All Your Perfects

by Colleen Hoover

  We’ve only slept apart once in the ten weeks we’ve been seeing each other. Ava and Reid got into a fight, so I let her stay with me and we talked shit about guys and ate junk food all night. It was depressingly fun, but five minutes after she walked out the door I was calling Graham. Twenty minutes after she left, he was knocking on my door. Twenty-one minutes after she left, we were making love.

  That’s basically what it’s been. Ten weeks of nothing but sex, laughter, sex, food, sex, laughter, and more sex.

  Graham jokes that we have to plateau at some point. But that point is not today.

  “Jesus, Quinn.” He groans against my neck as he collapses on top of me. He’s out of breath and I’m no help because I can’t catch mine, either.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s Halloween and we’re supposed to be at a party at Ava and Reid’s house, but as soon as I pulled on my slutty T-shirt dress, Graham couldn’t keep his hands off me. We almost had sex in the hallway, near the elevator, but he carried me back inside to save our dignity.

  He held me to the Halloween costumes I suggested back in August. We decided to go as ourselves, only sluttier. We couldn’t really figure out what a slutty slut costume of ourselves should look like, so we decided to just barely wear clothes. I have a ton of makeup on. Graham says his job is to just feel me up all night and make sure we have plenty of public displays of affection.

  Our clothes are on the floor now, though, with the addition of a new rip in my shirt. The wait for that damn elevator gets us every time.

  Graham leans in to me and buries his head against my neck again, kissing me until I break out in chills. “When am I going to meet your mother?”

  That one question rips a hole in the moment and I feel all my joy seep out. “Never, if I can pull it off.”

  Graham pulls away from my neck and looks down at me. “She can’t be that bad.”

  I release a halfhearted laugh. “Graham, she’s the one who put the word prestigious in my wedding invitations.”

  “Did you judge me based on my parents?”

  I loved his parents. “No, but I met them the first day we were together. I didn’t even know you enough to judge you.”

  “You knew me, Quinn. You didn’t know anything about me, but you knew me.”

  “You sound so sure of yourself.”

  He laughs. “I am. We figured each other out the night we met in that hallway. Sometimes people meet and none of the surface-level stuff matters because they see past all that.” Graham lowers his mouth to my chest and places a kiss over my heart. “I knew everything I needed to know the first night I met you. Nothing external could ever influence my opinion of you. Even my judgment of the woman who raised you.”

  I want to kiss him. Or marry him. Or fuck him.

  I settle on a kiss, but I keep it fairly quick because I’m scared if I don’t pull away from him I might tell him I’m in love with him. It’s right there on the tip of my tongue and it’s harder keeping it in than letting it out. But I don’t want to be the first one to say it. Not yet, anyway.

  I quickly roll off the bed and pick up our costumes. “Fine. You can meet my mother next week.” I toss him his clothes. “But tonight you’re meeting Ava. Get dressed, we’re late.”

  When I get my costume situated, Graham is still sitting on the bed, staring at me.

  “What about your panties?” he asks.

  My skirt is really short, and any other night I wouldn’t be caught dead in it. I look down at my panties on the floor and think about how crazy it would drive him if he knew I wasn’t wearing anything under this already-too-short skirt all night. I leave them on the floor and grin at him. “They don’t really go with my costume.”

  Graham shakes his head. “You’re killing me, Quinn.” He stands up and gets dressed while I touch up my makeup.

  We make it out the door.

  We make it down the hallway.

  But once again, we get distracted while we wait for the elevator.

  * * *

  “You’re late.” It’s the only thing Ava says when she opens the door and sees me standing there with Graham. She’s dressed in a two-piece pantsuit and her hair is styled like she’s straight out of Stepford Wives. She waits until we’re inside her house and then she slams the door shut. “Reid!” She yells his name and turns to look for him, but he’s standing right next to her. “Oh.” She tosses a hand toward Graham. “He’s here.”

  Reid reaches out and shakes Graham’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Ava gives Graham the once-over. Then me. “Your costumes are so undignified.” She walks away without looking back.

  “What the hell?” I say, looking at Reid. “Why is she being so rude?”

  Reid laughs. “I tried to tell her it wasn’t an obvious costume.”

  “What is she supposed to be? A bitch?”

  Reid’s face reddens. He leans in to Graham and me. “She’s dressed up as your mother.”

  Graham immediately starts to laugh. “So she’s not normally that . . . unpleasant?”

  I roll my eyes and grab his hand. “Come on, I need to reintroduce you to my sister.”

  Ava is actually nice to Graham the second time she meets him. But then she goes into character the rest of the night and pretends to be our mother. The funniest part is that no one at the party has any idea who she’s supposed to be. That’s just a secret among the four of us, which makes it even better every time I hear her tell someone how tired they look or how much she hates children.

  At one point, she walked up to Graham and said, “How much money do you make?”

  Then Ava said, “Make sure you sign a prenup before you marry my daughter.”

  She’s so good at being our mother, I’m relieved the party is winding down because I don’t think I could take another second of it.

