Nobody’s Perfect

Chapter 1

Vivian Quackenbush, what are you going to do when you don t have Wine Down Wednesdays anymore?

I placed my camp chair next to Abi s and took in our little cul-de-sac with the intention of remembering the crisp October evening forever. We lived in your typical metro Atlanta suburb, patriotically named Heritage Park, with each street named after a piece of American history. We lived at the end of Oregon Trail, the subdivision s main drag.

Our houses looked similar but not quite the same. Mitch and I lived in a one-story blue HardiePlank while everyone else in the cul-de-sac had a brick front and two stories. Since our neighborhood was only twenty years old, the trees hadn t caught up to the houses yet, meaning our homes felt both clumped together and exposed. The cracked asphalt now sported green lines of weeds, too.

Melancholy washed over me. As much as I hated the suburban snarl of traffic and the neon-green glow of the new shopping center that had been built practically in my backyard, I would miss this. I would miss Abi. I would miss Rachel. I would miss this cul-de-sac where we d first gathered to watch our children play and now gathered for our own entertainment.

What s got you so sad? Abi asked without looking up from her knitting.

Just thinking about how I m going to miss all of you when Mitch and I move to Florida, I said, now studying my friend. She wore her hair naturally today, no wig to cover the tiny tight curls. Her brown eyes were trained on her knitting, her lips pursed in concentration. She wore a shade of bright yellow that I could never hope to pull off, but it popped against her dark skin.

How are Zeke and the boys? I asked as I looked to the pink-and-blue cotton candy sky.

Zeke is in Chicago, she said of her husband without missing a stitch, and the boys are grounded because they played some kind of computer game until three in the morning, even though they both had tests today. How about Mitch and Dylan?

I smiled at the thought of my husband and son. Mitch is down in Florida for some kind of dental convention, and Dylan is so happy up at the University of Tennessee that he hasn t bothered to so much as text his poor, worried mother. At least, that s what I m telling myself. If that child is partying instead of studying and loses his scholarship, he and I are going to have words.

Abi sighed. These kids of ours.

She really had no idea.

But she would.

Her boys, twins, would be off to college next fall, and then she would feel the smothering silence of an empty nest. No need to tell her that, though. Far better to be around for coffee and a shoulder to cry on when she figured it out.

Mitch sure has been traveling a lot, hasn t he?

Her tone of voice made the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but then again, Abi worked as a private investigator, so she couldn t help but ask all sorts of questions. Something about lots of lectures on retirement and then the usual dental thingies where he s looking for potential buyers or something.

I see you have a real handle on the situation, Abi said with a chuckle.

Oh, you know me. I keep up with the important things.

Yes, the important things like the bills and the laundry. Lord knew keeping up with cooking, cleaning, and laundry ought to pay a wage. Alas, it did not unless you went to do those things for someone else.

I still can t believe he s retiring so early, Abi said.

Well, we just haven t been fancy, I guess. He s been socking away money for years. He says he might work part-time for someone else, but he wants more freedom now.

And you still want to move to Florida when Mitch does his something-something that leads to retirement?

A pang of sadness poked my heart. That s the plan. But I sure am going to miss both you and Rachel.

Speak of the devil, Abi said.

Rachel walked into the cul-de-sac with her customary speed. It never ceased to amaze me how someone who walked so quickly could always be running behind. I liked that we were the three bears of punctuality: Abi was always early, Rachel was always late, and I was always right on time.

We always forgave Rachel, though. She was in charge of bringing the wine.

Sorry I m late, Rachel said. I mean, thank you for waiting on me.

Abi and I shared an oh-boy-more-therapist-speak look. Rachel had been going to therapy where, among other things, she d learned to reframe apologies into statements of gratitude. We were trying to be supportive, really we were.

Mostly.

What s this evening s selection? I asked.

Grgich Hills, Rachel said as she pulled out a bottle of wine that had probably cost more than my billfold, and my billfold, it should be noted, was a Kate Spade.

Okay, it was a Kate Spade that had been on clearance, but still.

Rachel blew her bangs out of her face, and I admired her long, glossy black hair for the umpteen millionth time. I was flat-out jealous of how her brown skin stayed blemish-free.

Maybe that s because she doesn t fool with makeup like you do, Vivian.

What should we be looking for in tonight s selection? asked Abi.

Rachel looked skyward trying to remember and then gave up and skimmed the back of the bottle. Violet, black currant, plums. A silky mouthfeel.

I giggled.

Seriously, Vivian, Rachel said.

But . . . Mouth. Feel. I left the words out there until Abi quirked a smile. Rachel stared on. I cleared my throat and schooled my features. And I have the perfect pairing as well as . . . a gift.

