Your Perfect Life

by Liz Fenton

  “I’m great. These are my favorite events.”

  “Why? Do drunken has-beens from high school tend to tip well?” I quip, sounding a little more jaded than I intend to.

  “Actually, no. You’d be surprised how regret and bitterness inspires cheapness in people,” he says as he wipes the zinc bar with a towel and nods at a man dressed in an expensive charcoal suit who sits three bar stools over. I recognize him as Patrick Sanders, former science club geek who earned a full scholarship to MIT, and then went on to start his own biotech company. I smile and give a small wave before looking away, not wanting him to take it as an invitation to join me. I wasn’t ready to explain why I was one of the few unmarried, childless people here. I drain the rest of my vodka and soda and swish the ice cubes around. I could use about ten more of these.

  Patrick orders a Jack and Coke and I watch him sip it greedily. Maybe he’s as nervous as I am. I watch him glance around the crowd, tugging at the knot of his silk tie, a distant look in his eyes. Could his past be gnawing at him as much as mine?

  When I received the invitation to the reunion, I’d immediately tossed it into the trash. But then Rachel had called—talking a mile a minute. What was I going to wear? Who was I nervous to see? Wouldn’t it be fun to be there together? When I didn’t respond, I could hear her inhale deeply. And then in a voice that didn’t even sound like hers, she’d said that everything wasn’t always about me. I was surprised not only by her attack—which came out of nowhere—but by how much the words had stung. Still sting.

  I thought about what going would mean, the unhappy memories that would try to surface, the emotions I’d have to fend off. In my day-to-day life it was easy not to think about my lack of a family, but being in a room full of people I’d known twenty years ago—people who had other halves and cars with more than two seats—would force me to focus on it. But then I thought about Rachel and all of our shared memories. Even though it was the last place on Earth I wanted to be, I told her I’d RSVP yes. She’s my best friend and that’s what we do; she would’ve done the same for me. At least I hope so.

  “Ready for another?” The bartender nods toward my empty glass and I can’t help but stare a beat too long at his deep brown eyes, sun-kissed skin, and sandy blond hair. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think there was a surfboard behind the bar.

  “Only if you tell me your name. And the real reason why you love these events,” I say playfully. Patrick hears me and gives me a sideways glance, probably wondering why I’m hitting on a guy half my age, even though he looks like the type who takes out girls so young it prompts people to wonder Is that his date or his daughter?

  The bartender begins a long pour of the Belvedere. “My name is Brian,” he says as he slides the cocktail across the bar expertly. “And I love these events because it brings out the best and worst in people. Want to truly see inside someone? Shadow them at their high school reunion.”

  I take a long sip of my drink. “Do you really believe that?”

  He leans in close. “See that guy over there?” he whispers, bobbing his head in the direction of Patrick. “He has everything. Multimillionaire, private airplane, trophy wife. He runs a Fortune 500 company. He could buy and sell every person here.”

  “So?” I whisper back.

  “So, he’s downing his drink like it’s water because he’s worried about what you and everyone else he went to high school with will think. That he’s still the nerd that the head cheerleader rejected, the guy the football players bullied.”

  “Are you sure you just haven’t been watching too many reruns of Gossip Girl?” I snort and cover my mouth quickly, hoping no one else heard. “Besides, how would you get all that from serving him one drink?”

  “You’d be surprised what I know,” he says seductively.

  I’m about to ask him what he knows about me when a couple walks up, the man impatiently waving a twenty at Brian. They survey the bar quickly and begin to whisper. Are they talking about me?

  Not wanting to know the answer, I turn my back to them and scan the room, taking in my classmates. Some look exactly the same. Others, much older. I shudder at the thought that someone in this room could be judging me and my choice to wear a cranberry red minidress, instead of a nondescript pantsuit, like most of the women here.

  The room buzzes with conversation, of which I hear snippets. “I have two kids . . .” “Then we moved to Grand Rapids . . .” “So what do you do?” And I wonder again what it would be like to be able to say I’ve been married for five years, have two kids, live in the suburbs.

