Nobody’s Perfect

Chapter 28

That night I dreamed not of Manderley but of the first time I got pregnant.

It was one of my recurring dreams, maybe because my subconscious thought I should ve done something different? I didn t know, but every so often, I would dream that I was back in college, living in the Andy Holt Apartments, and looking down at a second positive pregnancy test.

I called Mitch-landline, of course-to tell him I had urgent news. Back then, he didn t brush me off like he would later in life. I d like to think he grew to believe me capable of handling things, but I really think he was still unsure of himself and didn t want to lose me back then.

How odd he would later come to take me for granted.

He picked me up outside the apartments and drove me over to his apartment off Gallaher View Road. He had a couch of questionable origin, and I perched on the edge of it, not sure how to say what I needed to say.

He paced the apartment until finally asking, Is everything okay?

No, everything was not okay. We d conceived a baby in this very apartment about a month ago, and I wasn t sure how because he d used a condom. The sex hadn t even been that good since I was a virgin. There ought to be a law that only good sex could lead to pregnancy. It didn t seem fair at all that bad sex could-

Vivian, what is going on? You re scaring me.

I, well, I m late.

How could you be late if I picked you up? You re not making any sense. His irritation melted into a pale-faced realization. Oh.

It was funny watching the moment of truth travel over his features even before he finished the second sentence.

He stood there frozen, so I had time to study those features, to really consider the father of my child. He had a strong chin and nice eyes. His hair was already thinning to the point that I knew he d be bald by forty, but this was a man who d asked me to marry him.

And he d tried to make the sex good for me.

At least I thought he had. What did I know about sex?

It wasn t his fault I d been nervous and inexperienced.

Well, he said. I suppose we ll just have to get married a little sooner than I d planned.

I sighed in relief. This was the answer I d wanted to hear, even if I hadn t known it.

At this point in the dream, a part of my subconscious needled me with questions of whether my current situation could ve been avoided if I d put off marrying Mitch.

Dream Me told Logical Me to back off, and the dream continued with us going to a wedding chapel in the Smoky Mountains.

It was all bliss until the day I woke up with the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

There I lay, in a cold sweat, afraid to wake Mitch but knowing, just knowing.

That was the point where I always woke up, and Sunday morning was no different.

So much for being a fearless, independent woman, Vivian.

Oh, that wasn t fair, and I knew it. Any woman might have a nightmare about the same thing. What I couldn t figure out was what happened between that night when my husband took me to the hospital, paced a waiting room to the point that one of the nurses told me he was wearing a hole in the carpet, then took me home and tucked me in as if I were a porcelain doll and . . . now.

Two more miscarriages. Then Dylan. Then one more.

At that point I had thought nothing could tear us apart.

How wrong I d been.

I took a shower in an attempt to wash away the nightmare.

Deborah was less than enthused to learn that Rachel and Abi had left early, mumbling something about how she d already paid for our tickets. She did gift me some high-end eyeshadow palettes, though. One of which might be a good gift for Cassidy, maybe a way to say I was sorry for making a video about her and her father?

Then Deborah led me through Times Square, expertly guiding me past off-brand characters and through throngs of tourists. My opinion of Times Square did not improve with daylight.

From there, we visited Ellis Island, and I modeled their Lady Liberty green eyeshadow. I also bought a snow globe with the Statue of Liberty inside for Parker. Who knew if it was something he d be interested in, but it would give me an excuse to see him for what would hopefully be a better apology.

After a late lunch, we rushed to the Empire State Building, where I modeled their Empire silver eyeshadow while the wind whipped hair in my face. On our way down, she said, Your friends are a bit flaky, huh?

No, not at all! The words came out as a knee-jerk reaction, but what was I supposed to say next? My kindergarten teacher friend is in trouble for being in a video with alcohol, and my private detective friend suffers from anxiety, possibly agoraphobia? Nope. I needed to keep that to myself. They had to rearrange their schedules to be able to travel under such short notice, and some things didn t go according to plan back home.

But you, Vivian? Are you flaky?

What kind of question was this? Beg your pardon?

We have been thinking about extending a sponsorship to you, but there s some concern that you might not hold up your end of the bargain.

