Chapter 1
ALEX
“Good morning, sun,” I was thinking to myself, as I pulled the covers over my face to help soothe the stabbing pain in my head. “Another night of one too many!” What is the definition of insanity? Ah, yes, I told myself. Doing the same thing over and over expecting different results. Ugh, at least I didn’t bring anyone home with me. I feel like such a tease not letting them know ahead of time that I’m not interested in a relationship of any kind. Divorce will do that to you, I guess. I feel like I’m destined to become an old maid with an expensive wine habit.
I’m happily divorced now for a little over a year but that doesn’t mean I want to play the field forever. I was married young, right out of college, and divorced four years later. Thankfully, we didn’t have any children, but the drama was enough to sour the institution for me.
I was raised by two extremely loving and attentive parents; at least they both were when my mom was sober. When she wasn’t, well let’s just say I couldn’t move out fast enough. My mom and I share a special connection, though. I can’t explain it. I don’t know if it’s a mother-daughter thing or if we truly have something that can’t be explained. Maybe that’s why it was so difficult for us to live together, because we always knew what the other was thinking or feeling, and it wasn’t always good.
I have two older brothers, Patrick and Edward. Mom finally got her little girl on number three, but I had no desire to be the perfect princess she thought she’d finally have. I played sports and was very athletic, your typical tomboy. All the dresses and Mary Jane shoes she pushed on me were enough to make a girl like me puke. Just the thought of wearing that stuff when I was younger caused me to scrunch up my face in utter disgust and humiliation. There were no Barbie dolls or playing dress up for me.
She did leave me with lots to think about before I moved out. She told me, “You don’t need a man to be happy or to have a baby.” She’s been married to my dad for over thirty-five years…like, what the actual hell, Mom?!
My idea of the perfect man and the perfect relationship was a little skewed, so I decided it wasn’t worth it to get married again or even consider a relationship right now. Did I even want my own family anymore?
My whole family goes on vacation every summer with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. I just don’t see what more I could possibly need. I adore my Aunt Diana, who’s my mom’s sister. She’s my sounding board when I need someone who can handle the heavy stuff, since that’s the kind of trigger that would send my mother on a binger. I never understood my mom’s need to escape reality until I experienced it myself, though. The only difference between my and my mother’s drinking habits was that I was choosing to escape reality, and she had no other option.
Now at the age of twenty-eight, I’m starting to feel stuck. Like there’s more to life than just getting married, having kids, and posting vacation pics. I finished college with a business degree and got a great job right out of school at a real estate agency that affords me a very nice life, I might add. But I still feel stuck. I don’t feel stuck like I need a husband because that was a bust already. I mean what is my purpose in life? This can’t be all there is. I need more.
My friends are getting younger because the ones my age keep getting married and having kids. I’ve turned into the crazy aunt. You know, the one who spoils the kids, brings them home high on sugar, and then drinks all your wine. I have perfect mom friends; they have perfect husbands and perfect kids.
Oh Lord I need to keep Ibuprofen in my nightstand drawer, this is just not okay, and I’m getting too old for this shit.
I roll toward the nightstand and pick up my phone to see if I have any messages about brunch. I usually meet my two best friends, Abby and Maggie on Sunday for brunch, and we throw back a few Mimosas or Bloody Mary’s. A little hair of the dog might do me some good today.
I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand to get a better look at the screen. There was one text message.
MAGGIE: “Hey Jerk, you gonna be on time for brunch today?” I sent a thumbs up emoji and tossed my phone back on the nightstand.
After crawling out of bed and hurrying to the kitchen for a bottle of water and some Advil, I head for the bathroom and a nice long, hot shower. I caught a glimpse of last night's makeup in the mirror and cringed at the memories. I mean the guy was cute enough and he was a good dancer, but I made sure I left before he had a chance to make any unwanted advances toward going home with him. Oh well, thankfully it ended with me in a cab and in my bed alone.
The girls and I met at “Sunny Side Up'' every Sunday at 11:30 am. We always reserved the same table and had the best time drinking and laughing until the reality of a husband and children took them home. I secretly wondered if that was really a fulfilling life for them. I never had the nerve to ask. I mean what’s to be miserable about? Their husbands have great jobs, they live in a nice neighborhood, their kids go to good schools and neither of them must work.
