Perfect on Paper: The (Mis)Adventures of Waverly Bryson

by Maria Murnane

  After what seemed like forever, he finally looked at me. “I just don’t think we’re right for each other.”

  I held his gaze. We both knew I needed, deserved, a better answer than that.

  He looked away and put his hands on his knees.

  And I waited.

  And waited.

  Finally, he turned and looked me right in the eye. “I’m not in love with you, Waverly.”

  The tears that had welled up in the back of my eyes started to push their way out. Little beads of pain that made my head throb.

  “Oh … oh …” My mouth was open, but the words I wanted to say stayed somewhere deep inside me. In their place came tears, which quietly streamed down my cheeks.

  “I’m so sorry. I never should have let it get to this point….”

  One by one my tears turned into sobs.

  His voice was nearly a whisper. “It’s just that it seemed so perfect in the beginning … and I got caught up in it …”

  His voice trailed off, and we sat there for a long time.

  Him not saying anything, me sobbing.

  Side by side, for the last time.

  When he finally stood up to leave, it was dark everywhere. He walked slowly to the door, the cloud of guilt surrounding him nearly visible.

  He turned back to look at me.

  “I never meant to hurt you, Waverly,” he whispered.

  And then he quietly closed the door on what I had thought was my happily ever after.

  Three Months Later

  CHAPTER ONE

  SATURDAY

  2:07 p.m. “Hey, it’s Andie. I just ate a king-size Snickers. Call me back. Bye.”

  Delete.

  3:12 p.m. “Hey, it’s McKenna. Are you still in bed? Call me.”

  Delete.

  5:40 p.m. “Hey, it’s Andie. Where are you? McKenna and I are grabbing pizza later if you want to come. Call me.”

  Delete.

  7:13 p.m. “Hey, it’s McKenna. I’m with Andie at Dino’s. We have a cold pitcher and a hot pizza waiting for you. Come meet us, okay?”

  Delete.

  8:32 p.m. “Are you alive? It’s Andie. We’re heading to the Blue Light for drinks. Call us.”

  Delete.

  10:35 p.m. “C’mon, Waverly, we miss you. Come have drinks with us, please? There are lots of cute guys here.”

  Delete.

  11:15 p.m. “Hello?? Where are you? Waverly, you can’t spend the rest of your life in hiding.”

  Delete.

  11:47 p.m. “C’mon, babe, get out of those pajamas and join the living again.”

  Delete.

  Delete. Delete. Delete.

  Three Months Later

  CHAPTER TWO

  Beer goggles are the lonely girl’s Cupid.

  Or at least that had been Andie’s advice since Aaron had dumped me. Not that I’d actually acted on it yet. But there I was, finally out of social hibernation and on my first real date since the breakup.

  Okay, it was a setup, but it still counted, right?

  I looked across the table at him and his familiar brown eyes. He was a nice guy … but …

  No, an entire case of Corona couldn’t help me with this one.

  I looked around the festive Mexican restaurant and searched for something, anything, to fill the silence. The place was packed, everyone immersed in loud, lively conversation and clearly having more fun than I was. Words and laughter bounced off the walls. It was like the entire place was having a ball watching me flounder through my first attempt at dating again.

  I held up my beer and took a sip. “So, Rick, how long have you lived in San Francisco?”

  “About two years,” he said. “You?”

  “Since I finished college, so I guess that’s about eight years,” I said.

  “Wow, a long time.”

  “Yeah, a long time.”

  More awkward silence. Why couldn’t I think of anything to say? Pre-Aaron I couldn’t shut up. Now I sounded so lame and boring. Was I really that lame and boring?

  I looked back at Rick and wondered why I wasn’t attracted to him. He was cute, and he met my height requirement, which was shrinking with each Friday night I spent watching TV. But those eyes … and that chin … there was just something familiar about him that wasn’t doing it for me. What was it?

