I turn to see Brent with his phone aimed. “Take my picture at your peril!” The last thing I need is a YouTube video further shredding any credibility I have left.
He puts the phone into the safety bin with his wallet. I’m now perched on a platform above the giant canyon of the ship and strapped onto the thin metal rope that is supposed to transport me to safety on the other side of the ship. The obvious question is, Why can’t I just walk there? I hang on to the handlebars above me, though I know they’re only there for moral support, and then jump before I have a chance to obsess about my own stupidity.
I slide off the perch and a whirlwind of colors passes by. There are shouts of encouragement from less adventurous cruisers, who see me strapped in like a baby in a car seat and hoisted across the open-air cavern of the ship. I squeal like a baby pig as my legs dangle hundreds of feet in the air. And then I’m bouncing around on the other side of the ship like a tetherball. Another poor sailor is charged with unleashing me as I bob up and down.
“Was I supposed to see the ocean?” I ask the female crew member. “I didn’t see the ocean.” I’m so animated and excited. “I did it. Did you see that?”
“I did,” she says, as if she hasn’t just unleashed the five-year-old in front of me. She unclasps me and takes a long, judgmental gander at my Belle costume, finished with a side-eye look. “Sorry, Princess. No ocean view.”
I don’t think she’s really sorry.
There’s a frenzy of applause from people standing by, and the woman says, “They think you’re part of the aqua theater.” She turns to the small crowd on the rails. “She’s not part of the show, folks. Next show is this evening!” She turns back to me and hoists the safety harness back to its starting point. “The swimmers drop with great big scarves. They think you’re part of the show,” she says again. I don’t bother to correct her.
It is questionable that I’d never heard of anyone hanging from a scarf as a profession, and now I’m being bombarded by the concept. I hope that’s not a sign it’s my next career.
As I get off the platform and puff out my gown, there are a bevy of little girls waiting for me. They’ve just watched the princess defeat the ugly dragon of the zip line. It’s then that I see Sam standing behind all my fans. I smooth the plantation-style skirt and try to maintain some semblance of dignity, but that ship has sailed. My stomach betrays me and flutters with excitement at the sight of him.
Remember, the kiss simply happened. It meant nothing. Don’t analyze it. Remember your promise to Haley.
“Did you kiss a frog and turn into a princess?” he says over my six-year-old fan base.
I kissed a handsome prince, I want to tell him, but by the time I open my mouth, Brent is right behind me, putting an end to what was probably a pathetic attempt at a contraband flirtation. I’m grateful he stopped me from making a fool of myself. Haley planned this entire event to spare my career. The least I can do is not kiss the man she’s interested in. My feelings for Sam are nothing more than being on the rebound, and maybe a little rebellion on the side.
“Well?” Brent asks me. “What did you think?”
“Fun,” I say, but my eyes are fixed on Sam, who is carrying a box wrapped in a red ribbon. “My stomach did flips as I soared across the boat. Incredible feeling.” I’m more enthusiastic than I would be if Sam weren’t standing in front of me with a gift. I feel on fire with jealousy, and I’m wondering if I was too quick to make promises I couldn’t keep. The adrenaline of the zip line is nothing to his standing there.
“Ice-skating next, you think?” Brent asks. “We’ve got to get some use out of that costume.”
I look at Sam, but he merely shrugs, as if to say, Do what you want, what do I care? My heart plummets. He makes me feel the same way that Jake always did: invisible and unworthy of his time. As a researcher, I’m taught to look at patterns. Well, here’s a pattern and it’s not a healthy one. What is it that makes me crush on a man who couldn’t care less if I live and breathe?
“Sure,” I say. “The skating rink sounds amazing.”
We start to walk away and I stare back at Sam, but he does nothing to stop me. I should never doubt my first instincts. Sam Wellington is definitely Jake 2.0—albeit probably with a better job and definitely a better haircut. The kiss made me imagine someone else, that’s all.
Besides, I’ve learned my “life-size jerk” lesson already. Do I really need to strive for a PhD in it?
