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

by Maria Murnane

  “That’s awesome. And you said that trainer guy Jake does work for Adina Energy, right? So would you see him?”

  “Now that I don’t know. He said he does some consulting for them, but I don’t know how PR would play into it. But maybe I could work out some sort of boondoggle to run into him, totally by accident, of course.”

  “Gotta love the boondoggle,” she said, then touched the fabric of my blouse. “I love that top. I remember when you bought it, but I’ve never seen you wear it before. What took you so long?”

  I looked down at the top. “I’m not sure. I wore it for the first time on that horrible Wrong Darren date, so I put it on again tonight in hopes of avoiding any negative wardrobe-association issues.”

  “Well, it looks great on you. Hey, here comes the chief resident.”

  Hunter made his way through the crowd and gave McKenna a soft kiss when he reached us. “Hey, you,” he said quietly to her in his boyfriend voice, his standard greeting that always made me jealous but happy for her at the same time. Then he turned to me and gave me a bear hug. “Hi, Waverly, it’s great to see you.”

  “Happy birthday, Mr. Re … si … dent,” I sang in my best Marilyn Monroe voice. “Congratulations, you genius. I’m seriously impressed.”

  “Why, thank you,” he said with a big grin. “Now, what can I get you ladies to drink?”

  Four hours of celebratory drinking and dancing later, McKenna, Hunter, and I were sitting in Pizza Orgasmica on Fillmore, a popular late-night pizza spot filled with drunken holiday revelers, us included.

  “So are you coming to my New Year’s Eve party?” Hunter said to me.

  I extended my hand. “I’m sorry, have we met? I’m Waverly Bryson.”

  “Waverly’s boycotting New Year’s Eve,” McKenna said.

  “Boycotting New Year’s? Why?” Hunter said.

  “What?” I said.

  “Why are you boycotting New Year’s Eve?”

  “I’m sorry, did you say something?” I said.

  “Waverly …,” McKenna said.

  I put down my slice of pizza. “Okay, I’ll tell you why. I may have forgotten how to be single, but one thing I do remember is that you DO NOT want to be single on New Year’s Eve.”

  “Waverly, you’re being way too dramatic,” McKenna said.

  “Am I? Tell me this: when else is there so much pressure to be fabulous and to find that perfect dress and the perfect guy to kiss at midnight? It’s like prom night all over again, without the big hair.”

  “I’ve seen your prom photos,” she said. “Ouch.”

  “Shut up,” I said, pointing at her. “You’re right, but shut up anyway.”

  “C’mon, Waverly, it’ll be fun,” Hunter said. “Maybe you’ll get a good kiss out of it.”

  “And maybe you’ll actually remember the kiss this time,” McKenna said.

  “Touché,” I said with a laugh, then looked down and realized I had a big blob of tomato sauce and cheese on my blouse. “Oh, frick.” I grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the spot.

  “Hi, Waverly. Hi, McKenna. Happy holidays!”

  We all looked up and saw Brad Cantor standing next to our table, by himself. He was always by himself, no matter what time of day or night it was, and apparently no matter where he was.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said under my breath.

  “What?” Brad said.

  “Hi, Brad, um, I was just cursing myself for dropping pizza on myself.” I pointed to the mess on my top.

  “Ahhh, you can barely see it. And that’s a great top on you, Waverly. Mind if I join you guys?” Before I could say anything, he sat down next to me and smiled. McKenna buried her face in Hunter’s shoulder and tried not to laugh.

  Two strikes and you’re out. The blouse was going straight into my Goodwill pile.

  On the afternoon of New Year’s Eve, I started to freak out. Aaron was getting married in a few hours, and I didn’t even know who I was going to kiss at midnight.

  McKenna was helping Hunter get ready for his party, so I called Andie.

  “I’m starting to freak out,” I said.

  “Deep breaths, deep breaths,” she said. “If you can get through tonight, a brand new year is waiting for you tomorrow morning, right?”

