The Perfect Life (20 page)

“What is that?” Oliver scowled at the gallon of milk I’d just set in the shopping cart. “Does that stuff even come from a cow?”

Confused, I lifted the carton up in the air and skimmed over the label, thinking maybe I’d grabbed the wrong thing by mistake. Once I realized I hadn’t, I cut my eyes over at him and gave him the what-in-the-world-are-you-talking-about look. “Of course it comes from a cow,” I scoffed. “It’s fat-free, organic milk. You said you needed some for your cereal, right?”

With a snicker, he shook his head and walked around the cart, taking the milk out of my hands and placing it back in the cooler. Then, shuffling farther down the dairy section a few feet, he reached down and pulled out a gigantic plastic jug of chocolate milk. Donning a huge grin, he proudly placed the replacement milk in the cart and gave me a triumphant nod. “You can’t ruin Peanut Butter Captain Crunch with that healthy crap you picked. Chocolate milk is the only way to go. Please tell me you’ve tried it before.”

“Uhhh . . . no. I’ve never tried any kind of Captain Crunch, not with regular or chocolate milk,” I laughed. “Actually, I’ve never had any kind of cereal, unless you count granola or oatmeal.”

“What? No cereal?!” Oliver’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. “Surely you ate some when you were a kid.”

“Nope. Never.” I shook my head emphatically.

Moving back to the rear of the cart so he could push it down the aisle, he continued to gape at me in disbelief. “Really? Not even like the gross stuff like Shredded Wheat or Raisin Bran?”

“I’m serious. Not even the gross stuff.”

He stopped momentarily to add butter, sour cream, and cream cheese to the growing pile of food, and then resumed his skeptical questioning as we headed toward the bakery. “How is that even possible? I mean, even if your mom didn’t keep it in the house for whatever reason, how did you not try it when you spent the night with friends or went on vacation? Cereal is like a staple of all kids’ diets. It should probably be its own food group.”

I shrugged nonchalantly, pretending to read the nutritional facts on the back of a package of pita bread crackers while strolling next to him. “I dunno. I didn’t grow up like most kids. I didn’t stay out over at friends’ houses, and at home, we had a personal chef who did all of the shopping and cooking, so I ate what was put in front of me . . . which was always whatever my mom wanted. She was very strict and disciplined about her diet. We usually had egg whites with fresh fruit, or something similar. Then, when I went away to boarding school, I had a meal plan, so it was pretty much the same thing. I ate whatever the cafeteria was serving that day. And I can assure you, my ass is thankful it was never a bowl of sugary cereal with chocolate milk, or I’d have lived on the elliptical machine when I wasn’t studying,” I joked to hide the mixture of disappointment and embarrassment coursing through me.

Glancing up, I was surprised to find him staring so intently at me, and although I had a hard time placing the expression brewing in his fascinating eyes, there was no denying my body’s physical response to his attention. Much like the first time I met him, and several occurrences since, goose bumps prickled over my skin as warmth arose in my core. He looked at me like no one had ever looked at me before, and it was equally as unnerving as it was exhilarating. I never wanted him to stop.

“What?” I questioned in a hushed voice once I realized we’d been standing in front of the baguette stand, staring at each other for who knew how long. “Is the cereal a deal-breaker on the friendly colleague thing?”

Oliver barked out a laugh, my words obviously breaking him free of whatever train of thought he’d been lost in. “No, Rizzo.” He shook his head as he began moving forward again with the cart. “It’s not a deal-breaker, but you are aware it’s the first thing I’m making you eat when we get back to the apartment, right? I don’t care how long you’re gonna have to work out later. I promise every bite will be worth it.”

Half an hour later, as I sat at his table slurping down the remnants of my first—but definitely not last—bowl of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch with chocolate milk, I could see the I-told-you-so smile dancing in the creases next to his eyes, and once again, he was right . . . it was
sooo
worth it. And I was starting to think he might be too.

“It is ripping me

apart knowing

that I am loving

you with only

a broken version

of me.

I can only hope

that it is enough.

My god,

please be enough.”

–Christopher Poindexter

Monroe

WHEN I LEFT
Oliver’s apartment late that afternoon, I wasn’t quite ready to be alone with my thoughts or to face the emptiness of my house. I hadn’t seen or talked to Colin since our argument the night before—not even as much as a simple text message either way. We had never fought before, and I hated it. He was the one person who was supposed to support and love me no matter what, and for him to react the way he had, I was not only disappointed, but I was hurt. He, of all people, should’ve known what a big deal it was for me to come to him with something like that, and how I most definitely wouldn’t have taken it lightly. Part of me had expected him to call or text an apology at some point throughout the day, once he realized how insensitive and hypocritical he had been, but the message never came. And instead, I was left alone to deal with the onslaught of emotions I was feeling, not only about Oliver, but about Colin too.

Confusion.

Guilt.

Self-doubt.

Exhilaration.

Remorse.

Desire.

I was a damn mess.

It was the first time I wished I had a girlfriend to confide in, but honestly, Allison was the closest thing I had to that, and I wasn’t about to burden her with my issues while she was preparing to start her chemotherapy treatments. Plus, I didn’t want her to feel guilty about having Oliver taking her place in Boston, seeing that none of this probably would’ve happened had she been the one training me.
No, that definitely wasn’t an option
. So, I went to the one place I knew would make me forget about all of my own issues and put a smile on my face: the Suffolk County Children’s Home.