14
Savor the good times in life. Studies tell us people who savor happy experiences in life are more likely to be optimistic about their past outcomes and their future.
The Science of Bliss by Dr. Margaret K. Maguire
TRY AS I MIGHT, I can’t release Sam’s kiss from my memory. It wasn’t anything like Jake’s kisses, which were perfunctory and chaste. Usually on the cheek like the way you might be introduced to a French stranger. Obviously I hadn’t known Jake’s kisses were passionless at the time. I thought he simply respected me when he kissed me on the forehead like his aunt Charlotte. I thought he was waiting for marriage to bring out the good stuff. More of my fantasy world at work.
Now that I’ve felt a man kiss me as if he meant it, I understand that Jake’s passions were engaged elsewhere. He didn’t want to kiss me. I’m enlightened—it’s that feeling I get when all the data comes together and melds into an obvious algorithm and a conclusion is born. Romance wasn’t made for people like me. Maybe that’s why escaping to movie romance is such a vice for me. It takes me away from who I’m truly meant to be on this earth. A researcher. A scientist who helps other people find happiness in their life. It’s such an irony knowing that people with a distinct purpose are the happiest on earth, yet I fought my own purpose so violently and escaped to a dream world.
God, I know I haven’t spoken to you much lately, but tell me where I belong. Tell me why I’m here.
As I analyze the last two months, it’s simple, really. Jake fulfilled my escape fantasies, and I placed him in the role of Prince Charming—a man without a job until my office hired him. Unemployment is fine for a prince, not so much for a guy in modern times. I could blame Jake for everything, but my role as puppet master has to be addressed. Maybe Jake had been trying to escape my plans for his life all along and I was in too deep to notice.
As I follow Brent down the long corridor toward the ice rink in my Belle costume, I’m suddenly awash with shame, understanding how desperately I’ve been trying to be someone I’m not, how unnatural it feels to be in satin versus a cashmere cardigan. “I’ll have to catch up with you, Brent. I’m really not feeling well. I need to get some work done.”
“What do you mean? It’s time to play. Besides, didn’t you lose your computer in that crazy fire? Remind me never to have you hold any electronics. You’re like a bull in a china shop.”
“That crazy fire could have taken my life!”
He gives me a side eye to let me know I’m being a drama queen.
“That crazy fire did take my computer and my PowerPoint presentation, so I want to get that back up and running before I speak again. I’ve already had one princess adventure too many for today.” The hedonistic lifestyle isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
“I thought you weren’t going to redo the speech.” Brent actually sounds annoyed that I might be responsible enough to care about my career. The way he makes me sound like a quitter infuriates me. I may have been a quitter for the last two months, but it’s hardly who I am.
“People want to hear that talk, and I promised them. Well, Haley promised them, but her word is as good as mine. I’m going to stop by the office and—”
“In that getup?”
I neglect to remind him that he put me in this getup, but I also know if I take the time to change, I’ll chicken out. “Yes, in this getup.”
Brent stares at me, his crystal-blue eyes trying their earnest best to charm me into doubting my own mind—but I’ve had enough of those fake rom-com moments on this cr
uise and I’m only on day two. I need to parcel them out a bit. “I thought you were ready to have fun, get out of the library for once.”
“I thought so too. Maybe it’s not in me. Thanks for trying.”
“Whatever,” he grunts, and walks away. I’m tempted to chase after him and prove that I can be the life of the party, but it feels like far too much effort to expel to go ice-skating in a stupid princess outfit. I’ll find a way to pay him back for the costume.
To add insult to injury, when I get back to the costume shop, my street clothes are missing. The saleswoman who had an answer for everything when we were buying my puffy costume now has no idea what I’m talking about when I ask for the clothes I left in her care. This day needs a do-over.
When I get back to my stateroom, it sings with color. On the entry table is a large bouquet with sturdy red anthuriums and delicate orchids. A brightly carved watermelon is chiseled into a gorgeous rose with petals of fruit at the base. Then I realize Sam is toward the back of the room, and my pulse quickens. I’m momentarily sidetracked by my swooning, ridiculous desire for romance and a happily-ever-after ending, but I chalk it up to the fruit and Brent’s disgust with me.
