The Perfect Someday (A standalone novel ~ Book three in The Mathews Family)

by Beverly Preston

  She heard Lisa ask, “Maybe she ate something bad?”

  JC followed, assuring Lisa, “I’ll take care of her.”

  Tracy made a bee-line for her bathroom, choking back tears pouring down her face and neck. Tracy leaned over the sink, rinsing her mouth and splashing cold water on her face. Tension gathered in her bones. She blew out a long shaky breath through compressed lips. She gripped the faucet handle so tightly she felt like she could rip it from the granite.

  Glimpsing her unfamiliar pale reflection in the mirror, she wrinkled her nose grumbling under her breath, “You are fucking pathetic.”

  JC ventured into the bathroom, her hand rested on the doorjamb. “Are you sick? Who’s pathetic?”

  “No, I’m not sick,” she said tersely. “Just go…I need to be alone.”

  “Alone?” Confusion crossed her face. “What’s wrong?”

  The air wouldn’t come fast enough to fill her lungs and her chest heaved, gasping to find relief. She attempted to keep calm, but her entire body vibrated. Tracy snapped. “I just need some space from you right now.”

  JC’s head reeled back, dropping her hand loosely to her side. “Me? What did I do?”

  “I’m sorry.” She scrubbed her eyes, hiding her frustrations in her the palm of her hands. Words stifled in her throat. “It’s not you. I never should’ve…stupid wine.”

  “Is it that bad? Lisa raves about that wine like she has stock in it.”

  Tracy shook her head stumbling into her bedroom, avoiding JC’s curious inspection. She didn’t know how to explain the physical pain, or strong sense of shame and anger lingering deep inside, torturing her heart.

  JC’s hand swept across her shoulders.

  Tracy’s face crumpled and contorted as another round of hot tears slid down her cheeks. “It…it tastes like him,” she confessed in an ache of a whisper.

  “It tastes like him? Him who?”

  Their gazes connected. Tracy’s brow furrowed and she dropped her gaze to the floor.

  The consoling strokes came to a stop. “The Italian?”

  Her sister’s shrieking insensitive voice only added insult to an already fragile heart. “Just go, JC. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you don’t ever have feelings when it comes to men. You just do whatever and whoever you want.” Tracy cringed instantly, regretting the hurtful words. Her little sister almost always adhered to a strict three dates prior to sex rule.

  JC backed away slowly, offended and stunned. Crinkles rutted deep between the bridge of her nose and nostrils flared, shooting a dagger at Tracy. “That’s not very fucking nice to say. Don’t be getting all high and mighty with me just because some guy—“

  She reached for her sister’s arm, but JC yanked it out of reach.

  “I’m sorry. What I mean is…you don’t get attached. I can’t do—”

  “Oh my God. Is this why you haven’t been calling me? You’re mad because I wouldn’t let you have sex with him?” she questioned indignantly.

  “I don’t know what I am!” Tracy sobbed. “I’m not mad at you, but—“

  “But what?”

  “But part of me regrets, I mean really fucking regrets not staying with him.”

  “Regret? Are you kidding me? Just think of how bad you’d be feeling if I didn’t make you get in the car.”

  “That’s what makes it even worse. I completely, one hundred percent, realize I’m pitiful, stupid, and pathetic!” Tracy threw her hands in the air, disgusted with her own flimsy weak-minded misery. Pacing back and forth, the heels of her bare feet dug into the dense cream carpet. She halted and sat on the edge of the bed. “Part of me feels like I missed out on the best sexual experience I would’ve ever encountered in my life. I know it sounds crazy, but I get pissed at him for making me feel so…so passionate and then…ripping it from me. And on top of everything he promised!”

  JC sat next to her and both girls automatically flopped to their backs, a routine they’d been following since childhood. Without saying a word, they scooted toward the headboard of the whitewashed sleigh bed. Pulling back the ultra plush comforter, they laid on their sides snuggling beneath the down.

  “You sound slightly delusional.” She grumbled, repeating one of their dad’s favorite sayings, “And you know as well as I do, promises are only as good as the person making them.”

