Page 146 of The Perfect Mistake

I look at my sister. In the faint light shining through the window, she looks younger than her twenty years. She’d told me to ignore what people around me might think and just focus on what I want.

But I want to be wanted by the man I love.

And if I can’t have that, I don’t want to settle for anything less.

I feel anxious, sitting at the smoothie place I once frequented so often. Connie should be here any moment, and I’m nervous to see her.

I tap my toe in a familiar rhythm against the floor. It’s an 8 count, the one I’ve used my entire life to learn choreography. Never failing. Always consistent. Five, six, seven, eight… and off we’d go.

She’d answered my text right away. Said that she would be happy to meet and talk.

I want to make things right. I want to make so many things right, and it’s time I’m proactive about that.

I spot Connie from my seat by the window. She’s hurrying across the crosswalk, her long beige trench coat open and revealing the dark-emerald dress she’s got on underneath. She’s also sporting thigh-high boots.

The view makes me smile. She looks fierce, fearless, and cool. A businesswoman through and through. I’ve always loved how different we are, in ways that might seem fundamental, but have only ever been surface-level for us. She’s never been anything but an inspiration to me.

Connie smiles when she sees me. We hug, and she sinks on a seat across from me. “I can’t wait for the Berry Blaster and the oat cookie,” she says. “I’ve been craving them for weeks.”

“Yeah, we haven’t been here recently,” I say. Our regular Saturday yoga and smoothie ritual had been disrupted by my nannying job, and then put on hold after the fateful party.

She shoots me a small smile. “Yeah. I’m glad we’re back here, though.”

“Me too.”

We order and talk a bit about her work, and Gabriel, and the trip they’ve planned for New Year’s Eve. She asks me about my work prospects, and I fill her in on the dance studio idea. By former ballerinas for aspiring ones.

Connie lights up at the idea. She asks me about investments, business plans, and timelines until I have to laughingly tell her that the concept is still in its infancy.

“You look great,” she says. “Happy, when you’re talking about this. It’s wonderful to see.”

I nod. Use the straw to stir my classic Green Supreme with a single shot of ginger. “I wasn’t for a while there, was I?”

Her smile turns wanes. “No. You weren’t really yourself after you left the ballet. It was… I didn’t know what to do to help you through it.”

“Neither did I. It’s hard to believe it was only a few months ago.”

“Yeah. A lot has happened since then.”

I tap another 8 count with my foot, inaudible against the table leg. “Yes it has,” I say. “But I never meant for any of that to hurt you. That was the last thing I wanted.”

She looks down at her smoothie. “I know that. I always knew that, even when I was initially… upset. I reacted more strongly than I should have, and I want to apologize for that. Maybe it gave you the impression that I was angry at you, but I wasn’t. I’m not.”

“You’re not?”

“I was surprised and taken aback and concerned,” she says. “For both of you. I know how he can be. He’s my brother and I love him and respect him, but he’s not great at emotions and intimate relationships. God, I don’t know if anyone in my family is. Including me.” She runs a hand over her hair and takes a deep breath. “But I didn’t want him to hurt you, or you to hurt him, and I didn’t want to have to choose sides. I’ve decided I won’t. No matter what transpires between you two.” She holds up her hands, and her eyes are determined. “I’m Switzerland, or Sweden, or whatever it is.”

“God, yes. Of course. I would never ask you to choose me over your brother.”

“I know you wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t ask it, either, but I’ve decided to just take that out of the equation. I won’t choose anyone over anyone.” Her smile turns a bit crooked. “I hope that you won’t either. That whatever happens with him, you’ll still be my friend?”

“Of course! Oh my God, Con, I didn’t think you’d ever… definitely.”

“I was worried about that, too, during these weeks.” She shakes her head and laughs a bit ruefully. “Gabriel kept telling me to just talk to you about it. And I was going to, but I needed a bit of time to… put words to my feelings.”

That makes my heart clench. Of course. Alec is exactly the same, and why wouldn’t they be? They were raised in the same household and by the same father.

For all of Alec’s easy communication about us, about desires and wants, he must be deathly afraid of expressing his emotions. And I understand. It’s not something I’m well-versed in as it comes to intimate relationships. But I have siblings and parents and aunts and cousins who do nothing but talk about feelings. I’ve had plenty of practice.

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