Good Luck with That

by Kristan Higgins

  “You did all the work.” Then he lifted his hand and closed the door, disappearing back into his cave. A second later, the light in the living room went out, and his house was dark again.

  CHAPTER 21

  Dear Other Emerson,

  I know I haven’t written to you for a long time, but that’s because—brace yourself . . . here it comes . . . prepare yourself . . . you might want to sit down . . .

  I HAVE A BOYFRIEND!

  Mica Jennings is my boyfriend, and guess what, Other Emerson? He loves me! I mean, he could have anyone, and he’s with me! I can’t even tell you how shocked those mean women at work are. Isobel’s mouth fell right open when we walked in the other day, holding hands. I repeat: HOLDING HANDS. Just like on the list Georgia, Marley and I made our last day of Camp Copperbrook.

  I just smiled and went to my desk. Isobel was in Missy’s office within seconds, glancing out at me. By the end of the day, Missy had given me a warning, saying my average phone call took six seconds longer than it should. When I countered with the fact that I still did twelve more calls per day than average, she told me I was smug.

  And I am.

  Mica is my first boyfriend. I obviously don’t count that asshat from college who just slept with me on a bet. But Mica isn’t just my boyfriend . . . he’s my friend.

  He is incredible. He’s smart. (I don’t know why he’s working here, he could do anything, and he probably will, once he finishes his degree.) He’s so funny, and his smile just . . . it just sparkles. I can feel my heart swelling every time he looks at me, which is pretty much all the time. He’s SUCH a good kisser, my God.

  On our first date, we went out to dinner, and when I ordered grilled chicken and asparagus with no butter, he tilted his head and said, “Oh, come on. This place has great food. You sure you want to waste time on plain old chicken?” He buttered a roll for me. I changed my order to pasta (with vegetables, I’m still trying to be healthy). We split dessert, and guess what he said? Guess? “There’s nothing sexier than a woman who can enjoy a good meal.”

  Other Emerson, I am that woman.

  He kissed me good night, right on my front steps, in front of the Donovans, who were slack-jawed with amazement. A real kiss. “Will you go out with me again?” he asked, touching my cheek.

  Would I go out with him again?! Was he kidding? Of course I would!

  He started coming by the house right away, and he was really nice and old-fashioned about it. He’d leave at ten on the dot, didn’t want to be pushy. But it was so easy for him to be with me, he said. Like we could talk all night and not run out of things to say. His words, Other Emerson. One night, we went to IHOP and stayed there till two o’clock in the morning, just talking. And sure, we ate pancakes, too.

  I told him about my mom and dad, and when I started to cry about Mama, he wiped my tears away like he was Ryan Gosling or something. I told him about Georgia and Marley, and sure, I made it sound like we see each other more than we do. I DO talk to them. Just not as much as I used to. The last time Georgia called, I didn’t call her back. It had been a bad week, and I’d been eating too much.

  Anyway, I did message both of them with a picture of Mica and me, and they both wrote back to say how excited they were, and how cute he is. I hope they don’t think I’m too fat.

  You know what’s funny, Other Emerson? I hardly even think about eating anymore, now that I’m with someone who doesn’t think it’s a big deal. I mean, I’m still eating more than I should be, but it’s not the binge-fest it sometimes has been. It’s just really good food, and a healthy (or generous) portion of it, and Mica smiles as I eat. For the first time in my life, I feel sexy.

  I’m so happy, Other Emerson. I’m know you’re happy for me, and thank you for that. Maybe Mica and Idris will be friends. I bet they will.

  I have to go now. Mica is coming over, and I have to take a shower, and you know how that can take a while with all the powdering I have to do. Don’t want to get another yeast infection under my boobs!

  See you later!

  CHAPTER 22

  Georgia

  Go running in tight clothes and a sports bra. (Kill me now.)

  Get a piggyback ride from a guy. (This is never going to happen.)

  The day of the fun run was perfection—sixty-five degrees, that pure, blue late-September sky. Mason and I had come in together. (My father had promised to come see us and would take Mason back so I could go out with Evan.) Marley came with her brother and Louis.

