Page 2 of Practice Makes Perfect

Billie

Gray clouds threaten rain and there is hardly a single token of summer to be seen from the window of my office on the thirty-fourth floor of Mile High Consulting. At this moment, the Denver skyline isn’t exactly awe inspiring, and the streets below offer nothing but a view of tiny people going about their business and cars passing over the dusty asphalt of downtown. I feel like a giant peering into a microscope, but nothing I see is entertaining me in the least. The whole scene mirrors my mood—dreary. It’s been this way for the last eight months, not that anyone would be able to tell you that. Sharing feelings, at least, feelings that are anything other than happy or cheerful, isn’t something I really do. “Billie is such a happy child,” people would tell my mother and father. It was true then, and I would still generally consider myself to be a happy person most of the time. I have my parents to thank for that.

Ola and Ivan Kochev were transplants from Bulgaria, having moved to the United States in their early twenties. My father came from money back in the old country, and he invested it wisely upon his arrival, eventually partnering with my best friend Jake’s dad and starting Mile High Consulting. The business grew successfully, and once it was established, I came along. My parents always spoke about their upbringing as being quite harsh with a lot of rules and regulations, and they wanted something different for me.

My mom stayed at home when I was a baby and raised me “free range,” as she likes to call it. There were no strict routines or schedules to follow like there were for Jake. As soon as I was old enough to cross the street by myself, I was able to go where I wanted and do as I pleased as long as I was being safe and was home for dinner every night. It was a pretty sweet deal, one that allowed me to explore the surrounding neighborhoods and make friends all over that I could visit any time I liked. It was absolutely idyllic.

As I grew older, the good times kept rolling all throughout high school and college. “Life of the party,” “social butterfly,” and “good-time girl” were all words used to describe me during that time of my life. They still are, but it didn’t bother me back then like it does now. Years ago, I actually enjoyed being the center of attention. Going out to house parties and later on to bars and nightclubs was my bread and butter. Being around others and having them enjoy my company made me feel good about myself, and I really liked having so many people I could count as friends. It was great … until it wasn’t. The older I got and the more I examined the relationships I had, the more I came to realize how little those “friends” actually cared about me beyond getting into the hottest spots, getting free drinks, and partying for a few hours before we’d part ways, never knowing anything more about one another beyond names and alcohol preferences.

At first, I was just as guilty. My role had been main party goer and queen bee of the club kids for such a long time that I had never really stopped to think about how little I knew about the people I was spending time with, or how little they knew about me. My senior year of college was when it finally hit me. A group of us had decided to road trip to Daytona Beach for Spring Break. It was cliché, but we figured it was our final year at the University of Florida, so why the hell not? About one hour into the trip, after we had exhausted all talk of which clubs to hit and what beaches would have the best parties, an awkward silence came over the car as we realized that beyond going out together, we really didn’t know much about each other.

Deciding that it was time to change all that, I started to chat everyone up about their favorite movies, but it quickly devolved into whether or not I knew any movie stars. After reminding everyone that I was from Denver, not Hollywood, and didn’t know any, the car fell silent again and everyone turned to their phones with no one else even attempting any kind of conversation. The people I had been spending most of my time with didn’t even remember where I was from, and in all fairness, I couldn’t remember their hometowns either. It was a sobering realization, one I wish I had come to years earlier.

Looking back now, I realize those friendships were just surface level, and that’s perfectly fine if that’s what you’re looking for, but by the time I turned twenty-three, I was wanting more than that. Jake was in Washington, and while we kept in touch and remained as close as two people can when separated by great distance, it wasn’t enough. Wanting to change that, I tried to expand my horizons a little, making time to read more books, going to cinema I might not normally watch all in an attempt to really explore who I was underneath the facade I had inadvertently constructed for myself. I made attempts to get to know people better, or even get to know new people, but my reputation at school had already been cemented as one of a “party girl,” so all anyone ever wanted to hear from me was where the next get together was or which shoes were best for dancing at the local nightclub. Graduation was a blessing and I looked forward to the change of moving back to Denver, but that didn’t last long either.

It was supposed to be different here. A job was always waiting for me at my dad’s business consulting firm, and with a major like tourism management, I shouldn’t have been surprised that I was placed in the client relations department. At first it was just making sure prospective clients were happy when they came in for meetings. Fetching coffee and making sure catering orders were placed was the bulk of my work for the first year and half of my career, and I didn’t mind it in the least. Slowly, it evolved into more. Taking clients out to lunch, dinner, and even classy nightclubs or high-end bars when the occasion called for it became the norm for me and it was like I was back in college all over again.