I always hold up my end of the bargain, I said, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

Good. Deborah smiled widely. I m hoping we get to work with you again in the future, then.

I d like that, I said softly.

Sure, the Busy Mom mascara smudged a bit, and the concealer didn t conceal as much as one might hope, but I liked the idea behind the company and, well, the idea of a sponsorship.

That would add a little cushioning to whatever job I found. Assuming I ever found a job.

If I d hoped for any more business talk, I was destined to be disappointed. Deborah dragged me around to so many sights that I d have to consult my pictures to remember where I d been.

Finally, I was alone again in my hotel room checking behind the shower curtain and trying to convince myself that I loved having time to myself. Even so, it might be a good idea to check in at home. Neither Mom nor Abi answered my texts. I was about to text Rachel when my phone buzzed with her call.

Rachel, I said in relief. I was about to text you to see how everything was going.

Well, I m calling you to save you the text.

My heart closed in on itself. What s going on?

I mean, I thought I told you to not make any more videos about me.

I haven t! I promise.

Have you taken down the one with our makeovers? The one where you say Rachel needs her own bottle of Schramsberg?

Oh, no. I had already posted that one, I said.

She sighed. I talked to my rep this afternoon. You ve got to take it down. Just in case.

Silence stretched between us. The stillness of the hotel room almost had a sound. I can t take that one down, Rachel.

Oh, yes you can.

No, really. I can t. The video was a condition of going on this trip.

Rachel said a few words I d never heard her say before. Well, then you need to figure out a way to edit me out.

But how?

I don t know, and I don t care. My job is on the line, and yours is to figure out how to fix that video.

Then she hung up on me.

I got why she was mad, but couldn t she understand that I was trying to find a way to liberate myself from Mitch? I had to make YouTube hay while the sun was still shining. I guess I hadn t thought there would be collateral damage for . . . a video.

I still had so much more to learn.

With trembling fingers, I texted Abi again to see if Barney had shown up. I got a simple Not yet .

Was she mad at me, too? Should I ask if she wanted my help?

I didn t know. I just didn t know.

So I took a look at my YouTube channel and the hundred thousand subscribers Dylan had mentioned. Most people wanted to know when Mr. Always would be back.

Probably never. After all, he was mad at me, too.

Many comments about the Cinderella Badge were positive, but more negative ones had started creeping in. Some people wanted to know why I was wasting time and money on something as frivolous as clothing and shoes. Some said I looked fat in the bustier dress. Some made derogatory comments about Abi and Rachel-I painstakingly deleted each and every one of those.

It was past time some people earned their Internet Etiquette Badges.

I exhaled when I saw OneBadMother49 hadn t left a comment. I shouldn t care, but I did. Maybe because whoever it was seemed to know me, really know me. No doubt it was a trick, just the sort of false familiarity only the internet could breed, but I couldn t shake the feeling.

A quick sweep of my email showed another sponsorship opportunity as well as more invitations to special events.

But a careful look at those emails showed they weren t all expenses paid. As it was, the Busy Mom s event hadn t made me money. I d have to be on my guard against people who wanted to take what little money I had. Sure, some businesses might fly me-and maybe even Abi and Rachel-to some posh place and treat us to all sorts of luxuries in exchange for promotion, but those were just things. What good did having a pair of Louboutins do me? I couldn t eat them. I supposed I could hock them, but I wasn t famous enough that people would buy them for the privilege of owning something that had been on my sweaty duck-shaped feet.

Even worse? The strings attached to this trip had become quite the knot: I had to keep the video up or risk losing a possible sponsorship from Busy Mom, something that would make me money, but I also had to edit Rachel out of the video.

I d never edited a video after posting it to YouTube, but a Google search suggested it could be done. Maybe. Hopefully. I sure didn t want to lose any views or comments or numbers that would affect monetization.

On the plus side, if I threw myself into fixing the video and adding a new one about today s sightseeing, then I wouldn t have to think about being alone or alienating my friends or going to the meeting I had with my lawyer on Tuesday.

I rolled my shoulders back and got to work. I could only hope all this effort would be enough.