Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3)

by Gretchen Galway

  “Hold it.” Chest squeezing, she walked away from him to retrieve her shirt from the floor, where it had fallen next to the hamper filled with her sketches. She saw the top page, a drawing of a lemon tree in black cross-hatching, and remembered the afternoon the summer before when she’d drawn it. Had it only been a year ago she’d been alone, ignorant of Zack’s existence, happily immune?

  Her mom didn’t think she was the long-term type, and maybe she hadn’t been. Until now. Zack had changed everything. She’d tasted something and now she wanted more—but not at any price. She wasn’t going to give up the best part of her life—her mom, her brothers, her new sisters-in-law, and, of course, Merry—for a career. Not his and not hers.

  He hadn’t even considered staying. He talked about his contract with a client he’d never met as a holy unbreakable bond.

  She’d been so stupid.

  She pulled the shirt over her head and turned to face him. “I’m not going to leave my family.”

  “It wouldn’t be forever. Have you ever lived away from home? It might be good for you.”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “Oh, would it?”

  “I’m speaking from experience. Putting a little distance between you and your parents—or parent and brothers—can really help you find yourself.”

  “Except it isn’t me I’d be finding, is it?” She heard the rising edginess in her own voice. Maybe she was going to fly off the handle after all. “I’d be giving up everything that’s really important to me so that you can get that juicy tech contract you’ve always wanted.”

  “I live in New York. My job here was only six months long, and part-time at that. You always knew that.”

  “I live in Oakland,” she said. “I don’t care about your job. I do care about my family. You always knew that.”

  They stared at each other. Her bedroom felt small, suffocating. The lamp on the desk sent his face into shadows that made him look unfamiliar—a sinister, unlovable relation of the nice guy she’d fallen in love with.

  Love. Maybe it was all an illusion. Just a trick of the light.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “So,” he said, and nothing else.

  She was hurt and afraid, and neither feeling was tolerable. “I can’t believe you assumed I’d give up everything and follow you to New York.”

  “I can’t believe you won’t even—” He moved to the door. “Never mind. It was just an idea. I figured you’re probably done with Fite soon, and the baby has a full-time nanny, so it seemed perfectly logical to suggest other career options to you.”

  She filled in his sentence for him. He can’t believe you thought he might put yourself ahead of his career.

  “I don’t believe in putting a job ahead of the important things in life,” she said.

  “And your life is more important than mine?”

  “It’s not less important,” she said.

  “It wasn’t just the—but I understand. I get the message.” He strode to the door, rubbing his mouth with his hand. “You don’t want to come. No big deal. We never made each other any promises, did we?”

  Without another word, he was gone.

  She stood near the bed and stared at the empty spot where she’d last seen his back, not believing he’d walked away in the middle of their conversation.

  I understand. No big deal. No promises.

  That was it? She wasn’t going to move to New York, so he was going to bail like a drunken sea captain in a hurricane?

  Just like that?

  She ran to the bedroom doorway and heard his footsteps on the stairs and then the slam of the front door. Moving over to the window, she shoved the curtains aside just in time to see him climb into his ride-share Mini and back out of the driveway.

  She turned away from the window, her breath tight in her chest.

  No big deal.

  She kicked the hamper over. Sketches poured out like gold doubloons out of a pirate’s treasure chest.

  They’d finally had a real conversation, acknowledged the elephant in the room, and he’d picked up his toys and gone home at the first sign of trouble.

  She kicked the hamper again before sitting on the bed.

  He’d left her.

  Easily.

  * * *

  She didn’t know how long she cried, but it was too long. When the need for a tissue was too great to put it off another sniffle, she climbed to her feet and staggered to the bathroom.

  In the mirror over the sink, she saw her face, splotchy and tear-streaked, and was disgusted with herself. She ran cold water into the basin and submerged her face. The sobbing stopped—impossible if you couldn’t inhale for another go—and she willed herself to calm down. The cold water helped. Eventually, she lifted her head and dried her face on an old bath towel she’d had since she was a kid. Ladybugs with lasers—it was some gender-bending attempt by the towel manufacturer in a more daring decade, and she’d adored it.

  Standing in the bathroom with her damp T-shirt sticking to her chest, she held out the towel to study it, seeing the edges of the primary design, only about five inches square, and the drop of the repeating pattern across the terry cloth.

  Cute ladybugs, but she could do better. She never got to draw, really draw, at Fite. The existing fashion lines were too conservative and adult—stripes and dots, abstract shapes in block colors. Imagine what she could’ve done with Fite Baby, if they’d begun development on that while she was there.

  Not that they’d make towels. Who made stuff like that, anyway? She pulled the frayed label up to read some words that ended with NY, NY.

  Figures. She flung the towel over the shower curtain bar and marched out of the bathroom. She wasn’t going to follow a guy she’d been dating for just over a month to the other side of the country. She’d end up living with him. It was no use lying to herself, that’s what always happened, that’s what she would do. Then she’d immediately be at a disadvantage. His life wouldn’t have to change. His toothbrush wouldn’t even have to move.