  I know I should mingle, especially because people will notice if I don’t. But I hesitate. Just signing in and getting my name tag was enough to send me straight to the bar. Yes, I’ve met Jennifer Aniston. No, I don’t know if she hates Angelina Jolie. Yes, I’m pretty much resigned to answering questions like this all night. But part of me is relieved. The more they ask about the latest celebrity gossip, the less they’ll ask about me.

  Rachel texts me that she and John are on their way up and I’m glad when I see them walk in, hand in hand. Rachel smiles apprehensively as she makes her way toward me. I take in her simple black dress and diamond earrings, the ones John gave her for their ten-year anniversary. Her shoulder-length chocolate brown hair flows freely and I can see from here that she spent considerable time perfecting her makeup, making her green eyes sparkle. She looks beautiful.

  I wave them over and watch the envious glances as they walk my way, one of very few high school sweetheart couples from our class that passed the test of time. Back when I was still wondering which bar was hosting Ladies Night on Wednesday, Rachel and John were getting ready for their first baby. I’d begged her not to drop out of college when she discovered she was pregnant. She was so close to graduation. But no, she’d said, this is my life now.

  I signal to Brian the bartender for two more drinks as Rachel and John approach. “Here’s to officially being old,” I call out as I hand one to each of them. John brings me in for a small side hug as he takes a large gulp.

  “What’s up, Little C?” he says, using the nickname he gave me in high school. I’d met John my freshman year when I sat next to him in Mr. Roberts’s biology class. He was a total jock who’d transferred from out of state, and I‘d harbored a small crush on him at first. But he was literally speechless when I introduced him to Rachel for the first time at the water tower where we used to sneak to drink wine coolers with the upper classmen. And from that point on, they were an item and I was their third wheel. But I didn’t mind. John always looked out for me like a big brother and some of my best memories were of the three of us together.

  I reach over and poke Rachel in the arm. “You look nice.”

  She touches her simple black dress self-consciously. “Thanks. You sure it’s okay? I don’t look old?”

  “You are the one person who doesn’t have to worry about that. You look exactly the same!”

  “What do you mean?” Her tone lets me know this wasn’t the right thing to say. But it’s true. Rachel could throw on her old cheerleading uniform and blend right in, her dark hair still worn in the same style, and not a single crease in her un-Botoxed forehead. Meanwhile, I hadn’t been able to lift my eyebrows properly in years.

  John steps in before I can answer. “She means it as a compliment.”

  She shoots him a death stare. “Stay out of it.”

  John turns to me. “She’s upset about the ballot.”

  “The ballot?” I ask.

  “You know when you checked in downstairs and they gave you a name tag? They also handed out a ballot. We’re supposed to vote—”

  Rachel cuts him off. “We’re supposed to vote on things like who traveled the farthest . . .”

  “Well, I can see how that would be incredibly upsetting,” I say, laughing.

  “Let me finish. There’s also other awards like most successful and least successful.”

  “Least successful? Are you kidding m
e?” Brian was right. These things really do bring out the worst in people.

  “No. There’s not a least successful award. That’s just what Rachel thinks it is.” John rolls his eyes like she’s not standing there. “It’s called Least Changed.”

  “Same thing.” Rachel crosses her arms over her chest looking even more like an eighteen-year-old.

  “Anyway,” John continues. “Since the moment we checked in, people have been marveling at how she hasn’t changed a bit and she’s afraid she’ll win the award.”

  “Didn’t you guys just get here? Like five minutes ago?”

  “All the more reason why I think I’m going to win,” Rachel says, looking terrified.

  “Well, all I meant when I said that you looked the same is that you look beautiful. And if you win, the reason will be because you haven’t changed, not because you’re not successful.” I touch her arm gently to let her know I mean it, but she looks away. John and I exchange a look. Rachel’s in a mood tonight. I swallow the lump that’s been building in my throat since I rode up in the elevator with two couples bantering about how lucky they were to have found a babysitter while I’d stared down at the velvet five-inch stilettos that were already pinching my pinkie toes, the pain a welcome distraction from the chatter around me. How could she not realize that this night might be hard for me too?