Oh? Rachel and Abi asked at the same time.

From my tote bag, I took out a new box of Cheez-Its.

Of course, said Rachel.

. . . and these.

With a flourish, I brought out three stainless-steel wine tumblers-complete with lids. One side said Mom Scouts in a curlicue script. The other side of each cup had one of our names.

These are cute, Vivian! Abi had put down her knitting and was spinning the tumbler around to look at each side.

I told myself I d at least start looking at merchandise when I hit five hundred subscribers, I said. You ladies get to be my wineglass guinea pigs.

Rachel grinned as she twirled her tumbler. I m glad you re getting so much enjoyment out of your new hobby.

Yes, my hobby. Her words rankled, but I smiled through them. How could my YouTube channel be described as anything else? I certainly wasn t making any money from it.

I d created my Mom Scouts channel after Dylan went to school. The learning curve had been steep, but now I knew how to edit until I had something concise. With twenty videos under my belt, women were starting to reach out and say things like, Your videos just make my day and I needed that laugh.

And that was why I d created the channel in the first place: so we women could celebrate all the little milestones of life. The tagline for my channel was Sometimes you deserve a glass of wine. Or a badge. Or a badge and a glass of wine. The Mom Scouts have your back.

Did you wash these cups? Abi asked as she took the lid off hers and held it out for Rachel to pour the wine.

Of course! I said, taken aback that she would ask such a thing.

Okay. So maybe I d only rinsed them out instead of washing them, but wasn t alcohol an antiseptic or something? Not that any of us were about to pour a California cabernet on an open wound or anything.

Bless you for getting a new box of crackers, Rachel said. They were stale last week.

I sniffed my wine the way Rachel had taught me. I didn t know anything about it other than how her California wines always smelled distinctive, usually something fruity with a hint of a very specific dirt, a dirt I didn t know but would like to. Then I took a sip.

Darned if that mouthfeel wasn t silky.

I liked to think of this as a sort of communion. Nothing fancy. Nothing religious, per se. But Wednesdays sometimes felt like the only time I could really talk about my dreams or what I d done the previous week that upset me. Abi and Rachel inevitably absolved me of my supposed sins and encouraged me in my ventures. I did the same for them.

So, do you think I could include the two of you in some of my videos? I asked.

Hell no, Abi said.

I was thinking we could talk about earning our Sommelier Badge, maybe talk about how Cheez-Its pair perfectly with every type of wine.

Rachel screwed her face up and shook her head.

I should ve waited until they were feeling the wine a little more.

The Mom Scouts channel is your project, Abi said. I support you, but I am not dressed for being captured digitally forever.

I think you both look perfectly lovely, I said, gesturing to her yellow top. Rachel wore a cream sweater and khaki pants but managed to look more like a model than the kindergarten teacher she was. As the lone white woman in the group, I felt a little washed-out next to the two of them. I frowned down at the powder-blue blouse I wore.

Good evening, ladies!

Coming up the hill, just in time for his wine and Cheez-Its, was George. He liked to walk his dog in our general direction on Wednesdays, and we didn t mind his visits because, as the Heritage Park Homeowners Association secretary, he kept us in the know.

He looked down at his gorgeous Australian shepherd. Rucker, sit.

Rucker, who was named for the lead singer of Hootie the Blowfish, sat. He clearly wanted some Cheez-Its, but he sat.

What brings you to the end of Oregon Trail this fine evening? I asked. I see you ve managed to avoid dysentery. Have you lost your oxen, though?

George laughed. I d say that joke never gets old, but I d be lying.

Seriously, if you ve heard one dysentery joke, you ve heard them all, muttered Rachel.

She was just sore because we d played the Oregon Trail card game last week, and she d lost.

I ignored her and turned to George. Thanks for laughing at my joke anyway.

I can t offend the ladies who share their wine with me, he said. But I have to warn you that something worse than dysentery is headed this way.

He held out a red plastic cup. Rachel poured wine, then passed him the bottle so he could see what he was drinking.

Dawn? asked Abi with an arched eyebrow.

He nodded affirmatively and handed back the bottle. She is on a tear tonight. Jennifer in the next cul-de-sac over painted two shutters different colors because she was trying to figure out which shade she liked better.

Mm, mm, mm, Abi said, shaking her head. She knew better than that.

Rachel glanced at her yard and sighed. David and I haven t had time to weed our front landscaping. Do you think she ll notice?

George tilted his head to one side as if to say, What do you think?

We all knew the answer to Rachel s question. Of course Dawn would notice. She d made it her life s mission to enforce each and every strict little regulation in our subdivision covenant. Most of them, like not giving Jennifer a moment to decide which shade of paint she d prefer for her shutters, were patently ridiculous.