  I nodded. “You’re right, I just need to get through tonight. I can do that. Got any advice on how to do that?”

  “You know what my go-to advice for this type of situation is,” she said.

  “The beer goggles thing?”

  “Yep, you know it’s true. They are the lonely girl’s Cupid. We’ll find you someone to smooch to help ease the pain. You’ll be fine.”

  “You think so?” I said.

  “Well, realistically you will probably have a meltdown at some point, probably close to midnight, but that’s totally understandable. So just do what you can, and we’ll deal with it.”

  I had to laugh. “A meltdown?”

  “Hey, babe, you knew before you called me that I would tell it to you straight, so no complaining, okay? McKenna’s the soda fountain to go to if you want soft-serve.”

  “True, true,” I said. Andie was anything but soft-serve.

  “Okay, hon, I gotta run and get myself waxed. See ya at the party,” she said.

  I put the phone down and chuckled. Andie could probably make me laugh as I was being pushed over the edge of a live volcano.

  To clear my head I decided to go for a run to the Golden Gate Bridge. The cold, crisp air chilled my cheeks and forehead as I jogged down the hill toward the water. The streets were practically empty, so I assumed everyone was probably inside resting up for the big night.

  There were a few sailboats sprinkled over the bay, and as I gazed out at them I remembered a sailing trip Aaron and I had taken when we’d just started dating. He and I had held hands during the entire trip and had even sneaked below a few times to kiss. And tonight he was declaring his lifelong love for someone else. Yuck.

  While I’d tried my best not to think about his wedding, the reality of it was hitting me now. He still hadn’t called me, even after I’d run into him, which I guess just proved that we weren’t a part of each other’s lives anymore—that we would never be again.

  I wished I could just stop thinking about it. Why did I still care so much? Why did it still hurt so much? I found myself fighting back tears, running faster and faster along the lush grass of the Marina Green, then along Crissy Field toward the hill leading to the pedestrian entrance of the bridge. I wiped my forehead with my sleeve, breathing harder and harder.

  It hurt. A lot. But I knew it had to do with more than just Aaron. It also had to do with the fact that I obviously hadn’t really known him. I mean, how could I not have seen that he wasn’t in love with me? Shouldn’t that be pretty obvious? Had I been so eager to prove to myself (or to my dad?) that I was marriage material that I’d buried my head in the sand about what marriage really was? And more than that, why hadn’t Aaron been in love with me? Wasn’t I loveable?

  At least a little bit?

  I raised my left hand to wipe the tears from my eyes as I ran up the dirt hill toward the bridge. Once I reached the top, I looked ahead toward the pedestrian entrance and picked up the pace until I was nearly in a full sprint. But I didn’t feel tired. I didn’t feel anything. I just wanted to keep running. I wanted to leave everything behind and keep running and running and never stop.

  Suddenly I realized that I was headed straight toward a huge tree branch that had fallen in the center of the path. And I was running so fast that I couldn’t stop and didn’t have time to go around it. I tried to jump, but my foot got caught, and before I knew what was happening, I was tumbling head first onto the dirt.

  I wasn’t sure what I felt about anything anymore. But when I fell over that branch, I did feel something for real.

  I felt my ankle break.

  New Year’s Eve in a San Francisco emergency room, even in a fancy Pacific Heights emergency room, is a freak
show. There are no other words to explain it appropriately. It was barely six o’clock when I got there, and the waiting room was already packed with weirdos. It was hard to tell who was on drugs and who was truly in pain. I could only imagine what it would be like as the night wore on.

  After my fall, I had crawled to the side of the path and had sat there for about ten minutes. My ankle hurt so much that I couldn’t imagine trying to make it to the ranger’s cabin at the bridge entrance. So I’d just sat there in a state of semi-shock and waited for someone to appear. The next joggers to come by were a friendly married couple, and they’d helped me back to the main road where their car was parked. They drove me to the emergency room and let me use their phone to call McKenna, who was now on her way to pick me up.

  I looked at the X-ray technician. “Is it broken?”

