Your Perfect Life: A Novel Page 7

  I can tell she’s bothered, but I decide to let it go.

  “How long is this going to go on? How long are we going to be held hostage in each other’s bodies?” She sighs and lies back on my faded tan couch covered with stains I’ve meant to clean for ages. Just days ago, I scolded Sophie for spilling soda on it. “Great. All we need is one more stain!” I’d yelled.

  “The baby spills stuff all the time and you don’t care. Your precious angel can do no wrong!” Sophie shot back, her eyes filled with tears. I’d sat there stunned, my voice caught in my throat, wondering if that was really how she felt.

  When John and I had told her and Audrey that we were pregnant—dangling I’M A BIG SIS T-shirts in front of their faces—they weren’t thrilled, but I’d been prepared for that reaction from the research I’d done online. What I hadn’t been prepared for were my own conflicted feelings as the girls fired off questions I didn’t know how to answer. With the shirts balled up in their laps, they interrogated us. Would I have to share a room? Would I have to babysit? And then maybe the hardest question of all: Why?

  It didn’t help things that my pregnancy was hard and I pretty much slept my way through it. And then once Charlotte was born, she had demanded a lot more of my attention than I’d anticipated. And I’d missed a lot: the opening night of Sophie’s last play; the deadline to mail in the money for a trip Audrey wanted to take with her class to Washington, D.C. And I’d clearly missed the resentment Sophie—and probably Audrey too—had been feeling.

  What I wouldn’t give now to apologize to Sophie for losing my cool over a spill. I wish I’d hugged her and told her I was sorry for not being there for her, for being too hard on her.

  I look at Casey, still waiting for my answer. “I don’t know how long this is going to go on,” I say. “The bartender was so confusing and cryptic.”

  “We need to go back and talk to him again.” Casey sits up quickly.

  “Do you really think he’ll be there? He disappeared into thin air. Remember? And when I went back to the manager to find out more about him, she had no memory of ever talking to me about a bartender named Brian. She said no Brian had ever worked at the hotel. She didn’t even remember the autograph I signed for her daughter.”

  “Let’s go back over what Brian said. Maybe we can figure this out,” Casey says.

  I sigh. “We’ve been over this.”

  “I know, but maybe we missed something,” she says.

  “He didn’t say much, just that it was possible to get our lives back, but we were going to have to figure out how. And that the answer is within us.”

  “That’s helpful, Brian.” Casey laughs.

  “I know. What the hell?”

  “But maybe if it was that easy to find him the first time, we can track him down again. And when we do we’ll force him to fix this.” Casey crosses her arms over her chest.

  “Hey, I could flash him one of your boobs, seeing as he’s really into you, by the way. He was totally hitting on you the entire time I was asking him how to switch back!”

  We laugh and then both fall silent when reality sets in that it really isn’t funny.

  “Can I change the subject?” I ask.

  “Please!” Casey says.

  “I’ve been planning this thirty-ninth birthday party for John and—”

  She cuts me off. “Thirty-ninth? Who plans a thirty-ninth birthday party?”

  “I know, I know. It’s kind of ridiculous. But he’s so freaked out about turning forty that there’s no way I can throw him a fortieth. So I’m going to surprise him with a thirty-ninth. Something he’ll never expect.”

  She thinks for a minute. “Isn’t his birthday coming up in just a few weeks?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “Why don’t I know about this?” I ask, feeling hurt that she didn’t bring me in on the secret.

  “You do; well, Destiny does. It’s in your calendar according to her.”

  “So is it all planned then?”

  “Not exactly. I haven’t done everything.”

  “Well, you have a venue, right? And the invitations have been sent out?” Casey sits up tall.

  “If a save the date email counts, then yes, I’ve told people when it is.”

  “Rachel!”

  “We don’t all have assistants, you know. I have a baby, two moody teenagers, and there’s a lot going on. There are days when getting a shower is a miracle.”

  “Um, I know. Look at this hair.” She pulls at my limp locks.