  I’m in the kitchen with her now, helping her wash dishes. “I thought you and Reid used to have a dishwasher. Have I lost my mind?” Ava lifts her foot and points toward the mini-fridge with the glass door a few feet away. “Is that a wine refrigerator? Where your dishwasher used to be?”

  “Yep,” she says.

  “But . . . why?”

  “Downside of marrying a French guy. He thinks an ample supply of chilled wine is more important than a dishwasher.”

  “That’s terrible, Ava.”

  She shrugs. “I agreed to it because he promised he’d do most of the dishes.”

  “Then why are we doing the dishes?”

  Ava rolls her eyes. “Because your boyfriend is a shiny new toy and my husband is enamored.”

  It’s true. Graham and Reid have spent most of the night chatting. I hand Ava the last plate. “Reid pulled me aside earlier and told me he already likes Graham more than he ever liked Ethan.”

  “That makes two of us,” Ava says.

  “Three of us.”

  When we finish with the dishes, I peek into the living room and Graham is saying something to Reid that’s requiring a lot of arm movement. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so animated. Reid is doubled over with laughter. Graham catches my eye and the smile that appears on his face during our quick glance sends a warmth through me. He holds my stare for a couple of seconds and then focuses his attention back on Reid. When I turn around, Ava is standing in the doorway, watching as I try to wipe the smile off my face.

  “He’s in love with you.”

  “Shh.” I walk back into the kitchen and she follows me.

  “That look,” she says. She picks up a paper plate and fans herself. “That man is in love with you and he wants to marry you and he wants you to have all his babies.”

  I can’t help but smile. “God, I hope so.”

  Ava stands up straight and straightens out her pantsuit. “Well, Quinn. He is very decent-looking, but as your mother, I must admit that I think you can do much richer. Now where is my martini?”

  I roll my eyes. “Please stop.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  * * *<
br />
  Now

  I don’t know if Graham slept in the guest room or on the couch last night, but wherever he slept, I doubt he actually got any sleep. I tried to imagine what he looked like with his sad eyes and his hands in his hair. Every now and then I’d feel sorry for him, but then I’d try to imagine what Andrea looks like. What she looked like through my husband’s sad eyes while he kissed her.

  I wonder if Andrea knows that Graham is married. I wonder if she knows he has a wife at home who hasn’t been able to get pregnant. A wife who has spent the entire night and the entire day locked inside her bedroom. A wife who finally pulled herself out of bed long enough to pack a suitcase. A wife who is . . . done.

  I want to be gone before Graham returns home.

  I haven’t called my mother to tell her I’m coming to stay with her yet. I probably won’t call her. I’ll just show up. I dread the conversation with her enough to put as much time between now and having to speak with her about it.

  “I warned you,” she’ll say.

  “You should have married Ethan,” she’ll say. “They all eventually cheat, Quinn. At least Ethan would have been a rich cheater.”

  I unlock my bedroom door and walk to the living room. Graham’s car isn’t in the driveway. I walk around the house to see if there’s anything I want to take with me. It feels reminiscent of when I was cleaning Ethan out of my apartment. I wanted nothing to do with him. Not even the things that reminded me of him.

  I scour my home as my eyes fall over the years of stuff Graham and I have accumulated. I wouldn’t even know where to start if I wanted to take anything. So I start nowhere. I just need clothes.

  When I make it back to the bedroom, I close my suitcase and zip it up. As I’m pulling it off the bed, my eyes lock on the wooden box on the bottom shelf of my bookcase. I immediately walk to the bookcase and grab the box, then take it back to the bed. I jiggle the lock, but it doesn’t budge. I remember Graham taping the key to it so we’d never lose it. I flip the box over and dig my nail beneath the piece of tape. I guess I’ll finally get to see what’s inside of it after all.

  “Quinn.”

  I jump when I hear his voice. But I don’t look at him. I cannot look at him right now. I keep my eyes downcast and finish pulling at the tape until I can pry the key loose.

  “Quinn.” Graham’s voice is full of panic. I freeze, waiting for him to say whatever it is he needs to say. He walks into the room and sits down on the bed next to me. His hand clasps my hand that’s gripping the key. “I did the absolute worst thing I could possibly do to you. But please give me a chance to make things right before you open this.”

  I can feel the key in the palm of my hand.

  He can keep it.

  I grab his hand and flip it over. I place the key in his palm and then close his fist. I look him in the eye. “I won’t open the box. But only because I don’t give a fuck what’s inside of it anymore.”

  I don’t even remember the grief between leaving my house and driving over here, but I’m now parked in my mother’s driveway.

  I stare up at it. At the huge Victorian-style home that means more to my mother than anything outside of it. Including me.

  She’d never admit to that, though. It would look bad, admitting out loud that she never really wanted to be a mother. Sometimes I resent her for that. She was able to get pregnant—by accident—and carry a child to term. Twice. And neither of those times was exciting for her. She talked for years about the stretch marks my sister and I left on her. She hated the baby weight she never lost. On the days we were really stressing her out, she’d call the nanny she had on speed dial and she’d say, “Honestly, Roberta. I can’t take this another minute. Please come as soon as you can, I need a spa day.”