  “So you work in sports PR?” he finally said. “That must be fun. Are you big into sports?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. I’m not very athletic, actually. Jogging in a straight line for thirty minutes is about all I can handle. If I’m feeling adventurous, I jog for thirty-five minutes, maybe even thirty-six.”

  “But no real sports?” he said.

  “Um, does beginner’s yoga count as a sport if you go once a month?” I laughed weakly and took a huge sip of my beer.

  “What about watching sports? Football? Baseball?” He was obviously grasping for straws. We both were.

  I shook my head again and tried to laugh. “Not really my thing,” I said.

  He wasn’t laughing back. “So why did you get into the field?”

  I picked at the paint on my beer bottle. “Um, my dad used to play professional baseball, so I sort of grew up around sports.”

  He finally seemed interested. “Really? For what team?”

  “Oh, uh, he played AAA for the San Jose Giants.”

  “No way. What position did he play?”

  “Pitcher.”

  Rick was clearly more impressed by this new information than he was by me. “That’s so cool. Did he ever get called up to the big leagues?”

  I bit my lip. “That was the plan, but he had to retire early, right when he was about to get his big break, unfortunately.”

  “Injury?”

  “Something like that,” I said. “It’s a long story.”

  The look in his eyes changed to one I’d seen many times before. He wanted to know more but was too polite to ask.

  He took a sip of his beer. “Does he still work in sports?”

  “Not quite,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Oh. Well, it’s cool that you do. It sounds pretty glamorous.”

  I picked some more paint off my beer bottle and gave my standard response to that comment. “Yeah, it’s a great job,” I said. If he had only seen me two days earlier, picking out the green M&M’s from the bowl in our conference room because the tennis player endorsing our client’s sports bras “doesn’t do the green ones.”

  More silence. Have you ever noticed how loud silence can be? What’s up with that?

  “So, um, do you like being a lawyer?” I said.

  “It has its moments,” he said, not elaborating.

  “Oh, cool.” I looked down at the table. For some reason I assumed all lawyers in San Francisco knew Aaron and thus all knew that he had dumped me. Does the American Bar Association keep records on dating history?

  More silence.

  As if she sensed our pain, the waitress mercifully appeared and served us two more Coronas and a sampler plate of buffalo wings, nachos, and quesadillas. I, of course, immediately went for the beer. Why didn’t Coronas come in the forty-ounce size? They could label them the Bad Date Edition.

  I reached for a quesadilla. “So you’re sure we haven’t met?”

  He nodded. “I’m sure. I would have remembered a name like Waverly, you know, because of the cracker from way back when.”

  I nodded too. “Yeah, I still haven’t forgiven my parents for that one. Thank God they don’t make those anymore. So you’re really sure we haven’t met?”

  “I’m sure,” he said.

  I narrowed my eyes. “One hundred percent sure or only ninety-nine percent sure?”

  He smiled but didn’t look all that amused. “I’m sure.” Then he leaned over and picked up another buffalo wing. “Mmm … buffalo wings are my absolute favorite food. I love them even more than pizza.”

  “No way,” I blurted. “That’s exactly what Aaron always says.”

>   He looked up at me. “Who is Aaron?”

  Crap. Why was I such an idiot?

  I looked down at my hands. “Oh, uh, he’s uh, my ex, uh, my exfiancé.”

  He looked surprised. “You were engaged?”

  “Um, uh, yeah.”

  “When?”

  “Um, a few months ago.”

  “Oh? What happened?”

  I felt my cheeks go hot. I swallowed and pushed my long dark hair behind my ears. “Um, well, to be honest … we sort of rushed into it, and I really wasn’t ready to get married, and I realized that he wasn’t the right guy for me.” I could feel myself sweating, and I knew the tears weren’t far behind. I took a sip of water, but what I really needed was a stapler for my big fat mouth. Big fat stupid lying mouth.

  “Oh,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Silence.

  I put my glass of water down and looked across the table at him.

  We had hit rock bottom.

  Or so I thought.

