Nobody’s Perfect

Chapter 15

The next morning I woke up at seven to talk with Rock 105 out of Dallas. By that time, I d become a meme and a GIF. The meme was a photo of me in all my drunk, bloodshot glory saying, My chicken salad is ah-mazing, y all. Someone else had made a GIF of the moment in the video where I waved one hand around and sloshed wine in the other before saying whatever and then taking a gulp of wine. At least I didn t have to watch an endless loop of me being a drunken idiot. For the next six hours, I spoke with radio stations across the country until morning drive time blessedly came to an end in all time zones.

Mom brought me a grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch somewhere in there.

Then I began the arduous task of returning calls to reporters and bloggers. Finally, I braved my email to see if my channel had been monetized. Not yet. I got about three in and decided I should find something better to do with my time, so I made a video about how I hadn t caved to my husband when he asked for my laptop. I said it was my I Won t Back Down Badge. I sang that last one in the style of Tom Petty.

The minute those few words of the chorus left my lips, a warm embarrassment washed over me, but . . . it wasn t that bad. My voice didn t sound that bad.

More concerning than the possible embarrassment of singing on camera, however, was the question of what my next video should be. It needed to be something good. And I couldn t concentrate, because my husband hadn t bothered to come home the night before.

How I could be so upset about the outcome I d wanted, I would never know. I was living the Facebook status It s Complicated.

When Abi texted saying to meet her and Rachel outside, I launched myself from the couch. Maybe I should take Abi up on her offer of confirming my suspicions that Mitch did, indeed, have a woman. I needed to know. I didn t want to know. I needed to know.

But then I d owe Mom a hundred dollars.

God, Vivian, why are you such a mess?

We met in the cul-de-sac, not bothering with chairs for this impromptu meeting. Tomorrow would be the night we relaxed with our wine.

What s up? I asked, as much out of curiosity as a way to keep from asking, Can you see if my husband has a woman on the side?

It s Tuesday, Abi said.

And?

Rachel groaned. It s HOA night.

I felt the wince crumple my face. Nuh-uh. I went last month.

You don t want to earn your Homeowners Association Meeting Badge? asked Abi with faux incredulity. I thought it might make a nice video.

I shook my head. No one wants that badge.

Well, I have lesson plans to do, Rachel said.

And I m behind on background checks, added Abi.

But my husband s leaving me, remember? I blurted.

The next few minutes were a group hug with murmured apologies.

Glad that s settled, I said, heading for my house.

Oh, no, Abi said. We settle this like we always do with rock, paper, scissors. Maybe you could use the distraction, after all.

I groaned.

Rachel gave a little clap. She was exceptional at the game, probably because she spent so much of her time in an elementary school where such shenanigans belonged.

Fine. I d take my chances. As of late, Rachel had been picking scissors every time. I was pretty sure I had her figured out.

Rock, paper, scissors, shoot! Abi and Rachel said together as they moved their hands into the various shapes. This time Abi s scissors cut Rachel s paper, so the teacher turned to me. She d already used paper, an anomaly. It had to be scissors again.

Rock, paper, scissors, shoot! we said together as I chose rock to crush Rachel s scissors as well as her spirit, but she chose paper again, which covered my rock.

Dammit! But you always choose scissors!

No I don t!

Yes you do!

Ladies, Abi said. The storied tradition of rock, paper, scissors has solved this dispute. Vivian will take one for the team and attend the HOA meeting.

Divorce papers and an HOA meeting in the same week? This is too much. You know all the statutes!

Exactly why I shouldn t have to go, Abi said.

You could come with me!

Lesson plans, Rachel said in a singsong voice.

I looked expectantly at Abi.

Background checks, she sang in the same tune.

Fine, I said.

Fine. And the meeting starts in ten minutes, so you d better head that way. Our normally stoic Abi was entirely too happy about this turn of events.

I ll go, but I want you to do a favor for me, I said, my heart beating wildly as the words escaped.

Oh?

I do want you to see if my husband is having an affair.

Her body language shifted into something like cautious resignation. Are you sure this is something you want to know?

Yes.

Consider it done.

Thank you.

They left me to my undeserved punishment, and I weighed driving versus walking. At least walking would burn some calories, so I went back to the house for a warmer coat and told Mom I was headed to the HOA meeting.

Why?

Mom, you know how strict some Homeowners Associations are?

Yeah?

It s one of those. I drew the short straw. Or lost at freakin rock, paper, scissors. Whichever.

What time will you be back?

Of course, Mom didn t want to go to the meeting with me. There were limits even to a mother s love. Ten or so.

That long?

Oh, I m sure there s a lot to discuss about lawns that need to be mown, houses that need to be painted, suspicious people who aren t really suspicious.

Well, be careful, Mom said as she turned on the TV. She d decided to binge Outlander while I still had cable. She was too frugal for the premium channels, and I was about to follow her example.

I muttered as I left our cul-de-sac at the end of Oregon Trail. I muttered all sorts of things about rocks, paper, and scissors and a few about Jamie Fraser.

Hey! Wait a minute!

I turned to see Parker, who was easily catching up to me with his longer strides. My heart beat double time, and I reminded the traitorous organ that this was not the time to be twitterpated. In fact, I probably had a crush on Parker only because he was the opposite of Mitch in every way: younger, more handsome, not guilty of abandoning his wife.

Going to the HOA meeting?

Yeah, he said. I got a note about weeds in my flower beds, and I want to see what this is all about.

Dawn Crawford is going to be on you like white on rice and black on coal.

Who?

The president of the HOA. You just missed her Wednesday night. She s not a fan of ours, so I d pretend you don t like me if I were you.

He stopped walking, and I paused to look back at his earnest eyes. I don t think I can pretend that.

Oh.

