The Theory of Happily Ever After

by Kristin Billerbeck

  “Yes, Brent’s his name,” I answer.

  “Sam and I are going to go up and meet them, and we’ll order dessert at the pool. Do you want us to wait for you? Or do you want to meet us there?”

  My first instinct is to ignore the invitation altogether and crash with the new DVDs. But my first notions have been all wrong lately, and I’ve got serious work to do. Still, I know hiding in the cabin is only going to allow me to obsess over Jake and why he never loved me. Or worse yet, obsess over why another man’s kiss touched me in such a profound way, when I know that Haley will have him wrapped around her little finger by nightfall.

  I needed to find solace in another Disney princess and follow her advice: let it go.

  Being a lab rat, I have no frame of reference for what a fantastic kiss is. I don’t understand how this hookup generation takes intimacy so casually, or why I have to find the deeper meaning in everything that ever happens. Most days that feels like a curse. Sometimes things just happen. That old Bible verse that essentially tells us life isn’t fair comes to mind: “He sends rain on the just and the unjust.” That doesn’t mean there’s a reason to psychoanalyze every stinkin’ weather report as if a fluffy cloud could carry me back in time.

  “Maggie, did you hear me?” Haley calls.

  “Yes! Go without me. I’ll be up in a few minutes. I just want to get changed and refresh a tad.”

  “Okay, don’t be too long.” Haley pauses. “Or I’ll come back for you.”

  “I’m almost done,” I sing.

  When I hear the door slam, I stuff the ring back in its compartment, wipe my eyes with a towel, and straighten myself out. When I emerge from the tiny but luxurious bathroom, the computer Sam brought is out of its box and plugged into the wall. I smile at the notion that I can escape into work anytime I please and all I need to do is make an appearance on deck. If I face Sam, this obsessing will all be over. This brings me solace and a sense of freedom.

  I press a button on the computer, and it lights up and welcomes me with a message.

  All work and no play makes Maggie dull. Meet us at the pool.

  Maggie was dull long before this cruise came along.

  I grin at the simple message. Rehashing the past is a waste of my time and energy. Life awaits! I mean, why shouldn’t I play wingman for my two best friends? Kathleen and Brent would make a great couple. He can give everyone beer bellies at his restaurant, and she can run one of her boot camps and charge the same people to lose those flat tires.

  Haley and Sam are harder for me to picture. He’s a tortured soul of some sort and, as such, kryptonite for me, so I can’t let a stolen kiss cloud my mind. Sam is the kind of man I should pay no attention to, so naturally, I’m drawn to him like a fish to water. While he and Haley are the picture of the wedding cake couple, Haley is too happy for a brooding, hot mess of a guy. He’s been through something. She’s the kind of girl that baseball players or firemen date. They want to rescue her. She wants to be rescued.

  Of course, I may see all of this through a thin green fog of jealousy.

  No. Haley’s all wrong for Sam Wellington. For once in my life, I want to believe in Kathleen’s prophetic gift. He’s not for you, Haley.

  “It doesn’t mean he’s for you either, Maggie,” I say into the mirror over the sofa table. “Get a grip. A kiss means nothing in the real world.”

  The main swimming pool is next to the bar where I first met Brent. It is far more active today. It’s a dinky pool compared to the magnificence of the rest of the ship. It’s a simple rectangular shape surrounded by rings of lounge chairs—all taken. If I’d hoped for relaxing sunbathing by the pool, I’ve been misled. It’s more like the swimsuit competition in a beauty pageant. It might be my imagination, but it seems like every single girl in a bikini is walking the deck with a princess wave, while every single guy seems to be relaxing/drooling with a beer and watching the show. It’s like visiting the butcher with a throng of homeless mutts.

  “Maggie!” Kathleen with her perfect, streamlined body stands up and waves for my attention. Her svelte, one-piece swimsuit in lifeguard red attracts all the attention at the pool, and I see a few men get smacked for staring at her. She is stunning, though, so you can hardly blame them. They are human.

  I wave back as I’m handed a blue beach towel by someone dressed exactly like me in nautical gear. I’m basically the help.