  As Mason and I walked in from West Ninety-fourth to the appointed gathering spot by the Gothic Bridge, he said, “I’m gonna grab a hot dog. Christian says it’s important to fuel up before a race.”

  “He would know. There’s a food truck over there. You need money?”

  “I’m flush. Be right back.”

  I watched him go, a spring in his step. He’d begun at least nine sentences today with Christian says, and I couldn’t be happier.

  There were Marley, Dante and Louis, and about a dozen other firefighters from their firehouse. “Georgia, how are you?” asked Dante. “You look fantastic! Doesn’t she, babe?”

  “She does,” Louis agreed, smiling. “You look great.”

  “Thanks.”

  The curse of being told you looked great (meaning thin) was that it was a double-edged compliment. Did that mean I’d looked horrible last year or six months ago? What would Dante and Louis say if they knew the truth? Thanks! Mason overdosed last spring, so I haven’t been eating that much, and I might have an ulcer, and also, I’ve been technically bulimic much of my life, but I’m so glad you think I look great!

  I fake-smiled instead. I’d finally made an appointment with my doctor, so soon I’d know if I really did have an ulcer or some other health issue. And while Marley knew about Mason’s overdose, I knew she hadn’t told anyone. I shouldn’t be so hard on people. I should just take the compliment for what it was.

  It was this body of mine, taking up so much less space than it used to. I still felt like an impostor, a stranger in a strange body. Like an amputee might feel phantom pain, I still carried my phantom fat.

  “Great day for running, isn’t it?” Marley said. She came over and bounced on the balls of her feet. “I took a yoga class this morning, so I’m already stretched and totally Zen.” To demonstrate, she put her palms on the ground without even bending her knees.

  “You’re like a circus freak,” I said. She grinned from her upside-down position. “How’s your ankle, by the way? Should you be running?” I’d heard all about Camden the Idiot and his too-nice girlfriend.

  “Oh, it’s fine. It’s had days to heal. It was mostly my pride that was sprained. I, um, I iced it right away, and it was fine by the next morning.”

  “And is the jackass here?” I asked. “I brought a shank.”

  “You brought a shank? Georgia! That’s so sweet.”

  “I didn’t really. But in my heart, I did.”

  “This is why you’re my bestie. No. Haven’t seen him yet.”

  “Marley! Come here for a sec,” Dante called. “You gotta see this text from Mom.”

  She went off to answer her brother’s call, and I stood there for a second, alone and exposed in my regular-sized running clothes. I took a deep breath and tried to be Zen, like Marley. Around me were the sounds of laughter and the chatter of the group, the song of the city with its sirens and horns, the roar and breath of it. There were thousands of people here, many dressed in costume for the event . . . some like ostriches, like leprechauns, like fairies. One group was clad in Star Trek officer costumes; another dressed like Star Wars stormtroopers, and they were engaged in a mock (or real) fight. One group all held saplings for no explicable reason. Music played, and the smell of hot dogs and popcorn filled the air.

  Marley laughed at something her brother said, and he slung an arm around her shoulder a
nd hugged her. God, I envied her that family! I envied Marley. She’d always been overweight in that luscious, fertile, Rubenesque way, and there wasn’t a guy here who didn’t look at her in her slutty side-lacing running shorts and red running bra with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. If she was dying of mortification, as I was, she hid it well. Emerson would’ve been in awe.

  Me, I needed a little sunshine, a little time in the gym. Intellectually, I recognized that I looked average. Even so, it was hard not to cross my arms and pray for a sweatshirt. Hakuna Matata Retreat House had worked (best not to dwell on how). I was thinner than I’d ever been, even on my wedding day.

  Mason reappeared, cheeks bulging. “Don’t tell my dad, okay?” he said. “He’s got me on a runner’s diet, and it doesn’t include hot dogs.”

  “A hot dog is good for the soul.”

  “You want one? I could get you one. Here, have mine, and I’ll get another.”

