Just South of Perfect

by Grace Palmer

  “I asked him out,” Stella said quickly. Her face felt warm. It could be from the coffee steam, but she suspected the heat had more of an internal source. “He was just being nice.”

  “Niceness has never made him agree to a date before.” Vivienne slid her latte across the counter. “Believe me, plenty of women around here have tried. Locals, tourists. Sam has turned them all down. This is a monumental day.”

  A few minutes ago, Stella had been nervous Sam would refuse her. Now, she was nervous that he said yes.

  What did it mean?

  This was just a friendly date, right? A way to pass the time and have something fun to tell Brenda about. Brenda. Maybe Stella should call Brenda. She would know what to do in this situation.

  “Okay, whoa.” Stella looked up and Vivienne was standing right in front of her, face lowered to look in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. You have nothing to be nervous about, okay? Sam is a nice guy.”

  Stella knew that. Sam being a nice guy was the reason she’d asked him out in the first place. Her problem now was whether she was nice. She smiled and ducked outside to make a quick phone call.

  “Of course, you’re nice!” Brenda shouted into the phone a minute later. Stella’s friend then lowered her voice suddenly. “Everyone in the office is looking at me now. But yes, you are nice. Obviously. Why would you think you aren’t?”

  Stella relayed the previous day’s events to Brenda in as concise a manner as possible. She was sitting on a bench in front of a nail salon right down the street from the coffee shop, eating her croissant and getting powdered sugar all over her blue button-down shirt.

  “He is a grown man, and you are a grown woman,” Brenda said. “You are both capable of making your own decisions, so you don’t have any business worrying about his decisions. You decided to ask him out, he decided to say yes, and now you are going on a date. The only decision you need to worry about is what you’re going to wear.”

  On some level, Stella knew Brenda was right, but she also wondered if this was wise. Life made more sense when she woke up, went to work, and came home again. No fuss, no drama. She liked her routine and the safety that came with always knowing what to expect. Now, ever since leaving home on Friday, Stella had no idea what was waiting for her around the proverbial corner. And she couldn’t prepare for what she didn’t know.

  “I’d sympathize with you for the breakdown and repair costs, but I’d be lying. I’m not sorry at all.”

  “Brenda!” Stella had waited so long to tell Brenda about the car trouble because she didn’t want her friend to feel bad. The only reason Stella had broken down on the side of the road was because Brenda came over and pushed her out of her house in the first place. She’d expected Brenda to feel bad and wanted to spare her friend from that. Until now, that is. Now she wanted to hear a little bit of remorse.

  But Brenda wasn’t having it. “I’m sorry, but I’m being honest. I’m glad you’ve had a wild few days. That was the whole point! Now, you are going on a date with your mechanic. Do you realize you are living out the plot of a romance novel I read last summer? It was called Beauty and the Wrench.”

  Stella and Sam’s meeting did sound slightly cinematic, but only from the outside. In the moment, there was nothing romantic about how sweaty she was from sitting on the shoulder of the road for several hours or how grouchy Sam was because he hadn’t eaten. There was definitely nothing romantic about the way Sam clammed up the moment Stella complimented him the other day during their picnic lunch. What if it happened again tonight? What if she said the wrong thing, derailed the entire date, and then they spent several awkward hours walking around Willow Beach?

  Stella voiced her worries to Brenda.

  “You know you can decide to leave if you want?” she asked rhetorically. “If he says something rude or smells bad, you can just make an excuse and go back to your room. It’s a free country.”

  She’s right, Stella thought. I’m in control of my destiny.

  Except, she didn’t really feel in control of it. Ever since she’d left her house on Friday, it felt like Stella was strapped into a car seat with child-locked doors and a brick on the gas pedal. For a brief moment this morning, she felt clear-headed enough to ask Sam out on a date, but the hour since had been nothing but regrets and doubts. Maybe she shouldn’t be in control of her own destiny.