Sliding back into the role of “party girl” was so easy, like putting on a second skin that was comfortable and familiar while being restrictive at the same time. If all I had to concern myself with was whether or not the client was having a good time, I didn’t have to be anything more than a pretty face with a joke or two to keep the atmosphere light and fun. After so many years of pretending to be nothing more than that, though, I’m starting to wonder if maybe I’m not really pretending after all. Maybe I am nothing more than my appearance.

The men I used to date would say that’s the case, if they stuck around long enough to tell anyone, anyway. My relationships, if you can even call them that, have all been with men who are a lot like the persona I project out into the world. They’re looking for a good time and can’t be bothered with anything too serious, anything that would require more of them than wearing the right clothes, surrounding themselves with the right people, and flashing a straight-toothed smile for any camera that happens to point their way. It definitely wasn’t romantically or personally fulfilling, but for a long time that didn’t matter. Jake eventually moved back to Denver, and his friendship and our interactions filled my bucket enough that the lack of substance in my dating life didn’t matter, but one friend can only do so much.

Eventually, I got tired of the surface level relationships and moved on to keeping it simple with the occasional hook-up, but I don’t even bother with those anymore. What would be the point? I’m not getting what I need from the relationship and there are plenty of toys in my nightstand drawer to scratch the itch when I needed. A warm body would be nice, but that would require I put myself out there in a way I’m not sure I’m ready for. Finding out there isn’t more to me than what’s on the surface isn’t something I’m certain I could handle right now. Jake tells me that I don’t give myself enough credit for being a good person, and I should believe my best friend. He knows me better than anyone else, but I’ve kept things even from him. How I really feel about myself deep down is a secret I’ve kept from everyone, so how much can I really trust his judgment?

My cell phone rings and I spin around in my large office chair to grab it from my desk, smiling brightly when I see my friend’s name flashing across the dark screen. It’s great to hear from Jake and his call also provides a welcome distraction from my intrusive thoughts. “I was just thinking about you,” I confess, mustering up as much cheer as I can. Talking to Jake is both a pleasure and a pain. Talking to him and hearing all about his life in Starlight Lake is lovely, but the ache of loneliness is always closer to the surface when he calls, a reminder that he’s not here and that I’m all alone.

A low chuckle comes across the line and I smile at the sound. “Is that a good thing, or should I be worried that you’re plotting something?”

I scoff. “You say plotting as if you don’t always end up having a good time whenever we get together.” Jake may be more of a homebody than I am, but he’s always a good sport and comes along when I ask him to. “Besides, I don’t have time to plot anything. I’m up to my ears in work,” I lie. Gazing around my mostly empty desk tells a very different story. Keeping other people entertained doesn’t require much paperwork and most of my job takes place outside of the office anyway, but I don’t want him to worry about me. When he moved, Jake pulled me aside and asked multiple times if I would be okay. Despite knowing the opposite, I assured him I would be. It wasn’t as if I could beg him to stay and move his family here so that I wouldn’t feel deserted. People may think I’m that selfish, but I would never do that.

Jake hums, not buying my bullshit for one minute. He worked here, so it’s not like he doesn’t know that I normally roll into the office around 10:00, coordinate a few events for clients and then get ready to head out to whatever bar, club, or sporting event I’m showcasing for the same people over and over again. Luckily, he won’t call me out on my little fib. “Glad to hear things are going well. I just called to let you know that we have set a date for the wedding. It’s November 12th, so mark that on your calendar. Oh, and we’re officially all moved into the house and you are welcome to be our first guest anytime you want.”

“Really?” My voice going higher than normal exposes just how much hope is laced in it. A visit sounds like just what I need, but I don’t want to sound too desperate. Clearing my throat, I try to go for a much cooler response. “I mean, that’s great, but I’ll have to check my schedule of course.”

“Oh, for sure. We wouldn’t want to pull you away from any big plans you might have. I know you’re probably booked up with your other friends for at least the next month.” There’s no mocking in his tone because Jake believes what everyone else does, that I have a mountain of friends to call upon whenever I want when the reality is that the nights I’m not working are spent alone in front of the television as I watch the latest season of whatever trashy dating show happens to be on.

“How is the new place anyway?” The question is my desperate attempt to think about anything but my sad life and how I’m too afraid to do anything to try and fix it. It’s ironic that someone most people would describe as fearless isn’t any braver than your average bunny rabbit.