  “Rachel! Casey! John! Of course I’d find the three of you together. I mean, how crazy that nothing has changed in twenty years!” Class president, head cheerleader, and resident mean girl Julie Meyers bounces up looking nothing like her high school self, an extra fifty pounds hanging from her formerly petite frame. I think about Patrick Sanders drowning his high school memories of being rejected by her in a stiff drink and want to tell him he’s better off.

  “Wow, y’all look great!” She grabs Rachel and twirls her around. “Girl, you look exactly the same!”

  John and I share another look. I signal Brian for another round. He gives me a knowing look. See, I told you this brings out the worst in people. I roll my eyes at him.

  But once the drinks kick in, it seems like everyone’s having fun, even Rachel. I’ve been trying to follow Destiny’s advice, even hauling my ass off the bar stool and flirting with a few men my own age. Apparently, this twenty-year reunion is packed with recent divorcées. I had felt some apprehension about coming here without ever having been married, but now I wonder if it was worse to come here saying you tried and failed. I try to keep the smile pasted on my face as they discuss their child custody schedule and bitterness over alimony payments and think that while twenty-somethings may be lacking in maturity, at least they don’t have this kind of baggage.

  I try to catch Rachel’s eye from across the room. I’m trapped talking to the former chess club president and his wife and I think they’re pitching me some sort of chess reality show, but I tuned out a few minutes ago when the DJ started playing Cutting Crew. She finally comes over to rescue me. She’s much more relaxed than she was earlier, her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are shiny from the alcohol. I’m reminded again of the girl who charmed John at the water tower so many years ago.

  “Are you having fun yet?” I ask tentatively, looking for signs that her insecurities from earlier are gone. She’d seemed down lately and I certainly hadn’t succeeded in making her feel better, not that I’d tried that hard. Our conversations only seem to go from bad to worse because I can never say—or as in the case of the phone call about this reunion—not say—the right thing. I definitely don’t know what to tell her when she complains about Charlotte being up all night or Sophie throwing a tantrum over some outfit. I just listen, because what am I supposed to say? I don’t get what’s that stressful about her life. We were both broadcasting majors in college, but I often think that even though she was immensely talented, Rachel would have gotten eaten alive had she ended up with a career in TV.

  “You know what? I am having a good time,” Rachel says as she loops her arm through mine, making me miss the girls we used to be.

  “Where’s John?” I ask, glancing around before finding him leaning against the bar talking to a woman whose name I can’t remember. By the way he’s gesturing, it’s clear he’s telling a story, and by the way she’s leaning in, just a little too close, it’s obvious she’d listen to that story on repeat for hours. John’s always been a good-looking guy who, at six foot four, has turned more than his share of heads. I remember in high school and college Rachel used to get so jealous, secretly confiding in me that she wondered if she was pretty enough for him. And of course she was—and still is.

  I elbow Rachel. “Look at that woman throwing herself at John; so pathetic. I should go over there and save him.” I motion toward the nameless woman with the large, hungry eyes who looks like she wants to take a big bite out of him.

  She waves it off. “Oh please. Let him have the attention. We’ve been together forever and we’re so boring. Boring as hell.” She smiles and twirls the straw in her empty glass. “Ready for another drink?”

  “Welcome, everyone!” Julie Meyers is up at the podium demanding our attention. “It’s time for the awards!”

  Rachel stiffens and John walks back to us and drapes his arms around her possessively. She leans into him and exhales and I feel a pang in my stomach. Even if it’s boring as hell, it must be nice to be someone’s someone. Someone you can exhale into.

  Julie starts calling out the awards: Most Likely to Star in a Reality Show on Bravo; Person with the Fewest Original Body Parts; and my favorite, The Number-One MILF and Number-One DILF. People are running up to the stage with the excitement of an audience member selected to be on The Price Is Right.