We all went off to college in different directions, then graduated, moved home, and they got married right after. They play house and are domestic and I play the field, so to speak.
I’ve known these girls since we were six years old. Maggie Stevens is a tall, gorgeous blonde who made perfect grades all through school. She could get any man she wanted, and she had it all planned out with a neat little bow. She married her college sweetheart, Matthew (Matt) Stevens, and he became a lawyer and is now a politician.
Abby Fletcher is my sensitive, sensible, petite brunette friend who guarded us from danger. She was always dressed to perfection with her hair in a perfect shoulder length bob and full makeup done no matter what the occasion. She also had her life planned precisely to the minute. She liked to point out when I needed to work on things, which was a lot of the time. She married her college sweetheart as well, Jackson (Jack) Fletcher. He was best friends with Maggie’s husband. He became a lawyer also and they worked at the same firm. I married my college sweetheart (I use that term lightly) Luke, but he was very different from his two best friends, Matt and Jack. He was an alcoholic and a total womanizer. He had big lofty dreams of being the top lawyer in his firm and he needed someone like me to help him get there. Unfortunately, there’s only so much abuse a girl can take in a relationship before you have to say, “What the fuck am I doing?” I cringed at the memories. Good thing my friends said it for me, because I’m not sure I wouldn’t have stayed in it and had kids with him. We were going to have and raise our kids together as a trio of best friends who married best friends. So, what the heck happened to me that I picked the dud– more like a monster– and they’re living their “happily ever after”?
Thank God the steamy shower seems to be washing the chatter out of my brain or I’m going to need a drink before brunch too. I stepped out of the stall, dried off, and grabbed the navy sundress I had hanging on the back of the bathroom door. I took it to the closet where I threw on some underwear, slipped the dress over my head and sat down, lazily, on the edge of my bed to buckle the silver sandals I chose to go with it. I walked back into the bathroom, opened the top drawer, and pulled out an elastic hair tie to throw this curly brown mess into a knot on top of my head. I didn’t bother with makeup today since I knew I was already running late, but I did slather on a rather large dollop of moisturizer. I leaned over the sink and pushed my face close to the mirror to examine it more closely. I reached up and touched my cheek, noticing how dry it looked. Yikes. Either I need to get a facial or drink more water.
The restaurant was close to my building, so I generally walked, which gave me the much-needed time to clear my head. Living downtown had its perks, that’s for sure. I straightened my hem, shook last night out of my mind, pushed my sunglasses to the top of my head and prepared to be scolded for being late as usual. Okay, deep breath.
I stepped inside and got hit with a blast of cool air and amazing aromas. Crisp white linens were perfectly set out on the tables and the windows near the covered front porch were always open in the summertime. It gave diners an indoor/outdoor feel wherever you were seated. The tables were pre-set with two glasses, one for water and one for wine. We rarely drank wine for brunch, however. Occasionally there’d be a martini if exceptionally dramatic information was to be shared. The silverware was highly polished; you could see your reflection in the knives and spoons. And the freshest flowers were always artfully arranged as a centerpiece on each table.
I stood there for a moment taking it all in; the sound of servers running and talking, the bartender looking for more champagne, the delicious smell of the grill coming from the kitchen and the hostess remembering my name.
“Ms. Kennedy, right this way. The ladies are already here.”
“Thank you,” I said with a genuine smile.
Yep, this is what I love about Sundays.
The girls, as usual, were already at the table with Mimosas in hand. I caught our waitress and ordered one before hugging my friends. I didn’t, however, give my girls a second to start in on me for being late. I immediately asked about my adorable godchildren.
“Good morning, ladies, you two look gorgeous as ever. So, tell me, how are my sweet little monkeys doing these days?” Throwing in a compliment always keeps the focus off me, which is how I like it.
Maggie rolled her eyes and said, “Same as always, screaming too loudly at each other and destroying anything I may have decided to buy made of glass. When are you going to come visit them or kidnap them?” She waved to the seat across from her.
I laughed as I sat down as directed. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating. There is no way my perfect little angel monkeys could ever do such a thing.”
“Jax is waiting for his Aunt Ali to take him to the park again,” Abby insisted. Just talking about those kids brings a smile to my face.