Well, thanks for the heads-up, George, I said.

Just doing my civic duty, he said with a salute. Thanks for sharing the good stuff.

Anything for you, George, Rachel said.

George and Rucker hadn t been gone long when a briskly walking female form appeared at the top of the hill.

That woman really interferes with my ability to enjoy my wine, Rachel whispered.

Are you kidding? She interferes with our ability to enjoy life , I said as I passed out the lids that went with our tumblers.

Ladies, Dawn Crawford said, only slightly out of breath due to a strict regimen of running and kickboxing. Tall, blond, and lithe, she probably had her picture next to glamazon in the dictionary. I believe we ve discussed the rule saying that you shouldn t have open containers in public.

Ah, but it s not open, I said as I closed the plastic tab on the lid of my tumbler.

She huffed. That s not what I meant, and you know-

And this is empty, Rachel said as she held up the wine bottle.

Thanks, George!

Dawn stood straighter, and I marveled at how little her hair moved in the Georgia breeze. According to Statute 12.3.5 of the Homeowners Agreement that you all signed, you are not supposed to be drinking alcoholic beverages from open containers in the cul-de-sac.

That specifically refers to outdoor barbecues and other functions that bring guests from outside the subdivision into this one, not personal use, Abi said. Anything else?

If she thought she d get away with it, Dawn probably would ve stomped her foot. After the debacle in the next cul-de-sac over in Washington Court, I d also like to remind you that you must choose from the approved colors when painting your house and shutters . Also, I see some grass that is too high in your yard, Rachel, and weeds that need to be removed before Saturday. That is all.

She turned on her heel and walked away as quickly as she d come.

Bless her heart, that woman needs a hobby.

Now, Vivian, Abi warned.

I hadn t actually meant to say the words out loud. At least I d kept them under my breath. Now, however, I was warming to the topic. I m just saying. She should maybe channel some of that energy into running for public office rather than being president of the HOA.

I m just glad Abi knows the statutes, Rachel said. David and I were so happy about being able to afford this house that we didn t read all that stuff like we should have.

Always read the fine print. Always.

After Abi s admonition, we enjoyed our wine and crackers in silence.

Is that the new neighbor? asked Rachel.

Abi and I both looked toward the fourth house in our subdivision, the one that had been empty for months up until last weekend. Sure enough, a man with some kind of flowy fabric draped over his arm was headed our way.

That it is, Abi said. Parker Ford, widower, father of one, works from home as a web designer.

Um, Abi? I asked. Do you have a file like that on each one of us?

Wouldn t you like to know, she said with a Mona Lisa smile.

Yeah, she had a file on each of us.

Rachel muttered something in Malayalam, her parents native language. She d been born here in the United States, but she sometimes slipped into Malayalam-usually when she didn t want us to know what she was saying.

I looked back to our rapidly approaching neighbor and guessed that Rachel had said something roughly equivalent to tall drink of water.

Oh. He is pretty, I said. She nodded as if to say, Nice translation!

Abi could only add, Whew, Lord.

We each sat up a little straighter.

Hi, I m, um, Parker.

Hi, Parker, we all said together in the singsong of besotted schoolgirls.

Welcome to Heritage Park! Would you like some wine? Rachel asked, her eyes widening as she no doubt remembered that we d killed the bottle with George s help.

Er, no, thank you, he said, giving us a sideways why-are-my-neighbors-drinking-wine-while-sitting-out-in-the-cul-de-sac look.

Rachel sagged into her chair in relief and took a sip from her tumbler.

We introduced ourselves. Parker paused to kick at a rock before saying, I hate to be that person who moves in and immediately asks for a favor, but I m having a bit of a situation here.

What kind of favor? Abi asked, her brown eyes sharp.

He held up the fabric, which I could now see was a long black dress. My daughter has a band concert tomorrow night, and she just now told me that the dress has to be hemmed. I was wondering if any of you ladies knew how to sew.

A beat passed, and then another. Rachel, Abi, and I locked eyes, thinking about the set of curtains we d attempted to hem on Rachel s mom s sewing machine. Too bad A-line curtains with jumbles of thread weren t in fashion. Rachel giggled first. Then Abi gave a hearty chuckle, and I could hold in my own laughter no longer.

Okay, then, he said stiffly. I m sorry I bothered you.

He turned on his heel and walked off.

Now we ve done it, Abi said. Vivian, go after him.

Why Vivian? asked Rachel.

Because she s the one who figures out how to do stuff for her videos, Abi said. She probably needs to earn her Help a Neighbor Badge or something.