  “Not so easy when your hairdresser isn’t there to do it for you, is it?” I laugh.

  “Whatever. Listen, about this party that I guess I’m now planning. It’s been forever since I’ve coordinated more than my weekend outfits. Destiny handles all this kind of stuff for me. Maybe she can help! You can ask her for a favor tomorrow. She won’t like it, but she’ll do it.”

  “I don’t know,” Rachel says. “I feel bad asking her. She already seems to have so much on her plate.”

  “You think I can do it by myself ?” Casey challenges. “You’re going to be way too busy to help me. And it’s not like I can ask John.”

  Seeing the overwhelmed look on her face, I back down. “Okay, I’ll ask her tomorrow. Maybe she can at least help finalize some of the details.”

  Just then the television pops off pause and Dean is announcing how much Tom Cruise’s movie made at the box office over the weekend. I look over at Casey, who seems tense as she watches, so I grab the remote and turn the power off.

  I look at the clock. Even though I don’t want to, I should leave soon so Casey can make sure the girls’ homework is done and try to get them to bed at a reasonable hour. I wonder, what if Charlotte decides to wake up in the middle of the night again because she’s teething? I start to get teary.

  “What is it?” Casey notices my face.

  “What if we can’t figure out how to change back?”

  “I don’t know,” is all she says.

  CHAPTER 11

  * * *

  casey

  My checklist for John’s surprise party seems to be getting longer by the minute, mostly because of Rachel’s urgent texts every few hours reminding me to check this or call on that. Considering the last party I threw was in college and consisted of thirty of us standing around a keg with a bowl of Doritos, I’m feeling a bit out of my league. I’ve attended more fabulous parties than most, but I’ve never had a hand in actually planning them. I would just show up with my latest man candy on my arm and drink expensive champagne, never giving one thought to all the hard work that was involved to make it so perfect.

  But surprisingly, like so many other new things I’ve tried since becoming Rachel Cole, I’m getting the hang of it. Charlotte is no longer waking up every three hours; she seems to have accepted the fact that she’s stuck with a knockoff of her real mom. She’s been the only one in the family who seems to be questioning my true identity, touching my face often, and seeming as uneasy in my arms as I am holding her. Everyone else has accepted this slightly inept version of Rachel with little or no thought, and I’ve found myself wondering if they just aren’t paying attention anymore. The thought makes me sad for Rachel and angry with myself for being one of the people in her life who hasn’t been more checked in. It’s easy to take Rachel for granted, to count on the fact that she’ll always be there for you even if you don’t call for weeks.

  I accomplish a personal record this morning, not only getting the kids off to school and Charlotte dressed in more than a onesie, but even figuring out that damn coffeemaker so John could have his precious cup of morning java. It wasn’t exactly a venti bold from Starbucks, but the fact that I brewed it myself made it taste even better to me.

  One thing I haven’t quite figured out is John and Rachel’s relationship. As their self-proclaimed third wheel for many years, I always thought I knew them well as a couple. But now, living her life, being her, makes me wonder if I ever knew anything at all. And every tim
e I try to ask Rachel about it, she blows me off and tells me not to worry about it. But I do. I worry that Rachel and John are living like strangers under one roof. When I pushed her, Rachel told me that this is just how it is, that she and John spend so much energy making sure that Audrey’s grades are college worthy, that Sophie isn’t a hot mess, that Charlotte isn’t going to choke on something random, that they just don’t have any energy left for each other. And to be honest, I can understand what she means after being here for only a week. This life is exhausting.

  I reach up and touch my greasy hair and try to remember when I last washed it. For someone whose personal upkeep has always been a huge part of her life, I’ve really let myself—or rather, Rachel—go. I finger the list of emergency numbers that Rachel gave me. She said I could call Jan, the babysitter, if it was a 911 situation. Well, if bad hair isn’t an emergency, I don’t know what is, so I pick up the phone.

