A Girl's Best Friend Read online

  Lilly shakes her head, “Not really, no. But I’m afraid this time, I have no choice.”

  “The right guy will make you fight tooth and nail.”

  “See, Morgan, you watch too many Danielle Steele movies. Life doesn’t work that way. You date, you find out he’s a loser and why, and you break up.”

  “The Gospel according to Lilly. How exactly is Max a loser?” This I gotta hear.

  “It’s true, isn’t it? Not that Max is a loser, but that finding out the truth is heartbreaking. It’s true of you. Morgan, you’re just going to freak when I tell you what I did. Let’s just say I have no right to be lecturing.”

  “Well, welcome to my world. I’ll have to make sure you get the password.” I cross my arms and lean against the seat as we circle Lilly’s block for parking. “You know, we haven’t learned a thing since we left Stanford. We were dateless then, and we’re dateless now. Ten years, and we’re in the same place. Me, thinking Prince Charming will rescue me, and you thinking Prince Charming needs to be beaten to a pulp for what men did to your family. And then there’s Poppy, oblivious to the fact that men actually roam the planet. Maybe it’s us. Maybe we need a new set of friends. You know, upgrade.”

  “Who would put up with us?” Lilly asks.

  “Good point.”

  “Max is a good man, there’s no getting around it, and he’s got me hook, line, and sinker. But I’ve heard about women who marry into families where they aren’t wanted. What would I know about putting on a dinner party? Or hosting a hotel event? I was meant to be an electrician’s wife or something.”

  “Or maybe a television writer’s?”

  “If that’s all he did, sure. But it’s that heir thing. Gets me every time. For once, I think I’m in deeper than I could have imagined.”

  I sigh. “I just don’t get you, Lilly. You’d walk across hot coals for your work, but you’re not willing to walk across the street for a good man like Max. What is wrong with you?”

  “One of the mysteries of the universe, I suppose.”

  Lilly once told me she was the anti-Morgan, and I think that’s true. I’d march right in there, put on my best smile, and charm Max’s mom like a snake—maybe even bring a few baubles from my dad’s store—but I wouldn’t let a man like Max get away. Not for the likes of what might be. I suppose that’s because I’m well versed in what’s out there on the rack. Max is definitely couture.

  “Let’s go to the spa this weekend, Lilly.”

  “We were just there.”

  “I know, but I have an idea. It’s a curse of sorts on the three of us. We have to break it.”

  “Now that’s scriptural.”

  “No, you’re not getting what I mean. Please, Lilly.”

  “I thought you were broke.”

  “You’ll spot me.”

  Lilly laughs as we get out and lock the Slob (as though it’s in any danger). She grabs my bag and hoists it over her shoulder. “I wonder who will follow us this weekend.”

  “For being a complete loser, people sure are interested in me. You have to give me a little credit. I’m like Angelina Jolie without the kids or Brad Pitt.”

  We both giggle and climb the stairs to the loft. She, wondering how to avoid her love, and me wondering why the image of washboard abs keeps appearing when I really should be thinking about how to avoid jail time.

  chapter 15

  I started playing poor to win this bet with my friends, and granted, it was only this weekend I made said bet, but I’m feeling over it already. I’m thinking independence is overrated right now. Had I an inkling that I’d be in court, I would have never agreed to leave my clothing. I can just see myself in one of Lilly’s Goodwill numbers, stating, “I’m innocent, your honor! But it’s true. These are horrific clothes, and they should have never entered the light of day. I’m guilty of bad clothing!”

  Perhaps that’s a bit dramatic, but I just don’t know what the playbook is here. Take Poppy. She’s famous for having beautiful red hair. What if someone suddenly stripped it away. How would she cope? Is being wealthy any different? It’s not just about being rich; it’s about being who I am.

  I thought I’d learn to live without Daddy, but I never actually envisioned I’d have to live without his money.