  “I can’t help it.” She closed her eyes sickly, shaking her head in disgust. Tears began to build again in the surrounding silence. Finding the courage, she faced her sister. “I…I’m such a mess…I even—“

  JC looped her pinky finger around Tracy’s in show of moral support. “You even what?”

  “I got two B’s this semester.” As the admission seeped from her strained voice, tears rolled into the hairline at her temple. Tracy had never seen a “B” etched in red ink at the top of a paper. She was the valedictorian, the girl the teachers praised, and the one all of her classmates wanted to cheat off of.

  Her eyes bulged wide, comically. “Not two B’s? We might have to call the doctor. Hey, remember that really hot doctor?”

  This provoked a smile and laughter erupted amidst the sobs. Tracy appreciated JC’s humor, simply trying to make her smile, but everyone knew she strived for perfection when it came to academics.

  “It was only one night, Tracy. Can you imagine how bad you’d feel right now if you’d had sex with him?” JC squinted sifting through the recollection, tugging on her finger. “Did you have sex with him?”

  Unprepared for the direct implication, she stammered. A clear admission of guilt. “No. I didn’t. No. Not really.”

  “Not really? It’s either a yes or no. What the hell happened that night?”

  The night’s events spilled out. The quiet bedroom resonated with sniffles, soft giggles and intermittent curse words spurred on by JC. Her little sister blinked repeatedly, hanging on every word as if they were little kids having story time and the prince was about to ride in on a white horse and valiantly save the day.

  Lying there quietly, Tracy asked, “Have you ever met a guy who made you feel that incredible? Like you could do anything. Be anything. I mean, like, you were so connected, not only linked with him but with yourself? He made me feel…” Tracy searched for the correct term. “Amazing.”

  A lump of envy rolled down JC’s throat when she swallowed hard. “No,” she whispered in a gloomy sullen tone. “You got more pleasure out of a one-night stand hand job then I’ve ever gotten out of all my hookups put together.”

  Both girls scoffed at the deplorable truth.

  Her amusement frayed, and her small smile turned to sobs. “But it hurts so badly, JC. I can’t get him out of my head. I feel like I can’t escape him. I can literally feel his hands on my skin or if I think of his grin, my chest physically aches. I can’t even drink the damn wine without having a meltdown. And believe me, I know how fucked up this all sounds. I’ve considered taking a course in psychology, just so I could figure out the crazy going on inside my head.”

  “There’s no explanation for what you’re going through, Tracy. And you’re not crazy. You don’t need Psychology 101 to label your feelings. It’s called anguish and heartbreak. You’re kind of grieving. And just the fact that I’m explaining this to you, is scaring me a little.” JC stated half joking, half serious. “Maybe you should talk to Momma. Do you want me to go get her?”

  She shook her adamantly, wiping her face on the back of her sleeve. “No. Normally I can discuss anything with Mom, even sex, but I can’t imagine having this conversation with her. I feel better just saying it out loud and getting it off my chest.”

  “I know what you need.”

  “Yeah. I need some sleep.”

  “No. No more sleep. We’re going out.” JC tossed back the covers, jumped out of bed and headed for Tracy’s closet.

  “No way. I have no interest in going out.”

  “Too bad.
Take your pick. Either I go get Momma or you can go out and have a fun-filled evening full of hot guys. Did I mention ski-patrol has a bonfire party every Wednesday night?”

  “I’m not you, JC. Going out won’t make me feel better.”

  JC emerged from the closet. Ignoring Tracy’s complaints, she dragged an inquisitive scan over her sister’s shape. “And tomorrow we are hitting the gym.”

  Color flushed her face. She wrinkled her nose. “Can you really tell I’ve gained ten pounds?” She ignored the gym for three months and cursed the scale, nearly breaking it when she tapped it too roughly trying to make the number change.

  “Only in your boobs. It’s so unfair,” she scoffed. “Like they need to be any bigger.” JC chucked a pair of skinny jeans and royal blue cable-knit sweater on the bed. “Get dressed. I’m taking you out!”

