by Joy Fielding
Oh, shit, thought Paige, watching Heather wiggle away on four-inch heels.
“Don’t you have a skirt like that?” her mother asked.
“I’m not going to that stupid party,” Paige said.
“Oh, darling. It’s your uncle’s eightieth birthday. I know it won’t be easy, but how can you not?”
“Because I can’t,” Paige said. It was hard enough for her to be around her uncle in the best of times, to have this living, breathing replica of her father still enjoying life when her father was in the ground. How dare her uncle get to be eighty when his twin brother, superior to him in every way, hadn’t been as fortunate! How could her mother bear to look at the man?
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason Paige didn’t want to go. Maybe not even the main one.
“You could always bring a date,” her mother suggested as the waiter approached with their food.
“Two Cobb salads,” the young man said as he deposited their bowls on the table.
“Maybe someone from one of those sites you’re on…” her mother said.
Paige stabbed at her salad with her fork and said nothing.
CHAPTER FOUR
She’d come home early.
That was her second mistake.
The first had been not calling to alert him.
Of course, Paige hadn’t realized at the time that alerting Noah was necessary. Or had she? Hadn’t she been at least a little suspicious? Wasn’t that the real reason she hadn’t phoned to tell him that Chloe and Matt had returned home an hour earlier than expected from their weekly date night—Chloe had obviously been crying; there was a suspicious-looking red mark on her cheek—and that she was on her way home?
Chloe’s usual babysitter had canceled at the last moment and Chloe had called in a panic—Matt was already waiting at the restaurant and he hated any last-minute changes in plans—and asked Paige if she could come over. “I’d ask my mother, but she’s…well, you know…my mother.”
Paige had said yes, she’d be delighted. She loved Chloe’s two young children as if they were her own and enjoyed spending time with them. Besides, she would do anything for Chloe, whose mother was a total disaster, a woman incapable of seeing anything beyond the tip of her own nose. It was a miracle that Chloe had turned out the way she had, which was, simply put, one of the sweetest people Paige had ever met.
Maybe too sweet.
Too sweet for a man like Matt, that was for sure.
Too sweet for her own good, Paige worried.
Noah hadn’t objected to Paige bailing on their plans at the last minute. In fact, he’d seemed relieved, saying he hadn’t been especially keen on the movie Paige had suggested anyway, and that he could use the time to prepare for the case he was working on, then get to bed early, hopefully catch up on some much-needed sleep. “It’s shaping up to be a very busy week,” he’d said.
Paige understood this was code for “no sex tonight,” even though it was the weekend and their sex life had been less than stellar of late. “I’ve just got so much on my plate,” he’d apologized the last time he’d blamed exhaustion and overwork for turning down her romantic overtures. Paige had smiled and said she understood. But she didn’t really. As a lawyer hoping one day to make partner with the large downtown firm that employed him, Noah had been exhausted and overworked since the day they’d met. It had never stopped him from being an eager and avid lover. But something had changed in the last few months, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Or maybe she knew exactly where to put her finger.
And whom to point that finger at.
Maybe that was the problem.
Which was why she hadn’t phoned to alert him she was on her way home, why she hadn’t bothered shouting her usual hello when she entered the foyer of their small apartment, why she hadn’t even glanced into the living room to check if he was there as she’d tiptoed down the hall toward the closed bedroom door. Nor had she hesitated when she heard the giggles emanating from the other side, knowing even before she pushed open the door and saw the naked body straddling Noah’s whose body it would be, whose startled face she would find.
“Are you kidding me?” Paige had shouted as her cousin scrambled to her feet, tripping and almost falling as she struggled into her underwear. “I don’t believe this.”
Except she did believe it. In truth, Paige would have been shocked if the woman she’d discovered straddling her boyfriend had been anyone but Heather. Her cousin had always coveted whatever Paige had, be it clothing, hairstyles, or men. When Paige signed up for modeling lessons as a teenager, so had Heather. When Paige learned to play guitar, Heather had immediately signed up for lessons. When Paige bought a new pair of rhinestone-studded sneakers, Heather had run right out and bought the exact same ones.
When Paige later grumbled about these things to her father, he’d smiled and reminded her that “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” His brother had been the same way with him. “But he was never as good,” he’d added with a wink. “And everybody knew it.”
So no one was surprised that when Paige went into advertising after graduating college, Heather had followed suit, joining a larger if less prestigious agency, where she’d languished in an entry-level position for years before finally being promoted to one of six junior account managers. Paige, also to no one’s surprise, had risen quickly through the ranks of her smaller boutique firm to become director of strategic planning.
And then, out of the blue, her agency had been swallowed by a larger New York company. They’d brought in their own people, and Paige had found herself unceremoniously spit out, along with most of the original senior management.
“That’s so awful,” Heather had commiserated, managing to sound sincere despite the slight gleam in her eye. “After so many years. You must be devastated.”
“I’ll find something else.”
“Of course you will.”
Except it turned out that there weren’t a lot of options available for directors of strategic planning. In fact, there were none. The few jobs Paige interviewed for were for less senior positions, and while she would have happily taken any one of them, especially as one month stretched into six, she was repeatedly deemed “too qualified.”
