Next Year I'll be Perfect

by Laura Kilmartin

  “Why?” I winced, already knowing the answer.

  “It seems that one of the pool secretaries – one Cory Latham –filed a labor grievance against me for harassment.” Livvie gave me a pointed look. “It seems she found your conversation very interesting as well.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Actually, it was more like ‘oh, deep shit’ thank you very much. I spent an hour and a half in a room with Cory, some middle manager type from H.R. and a union rep.”

  “Oh, Livvie, I am so sorry.” I clapped my hand to my mouth, regretting every evil comment I made. Well, I didn't exactly regret making the comments per se, just the fact that they got Livvie into trouble.

  “You better not be sorry,” Livvie warned, wagging a finger in my direction. “If you said even half the things she accused you of, I owe you several large drinks downtown.”

  “What happened? Are you in any trouble?”

  “Not hardly. Even the union rep knew it was a bogus grievance. It's not like I was even responsible for the supposed harassment. Besides, several people in the office at the time of the call heard Cory bragging about how you tried to hang up, but she refused to give you the last word.”

  “Bitch,” I muttered reflexively.

  “Agreed. The grievance was found to be without merit, but we did agree that I'd give you my inside line so you won't have to place calls through the reception area anymore.”

  “The Union rep was very understanding,” she winked.

  “Oh?”

  “Let's just say he thought it would be for the best if he got the number to my private line, too.”

  “That sounds promising.” I took a long gulp from the can of diet soda by my side.

  Livvie just smiled. Not willing to jinx a potentially good thing, she deftly changed the subject by again gesturing toward the destruction that was my living room. “Okay, so explain the great paper blizzard.”

  “I'm back on track. I spent the weekend refocusing on my goals and the fact that I'm making progress on the job front, but weight is stalled and my hopes of a relationship are – if anything – in a downward spiral.”

  “And what have you learned from all of this planning and plotting?” Livvie asked, sorting through the papers closest to her and scanning their contents.

  “Well, if I want to lose weight, I need to eat less and exercise more.”

  Livvie stopped her paper shuffling and gave me a pointed glare. “You needed to kill a tree to come up with that brilliant deduction?”

  “What can I say? I'm a slow learner.”

  “Not telling me anything I don't know.” Livvie leaned forward and pulled a stack of Sunday paper ads from under her chair. “What are these?”

  “Oh, those. I was pricing a few stair machines to help train for Mt. Katahdin. I thought since I'm not saving for a down payment anymore, I could stand to spend some of my savings.”

  “Stair machines? Seriously?” Livvie slumped into the love seat in a manner I couldn't quite name, but one that lived somewhere near the corner of frustration and exasperation. Shaking her head, she asked, “Where is it? The list. The original. The one I gave you on your birthday.”

  “Over there.” I pointed to the largest stack of papers on my desk.

  Grabbing the paper and thrusting it in my face, she asked, “Look at this. Tell me what you see.”

  “The tangible proof of my shattered hopes and dreams.”

  Apparently the wrong answer as Livvie responded through gritted teeth, “Killing me, Bennett. Seriously, seriously killing me here.”

  Taking a breath, though, she rallied. “You know what? Never mind. I'll tell you what this is. This is a list of goals to accomplish. The thing is, that some of them are truly your goals and some of them aren't.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, look at the items that are crossed off. Like number four.” She pointed to my desire to see Bruce Springsteen in concert. “You love Springsteen. You wanted to see him, so you went online, got us those crappy tickets and we went. And look at number seven.”

  “Jimmy Stewart's star,” I muttered, suddenly clueing in on my friend's point.

  “Right again, Bennett. Do you really think Eddie and David would have taken a full day out of their vacation to stand on a street corner and gaze at a piece of granite? No. You wanted it. You made it happen.”

  “I guess so.”

  “You guess, my ass. You made it happen.” Livvie scanned my list and pointed at yet another item. “Look at this one. You finally manned up and decided you wanted to be partner in a law firm. So what happens? I'm gone for one week and you've already met with your boss, rejected what he had to say and set up a job interview with another firm.”

  I took a moment to digest my friend's words, but the taste was really quite pleasant. Still, I had to ask. “Since when did you become a fan of my list?”

  “I'm not a fan of the list, you dope. I'm a fan of Sarah Bennett. I'm just trying to decipher which parts of this list belong to her and which parts belong to the life she thinks she should have.”

  “We already pitched the idea of buying a new house. I don't want to cut the list down too far.”

  “We won't. But Sarah, do you really want to climb a mountain?”

  “Um, sure.”

  “Way to be convincing.” Livvie walked into the kitchen, retrieved a can of soda for herself, silently judging my hostessing skills and resumed her perch. “Here's a different question for you. When we started exercising last fall, why did you choose the paved Boulevard route? There are tons of hiking trails around Portland.”

  “You know I like walking the Boulevard. It's clear, flat, near the city. We get dirty and dusty hiking on the trails. All kinds of critters and bugs out there, too,” I shuddered at the thought. “Yuck.”.

  Livvie leaned back, the smug look on her face confirming that Perry Mason had once again coerced a confession on the witness stand.