Sam beside Haley sobers me, so I stand strong. I tried to do the right thing by allowing myself to have fun with Brent, but the truth is, he was probably voted “Most Popular” while I was voted “Most Likely to Be in the Library on a Saturday Night.” These things never work out.
Haley is the kind of woman romance was designed for—she’s sweetness and light—and Sam looks amazingly heroic beside her. It’s as if the two of them were meant to be idealized in glass figurines standing atop a multi-tiered wedding cake. The visual of them together gives me new resolve for my work. Some women are meant to be rescued and romanced. Others, like me, are meant to take notes.
They both stare at me as if I’ve lost my mind. I am wearing a princess costume at the ripe old age of thirty-one, so let’s not mince words. I have lost my mind.
“I know.” I nod. “Let’s ignore the obvious, shall we? That would be the kind thing to do.”
Haley shrugs. “Sam was just bringing me the DVDs of the new Valentine’s Day movies so you could watch them. I thought it would be a nice break after the fire. You deserve some downtime.”
I stare at the contraband with cartoonish, heart-filled eyes. “That present was for me?”
He smiles.
I quickly regain my composure at the sight of my silver ballet flats under the tiers of yellow ruffles. “Someone stole my clothes after I put this on.”
“It was probably some kids. They like to throw things off the deck to see how far they fall.”
“My clothes went the way of the Titanic?”
“Probably.”
“Somehow this costume made an adventurous spirit possible. I know it’s not all that brave to be strapped into a zip line, but I’ve never done anything like that. I’m shocked I was able to do it.”
“It’s Tinkerbell who flies.” Haley’s eyes question me.
“I did the zip line at the top of the ship,” I repeat. “Can you believe it?”
“In that?” Haley points at my gown.
My face flushes, but I decide it’s best to avoid the question, considering the answer is obvious. It made sense in the moment. Although Sam brought me the movies, it feels as if I’ve stepped into an intimate conversation that I’m not supposed to be part of. I look for any reason to avoid more questions.
“I need to call my parents. Are the cell phones working?”
“They must be—yours has been ringing constantly.”
I grab my phone and unplug it from the wall. “It’s my boss.” I swipe through the missed calls. “She’s called me fifteen times.” Somehow I don’t think she’s called to tell me Dr. Hamilton is considering my résumé.
“A phone call will cost a fortune in roaming fees. Can’t you wait until we’re in port?”
“Fifteen missed calls from my boss. It appears that I can’t. Not if I ever hope to go back to work again. I wonder if we got the grant!” The old Maggie wouldn’t hesitate a moment. Nor would she think about the cost of the roaming phone call. But this Maggie, the disrupted, questioning Maggie who doesn’t trust herself, hesitates at everything.
“I’m glad you care about calling your boss. I was beginning to worry,” Haley says softly.
It means the world to me that she cared even when I didn’t. That’s what friends are for, and she deserves Sam Wellington for that fact alone. “You’re probably right about the roaming fees. I need to go find a computer to get my PowerPoint slide show back anyway. I’m sure whatever is happening at the university isn’t world-crisis important. My boss is probably just being neurotic. No new data has come in for months, so I’d be regurgitating old numbers if I was there and trying to make new connections.”
Now, my boss, Dr. Fleece, is probably the least neurotic woman I will ever meet in this lifetime. If she has any emotions at all, they are kept tightly packed away. Probably in the soles of her ugly, black orthotic shoes.
“Do you think they sell computers on board?” I pray my credit card will still work at this point. I can’t remember the last time I paid the bill.
“Sam brought you one.” Haley points to the coffee table, where a slim red-ribboned box holds the silver hope of my fledgling career. “He got you a new MacBook.”
“That’s the gift you had? Not the movies?”
