The Theory of Happily Ever After

by Kristin Billerbeck

  The audience is electrified and shouting encouragement. Kathleen is right about one thing. All of my troubles are forgotten. Everyone around me is having so much fun, and it’s daunting to think of backing down now. Why should I? I’m on a cruise and I’m having fun. Fun! I wonder if I’d ever tried something like this in high school if my world would have looked different. My parents didn’t take us on vacations, though, so the chances of karaoke on a cruise ship were nil. Unless it was a museum trip or a library opening, we kept to ourselves in our mausoleum-quiet house.

  When we sing the final chorus, the crowd erupts with applause and the line to sing is now huge. I have inspired people—just not in the way I imagined. Apparently there were a lot of bad singers in the audience just waiting for their moment to shine.

  When we get back to our seats, Brent has shown up and is beside Haley. It’s as if he’s the bloodhound of fun, sniffs out a party scenario, and immediately shows up.

  I’m still coveting his people skills and wondering what it’s like to command a room like him. Karaoke gave me a small taste of life as an extrovert.

  “Kathleen, you were awesome. What a voice,” Brent says. Then he nods toward me continuously, like one of those bobble-head dolls. “Dr. Maggie. That was . . . an interesting rendition. Freddie Mercury is probably—”

  “Rolling over in his grave?” Sam has arrived. While I worried I’d seen the last of him, I’m mortified he chooses to show up at my worst possible moments. Every. Single. Time.

  “Well, you can sing,” Brent says to Kathleen. “Can you dance? They’re having a dance-off in the Legacy Studio. You up for it? It’s being judged by someone from Dancing with the Stars.”

  “No way! Love that show.” Kathleen is in her element. Constant activity in a competitive state. She was born to rule the seas. “Come with us,” she says to me.

  “I’m so good at singing, I think I’ll stay with my first talent,” I say, but the truth is, I want a chance to redeem myself and explain my crazy behavior this afternoon in Sam’s suite.

  Kathleen is whisked off to the heart-pumping beat of Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer.” Meanwhile, I can only pray the song itself isn’t prophetic. Haley and I are alone with the distinct scent of sandalwood and Grandpa’s tobacco room tickling my senses. Sam is now sitting on the wooden stool beside me, and I exhale deeply, calmed by his presence, before remembering how I left him this afternoon. Haley is standing beside him, playing with her hair.

  “You didn’t come to dinner,” I say with as little emotion as I can manage.

  “Did you miss me?”

  I did, actually. Desperately so. But my analytical, scientific self takes over and I grimace rather than admit the truth.

  Haley is pulling out all the stops, and her body language shows she’s teetering on the edge of desperation. As she coils her hair around her finger, she brings attention to her voluptuous chest, and her expressions are animated though she’s not even speaking. I guess this is what she learned at the parties I was never invited to during college.

  When my jealousy dies down and I observe with a scientist’s eye, I can see that she’d be a perfect sidekick for Sam. She’s educated and filled with a bright outlook on life, and she’d cheer for small heroics like taking the garbage out.

  Why can’t I be more like Haley?

  My mouth betrays me again. “You two should sing something!”

  “We should!” Haley picks up the karaoke menu off the counter. “What’s your poison? Rock? Pop? Eighties? Country?”

  “I guess it would be my musical guilty pleasure,” Sam says with a wink.

  “Your what?”

  “Maggie—Dr. Maguire—has a theory about men and their musical guilty pleasures. I heard her telling Brent about it the day we boarded.”

  Haley glares at me. “Dare I ask?”

  “It’s a theory about how forthcoming potential partners can be. Are they willing to admit their bad music taste,” I yell over a flat rendition of “Sweet Home Alabama.” “Are they willing to admit their embarrassing tastes for the sake of vulnerability.”