Meanwhile, Heather had begun spending more and more time at Paige’s apartment, dropping over with supposed leads about potential jobs, bringing over take-out dinners she’d pick up at Eataly on her way home from work, listening with rapt attention as Noah talked about his day, laughing at even the feeblest of his jokes, and being so obvious in her attempts to flatter and impress him that Paige and Noah would sometimes joke about it after she’d left.
Turned out Noah liked obvious.
Turned out they’d been sleeping together for more than a month before Paige discovered them.
“I can’t even say he left me for a younger woman,” Paige had wailed to Chloe. “She’s two days older than I am. And we’re practically twins, for God’s sake, so it can’t be her looks.”
“Well, it certainly isn’t her personality,” Chloe said.
“Oh, God,” Paige wailed.
“What?”
“She must be great in bed.”
“You think?”
“What else could it be?”
“It can’t be that. She doesn’t have the imagination.”
“Well, she must have something I don’t,” Paige argued.
“No. Noah’s just an idiot.”
“Okay,” Paige agreed. “Let’s go with that.”
Heather and Noah had been living together now for almost four months, and their relationship had caused an undeniable rift between the two families. Paige hadn’t spoken to her cousin since the night she’d found her with Noah, despite Heather’s halfhearted attempts at reconciliation. Out of loyalty, her mother had tur
ned down all invitations to dine with her brother-in-law and his wife.
And now Ted Hamilton was turning eighty and a big party was being held in his honor at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel a week from Saturday night, and her mother felt obligated to go and wanted Paige to come along. “You could always bring a date,” she’d suggested, knowing Heather would be there with Noah.
“Yeah, right,” Paige whispered, pulling out her phone as she exited the Prudential Building onto Boylston Street, checking for messages and finding none. She hailed a cab and settled into the backseat, giving the driver Chloe’s address in Cambridge and silently reviewing the job interview she’d just left, going over the questions she’d been asked and the answers she’d given, knowing that it hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped, that her answers had been tentative at best, her confidence shattered after six months of being unemployed.
She just wasn’t as sharp as she’d wanted to be, as she needed to be, if she was to secure another position. Plus, she looked less than professional in the shapeless floral shift she’d thrown on so carelessly this morning. At the very least, she should have gone home to change. She wasn’t even wearing a bra, for God’s sake. Even Heather would have had the good sense to dress in something more appropriate.
What was it her father had said when comparing her to her cousin? “You have the confidence without the attitude. Heather has the attitude without the confidence.”
Now Paige had neither.
And Heather had Noah.
And she would most certainly be showing him off at her father’s party.
“Shit,” Paige said, louder than she’d intended.
“You say something?” the cabbie asked as they were approaching the Harvard Bridge.
“No, sorry,” Paige apologized, returning her attention to her phone. She clicked onto Match Sticks and scrolled through the ever-expanding list of possible suitors. Stud Muffin, one prospect boasted beside a picture of a regrettably shirtless man biting into a giant chocolate chip muffin. Paige swiped left, watching his image disappear. Romeo, read the name beside a dough-faced, middle-aged man who claimed to be a fan of long walks in the rain. “Really?” Paige whispered, swiping left again. There were people who actually enjoyed walking in the rain? Romeo was followed by Chaucer, Luther, and Just Plain Alan. “Just plain no,” Paige said, swiping left each time. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she was too picky.
“Hold on. Who’s this?” she asked, stopping on a picture of a man calling himself Mr. Right Now. Paige laughed. At least this guy had a sense of humor. And he was exceptionally handsome. Assuming he looked anything at all like the picture he’d posted, he’d be the ideal revenge date to bring to her uncle’s party. “No,” she said, imaginary alarm bells ringing in her head as she recalled last night’s fiasco. “You are definitely too good to be true.” She clicked off the site and tossed the phone into her purse.
What had become of meeting a potential romantic partner at work or through mutual friends, or even picking up someone at a bar? Had the ease and expediency of today’s technology rendered even such basic human contact obsolete? “Ah, the good old days.”
“You say something?” the cabbie asked again.
“Lots of traffic,” Paige improvised.
“Always is.”
Paige nodded, watching the long line of cars inching their way across the Charles River toward Cambridge. Maybe expediency was only part of it, she thought. Maybe everyone was just lonely. She leaned back against the brown vinyl seat and closed her eyes, surprised to find Mr. Right Now waiting for her behind her closed lids. Too lonely to wait for a chance encounter at work or count on a suggestion from a friend. Too lazy to head out to a bar, too afraid to risk rejection face-to-face.
So maybe she’d revisit Match Sticks later, maybe even swipe right on Mr. Right Now’s picture and wait to see if he’d return her interest. Was there any chance he was as good as advertised? “Yeah, right,” Paige whispered. “Dream on.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Chloe was waiting by the front door when Paige’s cab pulled up in front of the narrow two-story house on Binney Street. She was wearing white shorts and a vintage Rolling Stones T-shirt boasting a giant tongue festooned with the stars and stripes. Her blond hair was pulled into a high ponytail, making her look more like a teenage babysitter than the mistress of the house. But even from the street, Paige could see that something was wrong. Chloe’s lovely features were contorted in pain, her beautiful eyes vacant and refusing to settle, her perfect lips trembling and twisting from side to side.
