Impractically Perfect: A Romantic Comedy

by Genevieve Lerner

  Backing away from me slowly, Toby shook his head and wrinkled up his brow. “That’s not like me. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

  Part of me knew I should leave, that this was wrong, that I had made a serious mistake. But another part of me, a part that I didn’t even know existed, just wanted to take Toby home, cuddle up beside him, see what was under that button down shirt of his…

  No, Penny.

  Despite myself, I took a step towards him. “It wasn’t just you,” I heard myself saying. “It was both of us, please don’t blame yourself.”

  But Toby just looked at the ground. “I think we both need to go home.”

  He was right.

  I slipped my arms out of the sleeves of his jacket, and the cold immediately bit into me with ferocity. Despite me trying to hide my shivering, Toby shook his head and wrapped his coat back around me. Always the gentleman.

  “Look, Toby, this was just an accident, and—”

  “I…don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

  And I had no argument for that, because I knew that he was right.

  I didn’t grab a cab, didn’t call an Uber, but walked, so slowly, because I wanted nothing less than to face the reality of my own apartment. My apartment that was no longer even mine, because I had gotten rid of everything that I cared about.

  What, I asked myself, snow swirling around me, is right and wrong? What is should and shouldn’t? Because the thing was, for the first time in my life, I had let myself do something…wrong. I knew it was wrong, because it would hurt Sven if he ever found out.

  But if it was so wrong, why did it feel so right?

  Without realizing it, I had walked all the way to Sven’s apartment instead of my own. My teeth were chattering in the cold, but I hardly noticed because most of my extremities had gone numb. Hopefully, I would still have toes tomorrow. Wiping my dripping, red nose on my sleeve, I pounded on Sven’s door.

  “Who is it?” I heard him yelling angrily from inside. It was freaking 10pm—who did he THINK it was?

  When he opened the door, he stopped short, looking at me as if he didn’t even recognize me. “Penny. What…what are you doing here?”

  I was so cold that I could barely get the words out. “Ddd…do you w-w-want to go somewhere ex-exciting soon? On an ad-d-d-venture?”

  Sven didn’t move. He hardly reacted to my question at all. “Whose coat is that?” he asked. But he made no move to warm me. Didn’t ask me inside. Didn’t even offer to bring me some tea or something.

  “Th-th-that’s not important r-r-right now,” I said, knowing full-well that I was lying through my chattering teeth. Frostbite, shmostbite. “Do you see a future for us?”

  Crossing his arms in front of him, he looked like a decidedly handsomer Top Chef. Sven had clearly been running even more in the past few months—I barely saw him, so I would have had no idea, apart from the baby fat he had lost around his face and belly. “I do, Penny, but…you’ve got to stop doing this stuff to me. I’m trying to work and you’re making it really tough, you know?

  I didn’t know. How was seeing him once a week making it “tough”? And there was no way he was working at this time of night.

  “I’m not trying to make it difficult for you, Sven, really I’m not, I just…I need something from you, okay?” It was the first time I had ever asked him for anything other than if we could order in Chinese. He always forgot that my favorite was orange chicken. “I did what you wanted me to!” My tears were leaking onto my eyelashes. “And you never even…it didn’t matter to you at all!”

  Sven looked horrified. “Of course it mattered to me.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t realized.

  And here I was, acting all high and mighty. But I knew, deep down, that I wasn’t mad at Sven.

  I was mad at myself. Because I was the one that had messed up our perfect life together. I was the one who was guilty. I was the one who had, yet again, completely self-sabotaged everything I had ever wanted.

  I had kissed another man. And I knew he would never, ever forgive me for that.

  Since I couldn’t yell at myself, I was yelling at him, wanting him to yell at me for me. If I could make him mad at me, maybe I would never have to tell him how I had so terribly betrayed him.