  Brenda cursed into the phone and then lowered her voice to a whisper again. “Mike is headed this way.”

  “You’re at work? But it’s Saturday.”

  “Deadlines wait for no one,” she whispered. “Okay, go to a shop and buy yourself a killer outfit, have fun on your date but feel free to ditch him if he’s a loser, and then call me tomorrow to tell me all the details.”

  Before Stella could agree, Brenda hung up the phone.

  The almond croissant was delicious but did little to curb the sudden roiling in Stella’s stomach. She was nervous, plain and simple. Calling Brenda had been a Hail Mary attempt at calming herself down, and she’d only done it because she didn’t know who else to call. Her mom hadn’t dated in almost sixty years, so she wouldn’t have been any help, and Stella would rather give herself an appendectomy sans anesthetic than tell Jace about any of this, so Brenda had been the only choice.

  Still, maybe her advice wasn’t so bad. Maybe if Stella focused on one thing at a time, she could get through this day and date without rattling apart.

  First thing on Brenda’s list: a killer outfit.

  11

  Willow Beach’s Main Street was small but impressive. There were no large chains or department stores, but nestled among the hardware store and a flower shop was a boutique. The store itself took up three storefronts with wide openings to walk from one room to the next. The first was a children’s clothing store, the second was for teenagers, and the third for adults. The rooms looked small, but the spaces were deceptively deep and held more clothes than Stella had suspected. Tables held jeans and shorts folded and stacked on top and moveable hanging racks as well as racks running the length of the walls. There were so many options, it was almost dizzying, so Stella narrowed in on familiar colors and avoided patterns. After half an hour of browsing, Stella took an armload of dresses, blouses, and skirts to the women’s dressing rooms located in the back right corner of the store.

  When Jace was little, he would sit on a bench or chair just outside of the dressing room, whining every thirty seconds, wondering when Stella would be finished shopping. Then, when he was older, he would make his way through their local mall to the bookstore or the video game store to waste time until she was done. The last few years, he didn’t go with her at all. She didn’t blame him, of course. What did a teenage boy care about his mom’s clothing choices?

  Still, his absence made the trip much less enjoyable, and now that he was off at school, Stella had a hard time seeing the point in going shopping at all. She could order her work clothes online, and she no longer had sporting events or banquet dinners to go to or dances to chaperone. Who did she really have to impress?

  Right now? A monkish mechanic who, miraculously, had agreed to go on a date with her. From the look on Vivienne’s face, this could be Sam’s first date in years. The stakes felt high.

  Stella put on a black pencil skirt and a white button-down blouse and walked out of her stall to look in the large mirror in the dressing room waiting area.

  While she turned and craned her neck, trying to see herself from all angles, a wolf whistle emerged from the doorway. Tasha and Melanie Baldwin were standing there, colorful fabrics and patterns draped over each of their arms.

  “You look incredible,” Melanie said. “That skirt fits you perfectly.”

  “You are going to rock whatever boardroom you’re headed to in that outfit.” Tasha gave two thumbs-up.

  “Actually, it’s for a date. Well, it could be for a date. It’s the first outfit I’ve tried on.”

  Immediately, Tasha’s smile fell, and she lo
oked at her sister. Melanie was still smiling, but it looked strained with a tinge of worry around the edges.

  “You don’t like it?”

  Tasha shook her head. “No, I love it. For work or a presentation. But for a date?” She winced and shrugged her shoulders. “It’s a little, um…uptight?”

  Melanie nodded in agreement. “Who are you going out with, and do you know what you’re doing? That will help you decide how formal you should go and what shoes will be appropriate.”

  “I’m going out with Sam, and I think we’re going to—”

  The tail end of Stella’s sentence was lost to a high-pitched yelp followed by a flurry of questions.

  When did he ask?

  She could have asked him. Did you ask him?

  What did he say?

  What did you say?

  I can’t believe it!