  Suddenly I knew why he looked so familiar. How hadn’t I seen it right away?

  Rick was right. I hadn’t met him before, but holy Appalachia, he was a dead ringer … for … my … father. Minus a few decades and a pot belly.

  Cough.

  I stood up. “Hey, I’m going to use the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  “Uh, sure, are you okay?” he said. He looked a little worried.

  “I’m fine, thanks.” I steadied myself on the chair and smoothed my hand over my hair. On the way to the restroom I pulled my phone out of my purse and called McKenna.

  She answered on the second ring. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be on your big date?”

  “Uh, yeah, but I’m hiding in the bathroom,” I said.

  She laughed. “That bad?”

  I looked at my reflection in the mirror, then covered my eyes with my free hand. “Oh my God, Mackie, I’m just not ready for this. I’m a disaster. And get this, he looks exactly like my dad.”

  “No way, really?”

  “SO really. And I also broke our pact and brought up Aaron and nearly started crying, although I swear it was by accident. Seriously, I have to get out of here. What do I do?”

  “Why don’t you just tell him?”

  “What am I am supposed to say? Um, it’s been nice meeting you, but this is my first date since I basically got left at the altar, and I can’t deal with it, so I need to get the hell out of here. Oh, and by the way, you look exactly like my dad, which is weirding me out even more. So thanks for the sampler platter and the drinks. See ya.”

  The girl washing her hands next to me smiled sympathetically and mouthed the words “Good luck” on her way out.

  I leaned my hip against the sink. “You should have heard me out there, Mackie. I was the conversational equivalent of a fish flailing around on the deck of a boat. How can I get out of here?”

  “Hmm, maybe you could say you have an early meeting?”

  “It’s only eight o’clock!”

  “Headache?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “You need to feed your cat?”

  “Okay, you’re not helping here.”

  She laughed. “It looks like you may just have to stick this one out.”

  “That’s it? Stick it out? That’s your advice?” I said.

  “I’m sorry, Wave, I can’t think of anything good. Unless you want to pull the food poisoning thing again?”

  I raised my eyebrows. That had been my go-to move back in the day. “Ooh, good call. That could work.”

  “Hey, at least you tried, right?” she said.

  “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks, Mackie.”

  I shut the phone and splashed some cold water on my face. Then I slapped my cheeks a couple times and put on my best I just barfed face. Damn that sushi I had for lunch….

  I walked back out to the table just as Rick was standing up.

  He grabbed his coat and held out his hand. “I’m sorry, Waverly, but I have an early meeting in the morning, so I’m going to have to call it a night. But it was really nice meeting you.”

  “Uh, okay,” I said softly, shaking his hand. What else could I say?

  He put on his coat. “So, I’ll see you around?”

  “Um, yeah, sure.” I couldn’t believe it. He was really up and leaving? Actually, I could believe it. I sucked.

  He handed me a fifty-dollar bill. “This should cover the check. Have a great night.” He smiled, then turned and walked away.

  I slowly sat down and stared at the huge tray of food in front of me. “Bye, it was nice meeting you too,” I said to the quesadillas. I tried not to look around in case anyone was watching me, the girl who just got out-ditched. Rick was probably already on his cell phone outside, telling one of his buddies that he’d been set up with a basket case.

  I picked up my beer and looked down at the outfit I’d chosen so carefully. Dark jeans, cute red top, black flats. Was the outfit at least more attractive than my conversational skills? I pulled my hair into a ponytail and looked down at my chest. Apparently I needed to invest in some remedial dating classes. And maybe a push-up bra.

  One Year After the Breakup

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Shane Kennedy, the NBA star?” McKenna said.

  I nodded and blew hot air into my fists. “Yep, that’s him.”

  “Hunter’s going to love that one,” she said. It killed her boyfriend that I didn’t really like sports but got paid to work with professional athletes, even though most of them treated me like, well, paid help.