  Toby’s mindset, I was realizing, was all kinds of fucked up. You couldn’t just do what you wanted whenever you wanted—that would lead to hurting people. You couldn’t just throw everything into love and make it a whole exciting thing. Love had to make sense. Love had to be practical—otherwise, it wouldn’t last.

  Sometimes, you’d want to make indiscretions. Sometimes, you’d get mad at the other person, and you’d want to cheat on them. Sometimes, you’d wish they could be different.

  But if you took Toby’s stupid advice and “jumped” whenever that happened, relationships wouldn’t exist. People would be jumping ship before they got to the relation- part.

  Toby had gotten one thing right, though. We had made a huge, huge mistake.

  “Sven,” I said, looking up into his deep brown eyes. In them, I could see the reflection of the halo of falling snow around the streetlamp behind me. “I’m sorry for bothering you. I’m sorry for showing up unannounced. I’m sorry for not being good enough.”

  A one-armed hug, a quick peck on the cheek. “Nothing to be sorry for, Penny. Now get on home before the storm picks up.”

  I did as he told me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Being Nice Is Overrated

  “Penny?” Cyril poked her head into Exam Room 1, where I was eating a peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich standing up. I had filled my schedule to the brim all week and hadn’t given myself time for a proper lunch break.

  Genius Penny had forgotten to pack anything to drink, and I swallowed as hard as I could. The peanut butter formed a lump in my throat. “Yea?” I managed to choke out. Casually, I grabbed a dixie cup from the rinse station and filled it with water.

  “What are you wearing to the gala?”

  Uh. I hadn’t even begun to think about it yet. Probably a dress, or something? I still had my non-proposal dresses, maybe one of those would work out just fine. Or should it be longer? I needed to look appropriate, that was all I knew. I didn’t want to be like that girl who showed up to my uncle’s funeral in a miniskirt.

  “A black dress,” I said. That was the easiest answer—most of my dresses were black anyway, and I wasn’t sure what kind of answer Cyril was looking for.

  The wrinkles that were always between her eyebrows deepened. “Oh.” What had she been expecting me to say? Gym clothes? A clown suit? “I just don’t know if I have anything.”

  What. How could she not have anything? I mean, it wasn’t like I normally saw her in regular clothes, but she always looked at least decently put-together in her scrubs.

  “Well, just get something then. If you really want, I can take you shopping, help you find something you like.” It would be my good deed for the day. Well, that one was probably big enough to count for the week. Or like, two.

  But Cyril’s face was reddening, and I could tell this was hard for her. Maybe she was being serious. “I can’t…afford a new dress,” she whispered, and I immediately felt terrible.

  “Oh. Well then. Um…” Jesus, Penny, say something useful. “I probably have something you could borrow,” I said, eyeing her full chest and narrow hips and knowing that my clothes were definitely cut entirely wrong for her. But we could try.

  Cyril perked up, seeming to stand several inches taller. “Really? Are you serious? Oh my god, that would be so amazing. Can I come over tonight? Are you sure I wouldn’t be putting you out?”

  Well, she would be a little, but it’s not like I was going to say that.

  “Tonight is fine,” I said, trying not regret it when she blew her nose loudly enough that I was sure the entire waiting room could hear her.

  After she skipped off, I turned my attention back to the rest of my lunch. My sandwi
ch suddenly seemed completely unappealing—it had smushed down in my bag, so the moisture of the bananas was leaking into the bread. It reminded me of my elementary school days, when we would all eat bag lunches that our parents had packed for us, sitting at our long cafeteria tables. I was a hungry little kid; I often ate the edge pieces of sandwiches that other kids bit around. My mother never would have stood for wasting food like that. I closed my eyes and swallowed my sandwich as quickly as possible, trying not to choke.

  Having grown up with a single mother raising two kids on her own, I didn’t have to learn to be frugal—it was in my blood. It was the reason I continued to pack myself peanut butter and banana sandwiches in my late 20’s—they were cheaper than just about anything else, and they filled me up.

