The Perfect Life (5 page)

“All of my what?” he demanded, matching her combative stance. “My debate club matches when we were in school? Never. My rowing meets? Only when Mom and Dad made you go, and even then, you spent the entire time flirting with the other guys on my team. And God forbid I ever bother you to come to one of my
boring
choir performances. You may be surprised to learn that your
only
sibling is actually pretty damn good at something too, not just the next-door neighbor that you’ve had a ridiculous crush on since you were in diapers.”

She glared at him, but didn’t deny his allegation, so he continued, “Shocking, I know, but the world doesn’t revolve around you, princess. It’s time to wake up and face reality; if
he
wanted to be with you, it would’ve happened a long time ago. He’s married and he’s happy. And if you want to continue to be a part of his life, you need to realize what that part is—it’s his friend. It’s the sweet little sister he never had, though I’m tempted to tell him you suck at that role.”

“You wouldn’t!” Her dark eyes grew wide with shock and filled with tears. “Seth, please . . .”

The young man fell for her theatrics and stepped toward her and pulled her into a hug, shaking his head. “No, of course, I wouldn’t,” he replied much softer, “but you’ve gotta stop this shit, Eff. It’s not worth losing him completely. He’ll always pick her.”

She sniffled and nodded then stepped back out of his embrace, plastering a fake smile on her face. “You’re right, smarty pants. I guess that’s why you got the big brains and I got the good looks,” she teased in a blatant attempt to distract and deter. “I’ll stay a little while longer, but I’m still gonna go meet some of my friends at King Street Tavern in a bit.”

“Sounds good. Now let’s go rejoin everyone before Colin sends out a search party for us.”

The two of them sauntered away, so caught up in whatever the hell
that
was all about that neither of them ever once looked in my direction. A little overwhelmed by the entire night, I picked up my glass, took a sip of the chest-warming amber liquid, and moved away from the bar and over to a vacant spot by the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned across an entire wall.

Peering out into the Boston night skyline, I couldn’t help but be impressed, and for a few moments, I forgot all about the scene taking place behind me. The brilliant city lights dimmed gradually until they disappeared altogether into the black water of the Massachusetts Bay. The view from that high up was like nothing I’d ever seen before, and internally, I vowed to myself to begin visiting more places.

Prior to completing graduate school seven years ago, the only state I’d been in, other than Illinois, was Missouri, as I was born and raised miles inside the shared state borders. Even after earning my doctorate, I’d thrown myself into my work and music in Chicago, never taking the time to travel too far away from my adult home. But after spending only two days in Boston, I was ready to see more. More of Boston. More of the country. More of the world.

“So what do you think?” Allison’s voice startled me, as I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t even notice her slip up next to me.

I greeted her with a friendly smile then returned my focus to the scenery. “Breathtakingly beautiful.”

Snickering under her breath, she nudged my arm with her shoulder. “I know what you thought of Monroe. I was asking your opinion of Boston.”

“You think you’re a lot funnier than you really are,” I teased, pausing to bring the glass of Glenlivet up to my mouth and swallowing back a healthy portion before finishing my thought. “But I’ve found them both to be quite remarkable, thank you very much. She’s going to do great things here. The people adore her.”

“That they do. It’s hard not to,” she agreed with an emphatic nod. “And you’re right, she’s got the drive, the determination, and the resources to do whatever she sets her heart and mind to. I just feel blessed that she found her calling with us at Mending Hearts.”

I grumbled an “Indeed,” not knowing what else to say as I reached up and tugged on the shirt collar that seemed to suddenly shrink. Talking about the woman I’d spent most of the evening gawking at like a teenaged-boy with his first nudie magazine made me uncomfortable. I wanted to change the subject, but before I could think of a different topic, Allison began speaking again. “Can you meet me at the hotel restaurant for lunch tomorrow? Say 12:30? I have an offer to make you that I’m hoping you’ll be interested in.”

“An offer?” The mystery in her voice piqued my interest and I quirked my eyebrow up with cat-killing curiosity.

“Tomorrow.” Then she disappeared as quickly as she’d appeared, and I was left pondering and speculating a million different ideas without having much clue about what I was trying to figure out. I slipped out of the gala shortly after that, forgoing Allison’s ridiculous suggestion earlier in the night that I take part in the dancing portion of the event. All I wanted was to get back to my hotel room, take a shower, and go to sleep, so the next morning would arrive as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately, as I tossed and turned for hours upon hours in the dark of the night, held captive by my out-of-control racing thoughts that didn’t have an off-switch, I finally turned the television on and began surfing through the channels. Passing over infomercials, news channels, and a rerun of
Law & Order
that I’d previously seen, I landed on the American Movie Classics channel and my entire body froze, the remote control sliding out of my rigid hands onto the mattress. Plain as day, smack dab in front of me, Danny Zuko and Sandy D. were dancing their way across the carnival and my hotel television screen, singing ‘You’re the One That I Want’ as I watched in awe.
What were the fucking odds?

The last thing I remembered before falling asleep with a stupid-ass smile on my face was picturing Monroe in a pair of skintight, black leather pants with red kitten heels, singing the
Grease
soundtrack to me. It was a good thing I didn’t have to face her again before I went back home.

“The problem with love

these days is that society

has taught the human

race to stare at people

with their eyes rather

than their souls.”