  “Oh, shut up.”

  “I didn't say anything.”

  “Yeah, well, you said it pretty damn loud.”

  Holding my list up once more and giving it a slight shake, she asked, “So, Mt. Katahdin?”

  “Go ahead and scratch it,” I replied, throwing a Sharpie at my friend, none too gently. “But you're not touching the items about losing weight and finding a relationship. Those are all mine. Besides I have new strategies to put into play.”

  “Strategies? Like eat less and exercise more?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Fine. That's your strategy for weight loss.” Livvie placed the pen and list on my coffee table. “So, what inspiring strategies did you reach about men and relationships?”

  “Well, I know Morgan and I are barely speaking. He's out of the running. I think I'm back to your plan of meeting men outside of my current circle.”

  “You're probably right. The date with Morgan was a fiasco.” Livvie agreed. “I don't know why you keep ruling David out, though. I'm pissed about his behavior at the bar and sabotaging your date, but he's a good guy. Why won't you give him a shot?”

  It was a good question.

  And it deserved an honest answer.

  “I just can't do it, Livvie. I just can't date David.”

  “Why not?”

  I collapsed bonelessly into my desk chair and faced my friend. “Let's say for the sake of argument that David is interested in me romantically.”

  “Yes, let's just pretend that's a possibility.” Livvie leaned forward to keep from dripping her sarcasm all over my couch.

  “David and Jeremy and Eddie are my family.” I searched for the right words to explain the delicate balance that was my life. “My mom and dad are gone. The Thorntons are all I have. Since my first memory, we've been this weirdly meshed, completely dysfunctional and fantastically happy family unit. I love him, but in the exact same way I love Eddie and Jeremy. There's just nothing else there. If I try to force something, it's just not going to work and when I screw things up wit
h David, I don't just lose him. I lose my entire family.”

  Livvie must have realized we were about to walk down a morose road. Showing exactly why she was my best friend, she merely gave my hand a hard squeeze and took a sharp conversational u-turn, deftly avoiding the potential emotion-fest. “Okay, then. David's out and Morgan's out. We're back to where we were a few months ago. You need to meet new men.”

  We took a few moments to quietly consider, and in turn reject, ideas before Livvie broke the silence. “You know my friend Alice from work?”

  At my nod, Livvie continued, “She has this book club she wants us to join.”

  A book club sounded promising. At the very least, my potential boyfriend would be literate.

  “Are there any men in this book club?”

  “Yes.” Livvie answered, her eyes not quite meeting mine. You had to love lawyers who answered only the direct questions asked of them.

  “Are they single men?”

  “Well, no. But married men have single friends.”

  “No they don't. That's a myth.” I wasn't sure whether married men didn't like reminders of their single days, wives didn't like their husbands hanging out with the boys, or if once the first member of a pack found his mate, the others just fell into line, but I knew it was the truth.

  Regardless of the message propagated by television sitcoms, married men did not vicariously enjoy the exploits of their randy, single friends. Married men hung out with other married men.

  “Are there any single women in the book club?” I asked. Unlike married men, single women could be a great source for meeting single men. Much like a sale at Filene's basement, women often rejected men with no inherent flaws, but because they just weren't the right fit. Most secure, mature women were willing to share castoffs.

  Unfortunately, Livvie dashed my hopes on that front, too. “No. I think the women in the club are married, too.”

  I gifted my friend with what I hoped was my most withering look. “Great plan, thanks. Next idea?”

  Livvie tapped at her lip for a moment before straightening with a bright smile. “World Cup soccer.”

  “You want me to play World Cup soccer?”

  “No, you idiot. One of the bars downtown is having a special broadcast next Saturday with half price drink specials. Men like soccer and they like cheap beer even better.”

  I tried to find a flaw with the new plan, but failed. I hated to admit it sounded like a good idea. “I suppose that might work.”

  “It's a couple of hours sitting in front of a big screen TV drinking beer.” Livvie curled her feet underneath her, leaning back into the cushions. “I mean, how bad could it be?”

  * * *

  “How bad could it be?”

  I found that the answer to Livvie's question was that it wasn't that bad. It was, however, mind-numbingly boring.

  I did, though, reach a profound conclusion as I sat in Gladiator's Sports Pub, sipping the afternoon tap special.

  I didn't like soccer.

  I watched the fans in the crowd half a world away; the players running back and forth in the lush green field; and then thought about the countless riots and stampedes at which people had lost their lives due to the crazy fervor for the game. All I could think was…

  “Eh.”

  Livvie, who had pushed me out of the nest and made me attend the event alone to look more ‘available’ hadn't been wrong, though. The room was filled with men. Unfortunately, most of them were actually boys who looked barely old enough to drink and were by far too young for me to be involved with any way short of offering to baby-sit them.

  At the other end of the spectrum was a table full of lecherous – probably married – men in their late fifties who took turns individually coming over and asking me to join them. I smiled politely, but gripped onto my bar stool for dear life.

  To be fair, there was a table occupied by mixed gender fans rooting for Italy. They were friendly, seemed normal enough and had also asked me to join them. I considered it briefly before noticing the ratio of men to women was exactly 1-to-1 and the women were shooting me death glares. Heeding the unspoken Code of Women, I chatted briefly, but in the end returned to my perch.