  “Dr. Maguire?” I turn to see a young woman in a white swimsuit with a sheer white sarong wrapped casually around her tiny hips. She looks clean and put together, as if she repels dirt systematically and her clothes iron themselves. “You’re Dr. Maguire, right?”

  She pulls my book from her designer straw tote and points to my photo on the back. I’m going to say she’s not here as a Rockette booster.

  “Yes, I’m Dr. Maguire.”

  “I was so sorry about what happened during your speech! It was terrifying. You weren’t hurt, were you?”

  “I’m fine. Thank you so much for your concern.”

  “We were worried that you’d be too traumatized to speak again, so I was ecstatic when they said they were rescheduling. It’s almost like you planned it, since you’re speaking on resilience!” She leans in closer, and I take note of her perfect, makeup-free complexion. “You didn’t plan it, did you?”

  “I can assure you that I did not plan it. If I had, I would have planned a better exit strategy.”

  “Your book changed my life, and I’ve watched your TED Talk at least twenty times.”

  My eyes narrow. “Did Haley put you up to this?” I’m automatically suspicious of Haley because this seems so well-timed.

  The girl’s gray-green eyes go wide, and she brushes back her silky dark hair with her free hand. “Haley?” she asks. “No. Look, I’m sorry to bother you when you’re enjoying yourself, but I was so upset by the fire. I’m glad you’re all right, because we’d never be here if it weren’t for you telling us to take risks and follow our hearts.” She points to her friends sitting in a small circle around the hot tub. “I just wanted to tell you how much your research has meant to me. I grew up in a bad environment. Your book helped me see that I don’t have to be a victim of it. Happiness can be a choice.”

  I should really read my own book.

  I’m still not buying the young woman’s enthusiasm. It seems choreographed by a certain redhead I know, but when I look over at her, she’s too busy flirting with Sam to notice. I feel my jaw tighten.

  “I’m Jeana.” The young woman holds out her hand and I shake it. “Before I read your book, I wanted to be a teacher. My parents said they wouldn’t pay for my education if I went into”—she puts her long, manicured fingers up in quote signs—“ ‘such a low-paying position,’ but after reading your book, I knew that teaching was my purpose. I could either deny it and be miserable or do what made me happy.”

  “That’s impressive,” I tell her honestly. “You got all that from my research?”

  “Yes. I finished the engineering degree that I’d started for my parents and went back for my teaching degree on my own dime. Now I’m teaching high school algebra and I absolutely love it! I had to meet you and thank you personally.”

  I get all the reader mail, of course, but seeing this young woman makes it more tangible. My research may not have helped me, but it certainly helped someone else.

  “Th-that’s amazing!” I finally manage to say.

  “This is my friend Elise.” She pulls another young woman from the crowd. Her friend stares at me as though I’m some kind of goddess, and I want to tell her, “Girl, you have no idea.”

  Elise is also young and sophisticated. She’s wearing a slinky bikini and looks at me apologetically. “I’m sorry I didn’t know who you were until I agreed to come on this cruise.” She turns to the elegant brunette. “Jeana, the speed-dating round is about to start, so can we go now? I want to get a spot.”

  “Okay. Listen, Dr. Maguire, I’m so happy they rescheduled your speech,” Jeana s
ays. “So happy because of your research. And now you have a story to tell. You’re like the phoenix that rises from the ashes, get it?”

  I smile. “I do. Thank you again for saying something.”

  With that, Jeana is dragged away to speed dating. I watch her and her lithe friend Elise walk away. It makes me wonder if my purpose is actually changing or if there’s more to study and share with the world. And if there is, where is my motivation?

  “Did you need something, Dr. Maguire?” the young sailor with the towels asks me.

  “No, thank you. I see my friends.” But I hesitate to go join them. Standing behind the sun chairs, I am not desirous of being the most awkward fifth wheel on a weird double date with Haley and Kathleen.

  They both deserve love. Really, nothing is different on board this ship than when we’re out at a restaurant on a Saturday night. They may deserve love, but I don’t have to watch it blossom, do I? Especially when I met both men first. Whatever happened to dibs? I’m everyone’s “friend.” Skipper to their Barbie. And just like in real life, there’s one Ken doll for all the Barbies to fight over. Or, in this case, two.