  “Really, Maggie? Do you have to analyze everything?” She rolls her eyes and gives Sam a knowing look as if to say, Can you believe her? It’s exactly the kind of comment I’d hear in high school, and I’m astonished that Haley could do this to me. Maybe in front of Kathleen, where we’re all in on the joke, but this feels like bullying through and through.

  “I didn’t say it was based on facts. Just a fun game I like to play.”

  She sighs as if I’m so exasperating. “Maybe Sam wants to sing a song just because he likes it.” She grabs his wrist with both of her hands and tugs on him in her cutesy way. “Sing with me, Sam Wellington!”

  “I—uh—” Sam tries to protest, but Haley yanks him up to the MC, and before I know it she’s riffling through the pages and whispering in Sam’s ear. She’s animated and attracting all the male attention in the room as she giggles and flirts with Sam.

  I was wrong. I’m not okay with watching this process. I’m heading for the exit when Jules and Kyle enter.

  “Maggie, did you sing?” Jules asks.

  “I did,” I say. “Your brother is about to.”

  “My brother? No way. He would never do karaoke.” She turns to Kyle. “Look at my brother! Can you believe it?”

  He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I can’t.”

  They lead me back to the table I just left, and Kyle motions for the waitress. He orders us all club sodas with lime, and I focus on that kindness rather than Haley flirting with Sam as they wait to sing.

  When their turn arrives, Haley is giggling and yanking Sam to the stage. The MC asks their names. Haley grasps the mic. “I’m Haley and I’m from Los Angeles, California! And this is Sam from Northern California!”

  Haley acts more like she’s in a wet T-shirt contest in South Beach than a karaoke show on a cruise ship. What happened to my friend?

  “How long have you two known each other?” the MC asks. “Are you here together, or did you meet on this wonderful ‘New Year, New You’ cruise?”

  “We totally met here!” Haley giggles into the microphone. “He was sitting at my dinner table with his sister.”

  Well, it is a new year and Haley is definitely a “new you” at this point. Gag.

  “Those seating arrangements strike again!” The MC gives the audience an inside-joke expression. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, give a big round of encouragement to Haley and Sam!”

  The theme song from Beauty and the Beast begins, and Haley manages a glimpse at me. The music suddenly stops. I don’t know what my expression looked like, but it was clearly not encouraging. Haley is whispering into the DJ’s ear, and soon a new tune begins playing: “Endless Love.”

  When Sam misses his cue, Haley takes over. “My love . . .” she sings while staring longingly into Sam’s eyes. Something in me snaps.

  She’s not exactly subtle, is she?

  When Sam eases into the duet, I feel the same emotion I did when I found out Jake wasn’t being straight with me. It’s more than simply watching a man like Sam fall prey to Haley’s wiles. It’s the betrayal that one of my best friends would knowingly pursue a man she saw me kissing. Who does that?

  When I’d confront Jake, he’d tell me I was imagining things. “You’re being paranoid, Maggie, honestly.”

  We’d be at the movies, and he’d be getting texts and running off to the restroom to answer them. And it was all exactly what I’d feared. Anichka had taken my place, and now Haley is. It’s like I’m some kind of starter drug for the men in my life to get serious about another woman.

  I drain my club soda and get up from my stool. Brent is now beside me, his hand on my shoulder.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “The dance-off doesn’t start for fifteen minutes. Kathleen and I were worried about you.”

  “Worried about me?” Sheesh. Join the club. “I’m fine, just watching some sad karaoke.�
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  “I’ve seen the way you and Sam look at each other.”

  “Sam?” I stare at his handsome physique as he belts out his endless love for Haley. Whatever I might have felt for him, which I’m sure was only leftover emotion for Jake, has evaporated. “I was only attracted to him because he told me intelligent women can’t be truly happy. I wanted to prove him wrong.” I shrug. “It’s no big deal.”

  Brent eyes Sam and Haley, then me. “Your friends may buy that story, but I’m a bartender. I could give you a run for your money on your happiness statistics with what I’ve witnessed over the years. And from what I’ve seen between you and that guy—well, kingdoms have been built on less.”