  Except I didn’t exactly need to be so careful with money, not like Mom had to be. I had a good job. And it wasn’t like Sven didn’t have money.

  That didn’t stop me from having a panic attack anytime my grocery bill was over $40.

  “Open wider,” I said, much more aggressively than I meant to, to Vikrum, an older Russian man with a tendency to drool. Ever since Cyril had made me feel like a pile of garbage that had just been dumped onto another pile of garbage, I’d been having trouble keeping my thoughts to myself.

  “Literally, how many salivary glands do you have?” So inappropriate, Penny, stop talking. But I couldn’t help it. Not only were his teeth stained the darkest yellow I’d ever seen, he refused to admit that it had happened from smoking. His mouth now also resembled a small pond, due to the unnatural amount of drool that had built up in it while he was on his back.

  Of course, he had conveniently chosen this exact moment to start choking maniacally. Thankfully, he managed to get up whatever it was just as I was running behind him, and I never had to wrap my arms around his generously-sized belly.

  At the sound of the choking, Dr. Booper came running in, looked at the situation with concern, realized that I had everything under control, and tried to leave me to my own devices.

  “Wait! Dr. Boop—DR. BOOPER! Hold on!” He slowed as he turned the corner, and backtracked. Clearly, dealing with this kind of situation wasn’t how he’d imagined his relaxing morning of making a single phone call and calling it a work day.

  Because I was totally aware that that was what he normally did. He was a good doctor, as far as I knew—at least, his ratings on Yelp were pretty solid. He ate healthy, worked out, and dated his fare share of women, from what I gathered. There were quite a few Mindys and Tessas that had come into the office over the years, much closer to my age than his, supermodel thin, and usually blonde and/or leggy. Rarely, however, did they last more than a few weeks.

  Yes, Dr. Booper had his own life, his own affairs…and for the most part, I tried to stay out of them. It wasn’t any of my business what he did in his own time. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted him to barge in on my personal life, so I tried very hard to avoid the gossip.

  But with Bernard in the office, it was hard.

  “Dr. Booper! It’s uhm…it’s time for your exam!” I had technically finished my cleaning, although I certainly hadn’t done the job up to my usual standards. Some plaque just isn’t going to go away from one visit to the dentist…at least, that was the way I justified running out of the room as fast as I could in my scrubs and sneakers—which was pretty damn fast. Marathon runners, in my humble opinion, should try wearing scrubs sometime. Gets that airflow moving around your privates.

  Bernard was sitting as his desk, looking even more bored than usual. I wished there was a way that I could explain to him how well-off he really was. Sure, he might just be a secretary in a silly little dentist office…but this dentist had over 100 positive Yelp ratings!

  I had learned that this was Bernard’s first job out of college—he had originally gone for engineering, realized he wasn’t really right for it, and then spent the next four years just skating by in his classes. He would have switched his major, had he known at all what else he wanted to do. Personally, I was sure he would have been better off dropping out and running his own business, but his parents would never have let him do that. He had gotten this job on a fluke, thinking he was interviewing to be a practice patient based on a friend’s recommendation. He’s been here ever since.

  “You need a friend,” he said knowingly, when I told him about my situation with Toby and Sven. “I mean, like a girl friend. I’m willing to listen to you, but it’s not like I can be that person for you.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. Sometimes Bernard could be such a dummy forgetful-pants. “Um, I have Gillian at home, remember? My best friend in the world?” So why was Bernard the first person I had told?

  Bernard laughed, a little meanly, honestly, and looked into my eyes. “It doesn’t sound like she’s your best friend, by the way you talk about her. It really sounds kind of like…you’re scared of her.”

  “Jesus, don’t be ridiculous, Bernard, why would you say that?” Me, scared of Gillian? Who is scared of their best friend? Although, now that I thought about it…

  Okay, sure, sometimes she was a little bossy. And yeah, she was specific about what she wanted in her house. But just because I sometimes did what she wanted, that did not mean I was scared of her. I was just being respectful, seeing as it was her place and I was staying there so cheaply.

