Table of Contents
Title Page
Justin’s State of Denial
Amanda’s White Lie
Zoe’s Secret Crush
About the Author
Join Me On The Edge
Walk the Edge Of Rom-Com...Online
Valentines on the Edge
A Short Story Collection
Carol Maloney Scott
Smashwords Edition
Copyright Carol Maloney Scott 2016
Formatting by Rik - Wild Seas Formatting
http://carolmaloneyscott.com
To those searching for true love,
May your path be smoother, but just as much fun
Justin’s State of Denial
“You’re taking her to meet your parents for Valentine’s Day? You’re either brave or…oh my God, are you going to propose?”
Claire covers her mouth, which is full of chocolate truffle. “These are delicious, by the way. How did you know white chocolate raspberry is my favorite? You really shouldn’t have.”
Even with her cheeks stuffed with candy, like a chipmunk saving nuts for the winter, she looks beautiful. But I am so over this crush on Claire now.
I smile and reply, “It was no trouble at all. And it’s your birthday.”
I actually picked them up while I was selecting Marissa’s Valentine’s Day treats. Hers are blood orange dark chocolate. I pay attention to details.
“And as for Marissa meeting the Scotts, it’s a family tradition. We all bring our serious girlfriends to meet the family on this holiday. My mother is obsessed with Valentine’s Day. It’s when my father proposed, just like you and Brandon. BUT I am not proposing—we’ve only been dating for a few weeks.”
Meeting Marissa in the coffee shop was a magic moment. It was a snowy day after the ‘almost as magical’ business trip Claire and I enjoyed in January. But Claire is a married woman, and it was high time I gave up my crush on her and moved forward. Marissa’s blond hair and brown eyes drew me in, and I really think it’s possible she’s the ONE.
“Well, that’s a relief.” Claire swivels in her office chair and tosses her multiple truffle wrappers in the trash. “Hey, you still haven’t shown me a picture. Do you have one?”
I haven’t been avoiding showing Claire a photo of Marissa. Really.
I sigh and say, “Sure, let me pull one up on Facebook on my phone. As The Chief Information Officer, I can’t ask you to violate company policy and pull it up on your computer.”
“Yes, and we know we can’t expect privacy on the company network. That’s probably how you know all of my preferences—you’re still reading my e-mails.”
She smiles and her brown eyes shine. Ever since she and her husband, Brandon, adopted their second baby last month Claire has been much happier. More peaceful. They had a rocky time for a while a couple of months ago, but she seems at peace now. Since the baby is only a few weeks old, Claire’s trips to the office are scarce. I was glad she decided to pop in for her birthday, but I think it’s only because our Editor-in-Chief and Claire’s friend, Gina, prompted her to show up. She has a lunchtime party planned in the conference room.
“Claire, you know I stopped reading your e-mails a long time ago. You’re a boring wife and mother now.”
I duck in anticipation of getting beaned with something. Claire and I have a history of her getting a little perturbed with my teasing.
“Yeah, and now I am not only much too old for you, but I am celebrating the first anniversary of my thirty-ninth birthday. Next year if anyone says that ‘F’ word, I am wearing black and taking to my bed with a bottle of gin. So let’s see that picture.” She waves her fingers towards herself in unison to signal her desire to grab my phone.
I hand it over and watch Claire’s face.
“Wow, she’s so pretty. Younger than you, right?” She stares at the phone a little longer and her expression changes. She glances at a framed photo of her and her family—Brandon (who at eight years her junior is also much younger, but who’s counting the years), her toddler Aidan, and baby Aurora.
“Is something wrong?” I ask this question but have a good idea of what’s going on in her pretty blond head.
“No, it’s just…she could be my younger sister.” She closes my phone slowly and looks down at her desk. “Anyway, I hope you have an awesome weekend. My boneheaded husband is playing that out-of-town show with his band on Saturday.”
Grateful that she’s changed the subject back to her husband’s bad judgment, and diverted it from mine, I say, “Aren’t you going? It’s Valentine’s Day, your birthday and the anniversary of his proposal.”
“No, my mother is exhausted from helping me with the little ones during the week, and even though I didn’t give birth, I am worn out, too. He’ll just go with the band overnight and come home on Sunday morning, which is the fourteenth anyway. And I’m sure if he values his life, he has something planned for my birthday tonight.” She laughs and purses her lips. “You know I’m kidding, right?”
I guess my face must have shown fear for her clueless husband. He apparently planned this gig during their rocky period, and Claire lumped this stupid move in with her overall forgiveness package. This guy has done some dumb things, but I think he’s well-intentioned—if not a tad selfish.
“Of course I know you’re kidding. Well, if I don’t see you before you head out today, have a wonderful triple celebration palooza weekend.”
“We will, and hey—don’t put too much pressure on this visit. You don’t want to scare this one away. Not that I’m saying you scared Jenna away, but…well, you know what I mean.”
Her eloquence is one of the things I love about Claire.
As she tries to pull her dainty, stiletto clad foot out of her mouth, I assure her that her advice is well taken.
“What can I say? I’m one of the last hopeful romantics.”
