I step back and grab the railing. “The stars are incredible out here. Who knew there were so many?”
“That’s right, you’re a city girl. Texas has a few stars. You ought to spend more time in the Lone Star State.”
A blanket of stars in the night sky makes me feel like a speck—as if my troubles are nothing in the scheme of things. I imagine they are, but I don’t want to be judged on my accomplishments alone any longer. The pressure never lets up. Everyone should be entitled to a bad day here and there—even a happiness researcher.
I study Brent in the pale moonlight. He truly is a walking bag of sunshine. He seems to glow and creates an aura around him, and I want to be enveloped in it and leave behind my shadowy self. This feels like the answer.
“People think money brings happiness,” I tell him, gazing out over the waters illuminated by the ship. “Statistically, it doesn’t.” I look into his eyes. “What’s your secret? Why are you so happy, do you think?”
“No degrees necessary for that truth about money not buying happiness. A night in my bar would teach you that much.” He twirls me until I’m facing the water again and he’s got his arms around me, pointing to the stars. “Some of the richest people I know are the most miserable. Too much pressure in life.”
I think he’s making a move, but rather than address this, I spout some facts—my go-to chastity belt. “Happiness comes from having meaning in your life—a purpose,” I continue, as if he’s asked me.
Brent knows his purpose. In his little corner of the world, he serves up drinks and probably bad advice by the glassful. He gives people a place to go, and while I’ve never hung out in a bar in this lifetime, I covet his easy purpose: making people happy with food and drink.
I can’t help but wonder if my path might have been easier if I didn’t have my parents’ voices and their goals for me in my head. What would it be like to be okay with myself if I were a secretary or a cashier, or even a garbage collector? The world can live without another happiness researcher, but can it really live without a garbage collector? Brent’s at peace with himself, even as a guy who takes working vacations, and I covet that. He probably doesn’t hear the rules spouted in his head all day long. He must hear something more like Luke Bryan crooning.
“The mood out here,” he says. “Getting a bit dark for me.” I take this to mean that reality is getting in the way of Brent skating through life, untouched by human suffering. The researcher in me can’t help but wonder if Brent’s eternal happiness is due to a lack of dealing with anything he doesn’t want to deal with in life.
“Can you swing?” Brent asks.
“Swing?”
“Swing dance. Can you swing dance? That dress you’re in looks made for it, and there are swing lessons tonight, so even if you can’t, we could learn together. I’m more of a line dancer myself. Swing dancing would be a welcome break from the two-step in boots.”
I couldn’t even make it through dinner when starving. How on earth can I expect to dance? I suck in a deep breath. It’s time to feel the fear and do it anyway.
I allow Brent to take my hand, and we glide across the deck like two skaters ready to collect our gold medals. I’m carefree and light, as if I have wings and am about to take flight, when I’m stopped in my tracks by Kathleen and Haley. Haley actually looks as if she has murder on her mind, and for once I fear her death stare more intently than Kathleen’s.
“We’re going dancing,” I say breathlessly.
“I thought you were changing your dress.” Kathleen has taken her linebacker stance. “You don’t think you should rest up for your speech tomorrow? Maybe prepare a little?”
“It will be easy. I’m going to talk about road mapping. We’ll hand out pencils and paper, and everyone can create their own road map to happiness. A few questions and then done. We can spend the rest of the cruise collecting real-world happiness data.”
Brent greets my friends. “How are you? The name is Brent.” He stretches out his hand, and Haley just stares at it as though it’s covered in bacteria. “I’m taking your beautiful friend swing dancing. Come along, the more the merrier! Judging by the number of guys on this cruise who probably remember when swing dancing was fresh, I think there will be partners for everyone.”
His joke falls flat with a solid thud. I stare at my friends with a pleading look on my face. This is the only thing I’ve wanted in months, and just to desire something feels like progress. “Come with us,” I say. “We’ll dance.”
