One Perfect Morning

by Pamela Crane

  ‘I don’t need to. He’ll do the asking, I’ll do the accepting.’

  ‘Wow, you sure are confident,’ Mackenzie grumbled.

  ‘She should be,’ Lily retorted. ‘And you should be too, Mac. Hell, we all should be confident. We’re young, we’re hot, we’re amazing. And we don’t need men to be happy, capisce?’ Lily aimed the question at Mackenzie, who shrugged it off.

  ‘What about you, Lil – what do you think life will be like after college?’ Robin asked.

  ‘We’ve only just begun this. I still have two years left before I need to figure out life after college.’ Lily had always lived moment by moment, a trait that Robin yearned for and Mackenzie loathed.

  ‘Have you even picked a major yet? You need to start figuring things out, Lil, because before you know it, we’ll be out in the real world.’ Mackenzie, always the realist.

  Lily thoughtfully sipped Dr. Pepper from her extra-large Styrofoam cup and sighed. ‘I want to do something adventurous. With lots of travel. But I don’t ever want to lose touch with you girls. I want us to grow old together.’

  Mackenzie reached across the table and rested her hand on Lily’s. ‘Me too, Lil. You guys are my best friends. I’m so glad we got stuck together as dormmates. Let’s never lose touch, okay?’

  ‘Promise,’ Robin said, adding her hand to the pile.

  ‘Girl power and forever friends. We’ll be like the Spice Girls – only spicier.’ Lily winked.

  ‘The Spicier Girls?’ Mackenzie parroted with a contagious laugh.

  ‘That’s right, we’re the Spicier Girls. I’ll be Adventure Spice, Robin can be Homemaker Spice, and Mackenzie’s Dr. Spice.’

  ‘Dr. Spice?’ Mackenzie raised a skeptical flaxen eyebrow.

  ‘Because you’re super smart and majoring in science,’ Lily explained. ‘Together we’ll rule the world.’

  The girls giggled as Cute Waiter Guy carried the pizza to their booth and slid it onto the table.

  ‘My friend thinks you’re cute’ – Lily adjusted the name tag on his uniform for a better look – ‘Geoffrey F. You should ask her out.’ Lily pointed to Robin, whose cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

  The boy flashed a cocksure smirk. ‘I don’t need to ask. I just take.’

  Lily glared up at him with shrewd eyes almost the color of coal. ‘Then you can just take your ass elsewhere. No one messes with the Spicier Girls.’ Lily flung an arm around Mackenzie while Robin hid her blushing face behind her hands and auburn bangs.

  As he left, Robin peeked between her fingers. ‘God, you’re embarrassing. I can do my own asking out, thankyouverymuch. Why do I put up with you?’

  ‘Because you luuuurve me.’ Lily beamed at her two best friends, the sisters she never had but had always wished for. ‘We gotta stick together, right, girls? You know I’ll always have your backs.’

  ‘And we’ve always got yours. Until death do us part.’ Mackenzie pulled the trio into a group hug, arms linked, foreheads touching, as they burst into self-deprecating chuckles.

  ‘Oh, that reminds me,’ Mackenzie said, producing three colorful cords from her pocket. ‘I made these friendship bracelets – one for each of us.’ She passed the macramé charms out, and each girl fastened the delicate metal clip.

  Robin traced the threads with one finger. ‘Fits perfect. And it’s gorgeous. Thanks, Mac. You’re a creative genius.’

  Typically, she deflected the compliment with a wallflower’s diffidence. ‘I’ve got an idea. Everyone repeat after me.’ Mackenzie bounced in her seat, a happy dance, as poetry effortlessly flowed from her lips:

  ‘With this bracelet I do vow

  To these two girls forever bound.

  Through life and love, through thick and thin

  Until that day when death will win.’

  That night was the beginning of an era. The inauguration of a lifelong sisterhood, of shared dreams and tears and secrets and lies that would one day unravel their friendship to its core.

  Chapter 3

  Mackenzie

  NINE DAYS AGO

  Melting skin. Charred flesh. Heat ripping through my cells, crisping the side of my wilting face. The fire blazed around me, imprisoning me as flames climbed the kitchen walls, blocking my escape. I wanted to scream, but my voice fell mute. Then I heard her calling me, her silhouette visible on the other side of my fiery prison:

  ‘Mackenzie.’

  I couldn’t answer her. I choked on the thick smoke.

