Page 3 of Practice Makes Perfect
“That’s true love. I had that once.” Aunt Marie sighs, then looks pointedly at Louis, whose father had the good sense to divorce her and move to Seattle.
My father reaches for the wine, interrupting her before she can bemoan the sorry state of her ex-husband yet again. “More, Marie?”
“Please,” she says, extending her glass. “I’m drowning my sorrows.”
“Your sorrows?” Louis mutters. “I’m the one who got dumped.”
“And how are your classes this year, Amélie?” Dad asks, expertly changing the subject.
“Good.” I twirl pasta around my fork. “Busy with the double major, but I’ve got my system and my schedule all in place.”
What I don’t say is that’s how I cope. How I manage the constant whirlwind in my head, the thoughts that race and tumble and never quite settle. The sticky notes and tabs and highlighters and plans and constant—constant—talking create order from chaos.
“And what about friends?” Aunt Marie asks. “Any handsome boys noticing my beautiful niece?”
My mother answers before I can. “Amélie focuses on her studies. She’s very dedicated.”
There it is again—that assumption that I’m happily, voluntarily celibate. That I’ve chosen books over boys. That I’m a nun in a cute dress and sneakers. And, technically, they’re not wrong, given I spent the entire first semester at Pine Barrens with nothing but my vibrator for intimate company. But lately…
“I’ve made some friends,” I say. “My old roommate Lea. Some girls on my floor, Marnie and Ping… but no boys worth mentioning.”
“Well,” Grandma Penelope says, raising her glass, “here’s to Louis finding someone who deserves him. And to Amélie—” she gives me a knowing look “—finding whatever it is she’s looking for, even if it takes her a little longer than she might have planned…”
As we clink glasses, my grandmother watches me over the rim of hers, those sharp eyes seeing more than I want her to. She knows I’m lonely and that, despite the trauma Derek left behind, some stubborn part of me still wants something like what Lea has.
I keep mostly quiet for the rest of dinner, which isveryunusual andveryhard to do for me. Louis notices, of course. We’ve been thick as thieves since childhood, the type of cousins who communicate through eyebrow movements and half-smiles, and he knows I don’t stop talking for anything.
When we finish dessert, Louis pushes back from the table. “Em and I are going for a walk to grab some frozen yogurt,” he announces.
“We are?” I say.
He nods. “We are.”
My mother frowns. “But I just served dessert.”
“A person can have two desserts, Aunt Madeline,” Louis says with the conviction of someone who mostly survives on pizza and protein bars.
“We’ll be back soon,” I add, already on my feet, excited by the prospect of escaping the well-meaning but suffocating family dinner.
Outside, the air carries the scent of blooming flowers that I’ve always associated with the end of winter and the start of spring. We walk in comfortable silence for half a block before Louis wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a hug.
“Sorry about Mom,” he says, squeezing me before releasing me. “She’s been like this since the breakup. It’s like she thinks Macey was the last girl on Earth or something, and it’s spilling over into her lamentinganyone—me, her, you—who’s single and ‘may never find true love.’”
I scrunch my nose. “Shouldn’t I be comforting you? You got dumped, after all…”
He dismisses this with a flick of his wrist. “Nah, I’m over it.”
“The breakup was last week.”
“And I’ve moved on.” He grins. “What can I say? I’m emotionally evolved.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Your phone still has her as a background picture.”
“I said we weren’t right, not that she wasn’t hot,” he argues.
I laugh. “OK.”
We reach the frozen yogurt place, a small shop with a neon sign and mismatched chairs. Inside, we load up our cups—Louis with every topping available while I meticulously separate mine into neat sections, and freak outjust a littlewhen the raspberry sauce mixes with the passionfruit coulis.