  She helped me off the cold table and into a wheelchair. “Sorry, only the doctor is allowed to tell you that.”

  “Oh.”

  She winked. “But you’re young, you’ll heal fast.”

  Uh, thanks for the tip, Miss Confidentiality.

  Thirty minutes later, I had a cast up to my knee, a set of crutches under my arms, and an appointment with a specialist for the following week. I was also still in my sweaty, dusty running clothes. Only two hours earlier I had been thinking about what to wear to Hunter’s party. Frick.

  I crutched back into the crowded lobby, where McKenna and Hunter were waiting. McKenna ran over and put her arms around me.

  “Oh, sweetheart, you poor thing. Are you okay? How did it happen? Does it hurt? How long will you have that thing on your leg? And how in the world are you going to shower?”

  I looked at her and tried to smile. “I tripped over a branch on the jogging trail. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was running, and boom, I went down like a portfolio of Enron stock.”

  “What sort of pain medication did they give you?” Hunter said.

  “I have no idea.” I pulled out the prescription from my pocket and handed it to him. “They also gave me something in the casting room, and it’s making me feel really woozy.”

  He looked at the prescription. “Vicodin. Good, it’ll help you sleep tonight. We’ll fill this on the way home, but first I’m going to ask the doctor what they gave you in there, just so I know. I’ll be right back.”

  He left me and McKenna by the door and walked over to the triage desk. McKenna watched him with a dreamy look in her eyes, then put her arm around me. “All right, we need to get you home and comfortable. Let’s think about what you’re going to need. How long do you have to stay off your leg?”

  I leaned forward and rested on my crutches. “The doctor said I have to spend a week on the couch with my leg propped up. If it swells up too much, it’ll put pressure on the cast and start to throb.”

  “Ouch. That sounds terrible. When Hunter gets back he’ll pull the car around, and then we’ll take you home and get you settled.” She put her hand on my back and wiped off some of the dust still coating my fleece. “We also need to get you cleaned up. I’ll help you shower.”

  “Can I watch?” An old man in a pink tutu with waist-length pink hair looked up at us from his seat and grinned. No teeth.

  Nice.

  “All right, you’ve got InStyle, People, US Weekly, Entertainment Weekly, Glamour, and Cosmopolitan, plus your standard chick-flick classics: When Harry Met Sally, Clueless, Sixteen Candles, Notting Hill, Legally Blonde, Love, Actually, and 27 Dresses.” McKenna propped my leg up on a pillow and handed me the remote.

  “Uh oh, we forgot to get Top Gun,” I said.

  “Top Gun is a chick flick?”

  I held both my hands up in the air. “Hello? Volleyball scene?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. I’ll bring you that one tomorrow. You’re sure you don’t want me to stay with you tonight?”

  “No, no, go to Hunter’s party. This is his big night, and I don’t want you or Andie to miss it just to babysit me.”

  “You sure?”

  I picked up People magazine and shooed her away. “Yes. Now get out of here. I need to catch up on my celebrity gossip anyway.”

  “All right, all right. I’m going. I’ll come by to check on you first thing in the morning.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Mackie.”

  So that’s how New Year’s Eve, the night my once-perfect fiancé married someone else, went for me. No fancy party, no perfect dress, no perfect kiss. Just me, my DVD player, and my Vicodin. And I didn’t even have any ice cream in the freezer.

  The next year had to be better.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  My first day back at work after the holidays was, well, a pain in the ass. I know that sounds really crude, but maneuvering around on crutches totally sucks. Just getting myself showered, dressed, properly caffeinated, and out of the apartment before 8 a.m. had me ready to flop back into bed.

  When I crutched out of my apartment building, the crisp January morning air smacked me in the face like a Jerry Springer guest. I wished I’d worn my hair down, because my ears immediately felt like they might chip off at any moment. I had about a third of my hair pulled back into a loose twist clasped with a thick silver clip, the rest hanging straight down my back. Several strands of my hair fell loosely to my chin, and I hoped it looked like it was supposed to be a bit messy on purpose, because the truth was that I was disheveled and exhausted. I hadn’t been dressed and off the couch in nearly a week, and the last thing I could be bothered to worry about was my hair.

