Page 8 of Imperfectly Perfect

“Suspicious.” Savannah rolled her eyes, her plump lips spreading into a smile. “It’s taken me a while to understand the new slang the kids are using these days. But I work with kids often, so it’s helpful.”

Fallon gnawed on the inside of her cheek before setting her wine glass down. She pointedly looked at Savannah’s left hand, finding no ring there, though that didn’t always mean a whole lot nowadays. “You work with kids?”

“I run Elite Skate. We train and coach kids and young adults in competitive figure skating.” Savannah’s voice had never sounded more confident in the short time Fallon had known her. “I’ve been in the Executive Director position for seven years now.”

Fallon never would have had those opportunities growing up. It had always been slim pickings in what Tia could afford for them to do. She’d taken dance, of course, since Tia could teach them that for free, but that was it. Even finding an instrument for the required music classes in school had been a task.

“My daughter has zero interest in ice skating,” Savannah rambled on. “I’ve tried for years to get her to take a couple advanced classes, and she wants nothing to do with it.”

“I didn’t continue with dance.” Fallon finished her second glass of wine and ordered a third.

“I’m sorry?”

Fallon shook her head, realizing far too late that Savannah wasn’t privy to the thoughts in her head. “My aunt is a dance instructor, so naturally my sister and I took years of dance. Monti through high school, but I stopped as soon as I hit sixth grade. I had no desire to be so involved in my aunt’s whims.”

“She pushed you to compete?” Savannah’s eyes widened.

“She pushed me to be there every night when I really didn’t want to be.” Fallon turned her third glass of wine in a circle with two fingers by the stem. She was already feeling the light buzz in her skull, but it was pleasant at this point. “I think it’s a common problem for kids of professional athletes or coaches.”

“It can be. They seem to either love it or hate it.” Savannah grinned, her eyes lighting up. “I don’t push it now. She’s nine, and she deserves to figure out what she wants to do and what her hobbies are.”

“And what are her hobbies?” Why was Fallon prying more into this woman’s life? She couldn’t figure it out, and yet at the same time, this conversation felt far more natural than anything else.

“She really likes drawing and art. During the summers, she does an intensive art camp for ten weeks. But she loves it.” Savannah’s cheeks tinged pink with happiness. “Do you have kids?”

Fallon shook her head. “No. I never wanted them.”

Savannah nodded like she understood. Perhaps, depending on how much research she’d done into the family and the graves, she might understand it. But not every traumatized kid became an adult who refused to perpetuate trauma by living alone either.

“Not everyone does,” Savannah finally commented, no judgment in the words, just simple acceptance. It wasn’t often that Fallon encountered that either. “I wanted at least two or three, but I’ll stick with the one I’ve got.”

“Why not have more?” Fallon sipped her wine, finally satisfied when Savannah picked up her glass and took a sip.

“My ex… well, we’ve been divorced since Brinley was seven, and separated for longer. It wasn’t really an option at that point.” Savannah played with the napkin again. “It’s something I’ve had to accept.”

“It’s hard to accept the things we can’t change,” Fallon commented.

Savannah’s eyes lit up. “It is. That’s what I’ve been working toward with my brother.”

Fallon nodded. “I’m still working on that with my mother.” There she was again, oversharing when she shouldn’t. She hadn’t even told her sister that in all the intervening years. It wasn’t helping that she’d been to her mother’s grave that afternoon and her emotions were raw and it kept her on edge.

“Was there anything when you were a kid that you wish people hadn’t said or done after your parents died?” Savannah seemed genuinely interested.

Fallon pondered the question. It was very astute, there were so many things that she could name, but she wasn’t sure where to start or which one would be the most important. She finished her third glass of wine and debated on ordering another. Savannah waved her hands in front of her.

“If that’s too personal, let me know. You don’t have to answer it.”

“It’s a good question, and while I can tell you what my experience is, I imagine it’s different for everyone. I know my sister hated to be compared—looks wise—to our mother, at least when she was a teenager. I, however, love it.”

When the waiter appeared, as if she had been called, Fallon ordered one more glass of wine and a small appetizer platter of cheeses and breads and hummus. She hadn’t planned on eating,but if she wanted to wake up in the morning without a hangover, she was going to need it.

“You’re going to have to navigate that one with each person, and be receptive when they change their minds on something. Grief is a tangled web of a journey, and it never ends.”

“I’m starting to understand that,” Savannah answered. “I really appreciate you talking with me, especially after our rough start. I wish we’d met under better circumstances.”

“I don’t think any circumstances that involve the death of a loved one can be considered good.” Fallon smiled as the food was set in front of them. She dove right in, then stared at the platter and moved it to the center of the table. “Feel free.”

“Thanks.” Savannah picked at a small piece of cut cheese. “I love gouda.”

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