Page 17 of Here's to Yesterday

“Holy shit balls, Perry! What the hellhappened?”

Waving me off, he gives me a cocky grin. “You know me. Mouthy littleshit.”

I smile at him. “Hitting on taken girlsagain?”

He shrugs. “She was flirting back, that’s all I’m sayin’.” I laugh, and Perry automatically grins at me. “I love that me getting my ass whooped makes you so happy, babe. You made my damn heart skip abeat.”

Shoving his shoulder, I tell him, “Shut it or I’ll make the other eyematch.”

Perry scoffs. “As if a Doughers would ever throw apunch.”

My newly—and momentarily—lifted mood deflates at the mention of my lastname.

I know it sounds ridiculous, but my name is one hell of a burden to bear. You’d think that because my parents are on the boards of multiple high-society-backed charities and throw dozens of “good deed” events a year, it wouldn’t be one, but it is. Itsois.

Because being a Doughers means being flawless. It means constantly being on point and having your “happy face” on at all times. You’re never allowed to be sad—at least not in public. You’re never allowed to look anything but your absolute best. And you’re never,ever,allowed to cave under pressure. We must always be “on,” no matter thesituation.

So that’s what I do because I’m a Doughers. I’m the daughter of two of the richest people in the state of Massachusetts. I’m the sole beneficiary of millions of dollars. I’m the next in line to host those dozens of yearly events and be the woman in society everyone wants tobe.

However, what people don’t know is how hard it is to be that person. How grueling it is to always be on point, to always be perfect. It’s exhausting, tiresome. I would know because that’s all I’ve ever been: Maura Ann Doughers, daughter of John and Norah,perfectionist.

But that’s not me. Not evenclose.

“I’m sorry,” Perry says quietly. “I know you hatethat.”

I give him a tight-lipped smile and shake my head once. “No biggie, Per. It’s my burden tocarry.”

He clears his throat and takes another drink. “Why are you here soearly?”

“Geez. Does the whole world know myschedule?”

“What?” he asks in obviousconfusion.

“Nothing,” I say. “I thought I worked early, but it turns out Idon’t.”

He buys my lie and signals for another drink. “You going to Mic’s tomorrow? You hardly get Saturdays off. You gonna spend this one at home aloneagain?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure yet. Tucker seems to think he’s picking me up at seven, but I haven’t decided if I’m going to open the door ornot.”

Perry laughs a little. “Yeah? You should. Tucker’s a goodbloke.”

“Bloke?” I question, because Perry most definitely shouldn’t be using the wordbloke.

“What? I watched this porn the other day and they kept saying it. Thought I’d try itout.”

“Yeah? And how’s that going foryou?”

Perry turns toward me fully and points to his battered face. “You see this black eye? That’s about how well it’sgoing.”

* * *

I’mabout three hours into my seven-hour shift when I realize I haven’t heard from Tanner tonight. I double-tap his name and listen as the line connects while I head through the kitchen and out back to The Alley, which is a small enclosed patio foremployees.

“Hello?” My ears are met with a bunch of voices talking and a song that sounds like Jay Z in the background. “Babe?” I hear Tannersay.

“Tanner? I can hardly hearyou.”

“Hang on,” he says. I stay on the line and strain to hear what’s going on in the background. “I’ll be back, Lauren. It’s louder in here than I thought and I gotta take thiscall.”

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