  I wore a backpack full of stuff that would normally be in my purse, and as I crutched along, I was suddenly hit with the familiar sensation of being back in high school, when a backpack was as much a staple as the unfortunate scrunchie. For a moment I was on the way to my locker before first period chemistry. I started humming “Tearin’ Up My Heart” by ’N Sync, but then I quickly realized that anyone currently in high school was probably in diapers when that band was popular. That made me feel about 90 years old and snapped me out of my morning daydream. Ouch.

  I continued to crutch down the street and could practically see the grass growing on the way. The path from Fillmore down to California was on a slight but definite slope, and I was totally scared of taking a wrong step and biting it. After what seemed like forever, I finally made it to the bus stop and crutched to the back of the line for the number 1, also known as the Chinatown Express, for its voyage through what the casual observer might mistake for a village outside of Beijing. I knew I should take a cab to work, but I felt so ridiculous for the way I’d broken my ankle that I was determined to overcompensate by being strong and independent.

  So I sucked it up and took public transportation.

  “Here, take mine.” A fresh-faced boy wearing a suit that was way too big for him jumped up and motioned for me to take his seat on the bus.

  “Uh, thank you.” I couldn’t believe how young he looked. Was he some sort of high school intern? I sat down and hoped no one would bump into my leg. Then I looked out the window at the dark sky, which looked much darker than it had when I had left my apartment. I prayed that it wouldn’t rain.

  My prayers weren’t answered.

  Within two minutes it started to pour, and I wondered how in the world I was going to manage getting off the bus once we reached downtown. And then I wondered how in the world I was going to manage being downtown once I got off the bus. I decided that the ride home that evening would definitely be in the back of a cab. Score: Toughing It Out, 0; Wimping Out, 1.

  “Let me help you. I’m getting off, too.” The prepubescent in the suit took my arm when we reached my stop, and he even insisted on walking me to my office and holding his umbrella over my head.

  “You’re so sweet to do this. Seriously, thanks so much,” I said.

  He smiled. “It’s no problem.” I don’t think his voice had even changed yet. I gave him my card and told him to call me if he ever needed a fake ID.

  When I finally hobbled into my office, I used a c
rutch to shut the door and sat down at my desk. I looked at the window and saw that it was still pouring outside. I’d been at work for approximately three minutes, and I was completely exhausted.

  Holy crap.

  “So how’s it feeling?” Andie said.

  “So much better,” I said. “I’ve pretty much got the crutch thing down, and I gave up the GI Jane attitude weeks ago and now take cabs to work. And at least I can drive if I need to.” It was Sunday afternoon a few weeks later, and Andie, McKenna, and I were having lunch up in Marin, about fifteen minutes north of San Francisco across the Golden Gate Bridge.

  “You’re taking cabs to work?” McKenna said.

  I nodded. “It’s costing me a small fortune, but it makes my life so much easier. And Jess said I could work at home anytime it’s raining or if I’m too tired to come into the office, which I’ve been doing about twice a week.”

  “You can stay home anytime you’re too tired to come into the office? I wish I could swing that deal,” Andie said.

  “So when do you get the cast off?” McKenna said.

  “Tuesday. If everything checks out at my doctor’s appointment, they’ll switch me to a walking cast.”

  “Cool.”

  “I can’t wait to be able to walk again. Cynthia’s wedding is a week from Saturday, and I really don’t want to go on crutches. Sitting at the singles table again is going to be hard enough.”

  “Like a walking cast is going to look any better with a cocktail dress? I don’t think so,” Andie said.

  “Thank you for reminding me,” I said.

  “So, any word on that big account yet?” McKenna said.

  “Adina Energy? Not yet. But the rumors are flying that the announcement will be made next week, when I’m in the New York office,” I said.

  “So it’s still looking good?”