  Tracy shook her head.

  “Fine, then you’re taking me out. I’m totally depressed, in case you hadn’t noticed.” JC marched back into the closet returning with a pair of dark brown boots. “As a matter of fact, you’re so caught up in The Italian, and I hate to say it bluntly, but I’m going to, The Italian who never called! that you haven’t bothered to ask me, Hey lil’ sis! How’s your modeling going? Do you love it? Do you hate it?”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve been pathetically preoccupied drowning in dejection,” she acknowledged. “Do you love it?”

  “Yes, I do. And as a matter of fact I think I’ve actually found something I’m good at.”

  “You’re good at everything you do.”

  “Don’t try sucking up to me now,” she teased. “I think I’ve found a profession that I actually enjoy. You’ve always had dance and college, I never found anything that inspired me.”

  Tracy interrupted with a fake cough and a playful dig. “Hmm funny, I always thought hot boys motivated your class schedule.”

  Ignoring her sister, JC continued without blinking an eye, “I don’t know if I’m going to enjoy all the people in the industry.”

  Tracy raised an inquisitive brow.

  “I’ll tell you all about the drama queens while I find you a hot guy to kiss. I know of one or two that will help take your mind off The Italian.”

  “Good luck.” Her lip curled repulsively. “He was such a good kisser. I mean like mind- blowing good. He was—”

  “Stop right there! No more of he was this or he was that. He is down the road kicking cans and it’s time to move on.”

  “I don’t know if I can.” Hesitation played in her voice, her thoughts reaching deep into her childhood recollections. “Do you remember when we were little and we would spend hours building card houses with dad?”

  There was a change in JC’s expression. A teary-eyed softness teetering somewhere between understanding and sorrow at the mention of their father. She nodded. “We used to fight over the well-worn cards. They were the best. If you got stuck with the shiny cards, you knew your house would be the first to crumble.”

  Tracy agreed with a small nod. “I’ve turned into the shiny deck of cards. Giovanni was so put together, but not perfect and the layers of texture only made him more interesting to me. He was really smart, but not…”

  “But not a walking Wikipedia? He didn’t try to impress you by acting all intellectual?”

  Tracy’s head bobbed up and down, tugging her trembling lip between her teeth trying to hold back more tears. “I feel like my bottom card has been yanked out from underneath me. I can’t find balance.”

  “Look, I get it. I was there that night and I saw how he kissed you. But the horrible fact still remains, he didn’t call. Aren’t you the one who believes that people come into our lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime? Maybe he came into your life to show you a good time, sis. Show you how it can be, so you don’t lower your standards. And you know what mom preaches, Never Settle!”

  “What if I never find another man who makes me feel that good?”

  “You’re never going to find another man who makes you feel the same way…unless you put yourself out there. Mr. Perfect isn’t gonna just fall like a star from the sky. Now, get dressed! There’s at least three ski resorts in a five-mile radius full of hot men. Sometimes you have to kiss a few frogs to find prince charming.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Depending upon whose standards she followed, Tracy definitely kissed her fair share of frogs over the next year. Although JC argued, stating three frogs in one year, including the two she hand-picked for her sister over Christmas, was hideous by any single woman’s calculations.

  Tracy still yearned for an answer as to why he never called, but no longer dwelled on The Italian as she preferred to refer to him now. She took steps to get her life back in order and gain control of emotions, starting with getting back to the gym and school.

  After quitting her job at the library, she decided not to go back to work. Instead, she obstructed her pain with a grueling class schedule and rigorous workout routine. Tracy gave it her all, striving for excellence. If she received anything less than an “A” there was an internal hell to be paid. Occasionally she tossed her laptop aside to catch a movie or get together with friends, but these instances were rare and followed by guilt for abandoning her studies.

  Everything collided her last semester. Achievements she should’ve been proud of, like being the first woman in her family to graduate college and being at the top of her class, became suffocated in perfection. She graduated magna cum laude, but at a cost.