Haley comes toward me, her sea-green eyes brimming with tears. “I’ll lose my job, Maggie. BrainLit Books is my biggest client right now. I know it wasn’t fair to do to you, to put more pressure on you, but I swear my motive was good. I love you and I hate seeing you like this, broken by a man who wasn’t worthy of you in the first place. You told us you were changing your dress. Sam was worried he upset you and wanted to check on you, but we promised to do it for him. Now this.”
“Brent out,” he says. “Catch you girls later.” He turns and walks off.
“Solid, respectable guy you found there, Maggie. What are you thinking? Wandering off with a stranger on a cruise ship is no less dangerous than the city. Honestly, I’m starting to really worry about your state of mind.”
Well, that makes two of us.
My temporary joy falls away like water off a swan’s back. In that one gaze from Haley, I see how utterly selfish and childish I’ve been for months. I lied to my parents—through omission, but lied nonetheless. I abandoned my friends for an extended pity party, and I took a work sabbatical without a genuine explanation to my boss. Now, in Haley’s tears, I see that there are consequences to my actions and everyone else has felt them. Just because my chances of working for the great Dr. Hamilton are dashed doesn’t give me the right to destroy Haley’s chance at a bright future.
I dash after Brent. “Hey, I’m sorry. It appears I have work to do.”
He nods and winks in that oh-so-sexy, cocky way of his—like I won’t be missed at all and he’ll find my replacement within the next five minutes. “Meet me at the dance floor if you can get away,” he says nonchalantly, and plants a kiss on my cheek. “We’ll talk later about skydiving.” Then he wags his finger at me. “Your problem is your friends. You need to ditch them and find someone who knows how to have a good time.”
As I watch him walk away, I feel like my chance of ever having fun in this lifetime goes with him. Some people are the serious sort and get all the work in life done. That’s who I am. Haley’s eyes jolt me back to reality.
“I’ll fix it,” I say to her. “I’ll fix everything.”
She hands me a slip of paper. “This is Sam Wellington’s room number. I suggest you start with an apology to him before you discuss the next steps with BrainLit Books and your new title. No testosterone—really, Maggie?”
I snatch the sheet of paper. “He’s sitting in his room waiting for my apology?” I roll my eyes. “Pathetic. I stand behind my comment. This”—I wave the paper—“just proves my point.”
“Just keep your thoughts on his hormone levels to yourself. You shouldn’t be talking anyway. How much estrogen did you gain by the sheer number of chick flicks you watched? Or ice cream you ate?” Kathleen is supporting Haley, so I give up without further battle. They both seem so disappointed in me. They may as well be my parents.
I make one final plea. “Don’t you two understand that I would be the old Maggie if I were capable?”
“That’s just it,” Haley says. “We think you are capable, and you can start proving it to yourself by apologizing to Jules’s brother. What Jake did to you was callous and cruel, but you have to get back up, Maggie. There are no other options in life. You’re not responsible for Jake. You’re only responsible for you. Now get to it!”
I nod. I know they’re right. Broken hearts are a tale as old as time, and mine is no different. I wave the scrap of paper again. “He’s in his room already? Why does that not surprise me? Is he playing on
line chess for a night of laughs? Or maybe he’s breaking the big guns out and playing Sudoku.”
“You’re only proving his point by being so miserable. Show him some of that happy you’re selling and maybe he’ll believe that smart women are capable of true happiness.”
“I don’t care what he believes.”
“We know you don’t. More importantly, show him some humility so we don’t lose that contract you so desperately need. At the very least, the guy saved your life tonight, and he said nothing about you projectile vomiting bread across the table toward his sister. What does it take to impress you, Maggie?”
“I’m in a bad mood, all right?” I sulk off toward the room of this sorry sap who got his feelings hurt. Let’s be honest. He should be apologizing to me. If for nothing else than ruining a public night of fun with a genuine live human being and no gelato in sight. And maybe for saving my life.