  As it turned out, the most action I got during the game was the friendly chatter from the bartender, Tim, but knowing he was an old “friend” of Eddie's, I couldn't even work that angle.

  After an hour, a beer, and a generous tip for Tim, I left the bar, shading my eyes against the day which had turned out much sunnier than the forecast had called for. At loose ends with what to do with myself and only a few blocks from the office, I decided to put in a few hours' worth of work.

  Not knowing what my future work life would look like, I'd been spending numerous hours recently cleaning up old, back-burnered matters and paying closer attention than usual to my filing and documentation. I knew leaving Frank's office would be hard, and my boss was nothing if not unpredictable. When I finally mustered my courage to resign, he could just toss me out, seeing my action as disloyalty to our personal relationship.

  Even knowing this could be his reaction, I couldn't leave his clients in the lurch or his files in disarray just because Frank had a temper.

  Unlocking the office door, I reached to enter the alarm code on the pad near the door, not entirely surprised that it was not engaged. It was a gorgeous, bright Saturday. I should have known Frank would be working. Dropping my purse on Gloria's desk, I walked into my boss' office and plopped into the visitor's chair.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Frank looked up, equally unsurprised by my presence. “I could ask the same.”

  “I work for an incredibly unreasonable man who keeps ridiculous hours.”

  “Sounds like my kind of guy.” My boss' eyes crinkled. “I went to the deli at lunch. There's half a sandwich in the fridge out back. It's yours if you want it.”

  Sadly, factoring in my failure at the bar, Frank's offer was the most appealing one I'd gotten all day. Rising to claim my newly acquired lunch, I was surprised to find Frank and I were not alone.

  “Hey, Frank…” Morgan burst into the office, stopping short and obviously every bit as surprised to see me as I was him. “Oh, hi Sarah.”

  Crap. He was dressed in his “Casual Ken” attire which I hated to admit I still found unreasonably attractive. What was wrong with me? I saw this guy in an expensive shirt and jacket almost every day and had steeled myself against most inappropriate reactions. I saw the guy in a 2004 Springsteen World Tour t-shirt and jeans, though, and turned into a babbling 14 year old.

  “Hey,” I managed to reply. I sidled past Morgan, still standing by the open office door and retrieved my purse from Gloria's desk. Once I had distanced myself a step or two from whatever kryptonite-like hold Morgan held over me, I stopped long enough to feel the old workplace jealousy course through my veins. Morgan Donovan was still a law student for crying out loud. Why was he here, making points with Frank on the weekend?

  “What are you doing here?” I blasted at him the moment he left Frank's office.

  “Working. What are you doing here?” Morgan shot back, not giving an inch or backing away from my obvious confrontation.

  I had to admit his attitude was pretty impressive.

  And more than a little hot.

  It was also just snippy enough to throw cold water on my less than friendly behavior. “Point taken. I was downtown watching the World Cup and bored off my ass. I decided to clean up my desk a little.”

  “You left a bar full of people and a sporting event to come to work?” Morgan perched on the end of Gloria's desk, casual stance matching the clothes.

  I shrugged. “It's not like the Sox were playing. What's your excuse?”

  “I had plans to go hiking with my best friend, but he got sick. Didn't feel like going alone.”

  I nodded, understanding and knowing I would have done the same. “Sounds like we're both losers.”

  “Sounds like it.” The conver
sation stalled for a moment, but neither of us moved away.

  “So, Sarah, do you ever hike? I mean, would that be something you'd be interested in doing some time?”

  “Nope.” How funny that Livvie and I had just crossed mountain climbing off my list. Otherwise I might be interested in Morgan's friendly invitation. “I'm not really interested in hiking.”

  Before he could respond, my cell phone started buzzing. I looked down at the familiar number and flipped it open.

  “Hey, Uncle Jeremy. What's up?”

  “Hey, kiddo. Gloria is over here now, and we were thinking about putting a few burgers on the grill for dinner. Want one?”

  “That sounds good, thanks,” I checked my watch. “I'd like to get some work done first, though. When are you planning to eat?”

  “Around five. Are you at the office now?”

  “Yup.”

  “Hold on.” Jeremy instructed and I heard a muffled discussion take place before Gloria's voice came on the line.

  “Is Frank there?”

  “Of course.

  “Good. Tell him he's to join us. Don't take no for an answer.”

  With an abrupt click, the line disconnected. Chuckling to myself that only Gloria could get away with ordering Frank Murphy to do anything, I threw my cell phone back in my purse, turned and found myself again facing Morgan.

  Huh. I forgot about him for a moment.

  I chewed on my lip as I contemplated my next move. It would be kind of rude to invite Frank to dinner in front of Morgan, without extending the offer to him as well. I knew Gloria and Jeremy would welcome one more guest, and theoretically we were all supposed to be friends. Friends invite friends over for friendly barbecues, right?

  Right?

  What the hell. I turned to Morgan, “Hey, would you like to come over for a barbecue later?”

  “A barbecue?”