The Theory of Happily Ever After Read online

  “For singles,” Kathleen adds.

  “A singles’ cruise? Ugh. It’s even worse than I thought. You expect me to go from bingeing on romance to a singles’ cruise with no warning?”

  My friends are wonderfully devoted, but this time they’re expecting far too much from me. It’s not just the breakup. It’s the reality that all of my work may be completely inaccurate. My unrelenting pursuit to the secret of life—and happiness—has been fruitless, and I’ve been walking in a great scholarly circle.

  “We are going to have a blast,” Haley sings in her typical cheerleader voice. “You’ve been a hermit long enough, and it’s time to move forward.” She twists a red tendril around her finger and stares at me. “Jake is moving forward,” she says softly.

  “Well,” Kathleen says, “technically Jake moved forward before they broke up, but that’s another story. It’s no reflection on you, Maggie.”

  “But it sort of is, isn’t it? I mean, he’s getting married this weekend and has managed to convince my entire department that he’s the resident expert.” I stuff another shameful spoonful of ice cream into my mouth.

  “They’ll see through him eventually, but you’ve got to fight, Maggie. You can’t just let him win.” Haley puts her hand on my shoulder. “That’s not the Maggie we know.”

  He already has won. He’s happy and I’m miserable. Doesn’t take much data to figure that one out.

  “His joke of a wedding,” Kathleen says, “is the reason we’re not going to be anywhere near this town this weekend. You’re not going to be near a cell phone, a computer—anything that allows you to stalk him on Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, or any other form of social media. Our queen of effervescent bliss will return home triumphantly, and we are here to make sure we have a front row seat for it. Living well is the best revenge, and this”—Kathleen waves a judgmental hand around the room—“is not living well.”

  I seriously love how my friends believe in me and my hackneyed science that probably has a million statistics wrong with it, and they still love me. Logically, I know that a guy who would drop me for someone barely out of her teenage years who hangs on silk scarves and twirls, deserves her. I don’t think she deserves him, but that’s hardly my problem. I need my heart to catch up with my head, that’s all. So far the only remedy—which I could probably not prove scientifically—is more fattening desserts and sugar-coated dialogue. If someone must investigate the science of gelato and romantic movies, I volunteer as tribute.

  “He deleted me from Snapchat,” I tell them. “Such a humiliation.”

  “Good,” Kathleen says.

  “Incidentally, I don’t want to stalk him. I don’t even really care that he’s getting married.” I’m a little shocked to find that it’s the truth. “I just want my life to look pretty again. Hopeful again. I want the data in my book about the science of bliss to be true. And it doesn’t seem to be true. It can’t be or cheaters and thieves wouldn’t always win. I’m the first to admit, I may be naive in the ways of dating, but really, did I deserve this?”

  “We’ll see about your data being true, Maggie,” Kathleen says. “You don’t have perspective. You’ve got to get out of this house. It’s depressing. As your own book told the world, ‘You can’t change your life without changing your view.’ And your view can’t be from over the top of a bucket o’ gelato because that just screams desperation.”

  My stomach rolls. “Oh man, did I really say that? In print? What did you two do? Memorize quotes before you came over here? You both sound like a high school guidance counselor’s poster collection.”

  “There are memes on Instagram with your quotes, Maggie. You forget—you inspired people. Your work changed people’s lives.”

  I smack my palm to my forehead and groan. “You can never take it back when it’s in print. How will I ever face the world again? Like I had some kind of key to happiness. Look at me and what a fraud I am.”

  “You’re not a fraud. Stop saying that. We’ll prove it to you this week. Give us one week and we will prove ‘the science of bliss’ works for its writer and anyone else who wants to put it into play.”

  Haley had disappeared into my bedroom and now reappears holding up a pair of ratty beige panties. “Seriously? We’re stopping at Target before we leave. Look what she’s wearing! Anyone would be depressed putting these on. These are basically for a homeless grandma.”

  I jump up and yank my underwear from her hands. “Do you mind? Do you two have no boundaries whatsoever?”