  “I think you showed less emotion when you won your Emmy last year!” Rachel whispers to me and we share a laugh.

  “Okay, next up, our most successful graduate. Now I think we can all guess who this is!” Julie locks eyes with me as she calls my name. “Casey Lee, get up here!”

  I look over at Rachel and John. John is whistling and Rachel’s face is frozen until I catch her eye and she quickly composes herself and starts to clap. I walk up to the podium and grab my award, say a hurried thank-you, and head back down as quickly as possible, Rachel’s expressionless face etched in my mind. “It’s nothing,” I say to her when I return, trying to let her know that she wouldn’t have been so upset that I won if she understood how much I’ve given up to get it. She nods silently and looks away.

  I look over to my right and watch Patrick Sanders walking dejectedly over to the bar. How the hell did I win this over him? He could buy this hotel if he wanted. Brian has his drink waiting when he walks up and looks over at me with a knowing smile that says I told you so.

  Julie’s voice shrills over the microphone again. “And now for our last award, Least Changed!”

  John and I exchange a panicked look.

  “Rachel Cole!”

  CHAPTER 4

  * * *

  rachel

  “Rachel Cole. Where are you? Come on up here and get your award!” Julie is grinning widely, completely unaware that I’d rather give birth to triplets than accept the Least Changed award.

  So what if it’s technically an honor for someone who still looks the same—a compliment even. I know what it really means, what everyone’s really thinking: that I’ve done nothing with my life.

  I’m not sure if I should collect my award with the dignity of an Academy Award winner or get up there and tell everyone off. The four Belvedere and sodas I’ve downed are pulling for me to give the crowd the finger. With each step toward the stage, I feel my anger mount. I can hear nothing but the sound of my out-of-style high heels on the linoleum floor.

  I walk up the stairs to the podium and Julie congratulates me yet again and hands me a plastic award. A trinket I’ve seen at the dollar store. I think of Sophie’s cheap soccer trophies and medals, which she recently relegated to a box in the garage, and I realize they look like Olympic medals compared to this.

&nbs
p; I scan the sea of my classmates and see a man holding up his glass to me and cheering and it takes a moment for it to register that it’s Jake Johnson, our senior class president and captain of the volleyball team. He’s got a paunch and a comb-over now, but a huge smile is plastered across his face. He’s obviously having a great time even though he no longer looks like an Abercrombie & Fitch model. He swings his arm over the shoulders of the editor of our high school newspaper, Nancy Myers. She smiles my way, not a care in the world, even though she looks older than her thirty-eight years, gray at the temples and deep lines around her eyes. She’s having fun too—the kind of time I hoped I’d have.

  I had been so excited to see my old friends and relive fun memories, never expecting the moment I walked in that I’d become consumed with insecurity, instantly transforming into a gangly fifteen-year-old who never felt she was pretty enough or smart enough or just enough in general. Not for John or for anyone. But somehow, back then, I was able to mask it, only whispering my true feelings to Casey late at night on the cordless phone I sneaked into my bedroom, the darkness giving me the courage to say the words. At school, I became an overachiever, taking on one more extracurricular activity, joining one more club, anything to prove myself. But now, standing here as a grown woman, I’m finding it almost impossible to swallow my tears. I quickly mumble a sarcastic “thanks a lot” into the microphone and stumble down the stairs, leaving a wide-eyed Julie behind, still clasping my trinket in her hand. I head toward the double doors leading out of the ballroom.

  “Where are you going? You okay?” Casey calls after me.

  I turn around slowly, ready to tell her how I’m feeling, until I see the Most Successful award dangling from her perfectly manicured left hand. Her hair is styled expertly, her makeup was obviously done by the award-winning makeup artist at her studio, and the designer minidress is hugging her in all the right places. Not only has she realized all of her dreams professionally, she looks more gorgeous than ever.