  It was early on a cold morning in November, and McKenna and I were on one of our semiregular walks before work. We’d been doing them for years, and our route was always the same. We met in front of Peet’s Coffee on the corner of Fillmore and Sacramento in Pacific Heights, then walked down the steep slope of Fillmore to the Marina Green yacht harbor, over to the Palace of Fine Arts, and back up the steep steps of Lyon Street. It took about an hour, and getting up early was brutal (we’d long given up trying to get Andie to join us), but it was well worth it. As we walked we talked about everything under the sun, which had been very cost-effective (i.e., free) therapy for me since the breakup.

  “Well, if this guy’s like most of the professional athletes we deal with, I can only hope he’s not a total nightmare,” I said. The next day I was off to Atlanta for the Super Show, the largest trade show in the sporting goods industry. Shane Kennedy was flying in to launch a new basketball shoe, and the whole world wanted to interview him.

  “Hunter’s going to be so jealous. He’s still talking about that time he got to treat Barry Zito in the ER,” she said.

  “Who?” I said.

  “Exactly,” she said. “So how are you doing today?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, I mean, how are you doing?”

  I looked at the sky. “What are you talking about?”

  She pushed my arm. “I know why you turned off your phone yesterday, and don’t pretend you didn’t get my message.”

  “Yesterday? What was yesterday?” I said, looking at the ground.

  “You are such a bad liar.”

  “What?” I said, looking at the sky.

  “C’mon, Wave.”

  “Okay, okay. It sucks.” The day before had been the one-year anniversary of what would have been my wedding. I’d spent it at the movies and then on the couch, alone.

  “Have you talked to him lately?” she said.

  I shook my head. “The last time I saw him was months ago, when I picked up the rest of my stuff from his house.”

  “He wasn’t that cute, you know,” she said.

  “Now who’s the bad liar?” I said, smiling.

  She laughed. “Okay, you’re right. He was extremely cute. But it doesn’t matter. Your year of mourning is over, right?”

  I looked at her. “Year of mourning? What am I, a black-clad widow in Italy?” Although I was wearing a black fleece an
d sweatpants and was seriously wishing I had on my black gloves.

  “Just trying to help,” she said.

  I glanced at my watch. “I know you are, and I love you for it. Hey, let’s step it up, okay? I’ve got a ton of work to do before I leave tomorrow.”

  We sped through the rest of our walk, and by eight fifteen I was in the lobby of K.A. Marketing. The two hundred employees who staffed our San Francisco office took up all four floors of a bright white building with high ceilings, dark hardwood floors, brick walls, and funky exposed piping. We had moved in two years earlier and renovated the whole place, so while the architecture was actually really modern, the design was sort of a retro warehouse theme.

  I stopped by the coffee cart in the lobby to pick up a carton of chocolate milk and a chocolate chip bagel. My department, which managed publicity for the sports and entertainment division, had a staff meeting every Monday morning, and they were less painful when I had a sizeable amount of chocolate in front of me. And ever since Mandy Edwards had transferred from our Chicago office a few weeks earlier, painful was the unfortunate standard.

  I walked upstairs and weaved my way through the cubicles to my office. People were slowly trickling in, everyone chatting about their weekends. I put my milk and bagel down on my desk, hung my coat on the back of my door, and walked over to the window to look at the view. Sometimes I think I secretly liked that view more than I liked my job.

  “Hi, Waverly, how was your weekend?”

  I turned around to see Kent Tanner standing in my doorway. “Oh, hey, Kent. It was good, thanks, nothing too exciting. Yours?”

  He shrugged. “The usual. Once you have kids, your weekends are pretty much a blur of cartoons, toys all over the house, barf, and dirty diapers.”

  I smiled. “Mr. Tanner, somehow you always know when I need a nice dose of reality to start my day. Now, are you ready for your first Super Show? It’s a lot different than the technology trade shows. Think you can handle the chaos?” Kent had joined our department a couple months earlier.

  “Are you kidding? Compared to pitching enterprise software, this will be a vacation.”