“Let me look at my calendar this week and work that out.” Their children mean the world to me.
Maggie has a son, Cameron, who is five and a half. He’s a little troublemaker but for some reason he’s a perfect angel for me, or else his behavior just doesn’t have the same effect on me. I’ve always felt like I have a connection with him. He’s my first godchild. Then she had a surprise right behind him about twelve months later with her daughter, Sophia Grace, who is four and a half. She looks just like her mommy and is sassy as can be. She was not planned, and that threw Maggie off her life path just a bit, but she’d adjusted. Sophia was a beautiful addition to the family.
Abby had her life planned to the minute also and had one boy so far. His name is Jackson, but he goes by Jax, and he’s four. The only time he’s allowed to be a crazy boy is when he’s with me. I’m head over heels for all three of them.
After sipping on at least three Mimosas and eating a delectable brunch, I started feeling like myself again. Then the girls decided to broach the subject of my dating life -- or lack thereof-- with a minor in my “extracurricular activities,” as they were so affectionately referred to.
Maggie started first as usual, “So, tell us about your flavor of the evening last night. Did you go for chocolate or vanilla? Or maybe you went way off course and tried strawberry or rocky road?” The flavors were a joke from college. We used them to describe hair color. I’m not sure what rocky road is though. I looked at her with a confused glare, “What the fuck is rocky road?”
I tipped the Mimosa back to finish it off.
She shrugged her shoulders and said, “I don’t know, bald maybe?” I shook my head.
Abby sensibly asked, “Are you being careful at least? Do you use protection and get checked at the doctor?” The truth is I wasn’t having sex with anyone, and I almost felt guilty letting everyone believe I was. I’ve slept with one guy since Luke and that was a drunken one-night mistake because the guy bragged about it to everyone. Now everyone thinks I’m the local bimbo. That will not be repeated.
“Let’s talk about something else today please. I’m not in the mood.” This was a very touchy subject for me, one they were usually careful not to engage in. After my divorce I had no desire to try again so keeping men at arm’s length meant one night and one night only for me with no benefits. There must have been one too many adult beverages today, though, because they seemed hell bent on getting some answers and I wasn’t having it. I became defensive and shut down the whole conversation.
When the waitress came back, I ordered a vodka martini straight up, dirty with extra blue cheese olives. Maggie and Abby each shot me a concerned look then seemed to back off a bit when I glared back. Neither of them ordered another drink. I was trying to drown out their noise with alcohol.
“How’s your mom doing? Is she still drinking, or has she gone on a dry spell yet?” Abby asked with genuine concern as she took a sip of water. A valid question considering how embarrassed I was of my mom’s condition, so I never brought up whether or not she was on one of her drinkathons.
“Same ole same ole. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop.” I groaned thinking about what a chore it was to visit my parents because I didn’t know which mother I was going to be subjected to.
“Have you talked to peckerhead or something? Has he been bugging you again?” Peckerhead was the nickname Maggie gave to my ex, Luke. He still texted on occasion trying to get back together, but I really do need to figure out a way to get him to move on without engaging in an actual conversation. His messages still seem to put me on edge. I shivered thinking about the last one where he was adamant we should get back together. I hadn’t told the girls about that one yet and wasn’t sure I was going to.
“Nope, no word from him, thank God.” Before they could question me further, I closed my eyes, took a big sip, bit down on one of those hand stuffed olives and exhaled the stress. That was just what I needed. “Everything is fine. Same as it always is, not a damn thing to report,” I assured them. By the look on their faces, they knew the subject was now closed and agreed to let it go.
Maybe it’s because I’m hungover, maybe it’s because I’m getting a little tipsy, I don’t know, but we don’t seem to be having our normal fun today. Do they ask me these questions every Sunday, or is today something new? Either way, I’m not in the mood and plan to finish my drink and get the hell outta here.
“As always, this has been a blast, but I’ve got a lot to do today.” I pushed myself up from the table and grabbed my purse.
Maggie looked at me through squinty eyes. “I bet you do.” I squinted my eyes back at her innuendo. Wouldn’t she like to know how exciting my plans really were? The girls both got up and grabbed their purses as we got ready to leave.
“Ok, well don’t forget about Jax, he always looks forward to seeing you.” Abby knew how to tug on my heartstrings. That's for sure. I smiled warmly at the mention of his name.