  Alright, sometimes I did her dishes (correction: always) and I was generally the one to clean the floors, but…it was just because Gillian was always so busy! And it’s not like the twins were ever home. Or if they were, they kept so quietly to their room that we forgot they were there. It mostly felt like just mine and Gillian’s home.

  Well…kind of just Gillian’s home. Didn’t she make me throw out the table and chairs Mom had painted for me because they “didn’t go,” even though she didn’t have a table and needed one anyway? Didn’t she tell me that my bookshelf was ugly, even though it was in MY room? Didn’t she go through the house one day, pick up everything of mine that she didn’t like, and throw it out the window?

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?” I barked at Bernard, who just raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “How was I supposed to know that she’s a terrible friend half the time?”

  Half laughing, half very concerned looking, Bernard said, “We did tell you. Nearly every day. But you ignored us.”

  Maybe he had a point. But maybe not. It was hard to say.

  “Bernard, I have a question.”

  He sighed. “More questions? Okay, shoot.”

  “Do you know if Cyril…has money? I know you guys are close, and I’m really not trying to intrude but…she asked me if she could borrow a dress for the gala, and I don’t know, I want to make sure she’s doing okay.”

  “It’s really not my place to say,” Bernard said slowly.

  God. Of course it wasn’t. I was such an idiot. Time to dunk my head in the toilet. “Right, sorry. I know. Sorry.”

  “However…” He made meaningful eye contact with me and lowered his voice several decibels. “You promise not to say anything to anyone?”

  “Scout’s honor,” I said, holding up three fingers like I had seen Cam practice when he was a little kid.

  “Okay. Cyril…hasn’t been making much money here.”

  “I mean…she doesn’t work very many hours; what did you expect?”

  “No, I mean, she makes like, half of what you make hourly. There’s a reason she works so few hours here. It’s because she can’t afford it. You know she has a kid, right? And two other jobs?”

  “Right. Of course.” I did not know that, but I wasn’t about to look like the idiot who was completely ignorant about her coworkers of multiple years.

  But how the hell did she work at Happy Healthy Teeth and barely make minimum wage? Who would agree to that?

  Maybe Bernard had it wrong. Maybe her money was going to a certain account or something. Maybe she had an agreement to be doing, I don’t know, an internship or something.

  For the last fi
ve years.

  And then I realized there could only be one explanation, one that I never thought I would see in real life, ever.

  Blackmail.

  Chapter Twelve

  It’s Okay To Be Awkward

  “God, Cam, what do I do?”

  “Um, what? I can’t hear you.”

  I had turned the volume down on my phone and pressed it hard into my ear, and was whispering as quietly as I could into the microphone. I was in my bedroom with the door shut, but Gillian was in the next room, and her overhearing this would be…well, I didn’t want to think about it. Without knowing any of the details, she would probably start tweeting about it, and ruin someone’s life or something.

  “She’s barely getting paid, Cam. And I’m just so confused—Dr. Booper is a really good guy.”

  From her bedroom, Gillian was calling for me. “PENNY? PENNY, I NEED YOU!”

  I whispered into the phone even more urgently. “She’s really annoying and she’s not good at her job, and I don’t really like her, but still.”

  “PENNY! I need an icepack for my head. I don’t know what was in those drinks last night, but I’m not feeling too hot.” Alcohol. Alcohol was in the drinks, Gillian, and you’re just hungover. Like you are every single time after you go out.

  Of course I didn’t say any of this.

  “One sec, Gill!”

  Through the thin walls, I heard her sigh. “Well, hurry up, Penny, I don’t have all day!”

  Cam cleared his throat. “There’s only so much you can do without having actual proof. I’ve been reading a lot of books about the criminal justice system, and there are—theoretically—a lot of roadblocks put in place to prevent false accusations. Of course, those often get overlooked, but you shouldn’t accuse anyone of anything without having some sort of evidence.”