  And I probably won’t. Daddy may be a gambler, but he’s greedy, too, and somewhere out there, he has briefcases of cash just like in the movies. I’m certain of it. Absolutely positive.

  Sort of.

  I remind myself he’s about to remodel the loft, and that’s a million-dollar project at the very least. Then I take in a deep, cleansing breath and force the horrible vision of Gwen’s decorating from my mind.

  Waking up without a view is daunting. I see . . . walls. The consistent, berating horns of the freeway offer no respite from the world. It’s a wonder Lilly doesn’t head to the spa every weekend! Oh wait, that’s me who does that.

  I’m trying to concentrate on my morning devotion; it’s been a long time since I bothered to spend any time with God. I mean, I figured He knew where to find me, but I suppose without Him, Andy knew where to find me, too. My Bible verse for the day is about being content in all circumstances. And I’m sitting on this futon thinking okay, yes, I can do this. I can be content. It’s not about the four C’s of diamonds or perceived perfection; I know that now. I have complete clarity. Vision, even. I am one with my very loud universe.

  “I’m content,” I say aloud. “And I’m lying on a lumpy futon listening to traffic without any idea of where the Bay is from here. How cool is this?”

  “You might want to add you’re not the least bit prideful, either.” I nearly jump out of my skin at Lilly’s voice. I turn to see her putting on one of her hats that she uses to mat her hair down to her head. “Get over yourself. You’re not homeless, are you? You’re in a San Francisco loft that if remodeled would be worth a fortune. Maybe we could hire Gwen?”

  “I thought you went in to work already.”

  “I was up at Nate’s getting coffee.”

  “What’s up with that, anyway? Why are you always hanging out with him and Kim like a third wheel? I can’t even imagine you can handle the smell.” I snap my Bible shut as the combination of nagging and looking over the words simply doesn’t feel right. “Why don’t you avoid those two and buy your own espresso machine? It would be far less costly than schlepping up there everyday.”

  She thinks on this for a minute, sipping her coffee slowly and loudly. “I have no clue.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Habit, I guess. It’s good coffee,” she shrugs. “Really rich espresso even when he makes decaf for me.”

  “How come you never hang out with your church group?” I ask, knowing full well I don’t actually hang out with mine, either. It’s something about that title: “Single.” For me, it just feels wrong. I didn’t hang out with all my loser boyfriends hoping for better, for the title of “Single.” I should at least get the title “Actively in Pursuit” or “Working at It.”

  “I always feel sort of left out there.” Lilly sips her coffee again. “They’re all brilliant and have enough money to go out to dinner all the time.”

  “You do now.”

  “I know, but like I said, habit. I’m in the habit of being poor, and you could learn a thing or two from me.”

  “I surely could.”

  “I don’t go often enough, I guess. To the singles group,” she clarifies for me. “It feels like I’m the new kid who just moved into town. I had enough of that as a child, having a nana instead of a mother.”

  I allow these words to wash over me. “You know, I wonder if everyone feels that way.”

  “I doubt it. I think we have issues, Morgan. I would have thought if I could have a package like yours, my troubles would be over, but it’s not true. You’re just as messed up as me.”

  “Well, that’s the truth.”

  “I think it’s because the church looks at marriage as the goal. That was neve
r my goal.”

  “Clearly,” I say to Lilly, wondering why on earth she can’t get past her fear of commitment. I mean, I should have a fear of commitment. What does Lilly have on me? I think the difference is I hold out hope. I think God has placed a man on this earth who will love me for who I am. Lilly already has one and therefore takes him for granted.

  Lilly sets her coffee down and dons a serious look that is most unlike her. “Max is the one. I just hope I can convince his mother of that,” she whispers, looking up towards the windows. She’s all drama. Getting up, I find a bottle of dishwashing soap and hand it to her.

  “What’s this for?”

  “It’s our Oscar for Best Performance in a Drama. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

  She directs her gaze straight at me. “No, really. He’s the right man for me. Things are just complicated, Morgan. I don’t know quite how to explain it to you.”