9
Authentic direction in your life is necessary to happiness. Be honest with yourself about your true desires and passions.
The Science of Bliss by Dr. Margaret K. Maguire
SAD SACK’S ROOM IS ON THE UPPER LEVEL. I call him that name in my head just to prepare myself for his handsome face. I don’t want to be swayed by his looks or his charm. I’ve learned that lesson already. I knock lightly on the double doors and turn to scamper away when the door opens. “Dr. Maguire,” he says in a low, bored tone, as if he’s been expecting my falsely contrite self. This man saved my life, so why can’t I muster up some proper humility? Something is clearly wrong with me.
I wish I could wipe the smirk from his face. “I came to apologize.”
“How very humble of you. Won’t you come in?” He opens the door wider to his suite, which makes the one I’m sharing with my friends look like a closet.
“Holy cow! This is all for you?” I stare at him. Not having a verbal filter must pay well.
The room is surrounded by windows. There’s a warm ecru on the walls and stunning red carpet on the floor. The well-appointed lighting makes it all seem like a decorator’s addition, and I’m drawn to the wall of windows and the vast darkness behind them. “This must offer some fantastic view when the sun is up.”
“You’ll have to come by and see during the day.”
Yeah, that’s not going to happen.
“Anyway . . .” I turn to face him so I seem sincere. “I’m sorry I implied that your hormone levels might be subpar. I am not a medical doctor and should not have made any reference to your medical history, nor provided an unprofessional, armchair diagnosis.”
He actually throws his head back in laughter, then cocks that expressive brow of his. “That’s my apology?”
I cross my arms. “What was wrong with it?”
“It’s anemic.”
“Anemic?”
He shrugs his wide shoulders. “Anemic. Not substantial. Did you run that by your lawyer before you came by?”
“I know what it means. What did you expect me to do, come up here and grovel?”
“Yes, please. I did save you from choking. I figure it’s the least you could do. I also ordered you a regular iced tea since you clearly can’t handle your alcohol, and I made sure you stayed sober in front of your new boss. Personally, at this point, I think groveling a little couldn’t hurt. I’ve been Superman tonight.”
“I wasn’t going to choke—”
“Don’t you have anything about being grateful in that book of yours on happiness? I mean, all the happy people I’ve ever met are extremely thankful people.” He crosses his arms across his expansive chest. “You know . . . they’re gracious.”
The word hits my last nerve. “Do you know how hard it was to come up here? You basically said I’m destined to be alone for the rest of my life and seemed to enjoy it. You are such an incredible, life-size jerk! Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Surprisingly, no. But then, I believe that most people are equipped with some kind of a filter. A smidgen of tact.”
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black. Didn’t you tell me smart women can’t be happy? Before you actually introduced yourself? I mean, those are some mad charm-school skills you’ve got there. Is that what they taught you in prep school?”
“Ah, so you think I went to prep school and was handed my money, along with estimating my level of masculinity. But I’m the judgmental one, is that right? And here Haley told me Kathleen was the prophetic one in your group.”
“Maybe I attacked your masculinity because you attacked my femininity, did you ever think of that?” My head drops in shame as I realize what I actually said to him and how true it is. He hit my soft spot—one that I didn’t even know existed.
“No, I never did think of that,” he says, his voice a whisper. “I have my own history with intelligent women, and I imagine my conclusions might be skewed. I’m sorry you bore the brunt of that.”
My whole body seems to soften at his admission, and I want to call a truce. For his sister’s sake. “There’s nothing wrong with your masculinity,” I blurt out. Mostly because it’s the truth and it was his masculine self saying the torturous words that was the problem in the first place. “I want you to know, though, that some man out there might be challenged by a woman with a few degrees behind her. Maybe not you, but certainly someone.” I look up.