  Such a sweet boy, so eager to please. “I’m fine,” I said, patting his arm in my auntie way.

  He finished the last bite, swallowing like a python. “Hey, Mason!” Dante called. “How you doin’, kid?”

  “Great! Excellent! Uh, thanks for letting me run with you guys.”

  “You bet. Glad to have you.”

  Mason was looking at the firefighters the way I looked at those posters in Pomegranate & Plum—envious of that ridiculous ideal. My nephew was still skinny as a toothpick, still small for his age. But he would grow, and change, and please, God, be happy. Today, at least he was away from Hunter.

  “How’s the list going?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “What are you working on?”

  “Sitting with kids at lunch.” He looked away.

  “Do any cross-country friends have the same lunch as you?”

  “Yeah, but they’re all seniors. I don’t talk to them outside of practice. Plus, they’re all really fast. We don’t have much in common, running-wise.”

  “You might be surprised, honey. They might love having you.” But my heart hurt, because I knew exactly what he was talking about . . . those horrible designations of rank, the certainty you felt when you knew you didn’t belong. “How about ‘talk to a girl’?”

  “Nope. No progress there, either.”

  “Is there a particular girl you’re hoping to talk to?” I asked, watching one of the firefighters do a handspring.

  Another shrug. “Not really.” His face flamed. So yes.

  “Uh-huh. What’s her name?”

  “Adele.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “She’s beautiful and smart and funny, and everyone loves her.”

  I nodded. Wished I could pick him up and twirl him around, like I used to when he was little, not so many years ago. It had always made him laugh. “I bet she’s nice. And I know you are. You don’t understand how much a teenage girl appreciates a truly decent boy.”

  “You’re super naive, G, but thanks.”

  “Hey, handsome!” Marley said, extricating herself from the mob of FDNY. She gave him a hug. “How are you?”

  “Great,” he said. “And you?”

  “I’m kind of shitty,” she said, dropping her voice. “The man I love has a girlfriend.”

  “Ouch,” Mason said.

  “Tell me about it. Not only is she beautiful, she’s a social worker for children at risk.”

  “Oh, man! I hate them both,” he said. “Are they here? I can maybe maim them or something.”

  “Your aunt said the same thing.” She messed up his hair fondly. “I wish you were twenty years older, Mason, because I’d marry you in a heartbeat. You are the real deal. And no, they’re not here, not yet, at least, which is good, because I’d probably take you up on that.”

  Marley. Always able to make people feel better.

  “So today’s the day, Georgia,” she said, turning to me. “We’re in running gear, and it’s completely possible that we’re going to get a piggyback ride, surrendering all dignity. Mason, can you believe that’s on our list? A piggyback ride, for God’s sake.”

  “I’ll give you one,” Mason said.

  “Oh, you innocent little lamb! How sweet you are! I’d crush you or get arrested for molesting a child. Hey, look after your rapidly aging aunt today, okay? She’s not a runner.”

  “It’s true. I’m not,” I said. “You might have to drag me across the finish line.”

  “She’ll have to drag me,” he said. “I still can’t finish the course at school.”

  “Georgia, honeybun!” came a familiar voice. “We found you! Hey, Mason!”

  “Grandpa!” Mason said, leaping over to give my father a hug. “Hey, Cherish! Hi, Auntie Paris, Auntie Milan!”

  The girls practically tackled him, giggling madly at their titles.

  “You look amazing,” Cherish said to me, giving me a hug. “Hi, Marley, and wow, sweetie! I love your outfit!”

  “Thanks, Cherish,” Marley said, spinning around to model.

  “Pick me up, Georgia!” Milan demanded, turning from Mason to me.

  I obeyed. She was getting so big. “How’s my special girl?” I asked.

  “I got a purple sticker in school,” she said. “Because of my goodness.”

  “Then you should get a hundred stickers,” I said, kissing her adorable nose. “Hi, Paris, honey.”

  “Hi, Georgia!” she said. She had already climbed onto Mason’s back. “You’re my horse, Mason! Giddyup!” He whinnied obligingly. How many fourteen-year-old boys would do that, in public, no less?