  Then, when there were troubles, and there would be, she’d be homeless again, except this time in New York on the other side of the country, where she had no friends or family. They might not even allow dogs in his building, and she wasn’t giving up Stool for some emotionally constipated widower who couldn’t even say goodbye when he walked out on a date—or a relationship—certainly not when the only fallback plan she had was for a career, which she’d never cared that much about anyway.

  And New Yorkers would make fun of her clothes.

  She went downstairs to make herself a drink before her mom came home. Funny she wasn’t there already. The movie had to be long over by now, and she didn’t like to drive at night so usually came straight home.

  She picked up her phone from her purse on the way to the kitchen and saw a message from Liam.

  It was voicemail, not text.

  “Sorry to bother you,” he said, “but I thought you’d like to know Mom is in the hospital.”

  Chapter 29

  WITHIN THIRTY MINUTES, APRIL STOOD with Liam in the emergency room of the same big city hospital where they’d both been born. Their mother had been wheeled away before April got there.

  “I didn’t know people got appendicitis when they were older,” April said, pulling at the fringe on her poncho. “A friend of mine had it when we were in high school. They said most people get it when they’re young.” She tried not to worry—it was a routine procedure, caught early—but the thought of her mother on a gurney made her want to yell at somebody.

  “Not everyone,” Liam said.

  “Why didn’t she call me? I can’t believe she just checked herself in and left you a message.”

  “And she left me the voice mail at the office,” he said. “If I didn’t call in to check them every night before bed, I wouldn’t have heard it until I got in to work tomorrow morning.”

  April shook her head. They were already prepping her for surgery. “She should’ve called me. Crazy w
oman.”

  “Sounds like she’ll be able to go home the day after tomorrow. Maybe another day to recover, given her age.”

  “She’s barely sixty, not ninety.”

  “Still,” Liam said, “there are more risks.”

  When they found out which waiting room they should go to, they headed out of the chaotic, crowded emergency room to the elevator.

  “I can’t believe it happened so quickly,” April said, hitting the button. “She was fine, totally fine, just a few hours ago. She was going to the movies.”

  “She said it had been bothering her for a few days. She did make it to the movies, though. Even bought popcorn.” He smiled. “Which she made me promise to get out of her car and bring home to Bev so it didn’t go to waste.”

  They found the waiting room, more cloth and padding on the chairs than in the emergency room, and sat down together near a potted palm.

  April took out her phone. It was just past eleven. No messages. Her mother had driven herself to the hospital so as not to spoil her daughter’s date. April didn’t know if she should admire her or see her as a cautionary tale of excessive maternal, or grand-maternal, instinct.

  She put her phone away and looked at her hands. “She didn’t call me because Zack was at the house.”

  “Figures.” He crossed one ankle over his knee, sighing. “Having Merry hasn’t slowed her down. If anything, it’s made her greedy.”

  “It’s not that kind of relationship. Me and Zack.”

  “Of course not,” he said. “When has reality ever mattered with her?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You know what I mean. A first date is just a baby shower waiting to happen. All it needs is cake and presents.”

  “No,” she said, “I mean about me and Zack. Why ‘of course not’?”

  He gave her a serious look. “Am I wrong?”

  “I just wondered why you thought that.”

  “Forget I said anything,” he said.

  She put her elbows on her knees, propped her chin on her hands. “No, you were right. We broke up.”

  “Sorry,” he said, and fell silent.

  “Really?”

  “Oh, no. Don’t ask me that. Please.”

  “But you weren’t angry about us being together,” she went on.

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “You used to make my love life your business,” she said, realizing she sounded hurt.

  “That’s because you were living in my condo and your business contaminated my personal bedding.”

  She waited a long moment before asking, “Did you like him?”

  He groaned, threw his head back. “We’re not talking about this.”

  “We are, actually.”

  “Not here,” he said. “Not now.”

  The waiting room was empty except for a man on the other side of the room with his head propped against the wall, half-asleep. The administration desk behind the window to his left was empty.

  Suddenly exhausted, she slumped against Liam and rested her head on his shoulder. “He’s moving to New York.”

  “That’s where he lives.” His words were hard, but his tone had softened.

  That only weakened the control she’d been holding over her tears. Everything had gone to hell. With a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes shut and counted her blessings. Her brothers were pretty cool, even Liam. They’d married great women. Her niece was brilliant and feisty. Her mother was in the hospital with a mild ailment, hardly anything to fall apart about.

  Her eyes burned anyway.

  How could he end it so easily? Just walk away without a glance over his shoulder?

  She wasn’t good with abandonment. Her father, even before he’d died, had never made any time for her. Was that it—she kept chasing guys who were like her father? Was it as simple as that?

  How pathetic. She refused to be so predictable. “Would you beat him up if I asked you to?” she asked.

  “After he turns in his report,” he said, “it would be my pleasure.”