“Come on in,” she said, ushering Paige inside the tiny foyer and closing the door.
“What’s up?” Paige followed her friend into her small, all-white kitchen. “Are you okay?”
“Not really,” Chloe said. “I mean, I’m not sick or anything.”
“The kids?”
“They’re fine.” She pointed toward the staircase at the back of the house. “They’re in my room. I said they could watch cartoons. Do you want something to drink?”
“Maybe some water.”
Chloe was immediately at the sink, filling her a glass. “Ice?”
“No, it’s fine. Chloe…”
“It’s Matt,” Chloe said, handing Paige the glass of water and motioning for her to have a seat at the table.
“Did he…did he hit you?” Paige held her breath as she lowered herself into one of four white plastic chairs grouped around the small, round table.
“No. Of course not.”
Chloe had always denied Matt was physically abusive, despite occasional evidence to the contrary. Paige sipped at her water and waited for Chloe to continue.
“But you won’t believe what he’s done.”
I’ll believe it, Paige thought. “What has he done?”
“You won’t believe it,” Chloe repeated.
“Tell me.”
“No. I’ll show you.” Chloe retrieved her laptop computer from the counter beside the stove. “Check this out.” Her fingers danced expertly across the keyboard. Seconds later, a picture of a smiling couple appeared—all gleaming teeth and twinkling eyes—underneath the logo: PERFECT STRANGERS.
Paige knew instantly that it was a dating site. They all looked vaguely the same. Different name; identical goal. You may be strangers now, the site promised, but who knows? You could be perfect for each other.
“What am I looking at?” Paige asked.
“Wait for it,” Chloe said.
Let us help you discover if a perfect stranger could be THE ONE. Sign up now, Paige read before a few more clicks sent the words careening into cyberspace, replaced by a spreadsheet of postage-size photographs of men, accompanied by brief profiles.
Chloe scrolled quickly down the list, dozens of eligible men appearing, then disappearing from view. She stopped on the profile of a man with light brown hair, dark, brooding eyes, and deep dimples bracketing his lips. “See anyone you know?”
“Shit.”
“No kidding,” Chloe said.
“Maybe it’s not him.” Paige’s voice was unconvincing, even to her own ears.
“Matt and I have been married for eight years. I think I recognize him by now.”
“Maybe it’s just someone who looks like him,” Paige argued.
“Think so? Wait here.” Chloe marched from the room.
“Damn it,” Paige said, leaning in to get a better look at the picture, knowing it was Matt despite her protestations. “You miserable piece of crap. What’s the matter with you?”
“Here,” Chloe said, returning to the kitchen and slapping a photograph on the table in front of Paige. “Think it’s just a look-alike now?”
Paige found herself staring at a larger image of the same photo.
“It was taken last summer at Pete and Sandi’s cottage. Matt liked it so much, he had it print
ed out. The smug bastard. You want to know how I found out?”
Before Paige could answer, the house exploded with the sounds of Chloe’s two children racing down the stairs and into the room. Chloe immediately closed the laptop.
“Mommy!” six-year-old Josh shouted, his mouth a carbon copy of his mother’s.
“I’m first!” cried four-year-old Sasha, proud inheritor of her father’s big brown eyes and deep dimples.
Those damn dimples, Paige thought. They were a dead giveaway.
“Take it easy,” Chloe said calmly, both children scratching at her thighs. “Have you said hello to Paige?”
“Hi,” said Josh, throwing the word carelessly over his shoulder.
“Hello,” said Sasha, always the more formal of the two. “We have a magic trick.”
“It was just on TV,” Josh said. “You want to see it?”
“I’m first,” Sasha protested, tears threatening.
“Can you show us together?” Chloe asked.
Josh and Sasha exchanged glances, Sasha being the first to concede. “Okay,” Josh said, looking from his mother to Paige and then back to his sister. “You ready?”
The children raised their right hands into the air, waving them up and down purposefully, as if they were wands. “Be a pear,” they intoned solemnly in unison. “To be amazed.”
“What?” Chloe said, a slow smile spreading across her cheeks.
“Be a pear,” they said again, even more seriously. “To be amazed.”
“Be a pear?” Paige repeated.
“I think you mean, ‘Be prepared,’ ” Chloe told them.
“No,” insisted Josh. “Be a pear.”
“To be amazed,” Sasha said, completing the thought.
“Okay,” Chloe said. “I’m a pear.”
“Me, too,” said Paige.
Satisfied, the children ran, shrieking with satisfied laughter, from the room.
“Am I wrong,” Paige asked, “or did they forget to show us the trick?”
“I think changing us into amazed pears was enough,” Chloe said, chuckling, and then immediately bursting into tears. “Oh, God. What am I going to do? My poor babies…”