  My father gave me a hug. “Hello, sweetheart. God, what a great day. My three girls, my handsome grandson, my beautiful wife. Marley, will you take a picture, honey?”

  Marley took at least ten, ordering us around, rearranging us.

  A long time ago, I’d forgiven my dad for not fighting for me when he and my mother divorced. Even so, it was hard at times like this not to imagine a different life if he’d gotten custody. What kind of a person would I have been? A little easier on myself? A little less of an outsider? Would I have lost weight if I’d been happier?

  We’d never know. I’d been left in a sterile house where the air was always thick with maternal disapproval and vodka fumes, Hunter’s rage simmering in the background.

  “We’re gonna go to the finish line, okay?” Cherish said, taking Paris from me. “We’ll be cheering for you both!” She kissed Mason on his cheek—his step-grandmother at the age of thirty-eight—and blew me a kiss. The four of them made their way through the crowd.

  Then my skin prickled, and a wave of nerves rolled up from my feet and lodged like a buzzing arrow in my stomach.

  “Hello, Georgia.”

  No one said my name the way he did.

  Shit.

  I turned. Yep. My ex-husband, wearing loose-fitting black shorts, a red and white T-shirt that said Pamplona, and tiny horns in his short, dark hair.

  “Hey, Uncle Rafe!” Mason said. “How’s it going?”

  “Mason, my friend! How are you? Marley, how very good to see you again.”

  “Rafael Esteban Jesús Santiago! How are you?” she said. She gave him a hug—he’d hired her, once upon a time—and gave me a wide-eyed holy crap look over his shoulder.

  Their hug ended, and Rafe looked at me.

  My blush burned its way from my stupid crop top (why wasn’t I wearing a sweatshirt? Why?) to my throat, into my jaw and cheeks. “Hello,” I said. I could practically hear the chambers of my heart clacking open and shut.

  “So cute,” someone said. “The horns. Pamplona. Running of the bulls. I get it. Funny.” The voice sounded like mine. Ah, shit, it was.

  “It is a small world, as they say. My restaurant supports this charity, so all the staff is running.” He paused. “You are with th
e fire department, I see.”

  It was hard to look directly at him. So I didn’t. I just stood there like a stump, looking at his knee. It was a good knee.

  “Yeah,” Marley said after an awkward pause. “My brother is FDNY, remember? His husband, too. And Mason here is on the cross-country team at school, aren’t you, sweetie?”

  “Well, I just started,” my nephew said. “I’m not really good.”

  “But you will improve, my friend,” Rafe said. He smiled, and my legs turned to water.

  Did he have to look so fantastic? So adorable in those horns? How did they stay on, anyway? Glue? String? I loved his haircut. I hated his haircut. I missed his calves; I’d forgotten how perfect they were. His beautiful hands. There was a cut at the base of his thumb. I couldn’t look away.

  Marley gestured behind his back, getting my attention. Talk, she mouthed, pointing to her mouth and feigning speech.

  “Those hot dogs sure smell good,” I said. Well done, Georgia. I forced a smile that felt more like a death rictus. The left side of my mouth twitched.

  And then a woman emerged from the crowd, also wearing horns, also wearing a Pamplona T-shirt, which was knotted just under her boobs, showing her perfectly toned stomach (pierced belly button, very sexy). Tiny shorts that showed long, muscled legs.

  “There you are,” she said, sliding an arm around Rafael’s waist.

  She could’ve been a model for Pomegranate & Plum.

  An ocean of acid sloshed around in my stomach. Where was that handy hole in the ground to swallow me up? I was fairly sure my face was turning eggplant purple. Even Mason winced.

  “Heather, let me introduce you,” Rafe said. “This is my ex-wife, Georgia; her nephew, Mason; and her friend, Marley, who used to work as a line chef for me. Everyone, this is Heather.”

  “Nice to meet you, everyone,” she said.

  Silence fell.

  “Yes,” I said belatedly. “Nice to meet you, too. You look like a natural runner, don’t you? Do you love running?”