  ‘Mackenzie!’

  Except it wasn’t her. And it wasn’t back then. It was now, and it was Owen calling me.

  ‘Babe, you’re burning the gravy,’ he said.

  I blinked myself back into my own kitchen, where I stood in front of the gas stove, eyes transfixed on the blue flame licking the pot. I turned off the burner and stirred the bubbling sauce. Outside the patter of rain tapped on the glass.

  ‘Sorry … I must have been in a daze.’

  ‘You look exhausted. Long day, huh?’

  I nodded numbly, the vision still so clear, so alive in my mind. Over the years, I could never truly lay the memory to rest, no matter how hard I tried. A therapist once told me as long as I continued to harbor bitterness over the accident, I’d never move past it. But who could blame me? She had not only disfigured my face but also marred my entire life. And somehow she was still my closest friend.

  Despite the pact, bitterness over a distant mistake I had never forgiven festered in me like a cancer. Over time it began rotting the only good left in me. No matter how much time passed, the resentment rattled inside my heart.

  After dinner was served, Owen talked about work while Aria caught me up on school and her weekend plans. I asked all the right questions and laughed at the right times, never uttering a word about my daymare, because it was upsetting to Owen, and God forbid my past trauma upset him. So instead I started writing about it in my journal of horrors. It didn’t matter anymore, though. Tonight I would shed my Owen-pleasing shell, initiating my revolution.

  But like all revolutions, there would be bloodshed. For once, it wouldn’t be my own.

  I am a people pleaser. And I fail at it miserably. The problem with people pleasers is that in their attempt to please everyone, they please no one. Least of all themselves.

  Take tonight, for instance. It unfolded in the way that all people pleasing unfolds – where I’m always the loser. It was a role I had adapted to well over the years. But now I was determined to win, even at the cost of lying, of creating a secret that my husband would never forgive. I didn’t care about his forgiveness anymore. Tonight my people pleasing was put on hold as I put my plan in motion.

  ‘How do you like the roast, shugga pie?’ I asked, stabbing a slice of beef with my fork and rolling it in thick gravy. I grinned, knowing how Owen hated the countrified way I said sugar as my Southern drawl slipped out here and there. I’d spent a lifetime burying it, but apparently not deep enough. One’s roots had a way of worming to the surface.

  Ironically, he loved Southern cooking, just not Southern talking. He couldn’t get enough of my fried chicken, but God forbid I slip up when warshing the clothes or fixin’ to make supper. According to him and his stringent Western Pennsylvanian upbringing, Southerners sounded stupid and illiterate … not that a dialect had anything to do with one’s ability to read or write. But I never dared challenge him on this, because a good wife never should. Especially one who was about to lie to his face and leave his life a crumbled heap of rubble.

  ‘It’s delicious, Mac.’ Owen was a meat and potatoes kind of guy, and I hoped dinner would be the perfect bribe. ‘Tender and juicy, just how I like it.’

  Owen winked at me from across the handcrafted oak table that we paid too much for but was worth every penny, and I chuckled while Aria groaned next to me. ‘Ew, Dad. Seriously, extra cringey.’

  Ah, the teen angst. Everything parents did was either mortifying or smothering or neglectful. We could never win. But I suppose it was the plight
of every parent with a fifteen-year-old daughter.

  Owen glared at Aria. ‘You should appreciate that your parents are still together and in love. Most marriages don’t last as long as ours has.’

  When he turned his attention back to me, he flashed that same charming grin that had won me over more than twenty years ago, brimming with boyish mischief mixed with desire. Blondes have more fun, he had told me, which is what first drew me to you. Despite his many faults, he knew how to win me over again and again. With Owen, all it took was a smile. With me, all it took was a lie Owen wanted to believe.

  ‘It’s true, Aria,’ I said. ‘I’m so lucky to have a man like your dad to keep the marriage thriving.’ The words tasted bitter, but I pasted on the same adoration I did every night over dinner.

  ‘It’s just that I’m trying to eat and imagining you guys … ugh, never mind. I’m happy if you guys are happy.’

  ‘Oh, Aria, one day I hope you experience what love like this feels like. One day far in the future, though. Not anytime soon, ya hear?’

  I squeezed her hand, and she laughed with a shake of her head. ‘Don’t worry, Mom. I’m not at risk of falling in love anytime soon. The boys in my class are either self-absorbed jerks or clueless nerds. Definitely not my type.’