The moment I stepped inside the building, all of my personal worries and troubles were left with my coat at the door, and I was free to be whatever the kids needed me to be, whether it be a teacher, a counselor, a supporter, or even just a friend. And some nights, it was all of the above. I didn’t mind at all. The one thing I knew, without a doubt, was that regardless of everything else,
they
were worth it.

“Monroe! Monroe! You’re here again! Two days in a row!” six-year-old Alex shouted when he saw me appear inside the rec room, just after I’d checked in with the evening advisors on duty. Dropping his game controller, he sprinted over to me and threw himself around my leg, squeezing me with all his might.

Laughing, I pried him off my boot and lifted him up in my arms. “Hey, big guy! I’m happy to see you too!” I exclaimed, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Are you already finished with all of your homework to be playing games?”

He nodded as I lowered his feet back to the ground, his mega-watt grin staying in place. “Yes’m. Miss Lovell says I’m the smartest boy in the whole wide world, and that one day I’m gonna be the Present of the Unitard States. They may even make money with me on it!”

“Money with you on it?!” I gave him my best I’m-so-impressed face as I hid my chuckle. “That’s pretty remarkable, buddy. I hope it happens though. I know I’ll vote for you.”

“Do you think Dr. Saxon would do magic tricks with my money? That would be so cool, right? I bet he’ll vote for me too so he can have my money!” I didn’t think it was possible, but Alex’s small freckled face lit up even more when he thought about the possibility of Oliver doing silly magic tricks with dollar bills that had his face on them. In just one afternoon with the kids, he’d already made a lasting impression.

“I’m sure he will,” I agreed as I tapped my finger gently on the tip of his nose, pretending his mention of Oliver didn’t completely knock me off-kilter. “You just need to keep doing so well in school, and Dr. Saxon and I will take care of all the votes. Deal?”

Holding his child-sized hand out in my direction, he waited for me to rest mine inside of his before shaking it and repeating, “Deal.” Then, like a gust of autumn wind, he took off back toward the TV, plopped down with his controller, and resumed his game.

I smiled as I scanned the rest of the room, pleased to find Aaron playing checkers with one of the boys close to his age and Heather curled up in a beanbag chair with a book. Not surprisingly, JoJo wasn’t with the rest of the group, so after I said hello to the others, I trudged up the stairs to her room, hoping she was in a better mood than the day before. However, just before I reached the top of the steps, my phone chimed inside my purse, alerting me of a new text. Stopping at the top of the landing, I fished it out of the bottom of my bag and glanced down at the screen.

Colin: Are you at home?

Sighing, I quickly typed out a reply. Usually when I got that text, it was because he needed me to bring him something up to the practice field, and though I normally didn’t mind, I was still extremely irritated with him and didn’t want to leave the house, especially since I’d just gotten there.

Me: No, I’m at the SC house. I was gonna eat dinner with the kids. Why? What’s up?

Colin: Oh ok. No worries. I’ll just talk to you when I get home tonight. I had a question about our insurance.

Our insurance?!
Was he serious? As if the belittling and patronizing me wasn’t bad enough, he’d offered up his boyfriend like he was loaning me his lawn mower or something . . . all without so much as an ‘I’m sorry’ afterward. And then he wanted to
ask me a question about our fucking insurance?!

My blood boiled inside my veins as I thought of at least fifty different ways I wanted to tell him to go screw himself, but I refused to allow him to ruin my time with the kids. One of the best things I ever learned in my years of therapy is that I held the power to decide what kind of mood I wanted to be in. Other people only affected that mood if I let them, and right then, I wasn’t giving Colin that privilege.

Me: Yeah, it’ll have to wait. Or maybe you can call our agent yourself. His number is in your contacts.

I hit send and then turned my phone on silent-mode before tossing it back in my purse and making my way down the hall to JoJo’s room. Grateful to discover the door open, I peeked my head inside and found her lying on the bed, thumbing through one of those ridiculously fictitious weekly tabloids you find in the checkout line of grocery stores. I bit my tongue as I refrained from commenting on her reading selection and knocked on the wooden frame with a warm smile. “You busy? Up for a little girl talk?”

For a fleeting second, I saw a speck of happiness in her big brown eyes when she peered up from the bound glossy pages and saw me, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Shrugging her shoulders, she looked back down at the pictures in front of her and mumbled, “Not busy, but don’t feel much like talking either.”

That was about as much of an invitation as I was ever going to get, so I accepted it as just that and joined her atop the twin-sized mattress. For a couple of minutes, we sat together quietly, the crinkle of the pages when she turned them the only sound filling the room. I’d learned early on after JoJo had arrived at the house to move slowly with her in both conversation and actions; otherwise, she became cagey and defensive, like a trapped animal. After her lash-out the day before, the last thing I wanted was to set her off again.

“I’m not sure if you were downstairs yesterday when I announced that we’d signed the contract on the house,” I said once I felt confident she was okay with my being there.

She nodded, but didn’t look up. “Yeah, Heather told me last night. So I guess this means you really are gonna be stuck with me, huh?”

My chest constricted at her self-deprecating words, even though I knew most of why she said them was so I’d tell her how much they weren’t true. The fact she needed me to reassure her that I didn’t feel ‘stuck’ with her, and that I truly ‘wanted’ her was the problem at its core. For as much of a tough-girl act that Jojo put on most of the time, the truth was she was an insecure thirteen-year-old girl who’d never been made to feel appreciated or cherished.