Jake sighs happily and I can picture the sappy smile on his face as he thinks about how amazing his life has turned out. Almost four years ago, Jake fell in love at first sight with a woman named Maya and had a one night stand, only to come back to Denver for three years in a futile attempt to live the life he was “supposed to.” When he returned to Starlight Lake three years later, he learned that not only was Maya still there and still as equally in love with him as he was with her, but he also had a little boy named JJ. The kid is basically a carbon copy of his dad in every way, except for of course his reluctance to be my new bestie. It took a lot of visits, and a lot of money spent on presents, but I think JJ is finally warming up to me.

“It’s fantastic, Billie. Maya is so delighted to be back in her childhood home, and there’s a kind of peace about her that wasn’t there before. I think it’s helped give her a little bit of closure about losing her parents.”

My stomach hurts at even the most fleeting thought of losing one of my parents, so I can’t even begin to imagine what Maya and her brother had to deal with over the last six years. “Well, I’m glad Maya is liking it, and you know what they say, happy almost wife, happy life,” I tell him, trying to disguise my sadness with a joke. Jake and Maya getting engaged was fantastic news, but it did make me the teeniest bit jealous that while my friend is racing from one major life milestone to the next—kid, fiancé, home ownership—I’m nearly thirty years old and feel as if I’ve barely left the starting blocks.

Fortunately, Jake doesn’t pick up on my cheerlessness and chuckles at my joke. “It is a happy life,” he admits. Hearing his giddy tone has me making a more concerted effort to stow the slight bitterness I feel and just be happy for my friend. “JJ is loving having so much space to run around and having his own room too. I think it helps that Carter built him a bed that doubles as a play fort, so it’s like having a bedroom and playroom all in one.”

The mention of Maya’s brother Carter cheers me slightly, and my eyes flick to my computer where I am tempted to navigate to Hodgepodge’s social media site to see if there are any new pictures of him. Doubtful since I just checked this morning, but you never know. While I can resist the urge to check the website, I can’t help but ask about my favorite woodworker. “How is Carter by the way? Still pining away for me?” It comes across like a joke, but I honestly wouldn’t mind if someone like him were pining for me. Someone who is responsible and has it all together would be a nice change of pace as far as dates go.

Last November, when I hauled Jake back to Starlight Lake to end his misery and see Maya again, in addition to the surprise of finding out Jake had a son, I was also surprised to see that son had a sexy uncle. Carter is nothing like the men I have dated in the past. His good looks aren’t at all obvious, but instead he is incredibly attractive in an unassuming, boy-next-door kind of way. His hair is always tousled, not from a half hour of meticulous styling with a mountain of expensive products, but from simply running his strong, capable hands through it. His moss green eyes are soulful and bright at the same time, like he can see beneath the surface of who I am and likes what he’s found. He had a nice physique too, if you know to look for it. Underneath the ill-fitting jeans and loose flannel shirts lies a stack of lean muscles and pert ass. I wouldn’t mind sinking my teeth into. The man doesn’t know how to dress for his size, but I would happily strip him down and teach him a thing or two about his body before clothing it properly.

Despite only having spent a handful of hours together, Carter is also easily one of the best people I have ever met. Most of what I know about him is second-hand, but it’s all been nothing but good. Carter made a rocking horse for JJ, Carter added some built in bookcases and refinished the floors in our new house for Maya. Carter helped me pick out the ring I proposed with. The man is so selfless that I almost worry that he doesn’t do anything for himself. If he let me, I would take care of him in any way he asked me to without complaint.

Anytime we are in the same space, I tell him as much, commenting on how hot he is and how he should show himself off more, but he doesn’t seem to believe me. Some of it is teasing and flirting, but when I really consider my feelings, every word I say has more than a bit of truth to it. It’s doubtful that a guy as thoughtful, talented, and dependable as he is would go for someone like me anyway, but that doesn’t mean I can’t internet stalk him a little and order pieces of his furniture for my apartment, purely to help him and his sister financially of course.

“I don’t know if I would call it pining, though I appreciate the wood pun,” Jake huffs. His words break into my thoughts about a certain flannel wearing mountain man, and I frown at the intrusion. “More like, he complained about your comments on the store’s site, and is seriously considering blocking you again.”

I stifle a snort because my comments are a little over the top. “It’s not like I’m sliding into his DMs and asking him to send me nudes or anything,” I say with mock outrage. Doing just that is something I have almost considered during the long hours of particularly lonely nights, but luckily for us all, I do have a modicum of restraint.

“Yet,” Jake adds with a sigh. “Just … do me a favor and leave him alone for a while. I think that us moving out has him feeling a little down.”

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