  “She’s up! Let’s move out—a body in motion tends to stay in motion,” Kathleen says, and swipes the gelato from my hands. “Come on.”

  “Curse your body physics, let me be,” I wail.

  She pushes me roughly down the hallway to my bedroom. “We’re going to the shower. Either you can wash yourself or I can do it for you. Take your pick.”

  Kathleen is not simply a personal trainer. She’s the scary type who screams at people until they do ten more pull-ups than they thought themselves capable of because they’re fearful she’ll kill them otherwise. It’s pointless to resist her. She’s like a Marine drill instructor on a bad day.

  “Fine, I’ll take a shower,” I tell her, while I’m wondering if I can fit through that small window in the shower and actually escape this harebrained idea of my restoration.

  “Where’s your swimsuit?” Haley asks while rummaging through my drawers.

  “I bought a bikini for the honeymoon, but I’ll never wear it.”

  “You will,” Kathleen says. “Because you told women they needed to own their bodies and be grateful for the working, beautiful machine God gave them.”

  I groan. “No more quotes. I think I just threw up a little.” As I grab my fluffy bathrobe and head for the bathroom, it occurs to me I’m really being forced from my happy place, and I don’t want to go. I know my friends mean well, but I’m not ready. “You’re not really taking me on a cruise. Where are we going? If you two signed me up for some kind of boot camp—”

  “We’re going on a cruise,” Haley reiterates.

  “There’s a new movie on tonight. Can I at least set my DVR? It’s a premiere.”

  Kathleen frowns. “Oh, honey. We’re taking you to find real bliss because clearly neither love with the lying, cheating Jake Stone nor a successful writing career was the answer for you. Like that infernal GPS in my car, we have to recalculate.”

  “I can’t go out there, Kathleen. My reputation as a scientist is blown once I do.”

  “Mexico,” Haley says. “We’re going to gather new data in Mexico on the love boat for singles. Stop being so all-or-nothing. We’re human. We make mistakes. Jake was a mistake. Why do you seem to think you’re the only one who will never overcome a mistake?”

  “That’s easy. I was never allowed to make a mistake.”

  “Man, your parents did a number on you,” Kathleen says.

  “Mexico. Hmm.” I start to imagine a world where no one cares about the science of happiness. Where no one knows me or my failure. “No one will know me in Mexico.”

  “Right. Where’s your passport?” Kathleen asks. “I probably shouldn’t mention that the passengers on the boat will be coming from America. I suppose that’s obvious to a scientist like yourself.”

  I pout. “You see? See how out of it I am? I didn’t even think of that.”

  “It’s in her bottom drawer,” Haley says, and I suddenly realize I’ve been betrayed by my best friend and publicist.

  I look straight at her. “Haley, you traitor! I thought this was all Kathleen, but now I know that you must have signed me up for this cruise with my own credentials.”

  Haley shrugs. “Maybe. I could have used the credentials to cancel your cable, did you ever think of that?”

  “I’m revoking your signing privileges for me. From here on out, I see every calendar engagement that comes across my desk. Even vacations.”

  She shrugs again. “Whatever. Like you’ve ever taken a vacat
ion.” She pulls out my passport along with my hibernating bikini.

  Bikini. As if I’m ever getting into that thing. I’ll be the one on the beach in jeans and flip-flops. Two months of gelato is not swimsuit friendly, and as the consummate expert on bliss, at least for now, I can hardly steal others’ joy by making them stare at my cellulite.

  Meanwhile, Jake seems to have found his bliss without me, and that has to mean my research on happiness is flawed and I’m a fraud. And like poor James Frey who got a verbal lashing on Oprah, I’ll hear about it soon when readers want their money back. I’ll be in eternal debt to my publishing company. I’ll have no career, no husband, and two pushy friends. I’m washed up at the ripe old age of thirty-one. How do I dig myself out of that?

  At least Jake’s aerial dancer has found her passion in life and knows where she belongs. When she’s twirling from the ceiling in that slinky-piece-of-nothing leotard, she is true to her calling. Granted, she’s also a moron, but she’s a happy moron, so she’s ahead of me in the race toward bliss.