Oops, I did it again.
I never knew I had so much in common with Britney Spears.
It started out okay. I left Claire’s office on Friday and we all enjoyed her little lunchtime birthday surprise party. Bella Donna Press does know how to throw a party.
I left the office early with my car already packed, and swung by Marissa’s apartment to pick her up for the five hour trip to my family’s home in the Philly suburbs. Yes, I decided that she should see where I come from sooner, rather than later. I was confident that this plan would work, and help me to erase the mess with Jenna. Although, in retrospect my family’s wealth and position wasn’t her problem with me. That problem was about to resurface again in the land of denial that is my life.
Marissa is a grad student in psychology at the state university in downtown Richmond. She’s originally from Baltimore, but wanted to head further south for school. She plans to start working on her Ph.D. in Clinical Psychology as soon as she finishes her master’s in May. She’s five years younger than me, smart as can be and unimpressed with my Princeton degree.
As I said earlier, we met at the coffee shop where she works, on a snowy Sunday afternoon a few weeks ago. Although we’ve been almost inseparable since, she was a bit reluctant to make this trip with me so soon in our relationship. I assured her that I wasn’t a weirdo trying to rush her into anything, but I wanted to see my family and participate in our tradition of bringing a girl home for this silly holiday that means so much to my parents. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve done that, mostly because the girl I have most recently been in love with spends the holiday with her husband.
I didn’t include that information in my effort to convince Marissa to accept my genius plan. I may sometimes lack good judgment with the opposite sex, but I’m not a total jackass about it, like
Claire’s…never mind.
So I picked her up at her apartment, which is in a questionable part of town in a slightly rundown two family house. I know she doesn’t have Cinderella fantasies, but Marissa doesn’t come from any family money and she’s had to work for everything.
That is kind of why I want her to see my wealth firsthand. If it’s a big turn-off at least I’ll know early on. I keep my family’s money a secret from almost everyone. No one at work knows, not even Claire. Ironically, watching her husband lie and hide things from her has prodded me in the direction of absolute honesty and upfront communication in my new relationship.
As soon as she appeared at the door, my worries vanished. She pulled her own suitcase down the stairs, like the independent chick she is, and met me on the sidewalk. We kissed and jumped in the car, after I packed her stuff in the trunk.
“So, beautiful girl, are you ready to meet the Scott clan?” I squeezed her hand as I pulled away from the curb, heading towards the interstate.
She sipped her coffee and placed her travel mug in the cup holder. I smirked as I read the inscription on it—‘Psychologists do it on the couch.’ Oh yes, they do. Luckily my parents’ house is so huge that there’s a full size couch in every guest room.
She assured me she was ready and looking forward to the trip all week. But as we pull into my parents’ town of Ardleigh on the moneyed Mainline drag of the Philadelphia suburbs, I sense some tension.
“Why are we driving through this town? Wait, you never did tell me where your parents…no. They don’t live here, do they?” It turns out Marissa has some knowledge of this part of the country.
She studies my face, and even in the darkened car, her eyes are shooting light beams of accusation. My stomach is in knots. I guess that whole Prince Charming thing really has skipped this generation of women.
“Well….actually, yes. My family owns the Philly Pretzel Company.” I feel like telling her that my father is a garbage man would be a more welcome admission.
“Holy crap, I have some of those in the snack bag in the backseat. Why didn’t you tell me? Why don’t you work in the family business?”
The barrage of questions continues for a few more minutes, and I realize I need to close her on this being a good thing, since the house was now about five minutes away. At least they don’t have a butler, although I know my mother is not cooking the Valentine’s Day extravaganza tomorrow.
“I wanted to make my own way, and get out from under the shadow of the family. My middle brother, Kyle, works in the family business, but my oldest brother, Cody is an architect.”
She doesn’t need to know that Cody owns one of the most successful architectural firms in Philadelphia at the age of thirty-two. Maybe all of this trust fund money, combined with brains and good looks is a little sickening. However, we do all make up for it with shortcomings in other areas, which is becoming more evident, right?
She shifts in her seat and says, “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, but I didn’t pack my ball gown or tiara. I guess you’ve only kept this from me for a few weeks, but it would have been nice to get a little warning.”
She goes on to assure me that she’s not angry or put off, and that she’s sure my parents are very nice people, they raised me after all, blah, blah, blah…all the standard sugar-coated stuff women say early on in relationships, and forget all about months or years later…when they’re explaining what a dick you are and why they’re dumping you.
What an optimistic way to start the weekend as I pull into my parents’ gated community, where all the guards are trained to know everyone by name, even the youngest Scott son who only visits a few times a year.
I pull away as quickly as I can, as I see Marissa’s eyes continue to widen at the whole scene of the gate, the signs directing residents to the country club and the stables, the expansive golf course, lit up even on this cold night, and of course—the rows of mansions. I visited Claire once at her parents’ home in a gated community in Virginia, and their five-thousand-square-foot house wouldn’t fill the downstairs of most of these enormous homes.
