Page 38 of Miss Fortune

Nope, it hadn’t been until my then-wife and I moved in together that my “quirks” became impossible to hide. My wife voiced so many concerns I finally decided to see a therapist who’d then suggested testing. Sometimes I wondered if ignorance would’ve been better. My ex had taken my diagnosis harder than I had, and couldn’t fathom a future in which she supported her husband through his struggles. Evidently, I was considered damaged goods. In the end, I discovered the vows of for better or worse had only been lip service.

Last I heard, she’d remarried, moved to North Carolina, and had two children. I was glad she’d found happiness with someone who could give her what I couldn’t. A normal life.

Normal. Such a benign word unless you’d spent your entire life striving to fit the definition.

After dropping Daisy off in front of her apartment building, I went back to my house and inspected my large living room with its high ceilings, large windows, and modern furniture. It was the opposite of inviting. Showroom quality without any warmth. When was the last time I’d sat in this room? When I was home, I spent most of my time outside in my backyard. Something about the outdoor space relaxed and recharged me. I walked out there now, surveying the foliage and noticing it lacked color.

A single day with Daisy, and I was already thinking how boring my life was in comparison. I didn’t mind spending time by myself on a Saturday night, but found myself wondering what my assistant was doing. I’d enjoyed today. Conversation wasn’t easy for me, but she didn’t seem to mind having to carry my end of the load. Nor was she put off by my awkwardness. The longer we spent time together, the more I found myself relaxing.

Of course, I’d used Doris’s phone call as an excuse to reach out and invite myself to Daisy’s hike, but actually, I’d sought an excuse to spend time with her. If I was being truly honest, I was lonely. My inability to connect with people brought about an isolation which took a toll.

I didn’t often let myself feel it, but tonight the loneliness started to seep in. I thought about calling my middle sister, the only family member with whom I was close, but she was always busy at the hospital or with her fiancé, who was also a doctor. And forget about my parents. You could be in the same room with my mother and father and feel lonely. Nope, all they cared about was telling people how successful their children were, as if our accomplishments were a reflection of their good parenting. All they’d ever done was write the checks to the expensive nannies and boarding schools. I didn’t even bother to go home for the holidays these days. My parents typically went to St. Bart’s with friends while I went over to Doris’s house for dinner, after which I spent the evening by myself on my patio.

I’d bet during Christmastime Daisy went home to Iowa, baked cookies, and hung out with her family in festive pj’s all day long. The thought made me smile.

* * *

After a busy week, most of which was spent in court or in meetings, I couldn’t wait to decompress on the weekend. I picked Daisy up at eight o’clock Saturday morning, and we headed out to Malibu. She was dressed in yoga pants which did nothing to douse my attraction to her—and a Hawkeyes T-shirt. She had her hair up and her lips a pink color today. Oh, the things I could fantasize those lips doing.

I shook myself out of the unapproved thoughts. Hadn’t I come up with a mental list of all the reasons I couldn’t pursue this? One, I’d meant what I’d told Lucas, Daisy was a relationship girl all the way. Two, she worked for me, and although it was temporary, it could get messy, especially given her connection to Doris. And three, she was ten years younger than me. She viewed the world with continued innocence and hope while I leaned toward cynicism and pessimism. Friends would have to do. But if she was to get something out of a friendship with me, I needed to initiate some of the conversation. She didn’t need to know I’d practiced last night and created a mental list of potential topics.

As we walked to the trailhead, I started out with, “How was your week in the office?”

“Not too bad. But my boss is tough to read. I’m not sure if he’s happy with my work or not.”

I couldn’t help chuckling. I’d barely seen her this week, but she’d kept my schedule up to date, my incoming clients organized, and done anything else I’d requested. “I would think if he was unhappy, he’d let you know. But how are the others in the office treating you?” After the incident with Eric, I worried she might be bearing the brunt of some fallout.

“Fine. Honestly, most mind their own business. And being made fun of for how I look or dress is nothing new.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on. Surely you’ve noticed I tend to stand out. Now imagine a small-town high school with a nerdy girl who loves to wear flowers in her hair and pairs homemade dresses with Doc Martens.”

“Yet you didn’t let it bother you?” Daisy exuded confidence.

“Of course it did. I was a teenage girl. But then I realized normal was overrated and life was too short to worry about what others thought about me. Didn’t mean it was easy, though, or I don’t sometimes have doubts.”

Maybe we had more in common than I’d initially thought. “What did your parents think about you being different? Were they supportive while you were growing up?”

I thought maybe I’d revealed too much when she regarded me curiously.

“Yeah, they were supportive. I didn’t disappoint them until I was an adult and quit my job to move to California. To be fair, my dad mainly worries about me being in a big city. It’s my mom who’s vocal about me making a big mistake with my life.”

“You have a better sense of self than most twenty-something-year-olds do.” Or thirty-somethings, for that matter.

“Thanks. My grandmother always said I had an old soul. How did it go after yesterday?”

“You mean the divorcing couple in the conference room?” At one point they’d been screaming so loudly at each other the entire office could hear it.

“Yes, quite the shouting match.”

The conflict had given me a headache and made me once again question my career choices. But I’d done my job, calming my female client down and reminding her not to react to her husband’s taunts. It would make matters even more ugly than they already were since he was obviously fighting her on everything simply out of spite. Afterward, I’d gone directly home with the inability to deal with anything else for the day. “They calmed down finally. But without a doubt, having them in the same room isn’t conducive to settlement. Instead, the negotiations will be done from now on through the attorneys, but it will most likely end up in court.”

“I can’t imagine hating someone that much who I’d once loved. Can you?”

“No, I can’t.” I’d never hated my ex-wife. There hadn’t been enough passion in our marriage to incite such emotion. Or perhaps it was only me who didn’t have the capacity for such an emotional connection. After we split, I’d owned up to my failure, clearly unable to give her what she needed. Some people weren’t cut out for sharing their lives with others. I was one of them.

“I imagine your job doesn’t exactly inspire the belief in happy endings.”