Mindy flashes me a dazzling white smile. She obviously finished her run and went home, showered, and prettied herself up before coming here. She’s holding a bottle of liquor tied with a perfect burlap bow. From the looks of it, it’s Houston’s favorite brand of bourbon, Pappy Van Winkle Family Reserve, aged twenty-three years.
“I’m just here to wish Rory good luck on tonight’s book signing,” she says, looking straight at me as she speaks to Houston.
I flash her an even bigger smile. “That’s so sweet of you! Come on in,” I say, stepping aside and handing Dallas to Houston so I can entertain our guest. “How have you been? I saw you running this morning. You’re looking great.”
Mindy’s light-brown hair is tied in a pristine ponytail that drapes over her svelte right shoulder, dangling in one perfect glossy, loose curl. She’s wearing a loose gray tank top and some white skinny jeans with a pair of nude five-inch heels that probably cost more than the monthly mortgage payment on our downtown apartment. Every ounce of makeup, every piece of hair, every stitch of clothing is in place. Meanwhile, I’m standing here with my auburn hair still damp and frizzy from the shower, a drop of runny egg yolk on my skinny jeans, and no makeup.
“Thanks! I’ve been doing some guided meditation in the morning and listening to Tim Ferris’s podcast while I run. It’s really great at keeping me motivated. You look great, too! What kind of cardio are you doing?”
I nod toward the formal living room to beckon her inside where we can sit on the tweedy gray sofa with the cushions that are way too stiff. “Actually, I’m not doing any cardio right now. I’m too busy with the book launch. I do try to squeeze in some yoga and swimming a few times a week, but that’s about it. What’s that?” I ask as she places the bottle of bourbon on the coffee table and sits next to me on the sofa.
“Just a little gift for you to celebrate your big day. I thought you’d prefer a bottle of wine, but Mike said you’d prefer bourbon. Was he right?” She scrunches up her nose when she asks this question, as if I couldn’t possibly prefer a masculine bourbon over a feminine wine.
“Actually, I probably would have preferred the wine, but Houston will enjoy this. That’s very thoughtful of you.”
She looks disappointed with this reply. “I knew I should have picked the gift. Mike is so annoying when he thinks he’s right.”
I chuckle. “Aren’t all men?”
“Aren’t all men what?” Houston says as he enters the living room with Dallas in his arms.
“I was just telling Mindy, ‘Aren’t all men absolutely inferior to our husbands?’”
He rolls his eyes as he takes a seat on the arm of the cream club chair across from us. “Nice save, Scar.”
Mindy raises an eyebrow. “Did he call you Scar?”
I wave off the significance. “It’s just a nickname.”
“Don’t downplay it,” Houston insists, turning to Mindy. “I call Rory Scar because she’s as mean as Scar from The Lion King.”
I shake my head in dismay as Mindy tries not to laugh. “Yeah, Houston would really enjoy this twenty-three-year-old bottle of Pappy Van Winkle, but I think I’ll take it with me to my signing,” I say, grabbing the bottle and holding it up so the rich, amber liquid sparkles in the sunlight. “You’re right, Mindy. I should use this to celebrate tonight.”
“Speaking of your signing, would you mind if Mike and I dropped by Powell’s to see you and maybe get a book or two signed? I’ve never known a real author. It will be so exciting.”
Houston grins from ear to ear because he knows if I tell Mindy she can come to the signing, then there’s no way I can tell him to stay home, despite my inconsistent pleas for him to go. The truth is that part of me wants him there, rubbing my neck the way he does when I’m tense and cheering me on every step of the way. Another part of me worries that I lean too heavily on him.
I know Houston’s been working his ass off the past few months while I’ve been writing my second novel and working on my promotional tour for the first novel. I’m not blind or the least bit unappreciative. In a not-so-subtle way, I’ve been sending him a message about how unhappy I am in Lake Oswego, while also preparing him for what it will be like when I’m away on tour.
It took me more than two years to write my first novel because I spent most of my time being a full-time mom. I loved those years when I wrote part-time and spent most of my hours tending to the needs of my family. But I can’t deny that I neglected my own needs.
There were weeks where I would spend every day, twelve hours a day, cooking, cleaning, and running errands. Then Houston would get home late after a long shift, fuck me senseless, then make me feel guilty if I didn’t want to stay up until four a.m. to work on my book. I know he meant well. He wanted me to reach my goal quickly because he knew finishing my book would make me feel like a serious writer, but to me it just showed a total lack of understanding about what I did every day to keep our household running.
Now we have a nanny and a housekeeper—who only comes twice a week—and he still complains that I don’t cook or clean enough. Meanwhile, I’m now writing one novel part-time while also promoting another novel full-time. He still doesn’t appreciate how hard I work and it drives me absolutely bananas.
“Of course you and Mike can drop by,” I reply to Mindy. “In fact—”
Once again, I’m interrupted by the doorbell. It has to be Kenny. I glance at Houston and he’s already making his way to the door.
“It’s probably Kenny,” I say, but she doesn’t seem to recognize the name. “My best friend and marketing guru. You two haven’t met?”
I know they haven’t met. I just feel the need to maintain the act that we’re anything more than the wives of two men who happen to be friends.
“No, I’ve never met him,” she says, looking slightly confused. “Rory, this is the first time you’ve invited me into your house.”
Kenny enters the room just in time to save me from my awkward moment with Mindy. “Hey, gorgeous!” he says, and I’m not at all surprised to see him wearing a perfectly fitted gray linen suit, similar in style to the one he wore as the “maid” of honor at our wedding. The moment I stand from the sofa, his eyes widen with shock. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Are you going to a book signing or shopping for a tent to pitch under the Burnside Bridge? We need to get you glammed up, stat!”
I roll my eyes. “The signing isn’t for another seven hours. I have plenty of time.”
He tilts his head and not a single strand of brown hair moves, due to all the extra-strength fiber wax holding it in place. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind? We have to leave in four hours. Hors d’oeuvres are being served at five, then the reading and Q&A at six. Signing at seven. Hop to it, Miss Soon-to-Be New York Times Bestselling Author.” I open my mouth to protest and he holds up a finger to stop me. “Don’t sass me, young lady.”
I turn to Mindy and she’s biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Mindy, this is my best friend, Kenny.” I turn to Kenny and he’s beaming as he approaches Mindy with his hand outstretched. “Kenny, this is my neighbor, Mindy. She’ll be at the signing tonight.” I shoot him a stern look as a warning, though I know perfectly well that Kenny’s personality and honesty cannot be restrained.
Mindy shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, Kenny.”
Kenny envelops her hand in both of his. “The pleasure is all mine, Mindy. I can’t believe we haven’t met sooner. Will you be arriving at five for the refreshments or later for the reading?”
Mindy looks to me for guidance, but she turns back to Kenny before I can say anything. “We’ll be there at five.”
“Marvelous!” Kenny proclaims, and Mindy looks like a geek who has just been invited to sit at the cool table. This is why Kenny is my marketing assistant.
I place my hand on her arm. “I’ll see you tonight. Thanks for dropping by.”
“And thanks for the bourbon,” Houston adds.
Mindy flashes me a genuine smile. “I’m so excited,” she says as Kenny and I follow her to the door. “See you at five!”