provide, if it happens it happens, isn’t this life just wonderful as it is
shtick.

Delia said, “I have been given this life.”

Justine sighed and repeated, “I have been given this life.”

“Whether it is for one year or one hundred years is not for me to say.”

“Whether it is for one year or one hundred years is not for me to say.”

“All I can do is take what is given me and make it my own.”

Justine sat up. “Your mother made you say this?”

Delia said, “Yes. All I can do is take what is given me and make it my own.”

“All I can do is take what is given me and make it my own.”

Justine had never met Delia’s parents. They never left the commune and Delia never went back.

Delia talked to them once a year– the same time, the same day, every year. And that was it. Delia didn’t even talk about them a lot. She took what she wanted from them and left the rest behind.

Whereas Justine talked to her mother all the time. Whereas Justine’s mother asked her every time they talked how it was going with Paul.

Delia said, “It was sort of her own personal serenity prayer. She said it a lot to herself and when I was in the throes of a teenage temper tantrum, she’d make me say it. And I’ll give this to Mom, it has just the right amount of acceptance for the things I can’t control along with the knowledge that there are still things I can.”

Justine blew out her breath. “Your mother is nothing like mine. My mother knows I’d be married if I wanted to be so, therefore, I must be doing this to torture her.”

Delia chuckled. “Marriage is not all it’s cracked up to be. I don’t know why she’s in such a rush to get you there.”

Justine didn’t know either. In rare clear moments she wondered what the rush was. And then she remembered, children. She was on a deadline.

“Every parent I know wants their children to hurry up and get married. Yours are the anomaly.”

Delia smiled at her. “Yes, my parents are an anomaly. They are also not married so maybe that’s why they don’t care if I am. I expect they’d be happy for me if I found someone to share my life with like they have.”

“Don’t they want grandchildren?”

“Last time I talked to them they had five babies in the commune. They have grandbabies.”

Justine thought one day she’d like to go visit this commune. It didn’t sound like a cult; it sounded weird and alien but like a group of people who wanted something different and had made it.

Northern California was like that. Justine didn’t miss it very much. She liked being able to guess what people were going to do.

Justine went and got the sheer robe back out of the closet. “I’ve been given a chance with Paul and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work.”

“Just be yourself. That’s who you want him to fall for, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. But can’t I ease him in gently?”

Delia laughed at her friend. “Yes. Ease him in gently. But don’t be something you’re not.” She grabbed one end of the robe and pulled. “This isn’t you.”

“I cannot wear my flannel pajama set the first weekend we live together.” Her flannel pajamas were covered in smiling jack-o’-lanterns. Why couldn’t she just have bought plaid? Why did she have to have silly seasonal pajamas? She was a serious professional woman with jack-o’-lantern pajamas!

“What is Paul going to be wearing?” Delia closed her eyes and held up one hand. “Don’t tell me, just think about it.”

What
would
Paul be wearing? Justine couldn’t imagine him running out and buying something to impress her for their first weekend living together.

If he had any leopard-print bikinis, he’d probably be hiding them.

Delia said softly, “You think if you were just better and prettier and could bake better cookies and wear sexier clothes, you would have what you want. Justine, you can do everything
right
and not get what you want. That’s just how life is.” Delia waved her hand at the overnight bag. “If this is all you will ever be given, enjoy it, live it. As yourself.”

“Like you’re enjoying painting your corporate shill’s ceiling?”

“Yes. We went out to lunch.”

Justine dropped her end of the robe and put her hands on her hips. “You went out to lunch with the CEO?”

Delia nodded. She balled up the robe and stuffed it down her pants.

Justine made a face. “Ew. But that will not distract me. The CEO is rich, he’s handsome, and you went out to lunch with him?”

“He’s disgustingly rich. He’s beautiful, not handsome. And yes, I went out to lunch with him. And his sister.”

Justine shook her head. “What is going on in that office all day long?”

“Teenage drama, mostly. And when that’s taking a break, I paint and he types.” She smiled. “I did get him to admit Adele has an old soul.”

Justine’s eyes widened in horror. “What are you doing?”

Delia sighed. “I know, I need to leave him alone. But he’s so uptight and perfect. I don’t think the man even knows how to be unkempt. There is
nothing
on his desk. He sits there and works and never has any fun. Doesn’t listen to music. I bet he doesn’t even pull up any porn, even when I’m not there.”

Justine said, “You’re sketching him.”

“He’s beautiful. When am I going to have another model that beautiful to work from again?”

“Does he know you’re sketching him?”

“Of course not. It’s probably in the confidentiality agreement somewhere.
Thou shalt not sketch the master
. No matter how much he makes my fingers tingle, no matter that he was made to be immortalized.”

