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Andrew Mulroney may have been right to drag me along during his daily routine in an attempt to show me I don’t belong.
And I don’t have to drag him along for a day in my world to know he wouldn’t fit any better there than I do in his.
“Surely there’s someone in your life who does appreciate you,” he says. “If not, Joseph’s son just moved back from San Diego, and you guys always got along so well—”
I laugh and hold up a hand. “Please. Do not set me up with Caleb Myers. He used to try to wipe boogers in my ponytail.”
“Well, I see I’ve missed some riveting conversation,” my mom says, striding into the dining room. “Georgie, hon, love the silk blouse. Michael Kors?”
I look down and shrug. “How’d the call go?”
“Hmm?” She gives me a sharp look.
“Your call? Dad said you were on the phone?”
“Oh, right.” She waves her hand. “Paris didn’t get their swatches on time, and I had to assure Celeste it was simply a shipping hiccup.”
My dad’s attention is already back on his newspaper, and I study my mom as she fixes herself a mimosa. I hear a faint strain of off-key music, and—
“Mom, are you humming?” I ask.
She stills, and my dad peers at her over the top of his newspaper.
Her laugh is nervous. “Just in a good mood, I guess.”
My dad and I exchange a glance, and he shrugs, turning his attention back to his paper.
Mom joins me at the table, suspiciously free of her iPhone and laptop. I know I should be glad that she’s in such a good mood, but I can’t shake the feeling that something seems off. I’d asked her about that during our chat last week, but she said nothing’s up.
She’s lying, but maybe I can’t blame her.
I keep thinking about what my dad said about that Heidi woman.
How she needed him, just a little.
Did my mom ever need my dad? Did he ever need her?
I mean, I’m a modern woman and all—I know I’m supposed to subscribe to the notion that a woman can be complete without a man and vice versa, and I do. I really do.
And yet, sitting here with two people who somehow share the same air, the same life, but barely seem aware of the other person’s presence, I can’t shake the sense that while maybe I don’t need someone to need me, I really, really wouldn’t mind spending time with someone who at least wants me.
Georgie
MONDAY, 4:59 A.M.
What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?
It’s a question I’ve repeated about a hundred times to myself on the cab ride home.
Not a solo cab ride. Nope. For reasons I can’t quite seem to wrap my head around, I’m in a cab with Brody Nash, and we’re headed back to my place.
It all started when I let him kiss me, sometime around three A.M. The rest of the crew was on the dance floor, and I’d switched over to my usual early morning round of sparkling water. He joined me in the San Pellegrino party, and it was a nice change. Usually I’m the only one sobering up while the rest of my friends are still pounding shots.
He was sitting close, his attention all on me. He laughed at my jokes and asked me about my day, and I just kept thinking about what my dad had talked about. About how I deserved someone who wanted me. Someone I didn’t have to convince of my worth.
And then Brody leaned over, pausing, giving me plenty of time to move away. Instead, I’d closed my eyes and let his mouth meet mine.
It had been, well…
