Your Perfect Life (8 page)

“Well, you’ve really changed your tune about Casey.” She adds formula to a bottle and shakes it up. “Good for you.” Her words seem empty.

I’m about to ask her specifically what the hell Rachel’s been saying about me when I smell something foul. I look over at Charlotte, who has a very serious look on her face. Like she’s trying to come up with the answer to something really complicated, like how to solve global warming or understand why Paris Hilton is still considered a celebrity.

“Oh, someone’s got poopy face!” Hilary sings in a high-pitched voice.

There’s a face?

I pick up Charlotte carefully and quickly realize that this is not any ordinary poop. It’s like a nuclear explosion that seeped all over the Burberry outfit I bought for her a few months back and fished out of the back of her closet this morning.

“Oh, shit!” I shout.

“Rachel!” Hilary cries out and covers her baby’s ears. “Language!”

“Sorry,” I stammer as I frantically dig through the diaper bag to find the wipes. I pull them out and lay Charlotte on the quilt quickly, remembering too late that I should’ve put a changing pad down first. As I pull her pants off, poop spills out onto Hilary’s blanket and Charlotte’s poopy face has turned into a full-fledged grin. I smile, remembering Rachel’s warning that I’d better not let anyone see me sweat when it came to handling a number-two situation. Especially not a mom friend.

Hilary moves her things away, afraid of what might happen when I open the diaper.
You’re not the only one who’s afraid, sister.

Ten disgusting minutes and a whole package of wipes later,
I’ve got the problem under control. But now I understood why Rachel was so insistent that I pack an extra set of clothes. Too bad I didn’t listen.

After giving Hilary an awkward apology for getting poop on her blanket, blaming my amateur diaper-changing skills on a sleepless night, I grab Charlotte, clad only in a diaper, and make the walk of shame back to Rachel’s house, the $250 Burberry outfit I bought for her now lying in the bottom of a park trash can.

“Stop laughing!” I beg Rachel later as I tell her the story. We’ve locked ourselves in the den with Charlotte, going over every detail of each other’s day. Thankfully, she brought take-out with her for dinner and saved everyone from my cooking. I think the kids were wondering why their Aunt Casey had A) been thoughtful enough to bring dinner and B) seemed so incredibly overjoyed to see them. It was the first time we’d all been together in many months, and given our old switcheroo, I’d say it was awkward at best.

• • •

“Mom, can you pass the pasta?” Sophie asked me.

Rachel sprang out of her seat to grab it and I gave her a look and took it myself. “Here you go,” I said as I set it in front of her.

“Make sure you have some vegetables with that,” Rachel added. Everyone at the table looked at her like she had two heads.

“Aunt Casey, since when do you care what we eat?” Audrey laughed.

“Yes, Aunt Casey,” I said pointedly. “I’m perfectly capable of making sure the kids eat properly.”

“Sorry,” she said and poked her fork around her plate. “Just trying to help.”

“You can help by giving us all the latest scoop on Ryan McKnight!” Sophie chimed in. “Was he really cheating with that hooker in the hot tub?”

“Sophie!” Rachel and I scolded her in unison. I gave her another look.
Let me handle this. I can do it. Just trust me.

“That’s inappropriate dinner conversation,” I said to Sophie.

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes at me and pushed her plate away.

I could feel Rachel’s eyes burning into the side of my head. She wanted me to do something. But what? Did people still send kids to their room? I was trying to decide what to do when John interrupted me. “You are not allowed to talk to your mother that way. Hand over your cell phone for the night.”

“Dad! That is so unfair!” Sophie screamed as she got up from the table, grabbed her cell phone out of her backpack, and slammed it onto the table before running upstairs to her room and slamming the door too.

Relieved, I turned to John. “Thank you,” I said as I touched his arm.

He looked surprised at my gesture. “You’re welcome.”

Rachel cleared her throat next to me. “Ahem.”

“Sorry,” I whispered to her. And then when we realized the rest of the family was staring at me, I added, “I mean, sorry, you had to see that.”

“It’s totally fine,” she’d said. “I’m sure she does it
all the time
.”

“I hope not,” I said out loud before I could stop myself. Thankfully, everyone started laughing and I joined in, letting them think I was in on the joke.