  “You’re thirty. I believe that’s past the standard age for your nana. I believe the word spinster had been muttered, in fact.”

  “What does my nana know? She was a widow at my age.”

  “She knows she lived her life without a husband and hopes for something different for you. She also knows Max pretty well, and loves the man. What more do you need? Besides, he’s the one . . . just because you’re afraid to meet his mother.”

  She shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re arguing. Things are complicated. We need to work them out. Someday, I’ll explain it.”

  “I have time,” I say, stating the obvious. I know Lilly’s had her fears; with a very particular nana, she was always afraid to make any type of mistake. That’s why leaving finance for design was such a huge leap of faith. But if I had to leap, please, let there be a man like Max on the other side of the chasm. Because, baby, I’d so rather go over the ledge knowing I tried.

  “My nana told me to marry a man who could take care of me and who was smarter than me because it’s nearly impossible to respect a man otherwise. And the Bible commands us to respect the man.” Lilly’s nodding her head, as if all this sounds completely brilliant.

  “And you don’t respect Max?”

  She smiles to herself. “I do. More than I thought possible.”

  “Lilly? You’re not making any sense. I think the Lysol has gotten the best of your brain cells. Maybe you should go back upstairs and get some caffeinated coffee.”

  “There’s that whole heir thing. Don’t let the name fool you—my nana raised me Italian. I don’t know anything about being classy. But I can make a mean bowl of spaghetti.”

  I start to laugh. “You’re kidding me, right? Sophia Loren is classy.”

  “Only because she’s older. She was kinda trashy when she was younger. There was all that talk of affairs, lack of clothes in photo shoots. . . .”

  “I am not going to argue Sophia Loren. If you want to be classless, you go right ahead, but you can’t blame your heritage. Or Sophia Loren.”

  “I don’t even know the right fork to use in a fancy restaurant, Morgan. I know how to make really good homemade ravioli, and I own a thirty-year-old piece of starter for sourdough. Otherwise, I’ve got nothing. Something tells me that Max’s mother would want to throw anything old like that away. What if she wants to throw me away?”

  “How does it make you incompatible? They live in Florida.”

  Lilly’s expression falters. “She’ll hate the way I dress her grandkids.”

  “So I’ll dress them when she comes around or you have pictures taken.”

  “He’s a good man,” Lilly continues. “He’s gorgeous, smart, secure, good to my nana—I’d do everything the same.”

  “And you love him, Lilly. Don’t forget that part. You sound like you’re talking about an interest-free loan, not the man you love. Not everything is practical.”

  “I’m comfortable here. At Max’s, I look at his granite countertops and I think, I can’t possibly keep these clean, but I know that’s my future. He’s not moving in here.”

  “So you’ll hire a maid.”

  “I don’t want to become everything I despised at Stanford. I didn’t want to marry money, Morgan. Is that so hard to understand? There’s something romantic about struggling together.”

  “You think so? You’re not marrying money. You’re marrying Max. Would you rather the money was all at risk for him? That his father had put him in some type of tax scheme?”

  Her forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Maybe.”

  “You’re warped.”

  In my mind, I replay the desperation on Max’s face when he looked for Lilly that day. I wanted him to follow her, to play dead for her, but I realize now that was wrong. Lilly doesn’t want to be chased or pursued by love like I do. She wants love to feel like a scruffy, time-honored, fuzzy slipper, not a glass one like I’ve searched for.

  I look down at the stunning solitaire on my right hand. It’s a rare blue diamond, a brilliant cut in an amazing hue of aquamarine. My father’s hoping to start a new diamond trend in San Francisco. I’m sure he invested before the scandal, and as I gaze into its clear blue depths, I wonder if any man will ever care enough to give me a ring like this without wanting to profit from it. My own father is incapable of such a feat. I imagine my odds aren’t good.

  “I want to be loved,” I say. “You want to be comfortable. So here we are, alone with a futon. Just two girls and our steamer trunks full of baggage.”