  I sit back in my seat and stare up at the bedroom that used to be mine. Long before she turned it into a spare closet for her empty shoeboxes. I remember standing at my window once, staring out over our front yard. Graham was with me. It was the first time I’d ever taken him home to meet her.

  I’ll never forget what he said that day. It was the most honest and beautiful thing he’s ever said to me. And it was that moment—standing with him at my bedroom window—that I fell in love with him.

  That’s the best memory I have inside my mother’s house and it isn’t even a memory I share with her. It’s a memory I share with Graham. The husband who just cheated on me.

  I feel like being inside my mother’s house would be worse than being inside my own. I can’t face her right now. I need to figure out my shit before I allow her to stick her nose in it.

  I begin to back out of the driveway, but it’s too late. The front door opens and I see her step outside, squinting to see who is in her driveway.

  I lean my head back against the seat. So much for escaping.

  “Quinn?” she calls out.

  I get out of the car and walk toward her. She holds the front door open, but if I go inside, I’ll feel trapped. I take a seat on the top step and look out over the front yard.

  “You don’t want to go inside?”

  I shake my head and then fold my arms over my knees and I just start crying. She eventually takes a seat next to me. “What’s the matter?”

  It’s times like these when I wish I had a mother who actually cared when I was crying. She just goes through the motions, patting a stiff hand against my back.

  I don’t even tell her about Graham. I don’t say anything because I’m crying too hard to speak at first. When I finally do calm down enough to catch my breath, all I can ask her is something that comes out way worse than I mean for it to.

  “Why would God give someone like you children but not me?” My mother stiffens when I say that. I immediately lift up and look at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sound so heartless.”

  She doesn’t look all that offended. She just shrugs. “Maybe it isn’t God’s fault,” she says. “Maybe reproductive systems just work or they don’t.” That would make more sense. “How did you know I never wanted kids?”

  I laugh halfheartedly. “You said it. Many times.”

  She actually looks guilty. She glances away from me and stares out over the front yard. “I wanted to travel,” she says. “When your father and I got married, we had plans to move to a different country every year for five years before buying a house. Just so we could experience other cultures before we died. But one crazy night, we weren’t careful and it turned into your sister, Ava.” She looks at me and says, “I never wanted to be a mother, Quinn. But I’ve done my best. I truly have. And I’m grateful for you and Ava. Even if it’s hard for me to show it.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “I didn’t get my first choice at the perfect life, but I sure as hell did the best I could with my second choice.”

  I nod, wiping a tear away. I can’t believe she’s admitting all of this to me. And I can’t believe I can sit here and be okay with her telling me my sister and I weren’t what she wanted in life. But the fact that she’s being honest and even said she’s grateful is more than I ever imagined I’d get from her. I put my arms around her.

  “Thank you.”

  She hugs me back, albeit stiffly and not like I would hug my own children if I had any. But she’s here and she’s hugging me and that should count for something.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come inside? I could put on some hot tea.”

  I shake my head. “It’s late. I should probably get back home.”

  She nods, although I can tell she’s hesitant to leave me out here alone. She just doesn’t know what to do or say beyond what she’s already said without it becoming too awkward. She eventually goes inside, but I don’t leave right away. I sit on her porch for a while because I don’t want to go back home yet.

  I also don’t want to be here.

  I kind of wish I didn’t have to be anywhere at all.

  Chapter Nineteen

  * * *

  Then

  “I miss you.” I try not t
o pout, but it’s a phone conversation and he can’t see me, so I push my lip out.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. “Promise. I just worry I’m smothering you but you’re too nice to tell me.”

  “I’m not. I’m mean and blunt and I would tell you to leave if I wanted you to leave.” It’s true. I would tell him if I wanted space. And he would give it to me without question.

  “I’ll come over as soon as I get off work tomorrow and pick you up. Then I meet your mother.”

  I sigh. “Okay. But let’s have sex before we go to her house because I’m already stressed.”

  Graham laughs and I can tell by his laugh he’s thinking dirty thoughts because of my sentence. He has different laughs for different reactions and it’s been one of my favorite things, differentiating them all. My favorite laugh is in the morning when I tell him about what I dreamt the night before. He always thinks my dreams are funny and there’s a dry throatiness to his morning laugh because he’s not fully awake yet.

  “See you tomorrow.” He says it quietly, like he already misses me.

  “Goodnight.” I hang up in a hurry. I don’t like talking to him on the phone because he still hasn’t told me he loves me yet. I haven’t told him, either. So when we’re saying goodbye to each other, I’m always scared that’s when he’ll choose to say it. I don’t want him to say it for the first time during a phone conversation. I want him to say it when he’s looking at me.

  I spend the next two hours trying to remember what my life was like before Graham. I take a shower alone, watch TV alone, play on my phone alone. I thought maybe it would be nice, but I’m mostly just bored with it.