I stopped to preen for a minute. I was the one who figured things out. Yeah. I liked that description.

Earth to Vivian! You d better run after him, because you know we ve hurt his feelings.

I did as I was told.

Parker, wait, I said breathlessly as I ran to catch up with him and his tall, irritated man strides. We didn t mean it like that.

Then how exactly did you mean it? His voice held annoyance but I could tell he was keeping it in check. Some men-like my husband, Mitch-probably would ve yelled at us. I appreciated that Parker wasn t that type.

Last week, we accidentally messed up some curtains we were trying to sew, I said. We were really laughing at ourselves.

He took a step backward. He didn t quite believe me.

But he sure did look pretty facing a Georgia sunset, his whiskey-brown eyes crinkled in a squint and his skin aglow.

Well, if that s it, then I guess I d better figure out a way to do this, he said.

Hem tape, I blurted.

What s that?

I ended up using it to create a hem for those curtains once it was clear I couldn t sew them. It could probably be used to hem a dress.

Parker exhaled, his shoulders sagging with relief. Where can I find some of that?

You re in luck. I have plenty because it comes in a big roll. Do you have an iron?

His shoulders inched up, and panic flashed in his eyes. I think so.

You don t know?

Well, we haven t finished unpacking.

How could he not at least remember whether he d packed an iron?

How about I loan you my iron and hem tape if you let me make a video of you while you hem the dress?

I don t know, he said, obviously not wanting to be recorded any more than Abi did.

It s just my own YouTube channel. I don t even have that many viewers, I said.

They were dedicated viewers, mind you, but I wasn t lying. It wasn t as though I had a million people watching my videos.

He smiled. I guess I really don t have much of a choice, do I?

I shrugged. If it really bothers you, then I ll walk you through it without recording, but I m always looking for something to make a video about.

What can it hurt? he asked.

That s the spirit! I pumped my fist. And your daughter s home right now?

That got a nod.

Okay, tell her to put on the dress, and I ll be over there in a minute with my sewing kit.

Hey! Parker said. I thought you said you couldn t sew.

I can t.

Then why do you have a kit?

Because I m going to learn someday. It s aspirational, I said with a flourish of my hand. Don t worry. The hem tape won t be perfect, but I bet we can Mom Scout it.

Mom Scout it?

How to explain to Parker our ongoing cul-de-sac discussion that had inspired my Mom Scouts channel. It s a work-around.

Oh, he said as if pretending he understood. And you re sure you don t mind?

I don t have anywhere else I have to be, I said.

And it was true. I d been looking forward to chatting with Abi and Rachel, but we d always have next week. Mitch wasn t due home yet, and that left the house empty except for Lucky, my one-eyed black Maine coon cat with a less-than-sunny disposition.

If you re sure.

I am.

He grinned. Then I ll see you in a few minutes.

I trotted over to where I d been sitting and handed Abi my wine so I could fold my chair.

And you re just going to hem a dress for a stranger.

I wrestled with the chair to get it back into the bag and then took my tumbler. First of all, he s not a stranger. He s a neighbor. Second, I m not doing it for him. I m going to tell him how to do it, and I m going to take a video of it.

Abi laughed. Vivian, you are a mess. You should ve gone into sales or something.

I was born to be a hausfrau, I said dramatically before draining the rest of my wine.

Rachel winced, because this wine was supposed to be savored. And possibly because she would ve preferred to have been a stay-at-home mom, but she and David hadn t been able to afford it.

Ironically, I hadn t originally wanted to be a stay-at-home mom.

That had all been Mitch s idea.

Can t he just cut off enough for her to walk and be done with it? asked Rachel.

She s already the new girl in school. I would hate for anyone to make fun of her over something that can be fixed in less than an hour.

If you re sure.

Okay, an hour and a half, because I ll be explaining to someone else how to do it.

Rachel and Abi shared a glance. Abi spoke first. Oh, to be a fly on the wall.

You don t have to be a fly, Rachel said. Vivian s going to record the whole thing.

Whew, I can t wait!

Oh, I said, pausing to bat my eyelashes dramatically. Parker will be the first dude admitted to the Mom Scouts.

We re letting guys in? We may need to vote on this, Abi said.

Wait a minute, I said, tapping my chin. I thought you said this was my project. So, I ll just induct ol Parker and earn my Sewing Badge.

More like a Sewing Hack Badge, Abi said under her breath.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Rachel waved me on. You d better get started or you ll be at it all night.

I conceded her point with a nod and headed back in the direction of my house, humming Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo. Few things made me happier than the opportunity to be a fairy godmother-even if it was only a half-assed one.