  Lilly sits down beside me and grabs my hand to look at the diamond. “That’s an amazing stone.”

  “Wouldn’t it be something if it’s all I had left?”

  “How do I make him believe me, Morgan? That I’m not the wife his mother expects, so he can warn her?”

  How does she make me believe it? I mean, if I had a man look at me like that. If there was a man on earth capable of feeling about me like Max does, I’d give up anything. I can’t identify with Lilly at all, because I’ve waited my whole life for unconditional love—at least the closest you can come to it here on earth. I searched for it in my mother, followed my father around for it, and mistakenly allowed a con artist to make me believe it was present.

  I know my contentment should be in Jesus. I’ve read the Book. I know how it ends. But I also feel the chill of my discontent around me, and the longing for someone on earth to weather the storms of life with me. My goal is Jesus, but I still want someone to walk the pathway with me. Just one good fish, Lord! I’ve been alone my entire life—besides my father and Mrs. Henry. I want someone who notices I’m actually there. Is that too much to ask?

  “I don’t know what to tell you. I think you might have figured it out before now. Would you really be willing to walk away from Max?” I stand up and reach into the fridge for a Diet Pepsi, which I pop with vigor before Poppy gets here and ruins my fun.

  “Never,” she admits. And I have to say, it’s the first time I can remember Lilly being truly honest about how she felt. She was so afraid to want something because her nana might tell her it wasn’t the right thing, but I think Lilly has finally come into her own.

  I watch Lilly pick up a picture of Max, and the look in her eye is evident. She loves him with all her heart, but Lilly lost her father, and her mother abandoned her. People she loves are known for leaving, and someone needs to convince her Max is different.

  “Max might leave, Lilly—people are flawed. But I don’t think he ever would. I think he would cherish you and support you, and most important, I think he’d tell you when you were full of garbage. Like today, for example. But if you’re looking for perfect, you’ve got to look up.”

  Her eyes fill with tears, “I couldn’t stand it, Morgan. If he left, I mean.”

  “But you can stand looking him in the eye and telling him you won’t meet his mother?”

  She wipes the tear away with the back of her hand. “His mother will hate me.”

  “Max is not a mama’s boy, or he wouldn’t live across the country from his parents. Lilly, if I made a pl
ay for Max—not that he’d notice me any more than the doorknob—but if I came on to him, what would happen?”

  She starts to laugh through her tears, “Max is really not all that great on the flirting business; he probably wouldn’t notice. No offense to you, Morgan.”

  “I’ll wait for Poppy downstairs.” I don’t know why, but I just can’t take Lilly this morning. I suppose it’s because she has what I want in the palm of her hand, and she won’t even wrap her fingers around it and embrace it.

  In contrast to Lilly’s pursuit of all things vocational, I am a serial monogamous dater. I have always had a boyfriend to parlay me to the next social event, a man about whom the paper conveniently estimates his net worth in terms of how likely I am to marry him. Without a boyfriend, I feel empty, incomplete, and just plain lonely. I suppose it comes from being virtually ignored by my parents.

  But isn’t that so hip? To blame my parents for all my problems and not take responsibility for the fact that I don’t know how to be alone.

  Clearly, I have a long way to go on this contentment factor.

  “Before you go, I made you something.” Lilly jumps up from the futon and goes to her coat closet, which is a mishmash of so much stuff, you almost expect the bowling ball to come rolling off the top shelf like on the Flintstones. “It’s for your job interviews. Remember? I told you I had something for you for court.”

  “Lilly, what on earth?” It’s a gorgeous black pant set, with long sleeves and starched white cuffs and a collar. It’s very nautical. Very chic and extremely gorgeous. “It’s incredible, Lilly. You never cease to amaze me with what you can do with that sketch book of yours.”

  “It’s from my collection this fall. This one is your size, so I brought it home last night. I thought it would help in the job search, and it’s completely in your budget: free. I’ll make something new if there happens to be a court date.”