  2

  Trial by fire is often the only practice run we get or that we need. Blissful people understand the value of trials inherently. They look at obstacles as stepping-stones to the next level.

  The Science of Bliss by Dr. Margaret K. Maguire

  THE FOLLOWING DAY THE CRUISE SETS SAIL out of Galveston, Texas. As we line up to board the Empress of the Seas, the world looks new again and I’m feeling hopeful, as if I can recover from Jake’s betrayal. Most people probably had their first broken heart somewhere between seventh grade and college, but I’d never had time to date. I saved up all my junior high boyfriend insecurities for the first suitor I took seriously. While my parents prepared me for the Mensa test, they may have left me extremely emotionally stunted in their quest to make me the perfect child.

  “Maybe I’ve been too much of a drama queen about all this,” I say.

  “You think?” Kathleen replies, then softens her tone. “You’re entitled to a breakdown after a lifetime of living at your frenetic pace, Maggie. But it’s time now. There’s nothing wrong with your data. Go back to the university and be straight about what happened. I promise you, this too shall pass.”

  I shake my head and the memories come flooding back. “They love Jake. I’m sure they’re convinced I can’t do my job without him.”

  “Then you’ll have to convince them otherwise, which you’re not going to do from your sofa.” Haley presses me forward in the line.

  The ship seems to sparkle in the distance and offers me a glimmer of hope. For the moment, I’ve forgotten my comfy robe and my blissful, albeit fattening, existence. The vast size of the ship reminds me that there’s a future filled with hope and new journeys in front of me. There’s a slight sulfur smell in the air, so it’s not quite paradise. Anytime the air reminds me of when my apartment’s sewer line backed up, there’s cause for concern.

  “It means a lot to me that you two loved me enough to spring for a cruise. I would have never thought of this. I can’t remember the last time I took a vacation.” I turn to give them both hugs, but Kathleen stiffens at my embrace. “No, really. Thank you for grabbing me off the couch. I know I wasn’t on board originally, but now I see it. I get that I need a new perspective. The singles thing is a bit much, but I’m sure I’ll be fine with a book out on deck.”

  “I’m so grateful, Maggie. We were really worried.” Haley hugs me back.

  I stare at my two best friends with all the gratitude I can muster. Good friends are so much better to have around than bad boyfriends. How long will it take me to learn this simple lesson? This is like that show Intervention, without the deep, life-scarring, emotional letters. Well, and the drugs—and trust me, I’m fine with that. This is my “trip-ervention.” The point is, they care.

  “You didn’t tell her?” Kathleen frowns as we wait on the windy walkway behind a bevy of unfortunate Hawaiian shirts. The swirling scent of sulfur becomes more intense.

  “Tell me what?” I ask with trepidation. Since I’m not much of an adventurer, I worry that Haley has booked us on some kind of four-wheel-drive tour, or perhaps we’ll be snorkeling in the choppy waters off the lawless coast of Mexico.

  Haley lifts her tiny shoulders. “I’ll tell her now. No time like the present.” She turns to me, and I brace myself for whatever exciting “surprise” they’re holding for me now—as if shoving me in the shower, onto a plane, and into a Motel 6 for the night wasn’t enough excitement for two days. “So, the good news is that your trip is paid for in full.” She raises her spindly arms to the sky. “This beautiful gulf cruise is going to cost you—us, actually—nothing whatsoever.” She flips her hair in the wind. “Who has her client’s back?” She cocks her head to the side and puts a hand to her heart.

  Haley is my publicist. Well, she was my publicist before this fiasco—I’m not sure a failed neuroscientist needs a publicist. For such a demure little thing, Haley sure can be pushy. Which is fine when it’s working for you and all wrong when it’s not.

  “Paid for in full? That is good news.” I cock my brow. “And the bad news?”

  “Nothing’s ever truly free, is it, Maggie?” Kathleen asks. “I mean, you can’t eat everything at the buffet without working it off in the gym.”

  Haley glares at her. “Must everything be an exercise reference?”

  Kathleen smirks at me.

