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I kissed him, and there was no prince in disguise, no Mr. Wonderful waiting to be freed from a witch’s evil spell.
Just a toad that will always be a toad. So much for the Frog Prince.
I grip my cup so hard, I crush the top half. “I’d love to be like my mom.” My voice trembles with fury. “Because she thinks the best about people, not the worst.”
And I walk out, quickly, not even bothering to slow down to throw my cup away.
I’m on the street, heading back to the office, when Jean-Marc races after me, catches up with me, but I don’t stop walking. I just keep going, heading for City Events and my desk and peace.
“I’m sorry,” Jean-Marc says, taking my arm, dragging me to a stop. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” He’s attacked my mother, the one person who was always on his side, and he’ssorry?
“I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
Thank God this is over. Thank God this empty sham of a relationship ended when it did. I can only imagine the misery if we’d been stupid enough to have a baby together.
There are small blessings, I think, as I look him in the eye. As toads go, he’s still good-looking, still handsome and charming to those who don’t know him. But I do. And he’s not charming anymore. He’s not what I want or need. And he never was supposed to be my future.
“Sure, Jean-Marc.” I drag my purse strap higher on my shoulder. “Go back to your lily pad and don’t give it a second thought.”
“My lily what?” he asks, not understanding.
“Never mind.” And I set off again, and I’m walking fast, but my step is longer, lighter, and I feel as if an enormous weight had toppled from my head.
I don’t need to kiss any more frogs. I’m done With hunting for Prince Charming. Because I don’t need a man, or a relationship, to fix me. I may not be perfect, but I’m me, and I like myself just fine.
*
Two weeks pass,and it’s Palm Sunday, and Katie, ever my good Catholic friend, goes to mass and then meets me for brunch after.
I get to the restaurant first and watch Katie enter, carrying her little bit of palm that’s been folded into a cross. We like having breakfast together because we both indulge—waffles, pancakes, eggs, whatever we want—and there’s no one here to remind us to watch our weight or waists.
“Are you going home to Visalia for Easter?” Katie asks, diving into her beautifully pan-fried country-style potatoes.
“No. I’m staying in town. What about you?”
“In town, too.”
“Then let’s do something,” I suggest. ‘Like Easter brunch at my place. I’ll make something, and we can dye our own Easter eggs. What do you think?”
Katie spears a golden-brown potato. “You want to dye eggs?”
“Yeah. I love decorating Easter eggs. Don’t you?”
“Haven’t done it in years.”
“Exactly why we should do it, then. We’ll make it a party. You and me.” I grin. “Girl power.”
Katie’s forehead wrinkles. “Do you think you might be taking this single-girl thing too far? Perhaps it’s time you started dating again.”
“I’ve thought about it.”
“And…?”
“I might if Gorgeous Guy asked me out. Or Brian Fadden. I like them both.”
“So?”