Oh? Really, Vivian, that s the best you can come up with? Oh?

Um, that s really sweet of you.

We walked in awkward silence for a few minutes before he asked, Who the heck thought it would be a good idea to name the main drag of this subdivision Oregon Trail?

I laughed. Either someone who had no clue about the old computer game, someone who wanted to pay homage to it, or someone who secretly wished dysentery and dead oxen on everyone here.

I . . . uh, never played that game.

Say what?

Exactly how old are you, then?

Thirty-eight.

Oh, good. The last man to send me flowers was practically a fetus.

It s only six years.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

And those flowers were because you helped him with something. He s not interested in you.

And I wasn t interested in him. Except as a neighbor. Sure, it would be easier if I could find another husband-a better husband-and just slide him into Mitch s place, but I d already watched Mom try that. It wouldn t work. I needed to face the music.

But someday . . .

No.

Look at what a difference six years made. We didn t even have the same cultural references.

Yeah, my parents sent me to this really weird private school. I know a lot about Leviticus, but I m not so good with the pop culture references.

Ah. So our age difference wasn t the reason.

His hand hit mine lightly, and he jerked it away. His eyes immediately scanned the horizon in a she s-married-don t-touch-be-cool sort of way.

Or maybe I was projecting, and an awkward hand bump was just an awkward hand bump.

He stepped ahead of us to the clubhouse and held the door for me, like the dadgum gentleman he was. As predicted, Dawn Crawford cornered him, clutching his upper arm while she lectured him on the state of his yard as well as how he needed to be making plans to paint his house.

I let him go because I had too much going on to evaluate hand bumps or how Parker couldn t pretend to dislike me. I walked away from where Dawn discussed lawn maintenance in a breathy manner while making sure to brush her boob against his arm. Classy and subtle, that was Dawn Crawford.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes to the back of my head. I really should rescue the poor man-not because I had designs on him, mind you. It was just the neighborly thing to do.

I m sorry, Dawn, but Parker and I were discussing the possibility of fencing in our backyards, I said as I took his forearm to steer him away.

The fence has to start halfway down the sidewall of each house! It was an automatic response, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Good to know HOA policies trumped flirting in her world.

George cleared his throat, a sign the meeting should ve begun two minutes ago.

We each took a seat in a row of metal folding chairs just in time for President Crawford to bring the meeting to order.

She rattled off a treasurer s statement-what did we even use that money for besides keeping up the pool?-then old business and new. Dawn reminded everyone about lawn maintenance, house paint colors, pressure washing driveways, and her favorite topics: keeping garage doors closed and wheeling trash cans up from the curb in a timely manner.

I think this was a mistake, Parker muttered under his breath.

I chuckled. He really had no idea.

George? Do you have the slate of officers for next year?

George stood then, a glint in his eye. That I do, Madam President.

He read through the slate, starting with the secretary and working his way up. No one, including himself, seemed to be running opposed until he got to the president s position. And for president, Dawn Crawford and Harriet Moore.

The crowd gasped.

No one had seen Harriet since . . . the Incident.

Dawn schooled her shocked features into something almost cruel. A person has to be here in order to be placed on the ballot, and I don t see Harriet.

I m here.

The clubhouse almost turned over with all the heads swiveling to look toward the back of the room at the same time. I almost got whiplash, too.

Ha! Abi and Rachel are going to be mad they missed this.

At the back of the room stood Harriet: neatly dressed in a pantsuit, well put together, and not at all like the last time I d seen her.

So you agree to being on the ballot? Dawn asked carefully.

Oh, yes, said Harriet. And this would be just as good a time as any to let you know that the renters have moved out of 1415 Sacagawea Trace, and I have moved back in.

Surely there s something in the bylaws that prohibits someone who s not even lived in the subdivision recently from holding office.

Nope, I checked. Besides, I ve been here the whole time. I just spent the last few months living in the apartment above the garage.

But-

But nothing, Dawn. It s all legit. Isn t it, George?

Why, yes, he said, even though he clearly wanted no part of the catfight that seemed imminent.

Parker put a light hand on my knee and leaned over to whisper into my ear. This is far more interesting than I thought it was going to be.

I held very still and told myself not to stare at his hand. His warm, reassuring hand. Someday, I would want to be touched again, and I wanted it to be with a gentle hand like his.

He noticed my stare and took his hand back. Sorry.

No, it was fine. I like your hand, I said, a little too loudly.

George cleared his throat in that do-you-have-something-you d-like-to-share-with-the-class way. What were you saying, Vivian?

Nothing, nothing. I hadn t had time to recover from telling Parker I liked having his hand on my knee, so my blush was extra fierce as all eyes turned to me.

Except Parker s.

He was making a concentrated effort not to look at me, but a quick glance at him showed that little muscle in his jaw shifting ever so slightly.

Vivian, get it together!

No problem here, I said before turning to Parker with a whisper-squeaked subject change. I bet business is about to pick up in the Heritage Park Book Club, too.

There s a book club? He looked a little green around the gills. Poor Parker. He wasn t ready for this subdivision.

Oh, yes.

Well, then, Dawn was saying in spite of a smile so tight her lips threatened to split. That s your slate of officers for next year. Voting will start tomorrow, so check your email for the survey. Unless someone else has a matter we need to discuss, we are adjourned.

Well, that was educational, Parker said as we left the clubhouse.

Mr. Ford? A word about your flower bed?

We both turned around to see Dawn Crawford, who was desperately trying to keep it together.

I ll just run along, I said.

Parker shot me a how-dare-you-leave-me-with-this-woman look, and I returned a you re-a-big-boy-you-can-handle-it look.

Little did he know I left him behind due to more than a hint of self-preservation. I liked him. I liked him a lot, but I also knew that I was in no position to like him for about a million different reasons.

So I walked up the hill alone.