  It seems like the world naturally goes off in pairs, as though this desperate ship of singles is Noah’s ark—with an extra zebra.

  16

  Express what’s in your heart. Those who disclose their deepest feelings are happier and healthier.

  The Science of Bliss by Dr. Margaret K. Maguire

  RATHER THAN JOIN IN THE “FUN” of the pool games, I turn back toward the elevator and the true love of my life. Ever faithful and dependable, the one who stood by me through the dark times: cable TV films. In that world, life always ends happily and there are no cruel people who get away with their crimes. Life in a romance movie is fair. The real world? Not so much.

  The Mexican sun beats down hard while I wait for the elevator, or, as I like to think of it, my glass pumpkin. My body is faint from the heat and all the people. I’m swaying on the deck. Just as the elevator door opens, Sam Wellington stands in front of it.

  “Where are you going?”

  “It’s warm out here. I should get some sunscreen since I don’t spend much time outdoors.”

  “I have sunscreen. Your friends have sunscreen.” He waves his hand toward Haley and Kathleen. “Come get something to eat. We saved you a lounge chair, and you can order anything off the menu. They’ll bring it to you in your lounge chair—that should appeal to you and that appetite of yours.”

  I look again to the five chaises all bunched together. Yeah, that doesn’t seem like the best way to prepare for a discussion on happiness. My body actually recoils at the idea of sitting down between them all and making nice. Sam’s towel is beside Haley, Kathleen is beside Brent.

  “Did Brent actually bring his own Solo cup?”

  “I think he did. He does enjoy a cocktail.” Sam shakes his head. “He’s angry you didn’t go ice-skating with him in your princess outfit. Said you were a spoilsport.”

  “Because I’m too smart to be happy,” I say. “Though I realize I’ve given you ample reason to believe I’m not all that smart.”

  Sam leans toward my ear. “You’re not ignorant enough to believe that.”

  Brent pops up from his lounge chair like a piece of toast and jumps over a bench without spilling an ounce of his precious cargo. “Hey, happy doctor, come sit down with us! I gave you time to work after you dissed me. Now it’s time to play.” He lifts his cup to the sky and stands beside Sam. “Come on now, we had to fight a wicked old lady to get this chair. She told us we couldn’t save them. I thought she was going to throw her margarita in my face.” He cocks his brow and offers a cheeky grin. “Kathleen had to rescue me.”

  This makes me laugh. Because I have no doubt it’s true.

  Sam touches me lightly as the breeze whips my hair in my face. The scent of coconut suntan oil is overwhelming. “I think she’s had enough sun for the day, Brent. You know these porcelain types. They don’t take kindly to the heat.”

  “You’d never make it in Texas,” Brent says.

  “I promised her dessert if she ventured out. I guess I best take her to the sundae bar,” Sam says.

  “I thought that was just a ploy to get me outside and see if I melted.”

  “You’re onto me.”

  I hand him the beach towel I’ve been given, thankful to be rid of it. “You’re having fun. Your party looks cozy without me. I’ll just go back to the room and see you both at dinner.”

  “Suit yourself, happy doctor!” Brent sails back to his position on the lounge chair.

  Sam doesn’t budge. “You saw that I got your computer set up.”

  “I saw that.”

  “I shouldn’t have. I think you need a break, to be honest.”

  I’ve taken two months off, but let’s not quibble.

  “Dr. Maguire!” A young man who looks uncannily like a young Johnny Depp shows up holding my book.

  Sam stands in front of him. “I’m sorry. Dr. Maguire isn’t feeling well after her traumatic experience. You understand.”

  Young Johnny Depp does, and he backs away. But then he rushes me and kisses me on the cheek. “I kissed her!” He raises a fist to the sky. “I kissed the doctor of happiness! The world is mine now!” He rouses the crowd to cheers, but they have no idea what they’re cheering for. He may as well have said UFOs were landing on the promenade deck.