As we pull into the long driveway, I am second guessing this decision again. Maybe it’s not too late to turn around and head somewhere less pretentious and intimidating, which would be…almost anywhere.
“Tell Justin and Marissa the names you have picked out for the triplets.”
My mother, Elizabeth ‘Libby’ Scott is beaming at her daughter-in-law, Lori. Lori is the wife of my oldest brother, Cody. At thirty-eight, she is pregnant with triplets—all boys! Her career as a toy company executive occupies most of her time, and just last year she decided that she wanted a baby. Several fertility treatments later and she is now eight months huge with ‘children.’
She touches her belly and replies, “Tanner, Miller and Casper.”
I glance at Marissa, who is busy surveying the feast that the employees of the country club catering service have expertly displayed in the grand dining room. The whole space is decorated in Valentine’s Day red, hearts and roses. Above the mantle is a portrait of my parents on the eve of their Valentine’s Day engagement. Seeing this through Marissa’s eyes is bringing back bad memories of other relationships that were stymied after this occasion. How did my brothers get so lucky to fall in love with women who eat this crap up? And two smart career women!
Marissa finally looks up as she sees all eyes are on her. “Oh, those are very nice names. Unusual. So Miller…like the beer?” Her eyes dart around the table as she smiles that mischievous grin I adore.
Lori blinks fast and looks at her husband. “Beer?”
Oh, come on. Seriously? I don’t care if you came from the wealthiest family in the world—I’m sure the Queen of England is familiar with the cheap beer made by the Miller Company. And our family fortune was founded on pretzels, the wife of beer. Sister? Brother? Some relation.
As if reading my mind, my father chimes in. “Lori, yes beer. We run a pretzel company. Now I see why your husband didn’t join the family business.”
My father, Edward ‘Eddie’ Scott laughs at his son’s refusal to be identified with the family prosperity, earned through selling a ‘working-class’ product.
Hello, Snobby Bro, Dad built this company up from the ground! I did share that with Marissa—that my family had a business that my father built, just not how successful it is. He and my mother have plenty in common with Marissa’s parents. It’s just my brothers who choked down the proverbial silver spoons, and shit out judgment and an elitist mentality. Unfortunately, I think the latter is what Marissa is going to take away from this weekend.
“Well, I think they’re adorable names. You got them from the Top 100 Trendy Names for 2015, right? The 2016 list won’t be released for another year, but we are going traditional for Amelia’s brother or sister. Well, sort of.”
My other sister-in-law, thirty-year-old Reagan Ardleigh Scott, the partner-track lawyer and mother of three-year-old Amelia, is newly pregnant with baby number two. Her family is even wealthier (yes the town is named after her people), hence her refusal to give up her family name when she married my middle brother, Kyle.
Marissa takes a sip of wine and studies her fingernails as if they held the key to life’s mysteries.
“Well, aren’t you interested in our name picks, Justin?” Reagan laughs and addresses Marissa. “We all tease Justin about his biological clock ticking. At least this time he’s picked someone younger and less career-oriented. I forgot to tell you, Justin—I saw Jenna at the courthouse recently.”
I glare at my sister-in-law in response to the references to my crush on Claire, my lawyer ex-girlfriend Jenna, and for being an asshole. It’s funny how no one ever mentions that Lori is six years older than Cody, and that both wives are career barracudas.
Marissa’s fair skin blushes, but I am not sure if it’s with embarrassment or homicidal rage. I guess I’ll find out if she runs screaming out of here after dinner, asking the guy at the guard house to call her
a cab out of Snobsville.
“I’d love to hear your baby names, Reagan.”
I squeeze Marissa’s knee as a silent thanks for playing along with the nonsense, but she subtly pulls it away. That could be because I am never getting any ever again, or because she also just realized that my little niece is playing under the table instead of eating with the family. I suppose without the nanny here, they have no control of their daughter.
“If it’s a boy, we are going to name him Edward, after Grandpa Scott.”
Even I could throw up now. I guess the girl name will be Elizabeth. They’re so predictable.
“And then if it’s another girl, she will be called Brooklyn, after the Scotts’ humble beginnings.”
Wow. My expectations for ass kissing have been exceeded. Even my father rolls his eyes, as he is well aware that most of his offspring would rather forget that the family is one of the few in this exclusive neighborhood who bought their way in without old Mainline family money. I wonder what the Ardleighs think of these choices.
Everyone goes on to discuss how noble it is of my brother and his wife to honor the family in such a special way. I think he’s looking for a bigger slice of inheritance, as if being Dad’s right hand man isn’t enough.
“Marissa is working on a fascinating project for her master’s thesis.”
Silence. Marissa is now turning a mild shade of purple, and she rubs her temples. “Justin, I don’t think your family would be interested in all of that.”
“You’re a psychology major, right? My old friend from boarding school got her doctorate in psychology. She did something with rats. And drugs. Drug addicted rats. Anyway, if it’s something like that I don’t know if I can take hearing about it. I’ve been so queasy lately.”
I stare at Reagan and weigh the value of her huge chest and bank account vs. her complete lack of tact. My brother’s priorities must be very different than mine.
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