  Three hours later, I emerge from the salon a new person. I broke into my email account and sent an urgent message to Destiny to pull every string she had to get Rachel an appointment at Anya’s for the works—ASAP. Highlights, waxing, a facial, everything under the sun. Oh, and I told her to be sure to charge it to my account. I didn’t want to be responsible for giving John a heart attack. As a regional manager for a large pharmaceutical company, he does well, affording Rachel to stay home and live a very comfortable life. But Anya’s Day Spa is a whole different level. The bill for all the services would definitely make his head spin.

  The valet pulls up with my car and I’m so intoxicated from my spa experience that I overtip him. He looks from my dirty minivan to the twenty-dollar bill in his hand in disbelief. Glancing in the rearview mirror, even though I still look like Rachel, I feel more like myself than I have in days. You can thank me later, Rachel.

  My phone rings and I answer the private number, hoping it’s her. I can’t wait to tell her how fabulous she looks.

  “Hello?” I sing.

  “Mrs. Cole?” an unfamiliar voice asks.

  “Yes, how may I help you?”

  “This is Vice Principal Stone from Oakwood Middle School. We want to let you know that Sophie did not show up to fifth period today.”

  I start to panic. Has something happened to her? Could she have been kidnapped? “Oh my God,” I say to him. “What do we do next?” I ask. Call the police? Search the local hospitals? I think of how I’m going to explain to Rachel that one of her kids was kidnapped while I was on all fours getting a full Brazilian wax by a woman named Titi.

  “Well, Mrs. Cole, as I told you the last five times she’s ditched this class, she’s going to fail algebra if she doesn’t start coming regularly.”

  “Ditching? She’s ditching school?” I say incredulously. “Are you freakin’ serious?” First slutty clothes, now this? What was going on with her? Has Rachel lost all control over her?

  He pauses. “Mrs. Cole, are you okay? This isn’t the first time this has happened. As we discussed before, I called you directly without getting your husband involved.”

  “I didn’t want John involved? Why?” I realize I’ve said this out loud.

  Principal Stone chuckles, “I learned a long time ago not to ask questions like that. But you told me that you preferred to handle it yourself and not to bother him with these matters.” He pauses and I can hear him shuffling papers on his desk. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Why would she keep things like this from John? “Yes, I’m fine. I can promise you Sophie will be attending all of her classes tomorrow.”

  “Very well,” he says. “You can let her know she has a week of detention waiting for her when she does return to school.”

  That’s not all she has waiting for her, I think. Wait until she gets home. I consider calling Rachel, but decide against it. I can handle this. Plus, she’s taping right now and I don’t want to mess up her mojo. She’s been doing my job surprisingly well. In fact, there’s a small part of me—make that a big part—that’s hurt that no one can tell the difference. I worked my ass off, sacrificed so much to get where I am. And after a sixteen-year hiatus, Rachel steps into my shoes and they fit perfectly. Maybe I’m even more replaceable than I thought.

  I drive home and pay the babysitter in a haze. What am I going to say to Sophie? Do I play good cop or bad cop? I pace around the kitchen as Charlotte watches me curiously. “What do you think?” I ask her. She smiles and claps her hands and suddenly I know what I have to do.

  • • •

  Later that afternoon, Sophie saunters in the door like nothing’s happened, Audrey trailing closely behind her.

  She stops in her tracks when she sees who’s waiting for her in the living room. “Dad, what are you doing home?”

  I walk over to Audrey and hand her Charlotte. “Can you take her upstairs while we chat with your sister?”

  Audrey, seeing the serious expression on my face, takes Charlotte silently out of my hands, but does a double take. “What did you do to your hair?”

  Thrilled that someone has finally noticed, I respond, “Oh, just a few highlights, that’s all.”

  “Interesting,” is all she says as she turns and heads upstairs.

  Before I can determine if that was a compliment or not, John is already tearing into Sophie. “You better start talking right now about where you’ve been all afternoon,” he says as he reaches into her backpack and pulls out a dress that looks like it could fit Charlotte. “And then you can explain what this is and why you were wearing it.”