  The girls were bouncing with excitement. From the little Stella knew of the family, she expected theatrics like this from Tasha, but the fact that Melanie was also bouncing on her toes told Stella this date must really be a big deal.

  Stella held up her hands to quiet the girls, and they pinched their lips together. Their eyes, however, remained wide open and searching, desperate for information. “I asked him to show me around town tonight,” she said. “The word ‘date’ was never uttered. He told me I had to try a cannoli from an Italian place nearby—”

  “Romano’s,” Tasha interjected. “He’s right. Their cannolis are insanely delicious.”

  “—and see the beach,” Stella finished.

  “Date. Date, date, date. That’s totally a date. You and Sam are going on a date.” Tasha laid the clothes in her arms over the back of a chair and walked into Stella’s open dressing room. Even though she was out of view, she kept talking. “You look amazing in that skirt, but you look like a lawyer. We need something with a similar fit but more…fun. Something relaxed.”

  “Uncle Sam is a very relaxed guy,” Melanie added.

  Tasha came out with every item Stella had taken into the dressing room in her hands, her nose wrinkled in disapproval. “Do you mind if we help you? I don’t want to overstep, and we’ll leave as soon as you say the word, but there is literally nothing I’d rather do than help you find the perfect outfit.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to interrupt your day.”

  Both girls shook their heads immediately. “We didn’t have any plans.”

  “Our sister-day schedule is very flexible. We can give you a makeover and still become vigilante crime fighters before dinner.” Tasha glanced at the clock on the wall and nodded. “Yeah, we’ll cancel breaking into Good Stuff Cupcakes to eat frosting by the spoonful. It’s probably for the best anyway. Sugar goes straight to my hips.”

  The girl was beautiful, with no idea of what would actually happen to her hips as she aged, but Stella loved her energy. Their excitement was infectious. Stella had been dreading every second of the day, agonizing over what to wear and say and do, but now—even if only temporarily—she felt lighter.

  All it took is one small nod of approval before Tasha darted out of the dressing room and back into the main shop. Melanie curled a protective arm through Stella’s, remaining the more calming presence of their dynamic duo, and leaned in, voice low and encouraging. “Tasha is a lot, but her fashion sense is unmatched. At least in Willow Beach.”

  It was easy to see Tasha was trendy. She had on a pair of high-waisted jeans with a high-heeled bootie and a cropped tank that just skimmed the top of her pants. She looked like she’d just walked out of the pages of a fashion magazine, but Stella couldn’t dress like that. She was a grown woman. Old.

  “Stop saying old like it’s derogatory,” Tasha said when she returned after Stella voiced her concerns. “First, if anything, you’re wise and distinguished. Second, you aren’t even old.”

  “Since when did middle-aged become old?” Melanie asked, seeming genuinely curious. “Why do men get to age and become silver foxes, but women age and become defunct?”

  Tasha flailed her arms in the air to answer. “I’ll tell you why: the patriarchy.”

  “The patriarchy?” Stella arched an eyebrow.

  “The patriarchy,” both girls echoed at once.

  “You’re a single mom, right?” Stella nodded, and Tasha continued. “Then you know the downside of this male-dominated world better than anyone. The surprised looks people give when you tell them you raised your son alone by choice, the doubts friends and family express at your abilities, and the stigma attached to having a child while single—all of that is the patriarchy. All of it is people doubting your power and influence and capabilities.”

  “Unfortunately, the patriarchy doesn’t stop there. It also likes to make women feel bad about getting old, as if there isn’t enough to worry about.” Melanie pulled a pair of white linen pants from a rack and tossed them at Tasha to add to a growing pile of clothes. “We had to have this same conversation with Mom a few months ago, so we have all of our talking points ready.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Stella said.

  “You sure?”

  Stella’s entire life had been spent proving that she could handle things on her own. It was part of the reason she liked to take care of other people and be in control of every little detail. She knew people throughout her life had doubted her, and she didn’t just want to prove them wrong by doing okay; she wanted to thrive.