  ‘Good girl. Stay away from the boy drama. It’s nothing but heartache at your age.’ I stabbed a cooked carrot with my fork, saluted Aria, and popped it in my mouth.

  Sure, we had our battles over curfew and chores, but Aria had always been my miracle, in more ways than one. My miracle child after I found out I had polycystic ovarian syndrome; my miracle angel because of how perfect she was. While other teenagers rebelled, my Aria remained my Aria. My devoted sidekick, shopping companion, pedicure lover, partner in crime. I could never figure out what exactly I had done right to end up with a teenager who enjoyed my company and laughed at my jokes and watched romantic comedies with me on Saturday nights, but I didn’t question it often. Maybe it was Owen’s divisive nature that nudged us closer. Or maybe it was her genetic code that made her a mommy-pleasing mini-me. My petite blond-haired, blue-eyed duplicate. Whatever it was, it worked for us and I loved her for it.

  ‘Are you coming to Lily’s with me tonight to work out?’ I asked her.

  Owen darted his eyes at Aria, then at me. ‘What’s this about Lily?’

  I chewed my last bite of meat, silently configuring the words in my brain. I hadn’t anticipated his sudden interest in my workout schedule with my best friend. This wouldn’t do – not at all. I had too much planned for this evening, and I couldn’t risk his interference.

  ‘Mind if Aria and I head over to the gym to meet Lily? Lily invited me to work out with her on Friday nights – plus it’s free training so I can get in shape.’ The word free usually won him over, unless it involved golf, in which case no cost was too high. ‘I’m still trying to lose the weight I gained over Christmas.’ Sure, the holidays had been five months ago, but it took ten times longer to lose weight than it did to gain it. I pinched the flab around my waist, a nervous reflex.

  ‘No, not tonight. I’d prefer you stay home, Mackenzie. It’s not like those exercises are going to help; you never stick to them anyway.’

  ‘That’s the whole point, Owen. I’m trying to stick to it this time. I really want to lose the weight, feel good about my body.’ It was so like Owen, to refuse such a simple request in his need for control. This was why I lied. This was why I kept secrets. This was why I came up with the plan. But I didn’t feel like fighting tonight. I needed everything to go smoothly – as smoothly as it could go when plotting your husband’s demise.

  He laughed, and I shrunk at the scornful undercurrent. ‘Hon, I love you, but nothing you do is going to turn back the clock. Not those age-defying creams you junk up the bathroom with. Not all those useless exercise gadgets you pick up at Costco. You aren’t nineteen anymore, shugga pie. Just accept the way you look and learn to love it. I have.’

  I knew what his thinly veiled reference really signified. I touched the scar on my face and thought of her. The skin felt rough and rubbery, a shiny wrinkled patch that ran up my neck along my cheek. I knew I wasn’t any beauty queen, but at least I could cover my disfigurement up when I styled my hair a certain way.

  ‘Why do you have to be so cruel?’

  ‘Oh, stop being so self-conscious. I married you looking like that, didn’t I? You know I love you no matter what you look like.’

  But I didn’t know that. If it wasn’t my body that he found lacking, then it was the way I talked, or my cooking, or my housekeeping, or my childrearing. Maybe other women would be grateful if their husbands didn’t care if they let themselves go, but for once I wanted control over my own damn weight. Control over anything, really, but my own workout regimen seemed like the only option within reach.

  ‘I already told Lily I’d meet her, so I have to go.’ I dropped my cloth napkin on the table and rose from my chair, taking my plate with me. Beneath the smear of meat juices, the cherry blossom pattern peeked out from the white background of the dish. I remember picking the pattern out, with Owen hovering over my shoulder. I had initially wanted a turquoise dinnerware set – something bright and bold, the way I wanted to feel on the inside. Too blinding, Owen had scoffed. Let’s go with something more subdued. We came home with sixteen settings of pale pink cherry blossom that afternoon. And I had hated it ever since.

  Aria had stayed silent during our tiff, but I could sense her seething. She followed me to the kitchen with her plate and deposited it in the sink.

  ‘Mom, mind if I skip and catch up on some reading? I’ve almost finished Doctor Sleep. We’ll work out together some other time,’ she said. She gave me a quick peck on the cheek, adding, ‘By the way, Mom, I think you’re beautiful.’

  I needed that. God, how I needed that!

