Page 2 of Practice Makes Perfect
I check the time, and realize I’m going to be late for the family dinner at my parents’ house. So, for the next thirty minutes, I set the land-speed record for getting ready, and race out the door without saying goodbye to Lea and Dec, who have clearly moved into her bedroom for the foreseeable future.
And, just before I’m out the door, my phone pings with a notification:
You have a new match!
“That was fast,” I mutter, clicking to see who liked my profile.
I open the message.
It’s a picture of a penis.
“And we’re off to a great start,” I sigh, hitting the “unmatch” button.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
“I can’t believe anyone would break up with my gorgeous son!” Aunt Marie wails, dramatically pressing a hand to her forehead. “He’s perfect!”
My cousin, Louis, sinks deeper into his chair, shooting me a look that clearly says,kill me now.
This is the fifth variation of the same conversation in the last ten minutes. I’ve been counting, because that’s just what my brain does—categorizes and organizes information nobody asks for, with this particular meltdown filed under “Parental Overreactions: Romantic Edition” in the mental filing cabinet.
“Heartbreak is part of life’s journey,” Grandma Penelope says, taking a sip of her wine. “Pain shapes us. Makes us stronger.”
I glance at her. “Is that from one of your self-help books?”
Grandma Penelope smirks over the rim of her glass. “No, darling.Love Match. Season three, episode seven.”
I gasp. “You watched without me?”
“I texted you, but you said you were studying,” she says. “Besides, I couldn’t wait. Brianna was going to choose between the accountant and the firefighter.”
“Who’d she pick?” I ask, momentarily distracted.
“Neither. She ran off with the camera operator.” Grandma winks. “Plot twist.”
My mother places a steaming dish of coq au vin in the center of the table. The rich aroma of wine-soaked chicken and herbs fills the dining room of my parents’ modest Trenton home. It’s Mom’s specialty—the dish she makes when she wants to comfort someone—that she’s rolled out for a recently heartbroken Louis.
“At least you don’t have to worry about this,” Mom says to me, gesturing vaguely toward Louis as she sits down. “No dating, no heartbreak.”
A beat ofreally damn uncomfortablesilence follows. Louis catches my eye across the table, his expression softening. He knows. About Derek. About what happened in high school. About why I stopped dating altogether. But, for the rest of my family, it’s just a curiosity that they figure will get sorted eventually.
But not even Louis knows I’ve decided to dip my toe back in the water.
“Lucky me,” I say, for now, not ready to reveal my decision. “All the fun of college without the messy relationship drama.”
As if on cue, my phone vibrates in my pocket. And, as the others prattle on about my love life—or lack thereof—I discreetly check it under the table. It’s a text from Lea:
Sorry if we drove you off! Let’s do a movie tomorrow?
Something twists in my stomach, because I know the movie probably won’t happen tomorrow, either. Lea practically lives at Declan’s place since they hooked up in the first semester, and although I’m happy for her, it has left me lonely.
“Amélie?” My father’s voice breaks through. “You’re a thousand miles away.”
I tuck my phone away. “I got a text from my roommate.”
“The one dating the hockey player?” Grandma says, before helping herself to more wine. At seventy-five, she drinks with the enthusiasm of a frat boy.
“Former hockey player. He quit to focus on his art. But yes, they’re very…” I search for the right word. “Attached.”
