Chapter Seven

By the time Saturday rolls around, I almost feel silly about being so freaked out over Matt moving in next door and working at Sweet Darlings. He hasn’t come by David’s office since Monday, and we haven’t run into each other at work or around the neighborhood. Since I joined the local gym, we have no contact after work either.

Still, I’d be lying if I said I don’t think about him and the blonde…or that it doesn’t bother me…because it does, no matter how irrational my reaction is about the whole thing.

I even stopped masturbating since Monday night. I just can’t avail myself of B.O.B. until I can be certain that I won’t be thinking of Matt. Instead of waiting for the business trip next year, I should just fly to Vegas or something and get laid. Sixth time’s gotta be the charm, right? I mean, it has twice the power of the third time.

Around ten, I drive to Alexandra’s house for the birthday party. I already got the gift she wanted—a charitable contribution in her name. I selected an organization that specializes in helping new mothers and their babies. Given that so many of Sweet Darlings Inc.’s customer base are new parents, it seems fitting.

Although I arrive a little early, the driveway is already packed with fancy cars. My Altima is easily the humblest among the bunch, and I prefer it that way. It seems pretentious to drive a flashy car, especially on my assistant’s salary. When I make more or get promoted, I’ll upgrade…maybe.

Alexandra’s house is a sprawling two-story structure that occupies a half-acre lot. She has a huge garden, although she doesn’t do much gardening now. I can hear music and voices coming from the backyard.

“Hey, there you are!” David says with a huge grin. He’s dressed casually in a T-shirt and shorts. “Come on over.”

“I thought the party didn’t start until eleven.”

“Yeah, but Mom wanted to cook brunch for Grandma.”

“It must’ve been something awesome.” David’s mother—Aunt Sun, to me—is equal parts Chinese, Korean, French and Italian, and she cooks better than most professional chefs working at fancy restaurants.

“There’s still some French toast if you want.”

“Wow. Who didn’t show?”

He laughs. “She just made too much.”

When we walk into the big, open kitchen together, Aunt Sun is putting away some pots. With her hair glossy jet black and skin smooth, she doesn’t look a day over thirty-five, although she has three children, all of them in their mid- to late twenties. She’s dressed in a cute pink knit top, cropped denim pants and flats. Her brown almond-shaped eyes are warm as she waves at me. “Come, child. Pull up a chair.” She serves a thick piece of French toast and smothers it with maple syrup, topping the whole thing off with fresh berries. She knows exactly how I like mine.

“You look fantastic,” she says. “Have you lost weight? Here, you should eat this. Have to keep your strength up.”

I nod, my lips twitching. Aunt Sun is always torn between two conflicting desires—to see her charges look fashionably slim and to feed them all the culinary delights she can whip up. Since she doesn’t believe in using low-calorie substitutes for any ingredients, she has to know eating as much as she wants us to would widen everyone in the family enough to sink the Titanic.

My cousins move back and forth in the house like three separate schools of fish. Everyone’s dressed casually—that’s how Alexandra wanted it. But that doesn’t mean they look any less polished. The Darlings know how to shine like pearls no matter what. Sort of like Matt’s ex and his current flavor of blonde.

I’d like to think I’m a Darling too, shining like a pearl, but I know better. I’m the proverbial red-headed stepchild—literally. I can’t decide if I’m different from my cousins because of who my dad is. I’m never going to find out who or what kind of man he is. For all I know, he could be sitting in jail or…orbiting our planet, rocking in style. I wish Mom had had better judgment, but if she had, she wouldn’t have run with him, would she? Then I would’ve never been born, so all these questions are moot. I sigh. As families go, I lucked out overall. The Darlings are nice people, and it’s not their fault I’m never going to be as graceful, elegant or smart as they are.

And that’s about as deep as I’m going because I’m not about to get depressed about my life when it’s a pretty good one by anybody’s standards. I should be grateful. I am grateful.