  Sophie’s eyes are as big as saucers, and it reminds me of when she was just a toddler, so sweet and innocent. I know you’re not supposed to have favorites, but Sophie has always been mine. Her fear quickly turns to anger. “Nothing, Dad! Just hanging out with some friends. I hate algebra! That’s why I never go!”

  “What do you mean you never go?” he asks and turns to me. “Is this not the first time this has happened?”

  “No, it’s not,” I sigh.

  “Why haven’t you told me about it?” he says curtly, his anger turning on me. “What the hell? I’m their father. I need to know what’s going on!”

  Trying to calm him, I walk over to him and speak softly. “Well, I’m telling you now. We can discuss why I didn’t tell you later. But at the moment, we need to deal with what happened today,” I say, nodding back at Sophie. “Listen, I hated algebra too—” I start.

  “You always told me you loved math,” she interrupts.

  Damn. That’s right. Rachel was a math nerd.

  “Well, maybe hate is a strong word,” I begin again. “But I did struggle with it at your age. And you know who really couldn’t stand it?”

  “Who?” she asks, looking down. I’m losing her again.

  “Your Aunt Casey.”

  “Really?” Sophie looks back up at me.

  “Yep, she absolutely hated it. But you know what? She still showed up every day.” I try to read her face, to see if my words are having any impact.

  “But like Aunt Casey ever uses algebra now, Mom.”

  “True,” I say. I can feel John’s eyes on me. He’s wondering how I’m going to handle this. “But if she hadn’t passed algebra, she couldn’t have graduated from high school. And if she hadn’t graduated from high school, she wouldn’t have gone to college. And if she hadn’t gone to college, she wouldn’t be where she is today.” I think about Rachel not finishing college, not getting to where she wanted to go.

  “I guess that makes sense,” Sophie says, then pulls her phone out of her pocket and starts to play with it.

  “I’ll take that.” John grabs it from her without argument. “You can have it back in a week.” He puts it onto the kitchen counter and turns back around. “Do we need to hire you a tutor?”

  “Maybe.” Sophie seems embarrassed. “I’m just so lost. I don’t even want to try. It’s useless.”

  “Maybe your mom can help you with your homework each night,” John offers.

  “I think the tuto
r thing sounds good,” I say quickly, the thought of trying to determine what X is making me feel queasy already. “Right?” I ask Sophie. She looks at me oddly but nods, obviously wanting the conversation to be over.

  John gently pulls her up from the couch by her arms for a hug. “Listen, I love you. But if you do this again, I’m taking away your phone for good.” He pulls back and looks her directly in the eye. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, go to your room and start on your homework.” He dismisses her and she runs up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  “Well, that went well, don’t you think?” I ask when she’s gone.

  “We’ll see,” he says. “You never know with these kids.”

  “Tell me about it.” I laugh and walk over to the kitchen counter and grab an unopened bottle of red wine. “Care for a drink?”

  “Seriously?” he asks, looking at his watch.

  “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” I smile.

  “Are you just trying to distract me from the fact that Sophie’s been ditching school and you chose not to tell me?”

  “Maybe.” I smile again, trying to charm my way out of this the way I’ve seen Rachel do before. “I don’t know about you, but after that, I need a drink.”

  It works. “Can’t argue with that reasoning,” he agrees.

  I pour each of us a full glass and he raises his for a toast. “To not completely effing up our kids.” He smiles and I’m reminded of the John I used to know. The one that used to be a lot more fun.

  “Cheers to that.” I toast him against my better judgment and pray we don’t switch bodies too. Then things would really start to get confusing.

  Then he startles me by leaning in and kissing my cheek before whispering in my ear. “And by the way, I love your hair.”

  CHAPTER 12

  * * *

  rachel

  “Tomorrow on GossipTV we’ve got an exclusive interview with the dancer who’s making some shocking accusations about Ryan McKnight.”