Mrs. Perfect

Lucy’s nodding. “We’re all called to different things, and one isn’t better than another. They’re just different.”

“Different but equally valuable,” Lori sums up.

A week later, Lucy calls me on my cell, but as I’m working I don’t check for messages until my lunch. Her message is so shocking, I call her back immediately.

“I wasn’t sure I heard you right,” I say as soon as she answers the phone. “Tell me again.”

“Peter and I are going to counseling. Together.” Her voice is excited and more than a little hopeful.

I hear so much happiness in her voice that I’m almost afraid for her. I don’t want her hurt, and I don’t want her disappointed. “What does this mean?”

“We’re going to see if we can work things out. Maybe get back together.”

I’m silent, trying to digest this surprising turn of events.

“Taylor, it’s a good thing. I love him. I love my family.”

“But Thanksgiving weekend when we had coffee at Tully’s, you said he’d been so mean—”

“He was hurt and angry.” She takes a deep breath. “And he’s still hurt and angry, but we have the kids to think about.” Her voice drops an octave. “We both love them so much, Taylor, neither of us can stomach having them only part-time.” Now her tone turns persuasive. “Be happy for me, Taylor, please.”

“I am.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

She’s silent for a moment. “I know it might not work, Taylor. I know we might not be able to pull it off, but I’ve got to try. I owe my kids that much.”

“You owe it to yourself, too.”

We say good-bye, and I hang up. I’ve just put my phone back in my purse when it suddenly rings. It’s Lucy again. I pick up.

“Oh, Taylor, I can’t believe I forgot. But you’ll never believe what I heard today.” She takes a deep breath. “Your Yarrow Point house is for sale.”

“What?”

“It’s true. I drove past it to make sure. There’s a sign in front. Your house is back on the market.”

“Why?” I ask, thinking it’s been only two months since Monica and Doug moved in.

“I don’t know, but if I hear anything, I’ll call you right away.”

We hang up again, and this time I just leave the phone lying on my desk.

My house . . . my house . . .

My house could be mine again.

My house could be mine again.

I close my eyes, picture us the way we were, the beautiful sunsets, the barbecues, the little dock where the girls jumped off to swim in the lake.

We could buy our house back. We could pick up our lives, be Nathan and Taylor Young with a gorgeous house and three model-perfect daughters . . .

Then I remember. We can’t afford the house. We can’t afford a million-dollar house, much less four or five million.

The excitement turns to disappointment, and then the disappointment transforms into quieter acceptance. Acceptance isn’t as fun as excitement, but it’s not so bad, either.

I’m just wondering if I should even bother to call Nathan to tell him about our house when once again my cell phone rings. It’s Nathan. How weird. He must have read my mind.

“I was just thinking about you,” I say, answering.

“How’s your day?” he asks.

I look at the stack of receipts and expense reports in front of me. Marta and Mel have been traveling a lot lately. “Good.”

“You sound tired.”

“I am. A little.” Allie enters the studio and nods at me. I lift a hand in greeting. “But it’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Feel like a date night Friday night?”

“Are we talking a real date or phone sex?” I tease, trying to be funny.

I get a laugh. “A real date,” he says, pausing. “I’m being flown in for an interview. One Friday morning, and another Friday afternoon.”

“How? What? When did this all happen? And are they good companies?” I’m tripping over my tongue. I can’t get my questions out fast enough. “Would you want to work for either of these companies?”

“Yes. I’d love to work for either of them.”

“Nathan, this is wonderful. This is . . . unbelievable. Who are the companies? Would I know them?”

He laughs. I hear eagerness in his voice, and optimism. It’s been so long since he’s had anything to be really excited about. “Microsoft, and a company called BioMed. So how about a dinner date Friday? Somewhere nice, you and me?”

Unwillingly, I flash back to all the years we ate out, all those thoughtless, careless meals in expensive restaurants. Fifty-dollar bottles of wine. Appetizers and salads and lobster at market price and dessert along with an after-dinner drink.

Filet mignon, crab-stuffed mushrooms, pan-sautéed Chilean sea bass . . .

“I’m happy eating at home, honey,” I answer firmly, because I don’t want to think about what we lost anymore, but what we have. And that’s love.

Courage.

Grit.

Balls.

I sit taller in my chair. “Home’s great, baby, really.”

“That may be so, but I’m taking you out. It’s time I took you out—”

“Nathan, we don’t—”

“Please, Taylor, don’t fight me on this. We can afford this. We can spring on one night out.”

A night out would be fun. My lips curve wistfully. “Okay,” I concede.

As soon as I’m off the phone, I Google BioMed. They’re located in Bellevue (awesome), they’re a huge international company with offices in Australia, Germany, London, Dublin, and Japan (impressive), and their founder and CEO is a thirty-nine-year-old billionaire named Luke Flynn.

Luke Flynn.

I sit back in my chair. Marta’s Luke.

My excitement over the two interview possibilities fades. I don’t think Nathan knows that BioMed’s founder is Marta’s Luke. I don’t know if I should talk to Marta about Nathan’s interview. I’m worried she was behind the interview, worried that she went to Luke. It’s possible that Luke has connections at Microsoft, too, and helped set up both interviews.

If he did, what does it mean?

As the day goes on, I’m increasingly troubled. I’d love nothing more than to have Nathan home with a great job with a local corporation. I’d love to have him home, making great money, would love for him to be happy again. But how will he feel when he finds out that Luke Flynn, CEO and president of BioMed, is Marta’s Zinsser’s soon-to-be husband?

Will he feel awkward?

Worse, will he feel pitied?

Thursday morning, the same day Nathan’s set to fly home for his Friday interviews in Bellevue, I get a phone call from Marta’s friend, TV personality Tiana Tomlinson. Tiana’s flying into town Sunday morning to throw a surprise bridal shower for Marta on Sunday night. She hopes I can attend and would love it if I could put together an invite list for her of people Marta would want at the shower.

I promise to e-mail her an invite list within the next couple of hours. Since Marta’s not in the office at the moment, I confer with Allie and Mel to get their input on whom Marta would want at the shower.

Nathan will still be in town Sunday night, so I won’t need a sitter for the girls, but I will need to get a gift. I use my lunch to head to the mall to see if I can’t find an appropriate present. The shower doesn’t have a theme, it’s just a chance for everyone to let Marta know how happy we are for her, but still, I want a great gift, the perfect gift. Marta’s been so good to me. I want her to know how much I appreciate everything she’s done for me.

At the mall, I start at Nordstrom but can’t find what I’m looking for (maybe because I don’t know what I’m looking for), so I leave and walk the rest of Bellevue Square without finding anything that screams “perfect present.” In the end, I return to Nordstrom and buy a beautiful Italian negligee and robe for her honeymoon.

It isn’t until I

’m back at the office that I remember that being pregnant, Marta might not want a sexy negligee.

Frustrated with my inability to be unique or creative, I type up the list of names for Tiana and double-check the phone numbers and e-mail addresses before sending them off.

As I push send, I can’t help but think back to the beginning of the school year, a year that started so promisingly with Patti co-chairing the auction with me and great teachers for the girls. I didn’t know then that Nathan had been having some midlife crisis and was still blissfully unaware that our personal lives were in the toilet bowl.

But the toilet bowl taught me lessons, and I’m far stronger, and maybe happier, now than I was then.