  “I feel it’s necessary to create anticipation for your next book release,” Haley continues in her soft business voice. “Publish or perish in your academic world, right? This opportunity . . .”

  I’ve been warned. This sugary-sweet valley girl voice means I’m on my own. I’m not floating aimlessly in the Gulf of Mexico. I have a distinct destination.

  “We need to push the reset button on your life. Sitting on your sofa watching kitschy movies wasn’t going to make that happen.” She brushes an imaginary dust particle off her shoulder and fiddles with her Louis Vuitton suitcase.

  “Can’t we be done with the sofa shaming already? Not being able to button up my pants is enough shame for anyone. What is going on? If you two don’t tell me now, I’m off this gangplank to find myself a hotel.”

  Kathleen traces a finger down her cheek to mimic crying.

  “Empathy is not your strong suit, Kathleen. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Every. Single. Day.” She grins. “I can’t wait to see what the running track looks like on board.”

  It occurs to me that maybe my friends are the problem and I should invest in fellow couch potatoes. Kathleen finds her passion in her sadistic love of the denial of good food and the impending doom of exercise. I mean, did I expect to find my bliss with her along for the ride? She’s the most regulated of us, and veering from her schedule probably causes her to break out in hives. She spends hours in her Bible every week and attends nearly every event the church coordinates. The girl loves a schedule, and I don’t mean the one found on TV Guide.

  Then there’s Haley. Everyone loves her. Men fall at her feet and she takes no notice of them. She leaves a trail of wilting suitors behind like a flower girl who has dropped her petals. How can I rise up when she’s beside me with a sparkling crown atop her head? Someday she will tap the right Prince Charming with her scepter, but for now she proves that she’s stronger than she appears and ready, willing, and able to go it alone.

  I look at them both—Kathleen with her gym-perfected body and Haley with her spellbinding aura—and decide we’re a strange threesome. An athlete, a princess, and a brain with a stunted emotional quotient.

  “The best way to create anticipation for your next book,” Haley says, flipping her coveted red hair, as is her habit—to remind us plebs that we will never possess her natural charisma—“is to promote your current release with a speech reminding people of your contribution to the world. We’ll up your fan base with these book events. This is just the beginning.”

  A speech? My contribution? “Wait just a minute!”

&
nbsp; “You’ve been hibernating, but I totally believe the best is yet to come from this detour!” Haley says.

  “Haley, are you delirious? There’s no next book!” I panic. “I haven’t written one chapter! I haven’t checked any of the research, I—”

  “Relax,” Haley says. “There is a next book because your contract with the publisher states there is a next book, and you’ve already cashed the advance check. No doubt spent a healthy portion of it on ice cream and your cable bill.”

  “I can pay it back,” I lie.

  “You can’t pay it back,” Kathleen interjects. “Haley is trying to save your career here, because contrary to what you might think, lazing around in your bathrobe, which smells like old bacon, is not actually a profession. Last time I checked anyway.”

  “Please let me deal with my career,” I plead with Kathleen. “You need to go and find a place to run. Exercising makes you human.”

  Kathleen sighs heavily. “I’m here for you, aren’t I? I canceled a week full of clients to be here for you, and that wasn’t cheap. Haley got you this gig because cruises are always looking for educational opportunities. No one else is going to tell you what you need to hear. They’re too nice. Telling you the truth is our job, and it’s not pretty being your friend right now.” She hikes her gym bag over her shoulder. “This is the perfect event to restart your speaking career. You’ve got your statistical knowledge on the science of happiness, and this cruise is brimming with a crap ton of people who want to be happy. Do the math.”

  “A crap ton of people? For someone who spends so much time at church, your language could use some improvement.”

  “I make grown men cry every day. That’s what makes them stronger! Pain is weakness leaving the body.”

  “Okay, Stonewall.”

  “It’s just a little speech.” Haley emphasizes her words with her thumb and forefinger close together. “A minuscule speech. Maggie, please. My parents are already telling me that changing my career was a lesson in failure. I need to succeed in this publicity business, and I know it’s selfish, but you’re my best hope. I have a New York Times bestselling author on my roster, and that helps me get other clients.”