He holds up a palm. “I can’t take the credit. It’s from your publisher.” He clears his throat. “My sister,” he says, as though I’ve forgotten the connection. “I’m just the delivery boy, since she and Kyle are having a couples’ massage.”
Eew. I didn’t need that visual of my publisher.
“You have to pay for internet if your PowerPoint is on the Cloud,” Sam says, being the great hired handler he is. I wonder if he even has a real job. Maybe his sister hired him to be my handler and the J.Crew clothes came with the position. If he is unemployed, it would explain his irrational interest in me.
“I can’t take a new MacBook from my publisher. You need to let me pay you back. I’m sure my renter’s insurance will cover the cost of having it replaced when I get home.”
“You’ll have to take that up with Jules. This seminar is very important to her, so she wants to make sure you’re equipped.”
I nod. It’s clear arguing with Sam will get me nowhere. “I spoke with the office about my speech. They’ve rescheduled it for Tuesday in a bigger venue. Apparently the fire brought some much-needed attention to my speech.”
“That’s awesome!” Haley says. “See? A silver lining. You did that on your own. I’m so proud of you. I only wish you hadn’t gone to the office in your costume.”
“I guess it’s true that there’s no such thing as bad publicity, because the Rockette lovers did your publicity work for you, Haley.”
“Maggie, are you all right?”
The answer is relative, I’m sure. I’m standing before her in a Belle costume. She can make what she wants of that. “I’m fine. It’s me again, if that’s what you’re wondering. The Belle costume broke something loose and I’m ready to get back to work.” I look down at the DVDs still in Sam’s hand and meet his eyes. “Thank you for the movie fix, but I’m clean now. It’s time I went back to what it is I do.”
“You don’t seem all right. You seem sad,” Haley says.
“I’m fine.”
“Sam and I were going to have tea and dessert in the luxury Asian fusion restaurant. It seems the ship is willing to do anything to avoid our suing them over the fire. Go get changed and come sit with us.”
“Margaret, do you want to join us?” Sam asks me.
Margaret. His use of my full name feels formal and dismissive. I’ve imagined our whole invisible connection, and considering my fascination with fantasy romance, I’m sure it’s not the first or the last time I’ll do that. I shouldn’t feel any loss by his chilly behavior, but somehow I do. That must
be more Jake residual damage. Sam is a stranger I shared dinner and a kiss with once. Most people would chalk it up to a bad date and forget about it.
“You two go and enjoy your Asian fusion,” I say to Sam to let him know I’m not jealous. “I’ve got work to do anyway.” Unfortunately, I don’t stop there with my enthusiastic, supportive, and suddenly evolved self. “As you said, Mr. Wellington, smart women are incapable of happiness, so what kind of scientist would I be if I didn’t allow you to gather your own data on the intellectual women of the ship?” I yank off my tiara. “Haley will be happy to prove your theory wrong.”
For the briefest moment, Sam appears hurt. “I thought we were past all that.” They both sit down and it appears that Asian fusion is off the menu.
Haley stares me down to let me know I’ve changed the happy, brightly charged air and made it hard for the tea party to continue on as anticipated. I wanted to believe that I was fine with Haley and Sam exploring life as a potential couple, but my feelings will not cooperate. In my soul, though I know Sam is everything I don’t need in my life, I can’t deny he’s exactly what I want. He’s an intellectual who is not turned off by my incessant curiosity, and while he may not believe my statistics due to his own experiences, I have no doubt he could analyze them in detail. The brain really is the sexiest part of the body. I love how he takes care of things—a meal if you’re hungry, a computer if you need to work, a kiss if you need to forget the dark smoke.
It’s the fantasy factor, Maggie. Get it together. You’re never going to get to Dr. Hamilton’s side acting like a love-starved teenager.
Judging by my phone’s endless messages from work and my mother, it’s obvious that not making a decision is making a decision. All I’ve done with my avoidance is make matters worse, and now all those pressing matters have a vice grip on my life. If I don’t get it together, this book deal may be all I’ll have in the way of income.
The Theory of Happily Ever After Page 15