  Her smile stretched across the rough fabric of his jacket. “Really?”

  He paused. “I would’ve fired him already if Bev hadn’t stopped me,” he mumbled.

  “Fired him? Why? Not because of me?”

  “Of course because of you. I hired him to dig into Fite, not my baby sister.”

  “You can’t fire somebody because of that,” she said.

  “Sure you can. He’s a consultant, not an employee.”

  “But you have a contract,” she said.

  “I would’ve found a way.”

  She was still smiling. “Thanks.” She lifted her head and looked up at him. “I’m glad you didn’t, but it’s nice you wanted to.”

  “I wish you weren’t so…” He trailed off.

  “Slutty?”

  “I did not say that.”

  “You didn’t want to make me cry,” she said.

  He laughed, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Optimistic. You think there’s more there than there is. Some of these guys you’ve dated… they’re not good enough for you, April. Not half as good as they should be.”

  She enjoyed the compliment but didn’t think that had been the problem with Zack. He was brilliant, hard-working, loyal, considerate. If anything, she’d aimed too high. Until he’d walked out on her tonight, she would’ve said he was more than she deserved.

  That was a disgusting thought. She should be grateful he left. She couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life with somebody who had that power over her.

  Grateful, grateful, grateful.

  “What did he do?” Liam asked.

  Memories of their times in bed together flooded her mind. She pulled away. “What do you mean?”

  “If I’m going to beat a guy up, I’d like to know why.”

  “Never mind about that.”

  He let out a frustrated breath. “Great. I have to keep working with this guy. Now I don’t know what to think.”

  “He has to go back to New York for his next job, that’s all.” She made her voice light. “I wanted him to stay.”

  Liam didn’t speak for a moment. “Did you ask him to?”

  She pulled away. “I did, actually.”

  “Son of a bitch,” he said.

  “I know, right?”

  Liam smacked his fist into his palm. “He’s going down.”

  “Tempting, but I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

  Liam sat up taller. “Please.”

  “You’re not getting any younger.” She was joking around to cheer herself up, but now she was thinking about her mother and where they were, the operation underway, and she deflated into her chair. “Seriously. This is between me and Zack. Except there isn’t anything between us anymore.”

  Liam picked up an ancient Sunset magazine and flipped through the pages. Soft-focus photos of ideal West Coast homes and gardens danced before their eyes. “I can’t believe it,” he said.

  She looked at the slipcovered sofa and colorful throw blankets displayed on the glossy pages. “I know. As if a real person’s house could look like that.”

  He slapped the magazine shut. “Not this. You.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t believe you’re giving up. April Johnson, the girl who went on strike in seventh grade. The woman who ended up in custody for hours because she wouldn’t walk through the scanner at the airport.” He studied her. “You must really care about this guy.”

  “If I cared, wouldn’t I fight for him?”

  “Maybe you only fight over things you don’t care about,” he said. “That way it doesn’t matter if you lose.”

  April cursed under her breath. “Hit me while I’m down, why don’t you?”

  “It only hurts because I’m right.”

  “Wait until tomorrow, when Rita and Teegan and Jennifer convince you to fire me,” she said. “Maybe then you’ll feel guilty.”

  “I’m not going to fire you,�
� he said.

  It should’ve come as a relief, but she felt nothing. “With the rest of my life in the shits, I’m not sure I care that much about my job right now.”

  “Well, that’s good, because I can’t promise Rita will keep you on.” He ran his hand through his blond hair. “I’m leaving the decision completely up to her. I can’t possibly be objective, especially now.”

  “Why not now?”

  He put an arm around her shoulders, bumping the side of his head against hers. “Because all I want to do right now is make you happy, Ape.” He twirled a strand of her hair. “I love you, you know.”

  Although she did know, hearing it was damn nice.

  * * *

  Zack stared at his hands. They held a pen. The cheap pen from the gas station. The love pen, he used to call it—not entirely as a joke.

  He was at home, only one night after their fatal last date, outlining a few ideas for his next job in his notebook and thinking of the way she used to tease him for carrying one all the time. Once they’d been watching TV at his place and he’d pulled it out—ideas strike at any time—and she’d confiscated it and drawn a picture of a dead man holding a daisy with a thought bubble rising above his head: If only I’d spent more time at the office.

  He’d torn out the page and kept it in his wallet. He saw it every morning when he bought his coffee. On his way to work.

  Everything reminded him of April. He couldn’t get away from her.

  Except he could get away from her, because she would never consider following him. She found the idea unthinkable, outrageous, insane. Whatever they’d had, however profound it had felt to him, wasn’t enough to merit a plane trip across the country. He was loving too much, too soon, all over again.

  He dropped his pen on the cardboard coffee table. If only they’d had more time. They’d only been coworkers until a month ago. Chucking her life to be with him on the other side of the country after five weeks of sleeping together would be idiotic. Of course she wouldn’t do it.

  Imagine how she’d feel about marrying him.