“I could never forget. I’ll check my calendar and get back to you ASAP.” I couldn’t wait for my date with my couch, some yummy takeout from the vegan restaurant down the street and whatever movie I chose to ignore while bundled up in some cozy jammies. Lord knows I have a long day at work tomorrow, showing three properties and a very important investor purchase closing. A seven-figure commission closing, to be exact.
When was I going to pull the trigger on my own investment plans? I knew I wanted to invest in rentals, but I couldn’t seem to find the right situation that made sense. Was I scared of the long-term commitment on something like that too? Hell, I don’t know, but I knew I had to find my purpose, or all this hard work was going to be for nothing.
After my mind stopped wandering, Maggie, Abby, and I walked outside and said our goodbyes. I just knew something was off with me. My walk home and ride up to the twelfth floor had my mind reeling. Maybe I needed to get my kid fix; it had been a while since I’d seen my godchildren.
Closing that deal meant another celebratory night with the work crew, and I had my eye on one man, in particular, who works with the investment company. I leaned my head back against the elevator wall and closed my eyes thinking about tomorrow night’s agenda. We hadn’t officially met, though. Owen was a tall and slender vanilla. He had lean muscles and wore his clothes just right, tailored to fit his body like a glove. I hummed my appreciation of the last memory I have of seeing him at Sebastian’s one night. He was confident, borderline cocky but still personable. His blond hair swooped to the side, and he had the bluest eyes. He was friends with most of the men in our office, but I was the one who landed the deal and Owen seemed like the perfect distraction. A perfect catch and release, maybe with benefits, who knows, he was always surrounded by women so I may have to wait my turn.
The ding of the elevator at my floor brought me back to reality. I threw my things down on the kitchen island as I walked into my apartment and cleared those thoughts from my head so I could get my day in order for tomorrow. I dragged myself from the stool to my room for a short nap. I didn’t bother to change out of my dress, just kicked off my sandals next to the bed and curled up.
That was just what I needed. I wiped the drool off the side of my face with the back of my hand and rolled out of bed, then changed into more comfortable clothes. I slipped into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass then headed into the living room. I flipped on the TV before plopping down on the fluffy down filled sofa. It was adorned with colorful pillows and a soft fuchsia velvet blanket that I found on one of my few and far between shopping trips. I hated shopping but my apartment didn’t come furnished. It definitely had a feminine feel to it. My mom told me I had to soften the edges somehow, and for once I agreed. My walls were white with vaulted ceilings and the floors were all dark hardwood. One wall was windows that you could see out of but not into-- some kind of fancy window tint that people were using instead of curtains or blinds. My furniture was light with bright colored accents– all the jewel tones. I have a white marble fireplace with pictures of family and friends across the espresso-colored mantle. The kitchen has white cabinets with stainless steel appliances and white and gray quartz counters covered with baskets of fruit and protein bars, a blender for protein shakes, candles, flowers and most importantly, a coffee maker. I have colorful abstract paintings on just about every wall–my favorite being one of what I’m assuming is the ocean, but it could also be the sky. I like abstract art because it depicts my thoughts perfectly. I am a swirling mess of purposeful chaos.
I picked up my phone and ordered a salad and a small gluten free vegan pizza. It makes me feel like I’m being somewhat healthy. After my food arrived, I pushed play on the movie. It was a rom com that I knew I wouldn’t pay attention to as I scrolled through my phone, then ate and drank until there was nothing left.
I checked my schedule one last time for tomorrow and made sure my alarm was set. I pushed the button on the coffee maker’s digital program panel so the coffee would be ready when I got back from the gym. There was already an outfit picked out that was acceptable to show houses in, close a huge deal, and celebrate at the bar afterward. It was a sleeveless black sheath and black heels that were broken in enough so that my feet wouldn’t hate me. My nails were freshly done so I felt confident that tomorrow would be a success. Now I just needed to get to bed and caught up on some much-needed beauty sleep. The thought of getting beauty sleep brought back bad memories– something my mom said to me once when she was drunk. “Ali Marie, honey, it’s a good thing you’re pretty because you’re really not very bright.” Ouch. That one stung and stuck. I guess that’s why I’ve spent so much time trying to prove her wrong.