“Want some mimosa, dear?” asks Aunt Margo. She’s the mother of Kathleen, Alec and Cora. And she’s absolutely stunning. Kathleen and Cora had to get their runway model looks from somewhere.

I nod. “Sure.”

She hands me a full glass. She was always one of the coolest adults I knew growing up. Unlike most of the parental units, she was pretty loose with rules, including alcohol. Her motto was she’d rather have her children be bad when she was around to keep an eye on things than behind her back when she wasn’t. Prohibition couldn’t stop people from drinking, and no age restriction will stop kids if they really want something.

And it worked. When we got to college, none of us were really that hyped up about partying for the sake of free booze or binge drinking. Alcohol just didn’t represent the allure of freedom and adulthood.

Our favorite DJ sets up his station and starts the music. This family doesn’t party without good music, and Alexandra has excellent taste. Uncles Jimmy, George, Dan and Eddie start the giant grills in the back because none of them is willing to give up control of the barbecue to anyone else. They may cooperate in the boardroom, but cookouts are another matter entirely.

Grandmother comes in from the back and hugs me. “So glad you could come, dear. I wasn’t sure. David told me you seemed a bit…tense this week. Are you well?”

My cousin and his big mouth. “I’m fine.”

“I heard you haven’t been to the gym the entire week either.”

See? Told you. “Actually, I joined a local gym. They have this kickboxing class I wanted to take.”

“Really? I didn’t know kickboxing was so popular.”

“The instructor is Thai, I think. I’m sure it’s pretty authentic.” That’s such a lie. I have no idea where he’s from. But he could be Thai, and my grandmother doesn’t need to know the real reason I joined the gym.

“I’m sure it’s working fabulously for her,” Aunt Sun says. “Just look at how much more toned she looks.”

Thank you. A glowing golden halo appears around her head, and I’m definitely getting her whatever she wants for Christmas. A family friend’s arrival distracts Grandma, and I breathe softly with relief and finish my mimosa.

At eleven thirty the party starts with the cake—a giant, triple-tiered Wonder Woman-themed piece of art—lit with sixty-five candles. Alexandra extinguishes them all in two attempts. You gotta give her props for lung capacity. Must be all that working out.

Once that’s out of the way, it’s all about eating, drinking and dancing. No party of Alexandra’s is complete without dancing, and she leads the conga line as usual.

The other family members join. They’re all superb dancers. But then they all had at least five years of lessons.

“Come on, Jan,” Cora gestures, swaying her body to the upbeat tune.

I shake my head. “I’m digesting my food.”

There’s no way I’m going out there and humiliating myself. I’m probably the only person in the world to fall flat on her face during her first ballet lesson. Or trip and skin a knee trying to tango. At some point I gotta accept I’m just not like everyone else in the family. I’m the only one who didn’t go to an Ivy League school (and the fact that I got accepted into a top-tier university at all shocked the hell out of Alexandra, who for once literally became slack-jawed and speechless when I told her). I’m the only one who can’t ski, or swim (although I can float)…or play any musical instrument…or sing or dance. And none of it was because Alexandra skimped on lessons. She got me the best coaches and teachers, but you know…I’m just not that talented, not like the others are. A small sliver of me might always wonder if things could’ve been different if I hadn’t been dumped onto them like an unwanted but unrejectable package when I was ten. What would my life have been like if I’d had the warmth and confidence and closeness extended family can provide from the moment I was born?

Aunt Sun reaches for my hand. “Dancing helps with digestion.”

I step away. “Sorry, nature calls.”

Before anybody can say something like, “Hey, come join us as soon as you’re done,” I make my way to the second floor and slip inside Alexandra’s empty study. I only need to give myself half an hour or so; the dancing will sort of die down as people take little breaks, and I won’t be asked to make an idiot of myself.

The door opens, and I stiffen. It better not be one of my cousins trying to drag me downstairs.

My mouth ready to fire off some smart retort, I spin around. Whatever I was about to say vanishes. Because the person who just walked through the door? It’s not one of my cousins. It’s Matt. My One-Night Stand Number Five.