  “Dr. Maguire is speaking again on Tuesday. Highlight Theater!” Sam shouts.

  “Well, aren’t you a regular P. T. Barnum. What skills don’t you possess, Sam Wellington?”

  “Social graces, but I thought we’d already established that.” He winks one of those delicious chocolate eyes at me.

  “I could have handled that myself. I’m used to the throngs of fans who follow me about.” I laugh as I start to walk backwards.

  Sam follows me. “How ever do you deal with the fame?”

  “It’s hard being a star, but someone’s got to do it.” One glance at Haley by the pool and I halt in my tracks. “Sam, I don’t need to be handled,” I tell him. But I’m not sure it’s true. The last time I was left to my own devices, I was wearing a Belle costume and floating across the ship on a skinny wire.

  “No, you don’t, Dr. Maguire. Hold on to that rail for a minute,” he orders. “Don’t leave until I come back.” Sam jogs toward Haley, removes his beach towel, and inserts the two extra lounge chairs back into the throng of reveling singles. He says something to Haley and she gives me a death stare. We have never in our lifetime fought over a man. This is insanity. But I made her a promise and I need to keep it.

  “You shouldn’t leave on account of me. I can find my own way back. Haley will make room for you on her lounge.” Just as I say this, some young guy with abs of steel seats himself on the end of Haley’s chaise.

  “You could accept some help. Maybe you’re not up to par after this morning. Did you think of that? I don’t know what you were thinking zip-lining across the deck. Wasn’t the fire enough excitement for you?”

  “It was!” I admit.

  “What does happiness science have to say about accepting assistance when you need it?”

  “It’s good to accept help when you need it. It shows healthy self-care. But I don’t actually need help.” I don’t know what I’m fighting. Help from a handsome bloke who would be out of my life in five days’ time? Nothing could happen. In five days’ time, we’d be back to our own lives. Just because he wanted to help me back to my room after I’d nearly fainted didn’t mean anything more than that he was a gentleman. Haley doesn’t seem concerned as she flirts on her lounge chair. Good for her. She deserves a break from trying to sell herself so hard to Jules.

  “Of course you don’t need help.” Sam’s hulking presence parts the crowds like the Red Sea as he walks resolutely toward the air-conditioned labyrinth of hallways. We take a different elevator and he presses a button to the top floor.

  “I’m not on the top deck.”


  “But I am, remember? And I have a butler.”

  “Look, Mr. Wellington, I’ve forgiven you. I honestly believe that you don’t hate intelligent women. You have nothing to prove to me any longer. I’ll be fine in my suite. I’m used to being alone. I work by myself studying data and algorithms.”

  “It sounds like you’re alone enough. What’s wrong with a little dessert between friends?”

  I never thought to question where he was taking me until we arrive at his suite. If he were a player, this would seem like standard operating procedure. But he’s not a player—I don’t think he could be that great of an actor. Not after his verbal vomit in the foyer when we met. Maybe Haley has hired him as my new handler. She may have known I was onto her about Kathleen.

  I take a long, leisurely glance his way. His jawline could cut diamonds. So strong and perfectly formed under the shadow of his afternoon stubble. He has the looks to be a player, no doubt.

  “It seems to me that you just find ways of getting women into your suite. Am I not supposed to question how we happened upon your suite?”

  “You’re onto me again.” Sam winks. “Not women. Woman. Give me some credit.” He unlocks the door and we’re met by a new butler, whose name tag reads Arvin.

  “Did you wear the other butler out?”

  “Marcus works at night, Maggie.” Sam shakes his head. “Arvin, we’re going to be out on the deck. Would you bring us some iced teas? And maybe something sweet?” He turns to me. “Give me the key to your room.”

  “Um, no. That’s literally how every Dateline episode starts. With a dumb decision.”

  “Fair enough. We’ll just have a light snack and get your blood sugar up. You’ve got time to work.”

  I turn to Sam. “Are you planning to chain me to the desk until the book is finished? Because I don’t even want to write this book. I have nothing to say as of yet. It’s on resilience. Considering that I flew across the deck in a princess costume today, I may not be able to speak about that just yet.”