He brushes my hair behind my shoulder, which should feel forward and far too intimate for our casual acquaintance. But it doesn’t. It seems innocent and natural. As if he’s the bigger person, able to show kindness when someone truly doesn’t deserve it. “You’re right. Any man would be lucky to have you, and I’m ashamed to have implied otherwise. I’m sorry.” He picks up a leather folder from the table and hands it to me. “Do you want something from room service? Or did you get to the buffet while you were avoiding me by changing your dress?” He stares at the same dress I left the dining room in, as if waiting for an explanation.
I’m starving. There are pictures on the menu—like it’s a high-class Denny’s—and my flesh is weak. I swallow the lump in my throat and straighten my shoulders. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Wellington. I wasn’t avoiding you. I simply wanted to have some fun, so I left what seemed to me a table of corpses.” As soon as I say the words, I shudder at their impact. “I’m sorry. I haven’t eaten. I think I’m hangry. Feed me or I’m like one of those monsters after midnight.”
“A gremlin.”
“Yes, a gremlin,” I admit.
“You must be starving. Everyone gets grumpy when they’re hungry. Sit down and eat.” He turns to his butler, who is standing stoic and unconcerned in the corner like a zombie statue. When he moves, I nearly jump out of my skin. “Marcus, would you bring in the meal I ordered for Miss—Dr. Maguire?”
Marcus nods. “I’ll get it from the kitchen.” He leaves the two of us alone in the expansive room by exiting through a different door.
“You have a kitchen in the suite?”
“Just a small one,” Sam says. Which is like someone telling me they have the lower-end Porsche.
It’s so homey in the suite, and the idea of there being a magical kitchen behind the door makes me feel as if I’m in a fairy tale.
“You already ordered dinner for me?” I pull out the chair at the small table and wilt into it. “That’s presumptuous, isn’t it?” Why did I say that? Why can’t I tell him how absolutely famished I am and that he couldn’t have done anything sweeter for me, especially since my behavior hardly warrants any favors?
“Is it? I felt it was common courtesy. You’ve had a long, emotional couple days. Your friends told us that you didn’t plan to be here and that they surprised you yesterday. I can certainly identify with that.” He pushes my chair closer to the table. “You seemed rather in a hurry to get away. I figured you might not have eaten after you left the table.”
Not since this morning and that stale muffin at the motel. It was not worth Kathleen’s sermon on empty calories. My stomach groans as a reminder.
&
nbsp; Sam’s eyes have a depth to them that brings out the scientist in me. I want to explore them, scan them for data, and discover the basis for his attitude against smart women. He might offer the key for why all men seem to want something other than me. I narrow my eyes and look into his to see if the answer is in there.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
I sit up taller in the chair. “Everything is great,” I say in my best chipper voice.
Sam’s small, heroic act of ordering me dinner makes me want to cry and I have no idea why. I suppose I’m exhausted and my stoic nature has given way to my sappy side. The sting of tears begins and I blink them away, wondering if my Prince Charming fantasies have ruined me forever. Unfortunately, Sam notices.
He presses his hand softly to mine. “Put your armor away for one minute. I can’t possibly harm you with Marcus coming back shortly. He’s only gone to make sure your food is warm. Let’s call a truce, maybe? At least until you’re done eating and have your strength back. Then you can go right back to telling me why I’m a—what was it you said? A life-size jerk.”
“I don’t want to fight you, Mr. Wellington. You make it sound like I’m in kindergarten.” If I thought having my book quotes parroted back to me was trying, it was nothing next to my unfiltered self with Sam Wellington. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Why are you so suspicious?” He grins, and my eyes are drawn to the stubble of growth on his jawline. It wasn’t there this morning, and I’m reminded that perhaps my previous view of his hormone level might be tainted by my feelings about him and his vast similarities to Jake. Will I forever blame men for Jake’s failings? Is that what I’m doing? If so, it only proves my point that I don’t belong in science any longer. I used to be such an excellent student of people, hunting patterns and deciphering scientific markings from others’ thoughts and behaviors. My sabbatical has left me soft.
The Theory of Happily Ever After Page 9