–Christopher Poindexter

Monroe

THE SCREECHING ALARM
clock mocked me from across my bedroom. The bright red numbers on the display read 6:30, but I swore it lied. There was no way it could already be time to get up; I’d just laid my head on the pillow five minutes before. At least that’s what it felt like.

The night at the gala had run late. Real late. With Colin and Allison by my side, the three of us stayed until the very last guest had left, thanking everyone for coming out and showing their support. Encouraging words accompanied by checks with multiple zeroes made every excruciating moment of balancing in those deathtraps called stilettos worth it. The early tally of donations before we left totaled close to twelve million dollars—more than enough to purchase a property for the location of the Mending Hearts’ home, as well as cover a couple years of operating expenses. I’d already narrowed down the final selection to two locations, both well within the budget. It was all I’d hoped for and so much more, and I was over-the-moon ecstatic when I’d gotten home, but thoroughly exhausted.

Rolling off of my way-too-comfy, pillow-top mattress, I slugged across the room and slammed my hand down to stop the maddening noise. I’d purposely set the alarm up on the dresser instead of the nightstand so I’d be forced to actually get out of bed to turn it off, preventing me from hitting the snooze button multiple times while staying warm and cozy under the sheets. I’d discovered that method worked best when I was in boarding school, when there was no one else around to ensure I was up and at class on time. There was a switch in my head that flipped when I was up and on my feet, demanding I stay up for good. And although I yawned and stared longingly at the jumbled-up covers calling out to me to rejoin them for a few more hours, I slipped on a black sports bra and matching yoga pants, brushed my teeth, put my hair in a ponytail, and then headed downstairs to the state-of-the-art home gym in the basement of our recently-renovated Beacon Hill residence. I was begrudgingly ready to start the day.

My workout proved to be more of a struggle than it usually was. I was panting like a dog on a hot summer day and pouring sweat before I even finished the fifteen-minute warm up on the elliptical. I openly cursed myself for the fourth glass of wine I had the previous night. I knew when I accepted it that I’d pay the price, yet that thought didn’t make me feel any better as I could actually smell the Sauvignon Blanc in my perspiration.

Moving to the leg press machine, I attempted to focus on the beat of the song that played loudly through the surround-sound speakers. It was a catchy new release I’d heard frequently on the radio, but my concentration was shot, and no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get in the zone. Refusing to give up, I powered through for a little over an hour and a half, and by the time I turned the lights and music off, I felt a little more like myself. A sticky, sweaty, smelly version of myself that desperately needed a shower.

The second I opened the door of the sound-proofed room, I was assaulted by a mixture of rich, flavorful aromas descending down the stairs from the main floor. Bacon, coffee, and maple syrup. What wasn’t to love? My stomach growled ferociously in response, and not wasting any more time, I bounded up the steps two at a time to my master bathroom, rushing to get clean so I could dig into whatever deliciousness that was being prepared in the kitchen.

It was too early to get dressed for the lunch I had scheduled with Allison at her hotel, so I opted for another pair of yoga pants (a staple of my wardrobe since college), gray this time, and a navy Patriots tank top before heading back downstairs. In the three years we lived in this house, I still hadn’t gotten used to all of the levels and the maneuvering up-and-down steps. I knew one day my thighs and ass would thank me for the bonus workouts they got each day.

My mom’s place in California—the one I’d grown up in until she shipped me off to Brentwood Prep Academy—was close in square footage to ours, but that’s where the similarities ended. Where her two-story Mediterranean villa sprawled out over a considerable chunk of land in an exclusive gated community, our five-level home (which included the completed basement and roof-top deck) was nestled in between two other old Colonial-style brick row houses on Chestnut Street, a road traveled daily by thousands upon thousands of locals and tourists alike, smack dab in the heart of Beantown, U.S.A., a name only used by people who weren’t originally from there. People like me.

“What in the world is all this?” I asked with a chuckle, hovering under the archway that separated the living room and kitchen. “Did you invite the offensive line over for breakfast or something?”

Colin, still dressed in his pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt, whisked something feverishly at the stove while I gaped at the steaming, mouth-watering spread on the butcher-block kitchen island. Buttery scrambled eggs. Waffles. French toast. Crispy bacon. Sausage. Hash browns. Flaky buttermilk biscuits. And fresh strawberries with homemade whipped cream to top it all off. I’m pretty sure I gained five pounds just looking at it all. So much for that workout.

“I’d need a lot more food than this, if that was the case,” he contended as he shot me a teasing smile. Momentarily abandoning the baked beans in the saucepan, he set the wooden spoon down on the counter, turned the heat down to low, and closed the distance between us to kiss my forehead. “Morning, gorgeous. I’d give you a proper hug, but my hands are all greasy. How was your workout?”

I scrunched my nose up and gave a sharp shake of my head. “It sucked.”

His chest shook with laughter as he bent down to rub the tip of his nose against mine. An Eskimo kiss, it was called, according to Colin. My mom wasn’t big on any kind of kisses, hugs, or demonstrations of love for anyone other than her current boyfriend or husband, and since I’d never had a boyfriend before him, it took me some time after Colin and I started dating to get used to his open displays of affection—both public and private—but soon . . . soon I began to love them. To live for them. They were my drug. He was my drug. All I needed to keep my perfect world balanced and myself grounded.