Justine closed her eyes. “Oh, God. Please let Paul look over that agreement you signed.”

“Why? I already signed it. I prefer not to know what’s in it.”

“You prefer to be surprised when they come for everything you own?”

Delia nodded, then her head wobbled. “He’d wait until I had something and then he would pounce, wouldn’t he?”

Justine nodded.

“I can’t not paint him. I can’t. Even if it is in there, I can’t not paint him.”

“Then don’t sleep with him. Just choose one.”

Delia muttered, “I
told
him he had to stop smiling at me.” Then, “You think he wants that from me?”

Justine dug through the clothes again. She could wear jeans and sweaters this weekend. She could wear yoga pants to bed. She
could
, she didn’t
have
to wear pajamas.

Justine folded the yoga pants and put them in the bag. She said, “Why wouldn’t he?
Oh, Ms. Woodson, you dropped a little paint right here. Would you come clean it up, with your mouth.
”

Delia sat down on the bed, laughing, and pulled the yoga pants back out, waving them in the air. “You’re not doing yoga this weekend, bring the pajamas. And how many bosses have tried to get you to clean off their paintbrush?”

“None. Because I am a professional who would shove their paintbrush down their throat. What would you do? Stand there and say,
you want that from me
?”

“Well, even if I would sleep with him, and honestly, what woman wouldn’t, he doesn’t want that from me.”

“Delia, he’s rich and beautiful. Men like that take what they want.”

“I get that. But he doesn’t want me. I guarantee it.”

Justine picked up her jack-o’-lantern pajamas and stared at them unhappily. “Stop talking to him. Don’t go to lunch with him.”

“You were telling me not to get fired just a few days ago.”

“Don’t get fired. Don’t take your pants off. Those two pieces of advice are not mutually exclusive.”

Delia grabbed the pajama bottoms, leaving Justine with the top. “There. Those tops with some orange panties and it’ll say you’re seasonally sexy. And lunch was a one-time thing. I’m not going to take my pants off even if I sometimes think I’d like to. I won’t ask him to take his pants off so I can sketch all of him, even though I’m certain I’d like that.”

“Delia, I’ll take your advice if you take mine.” Justine rummaged through her underwear drawer until she found her orange underwear, because yes, she did dress seasonally. She’d never tried seasonally sexy, though. “Don’t go with the flow on this one. The flow is leading you underneath a perfect asshole and I can’t think of anyone worse for you than that.”

Delia fanned herself, then shook her head, clearing it. “I’ve got a plan. And I promise you, it does not involve Jack Cabot.”

Justine took a long, deep breath. “Well, then, you’ll be fine.”

She would be. Delia was always fine, no matter what happened.

Justine was the one sitting here wondering if she could wear pajama tops without the bottoms. Wondering if she left the top unbuttoned if Paul would be distracted enough to not notice the maniacally-smiling pumpkins.

Delia walked out, the robe still stuffed in her pants, and Justine decided that this was the best she could do.

Paul stared at the office lights in the next building over. Stared, wide-eyed.

He liked Justine. And seeing her more, living with her on the weekends did feel good.

Scary, especially if she was going to keep crying.

But Justine was always intense. She was structured and intense, and he liked that about her. She didn’t hem and haw, she didn’t waffle. She was focused and put together.

Usually. Most of the time. And he liked that most of the time, too. When it wasn’t focused on him.

But he was a lawyer and he could hide what he was thinking, what he was feeling. And maybe that’s what she needed. Someone who didn’t react when she went all intense.

She wanted to get married. She wanted kids.

He wanted that, too. He just wasn’t sure he was ready.

He was sure
they
weren’t ready. But he was comfortable taking it another step, another step with her.

Living together on the weekends, giving each other keys. Baby steps. Baby steps toward a finish line he wasn’t sure he was ready to cross.

He stopped staring wide-eyed at the next building over and smiled because here he was, hemming and hawing. Where was Justine when he needed her?

He called his sister because she always knew what everybody should do.

“Paulie! Oh, thank God for another adult. When do you think baby brain ends? By the time the kid turns eighteen?”

He looked at the picture of his chubby niece that he kept on his desk. “Mom got over it pretty quick. I don’t think you need to worry about it.”

“Mom is not a good example. Mom gave birth between lectures. She didn’t even take a week off, let alone a whole year. My brain is atrophying.”

Paul closed his eyes at the mental picture of his mother dashing between lectures to push him and his sister out. Mom had always said it was her fault for not planning better, for not having them during summer break. She’d always said she didn’t know why she hadn’t learned her lesson the first time with Paul.