  “Not happy kingdoms, I can assure you.” I fiddle with a cocktail napkin. “Why are you really back here?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I only know I felt guilty leaving you here with Haley and Sam. When are you going to fight for something you want?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. I think you’re missing your bar. Go dance it off with Kathleen. I’ll be fine. I’m resilient, remember? I’m writing a book on that next.” I should probably write my next book on how to trap a man. Clearly there’s no end to me writing about subjects I haven’t a clue about.

  As Brent shouts, “Come on, let’s blow this Popsicle stand and dance,” the music stops abruptly.

  The room turns and stares at us, and Brent grabs my hand and leads me from the room.

  “Thank you for the drink, Kyle!” I call out behind me as we exit the realm of sorry American Idol trials and head toward the poor man’s So You Think You Can Dance.

  Not being able to help myself, I turn and look at Sam and Haley on stage one last time.

  “Stop torturing yourself,” Brent tells me. “If you want him, go get him.”

  “Yeah. I don’t do that. Haley wants him, Haley can have him. I’m on the rebound, remember?”

  “He doesn’t want Haley. Shouldn’t that matter? For someone advertising the subject of resilience, you sure give up easily.”

  “I believe if something is meant to be, God will make it happen,” I say.

  “Like you getting all those degrees? God just cleared a path for you, huh? What about getting your book published? Did you just sail right through that roadblock?”

  “Stop psychoanalyzing me.”

  “Listen, I saw an unhappy woman come on this ship. She fell off my barstool a few times without even drinking, and she hibernates in her room. Then I see her face light up when I’m on deck. Because some dork in a business shirt pays her some attention. You don’t have to like it, but I report what I see.”

  “You need to clean your sunglasses because you aren’t seeing clearly at all.”

  “You’re both so darn stubborn. You’re going to get off this ship and forget you ever met each other, and that’s sad. There could be something there, but you’re both so analytical, you’d rather wait for the low-hanging fruit and take what comes to you.”

  “Are you calling my friend Haley low-hanging fruit?”

  “Maybe. You can’t exactly say she’s running the hard-to-get game.”

  Haley’s currently hanging off the shoulder of a very uncomfortable-looking Sam.

  “She’s able to play hard-to-get until she’s interested. Then she comes in like a wrecking ball.”

  “I’ve met her type. They have a hard time settling down. Too many options.”

  “It’s a good thing I have so few then.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Besides, if you’d put aside your pride and the illusion that Sam wants your friend there, you’d save yourself a lot of trouble.”

  “Would I?”

  “Let’s go dance. You can shake this off—and no, that was not a reference to my secret music crush, Taylor Swift.”

  “I’d love to see you dance to that song. I may have the DJ play it just for my own entertainment.”

  “Let’s go already. If we don’t get there soon, Kathleen will be leading everyone in a round of Zumba and telling them it’s the next dance craze.”

  I want to go dancing. I want to have fun and forget all the dark moments behind me, but I’m having trouble moving forward away from Sam. I owe him an explanation. At the same time, I know it’s fine. I did the right thing. My feelings for him will dissipate and I’ll go back to what I do best: gather data and make it palatable for the real world.

  Brent puts his hand on the small of my back. “Dancing is a good way to get you ready to jump out of a plane tomorrow.”

  My mouth drops.

  “Don’t worry. I knew when you ditched me at swing dancing that jumping out of a plane was out of the question. Kathleen’s going with me parasailing. She doesn’t trust the planes either.”

  “My next book is supposed to be on resilience. Imagine if I didn’t survive jumping out of a plane. Imagine the irony.”

  Brent stops in the middle of the hallway and turns his blazing blue eyes on me. “You’d better figure out what you really want, Dr. Maguire, because I’ll tell you one thing, it’s not to put out another bestseller.”

  Sam and Haley exit the stage together, once again looking like that cake-topper couple. With clarity and utter humiliation, I realize what I truly want. What my passion is.