  Graduating seemed easy compared to answering the loaded question everyone asked, “What do you plan to do next?”

  After pushing herself so hard, small cracks of imperfection began to grow into giant crevices. Tracy began to realize that the tiny imposing inscription of perfection added to her diploma, failed to impress employers.

  Trepidation loomed heavily and the idea of failing terrified her. Tracy was ready to embrace her future, but for someone who majored in business, she ashamedly had no plan. No life strategy. No direction of which way she wanted her career to go. She researched several companies applying for jobs with enticing position titles of financial advisor, investment manager, or market research analyst, but nothing remotely hooked her interest.

  A firm in New York offered her a position, but she opted to turn down the dream job after interviewing. Though she loved the romance of New York City, the cuisine, the iconic skyline, the theater and the people, but the concrete jungle was not for her. Tracy recognized how much she truly loved the expansive great outdoors. It’s what lured her to Colorado in the first place.

  While spending a long weekend in Malibu with her mom and Tom celebrating her twenty-fourth birthday, Tracy read an article in the Wall Street Journal, titled ‘Six Reasons Not to Get a Business Degree.’ The article listing reasons such as You won’t make as much money as you think, followed by You don’t need a business degree to work in business, and her personal favorite Your quality of life could suck.

  She tossed the magazine on the driftwood coffee table and flopped back on the couch, covering her face in a throw pillow. Fluffy fibers absorbed her shrieking exclamations of disillusionment. “What was I thinking?”

  Tom roared reading number three out loud, “Your quality of life could suck.”

  “It’s not funny,” she groaned.

  “I know it’s not.”

  “I’m never going to find the perfect job.”

  “Do you know what the tragedy of perfectionism is, sweetheart? It robs you of the ability to celebrate your accomplishments. You need to step back and relax. Be proud of yourself and stop judging so harshly.”

  She felt the magazine tap against her thigh.

  “Aren’t you the girl who wanted to go see the world through the lens of a camera before getting tied down to the real world?”

  “Yep. That was me.” Tracy nodded, mumbling cynically. “Young, adventurous, impressionable…and naïve.”

  Tom cleared his throat, lowering the pillow from her ey
es with his pointer finger. The creases in his forehead deepened as his brows lifted, flashing Tracy an expression she dubbed The wise ole’ owl. She let out a heavy exhale, wrapping her fingers around the corners of the pillow, holding it to her chest.

  “Sometimes life lessons can be more valuable than a degree written on a piece of paper.” He waved a stack of colorful travel brochures. “Go explore. Take the time for yourself, maybe you’ll find something you love.”

  Her head fell back against the couch, and she rolled her eyes scoffing in protest. “I can’t just take off and travel. It’s time to live in the real world. Decide on a career. Get a job. Be responsible.”

  “You’re more responsible than most of my friends.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she snickered.

  “I insist. It’s your birthday present.” A calculated pause. “And if you don’t have an itinerary in a few weeks, I’ll make one for you.”

  “Momma?” Tracy lifted her chin, calling out as a warning, “Did you know about this?”

  “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Tess hollered from the hallway.

  “Don’t bother arguing, you won’t win,” Tom assured, tone unwavering.

  Tracy found Tom’s parental solicitousness endearing, but his generosity was immeasurable. With every passing day, Tracy thought of Tom more and more as her stepdad, not just simply her mom’s new husband. The love and respect she felt for him had nothing to do with his celebrity status or his net worth. She had simply just grown to love the man inside.

  Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting temptation onto the pages of gorgeous destinations rich in diverse arts and historical events. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  Her mom sat beside her. A comforting smile etched across her lips and the blue of her eyes glinting in the afternoon sun. She swept a loose strand of hair from Tracy’s forehead. “You’re burnt out, sweetheart.”

  “You really didn’t know about this?”

  “Not until a few days ago.” Tess shook her head, gesturing toward Tom. “It’s all his doing. He…we…think it will be really good for you. Maybe you’ll find something that sparks your interest.”