  As I placed my dirty dishes in the sink, Owen’s footsteps padded behind me. His arm draped across me, pulling my back against his chest. His breath tickled my ear as his lips kissed my earlobe.

  ‘C’mon, it’s raining and miserable out. Stay home and watch a movie with me,’ Owen whined. ‘Besides, it’s not safe for a woman to be out after dark alone. Not every husband loves spending time with his wife as much as I love spending time with you, Mac. You should be grateful.’

  ‘I am grateful, I just … I need time out of the house. Being here all day, every day, well … sometimes I need to get out. Be with friends.’ See that? I had slipped a truth in with the lie. He didn’t know I had spent the morning gossiping with the girls, and I wouldn’t tell him, either.

  ‘Mac, you’re acting awfully strange tonight. What’s going on?’

  Cold apprehension snaked up my neck. Did he know what I was up to?

  ‘Nothing’s going on. I’m just worn slap out. And, you know, my usual anxiety that I’m trying to work on – remember? I can’t fix it if I don’t face it. Please don’t fight me on this.’

  Another defective thing about me was my social anxiety. I had self-diagnosed when looking up the symptoms on WebMD one day. It had started off innocuously at first, right after I’d given birth to Aria. Breaking out in a cold sweat when I went grocery shopping alone. Pulse racing when heading to Mommy and Me activities. Hives spreading across my neck when talking to the bank teller.

  As dread of leaving the house weighted my feet down, I nursed the anxiety to life by quitting Mommy and Me and isolating myself from everyone. That’s when my friends took notice and begged me to get help. You need to get out and have some fun, Lily had scolded me in her protective Italian mamma way. If you don’t take control of your life, you’re going to crack, Robin had warned. Boy, were they right. After all, it wasn’t normal to break out in hives when talking to people, was it? Days before a planned outing I would stress and worry myself into a migraine, until I lost every part of my life outside my four walls.

  Who had I become? Certainly not the aspiring free-spirited traveler I remember from college. The girl who ate
authentic pad thai in Thailand, rode horses on a beach in Puerto Rico, and helped build an orphanage in Mexico. That girl was dead, buried, forgotten. But I was bringing her back to life, even if it killed me … or preferably, Owen.

  ‘I don’t want to fight either.’ Owen pouted. ‘But you can take one night off to spend with me. I have something special planned for tonight.’

  ‘Oh really? Why do I have a feeling you just suddenly came up with these special plans?’

  ‘Come on, babe. I do everything for you. This house – it’s for you. The cars – for you. Why can’t you give back just a little?’

  ‘Seriously, Owen? You don’t think I give back?’

  ‘Of course you do. I just want you here tonight, with me.’

  Grabbing me around the waist, Owen lifted me up, propping me on the cultured marble counter. I straddled his waist with my legs and he cupped my chin with his palm.

  ‘I promise I’ll make it worth your while. You stay home with me to watch any movie you want, and I’ll give you a full-body massage tonight. Happy ending for you included.’ He whispered the words in my ear, and I almost couldn’t resist.

  Damn it. My biggest weakness – a massage. But my plans … I couldn’t put them off any longer. I needed to set things in motion while I still had the nerve to finish what I started.

  ‘Please don’t,’ I begged. ‘I promised Lily.’

  ‘Then break your promise.’ If only he knew how many promises I had already broken. His lips kissed a trail down my neck – the side that hadn’t been marred by fire – dashing the angry red splotches of anxiety away. ‘Imagine my hands rubbing all that stress away.’

  It did sound amazing. And it had been ages since I’d last gotten a massage. Besides, there was no way he was letting me out tonight, so I might as well get something out of it.

  ‘Fine. But it better be a five-star backrub – or else.’

  ‘Anything for my girl.’

  My ass!

  Two hours later, after Owen whined his way into watching what he wanted, a sci-fi action movie filled with soulless CGI, rather than the uplifting romantic comedy I’d picked out on Netflix, the selfish bastard snored beside me in bed while I pulled out a book to read. Pretty Ugly Lies, a nifty psychological thriller about a psycho wife plotting to murder her no-good husband. Ha, maybe I’ll get some tips, I joked to myself. He’d reneged on my promised massage too. It didn’t matter though. Tomorrow was another day, another chance. And then, for the first time in my life, I could stop the lies and deceit. But as it turns out with most people pleasers, that was just another lie – the worst kind. A lie to myself.