  “I want to be someone’s person,” I say out loud.

  “What did you say?” Brent asks.

  “When I grew up, I saw the other parents in the audience watch their kids sing at the holiday show.” I move Brent into a small shop so that Sam and Haley don’t see us. “Prepare for my sob story. It’s a sad one.”

  “I feel honored,” he quips.

  “The parents would have their video cameras out, and their faces were so filled with anticipation and joy as they watched their children sing. Or not sing. Occasionally their kids would just stand up there and cry. But not me. Never me. I would perform perfectly as if getting my dinner depended on it.”

  “Maybe it did,” Brent says.

  “Those other parents at the Christmas show looked at their children the way I look at gelato. As though they could do no wrong. My parents sat in the same audience, stoic and unmoved. Generally only one would come. The other one was too busy with work.”

  “That’s sad.”

  I shrug. “It is. But we all have our cross to bear, I suppose. I had serious parents. I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world that they considered themselves above a school children’s program. They believed in me, so they considered me too advanced to take part in a song and dance show. But I’d beg them to let me because I just wanted to be like the other kids. I wanted my parents to think I was brilliant, and maybe they’d sign me up for dancing or singing lessons, and like DJ on Full House I’d have my own fan club. Then my parents would light up when they saw me.”

  “DJ had a fan club?”

  “Keep up. Of course she had a fan club!”

  I pull Brent in closer as Haley and Sam pass. She’s laughing and clinging to his arm.

  “It’s going to be rough going back to your room tonight,” Brent says.

  “It’s fine, really it is.”

  “So how did you get in the show if your parents didn’t want you to be in it?”

  “The teacher would tell them nonparticipation could affect my grade, so they’d allow me to stand up beside the other children on the stage. I wouldn’t have a homemade tree costume or hand-sewn dress, but I was a part of it and not alone during that time. I’d be in my street clothes and keep my eyes off my mother, who was scowling in the audience, embarrassed to be part of the charade of childhood.”

  Brent crosses his arms. “So I’ll ask you again. What is it you want? Only you have the power to change things.”

  “I’m starting to figure that out, but I think I want to have someone on my team, you know? Someone who has my back.”

  “Since I met you, I’ve heard a lot of excuses that don’t seem to mesh with the Maggie Maguire that I met here. Look in the mirror and see who you are in
the world. You’ve accomplished more than most people will in a lifetime. So I’ll ask you again. What are you going to do about it?” Brent cups my face, kisses me on the cheek, and promptly leaves me alone to ponder his question. And why I’m telling my sob story to this poor bartender on a singles’ cruise.

  There’s a man sitting in a chair at the store’s entryway. It’s obvious he’s heard our entire conversation. He’s maybe in his early forties, with hair graying at the temples. He’s handsome and seems kind, but it hurts me that he’s on this cruise alone. He deserves love, doesn’t he? Don’t I?

  With clarity, I realize that I don’t just want to find someone who looks at me like I look at gelato, and I don’t just want a team member. I could get that by working at Target. No, I want the fairy tale, the whole shebang. That kind of pie-in-the-sky, romanticized thinking was never allowed in my household. And it’s utterly ridiculous when I can provide easily for myself—but it’s my truth, plain and simple. I’m embarrassed by my truth and how basic it is.

  “I want the fairy tale,” I say to the man.

  “The fairy tale doesn’t exist,” he barks. “You see this place with the pathetic singles and watered-down drinks? That’s the future.”

  “Actually, the data says that it does. It might be rare and only for a special few. I’ll have to look into the numbers, but the fairy tale definitely exists.”

  “All right, lady. Whatever you say.”

  “I’m a scientist.”

  “Is that so?” he asks as he drains his drink and puts the empty glass on the store’s countertop.

  “Yes, that’s so. And the fairy tale exists. I’m going to make it happen.”

  “You do that, darlin’. I’m going to have another drink.” He taps his glass.