  Overall, Stella felt like she’d done that. She’d raised a wonderful, thoughtful kid by herself and sent him off to college. That was a demanding task that had cost her many sleepless nights and earned her a fair number of wrinkles, but should she now be ashamed of those wrinkles? Should she be self-conscious of the years she’d lost in the dating world because she was too busy existing in the “I have to provide for my progeny” world?

  No. Definitely not.

  She was proud of what she’d done and overcome, and her life wasn’t over just because Jace was gone. In some respects, it was just beginning.

  “I’m sure,” she said. “Make me fabulous.”

  The girls’ eyes lit up and Tasha nearly swooned. “My three favorite words.”

  “I can’t wear this.” Stella threw a too-short skirt over the top of the dressing-room door and waited for the next item of clothing to be handed to her.

  The makeover had started out excitingly enough, but as it turned out, real-life makeovers were nothing like the montages in movies. There had been no dancing or twirling or jump cuts that let her instantly change outfits. There were ridiculous outfits, though. Plenty of them. Tasha had promised she wouldn’t get carried away, but the pile of discarded leopard print items in the corner told a different story.

  “I don’t know why animal print gets such a bad rap. Actually, I do. It’s the—”

  “Patriarchy.” Melanie and Stella finished her sentence at the same time.

  Stella was slowly buying into some of Tasha’s theories about the long reach of the patriarchy, but she knew it had nothing to do with her aversion to animal print. She just didn’t want to look like a cheetah on her date.

  As they worked through the items the girls selected, they narrowed in on what Stella liked.

  “Clean lines and simple colors,” Melanie determined.

  “Yes. Her style is…modern simplicity.”

  “Timeless staples.”

  “Boring,” Stella concluded through the door. “When you say it like that, I sound boring.”

  Tasha threw a floral-patterned kimono over the door. “That’s why we’re here. We don’t want to change your style, but elevate it slightly. That’s all.”

  The kimono was sheer and long, and Stella couldn’t tell if she looked ethereal or ridiculous. Maybe both. “I’m already going on a date with Sam, so that means he likes my style already, right? Do we need to elevate it? I’m thinking the pencil skirt might be the way to go.”

  Tasha groaned. “No. No moving backward after we’ve come so far. Sam, like mos
t men, does not care about fashion.”

  “It’s true. We’ve known him our entire lives, and I’m pretty sure he is like a cartoon character with a closet full of the exact same outfit.”

  Tasha cackled at her sister’s joke. “It’s so true. He wears blue jeans and a button-down shirt for a night out, and coveralls for work. That’s it.”

  Melanie threw a pair of white linen pants over the door and gasped. “Do you remember when he showed up to Vivienne and Jayden’s wedding in jeans and Mom made him go home and change before the ceremony?”

  “And then he spent all night groaning about how uncomfortable he was,” Tasha laughed. “Yeah, he’ll definitely wear jeans tonight, which means the pencil skirt is forbidden, Stella.”

  “Your mom made him go home and change? How did she do that?” Stella knew Georgia was taken now, but her doubts refused to fade. How much sway did Georgia Baldwin have over Sam Warren?

  “My mom can make anyone do anything. Tasha inherited that from her.”

  “It’s true,” Tasha admitted. “It’s a lethal combination of passion and charm. Plus, Sam loves my mom.”

  Her words seemed to slice straight through Stella. She was in the middle of pulling a shirt over her head, but she froze, arms in the air, a tube of fabric wrapped around her face. For a second, she considered never coming out.

  If she had just spent all morning hyping herself up for a date with a man who was in love with another woman, she would have to leave town in shame. Forget the car. Stella would find a bus, make it to Boston, and buy a new car when she got there. It’d be worth the expense to never have to see Sam again.

  She should have followed her instincts. From the very beginning, she’d suspected something was going on between Sam and Georgia. Stella had always told Jace to trust his gut, so why hadn’t she trusted hers?