• • •

In the privacy of the den, I finally get the chance to find out how things went for Rachel at
GossipTV
. “So, tell me every detail about your day.” I try to sound perky, not wanting to give away the fact that I’m terrified she got me fired.

Rachel bites her bottom lip and stares off for a moment. “I think I did pretty well. Like you said, it was kind of like riding a bike; it just came back to me.”

I exhale in relief. “I’m happy for you,” I say, although I’m happier for me. That job is all I have and I can’t afford to lose it. “That must have been fun, to get back out there.”

“It was,” she says slowly. “It reminded me that I used to be good at something other than being a mom.” Before I can comment, she adds, “Charlie seems nice.”

“He is. You can trust him.” Charlie and I had worked together for years. He was one of the best producers around and one of the few people on the show who I knew had my back. I decide not to mention our history to Rachel. No matter what happened between us, I know he’ll still look out for me, for her.

“Why have you never mentioned him?” she asks with a look I’ve seen before.

“Don’t even go there. Just because he’s the
one
nice guy who works in the studio does not mean he’s the right guy for me.”

She laughs. “Okay, okay, I get it. So let’s talk about Fiona then. Oh. My. God. She was so mean today. I know you warned me, but I had no idea how bad it really was.”

“She wants my job. She’s a barracuda. Be very careful with her,” I say, trying not to think that if Rachel can’t pull this off, if she can’t step into my shoes and do a great job, I could lose everything to Fiona. I don’t tell her this, not wanting to put more pressure on her than I already have. Rachel had always been right at home in front of the camera at our broadcasting stations
in high school and college. I prayed that Rachel was right and that it all came back to her today. We were about to find out. I pick up the remote control. “It’s going to start.”

Rachel doesn’t seem to hear me. “It just seems like a sad way to be, surrounded by people always wanting you to fail,” she says quietly as she play-kisses Charlotte, who was overjoyed to see her when she walked in the door earlier, confusing John, who made a comment that Charlotte sure seemed unusually excited to see Auntie Casey. Not surprising, considering I can’t remember the last time I’d scooped Charlotte up in my arms before the switch. It was much easier for me to focus my attention on Sophie and Audrey than it was to hold a squirming baby who could always sense I was uncomfortable.

“I’ve never really thought about it like that,” I say, clicking on the TV. “It’s just the way things are in the business. You can’t afford to think about it too much.”

“I guess not,” Rachel responds, but I can tell that she doesn’t really understand. The theme music for
GossipTV
starts playing. “So . . . are you ready to see my television debut?” she asks cautiously and I can’t tell if she’s asking herself or me.

I don’t answer as the opening credits of
GossipTV
start and I try not to cringe as I see a version of myself give a megawatt smile and start speaking.

CHAPTER 10

rachel

The show starts and as my face appears on the screen, I nervously await Casey’s reaction. This is her career. Her livelihood. What if she thinks I screwed up? After everything she’s told me and what I’ve now seen firsthand about her job, I would never forgive myself if I did anything to jeopardize her career, or worse, if I disappointed her.

We sit in silence.

As I watch, I see the mistakes, the flaws, the places my eyes moved back and forth, making it obvious that I was reading the TelePrompTer. I see the smoke everyone was blowing up my ass earlier. I feel so stupid that I believed their praise. I hadn’t so much as stood in front of a camera in forever and they called me great. Fantastic. I think someone even used the word
magnificent
. Of course the crew would never tell me if I sucked. Isn’t that how this business worked? Air kisses with a side of bullshit?

Dean complained about me the entire time, but I thought it was just Dean being a jerk. Looks like he was right.

Casey grabs the remote and hits pause. “Wow,” is all she says. Then she repeats it several times, looking stunned.

I wait for Casey as she tries to compose herself. But I’m ready to take my lumps like a man. I deserve them.

“You were . . .” She pauses and stares down at the frayed edge of the orange rug I’d been so proud to buy after reading it was the “it” color of the season.

“It’s okay, you can be honest. I deserve it.”

“You were really, really good.” She says the word
good
so quietly I almost don’t hear it.

“Really?” Now I’m the one who’s stunned.

“Really,” she says flatly.

Then where is the smile? The thank-you? The relief ? “But there were so many mistakes. You saw them, I know you did.”

“Well, yeah, I saw some. But it’s like you’ve been doing it for years. How long has it been since you’ve been in front of a camera?” Her face contorts as she calculates.

“Since Audrey was born,” I say.

“Over sixteen years and you walk out there and handle it just like me?” Her voice is shaky.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” I bite my cuticle.

“Don’t do that.” Casey swats my hand away from my mouth. “That’s a fifty-dollar manicure you’re ruining,” she scolds.

I look at my image paused on the TV screen. “I don’t get it, don’t you want me to do a good job?”

She starts to say something, but thinks better of it. “No, I do. I do want you to do a good job. That’s what we need. To keep up appearances.”

I can tell she’s bothered, but I decide to let it go.

“How long is this going to go on? How long are we going to be held hostage in each other’s bodies?” She sighs and lies back on my faded tan couch covered with stains I’ve meant to clean for ages. Just days ago, I scolded Sophie for spilling soda on it. “Great. All we need is one more stain!” I’d yelled.

“The baby spills stuff all the time and you don’t care. Your precious angel can do no wrong!” Sophie shot back, her eyes filled with tears. I’d sat there stunned, my voice caught in my throat, wondering if that was really how she felt.

When John and I had told her and Audrey that we were pregnant—dangling
I’M A BIG SIS
T-shirts in front of their faces—they weren’t thrilled, but I’d been prepared for that reaction from the research I’d done online. What I hadn’t been prepared for were my own conflicted feelings as the girls fired off questions I didn’t know how to answer. With the shirts balled up in their laps, they interrogated us. Would I have to share a room? Would I have to babysit? And then maybe the hardest question of all: Why?

It didn’t help things that my pregnancy was hard and I pretty much slept my way through it. And then once Charlotte was born, she had demanded a lot more of my attention than I’d anticipated. And I’d missed a lot: the opening night of Sophie’s last play; the deadline to mail in the money for a trip Audrey wanted to take with her class to Washington, D.C. And I’d clearly missed the resentment Sophie—and probably Audrey too—had been feeling.

What I wouldn’t give now to apologize to Sophie for losing my cool over a spill. I wish I’d hugged her and told her I was sorry for not being there for her, for being too hard on her.

I look at Casey, still waiting for my answer. “I don’t know how long this is going to go on,” I say. “The bartender was so confusing and cryptic.”

“We need to go back and talk to him again.” Casey sits up quickly.

“Do you really think he’ll be there? He disappeared into thin air. Remember? And when I went back to the manager to find out more about him, she had no memory of ever talking to me about a bartender named Brian. She said no Brian had ever worked at the hotel. She didn’t even remember the autograph I signed for her daughter.”

“Let’s go back over what Brian said. Maybe we can figure this out,” Casey says.

I sigh. “We’ve been over this.”

“I know, but maybe we missed something,” she says.

“He didn’t say much, just that it was possible to get our lives back, but we were going to have to figure out how. And that the answer is within us.”

“That’s helpful, Brian.” Casey laughs.

“I know. What the hell?”

“But maybe if it was that easy to find him the first time, we can track him down again. And when we do we’ll force him to fix this.” Casey crosses her arms over her chest.

“Hey, I could flash him one of your boobs, seeing as he’s really into you, by the way. He was totally hitting on you the entire time I was asking him how to switch back!”

We laugh and then both fall silent when reality sets in that it really isn’t funny.

“Can I change the subject?” I ask.

“Please!” Casey says.

“I’ve been planning this thirty-ninth birthday party for John and—”

She cuts me off. “Thirty-ninth? Who plans a thirty-ninth birthday party?”

“I know, I know. It’s kind of ridiculous. But he’s so freaked out about turning forty that there’s no way I can throw him a fortieth. So I’m going to surprise him with a thirty-ninth. Something he’ll never expect.”

She thinks for a minute. “Isn’t his birthday coming up in just a few weeks?”

“Yeah . . .”

“Why don’t I know about this?” I ask, feeling hurt that she didn’t bring me in on the secret.