Page 50 of Not Quite Perfect

“Sue them?”

“I can’t,” she hiccuped. “It’s too small a community. I’d never get a job at another paper around here. As it is, I’m probably already blackballed.”

Fear twisted in my gut. If Victoria couldn’t land another reporting job in the area, she’d have to look further afield. I barely saw her as it was. If she had to move to another town—or worse, another state—we’d struggle even more than we did now to spend time together. But she couldn’t stay unemployed for long either.

My earlier conversation with Hank echoed in my head. Victoria had managed to scrape together enough cash to put down twenty percent on her cute little cottage before she’d turned thirty, but without a job, I didn’t know how she’d manage to pay her mortgage or other bills. The truth was, she needed a steady income just as much as I did.

“What about blogging?” I threw out. I didn’t have the first clue how anyone actually made money with a blog, only that several of my students legitimately believed that or Instagram was their ticket to fame and fortune.

Victoria laughed, but it came out sounding bitter. “Right. I’ll just blog about my escapades being a single woman in my thirties who’s jobless and is probably going to die alone, a gray-haired spinster whose cats eat her face.” She paused, as if realizing what she’d just said. “Fuck. Pretend you didn’t hear that.”

Except I couldn’t.

But what did you say when your drunk girlfriend—the woman you were madly in love with and hoped to spend the rest of your miserable life with—had inadvertently confessed to thinking that you wouldn’t be around for the long haul?

The state of our relationship wasn’t something we’d discussed in awhile. In my mind, it had seemed premature to plan for the future when we hadn’t told our parents we were together in the here and now.

Still, it gutted to hear her talk about growing old without me.

“Since when do you have cats?” I asked, trying to diffuse the tension that hung heavy between us.

“You know what I mean,” she answered with a frustrated sigh.

“Actually, I don’t. Why don’t you enlighten me.”

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” she asked, her voice small and strained. “As you may have observed, I’m kind of drunk right now.”

She was. But she was also saying things she’d kept bottled up. Things I hadn’t known she felt. I got the distinct impression that if I let her off the hook now, she’d push all these feelings under the rug again or find a way to avoid having this conversation in the future.

“Are you too drunk to explain why you seem to think you’re going to wind up alone?” For several long seconds I listened to the light puff of her air against the phone’s speaker as she breathed in and out. “Victoria?”

“I’m here.”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

She sighed unhappily. “Because I’m a mess, and you’d be crazy to want to be with me.”

“Shouldn’t you let me make that decision?” I asked, my tone gentling. It wasn’t that she didn’t want me, but rather, she couldn’t understand why I’d want her. I’d never met a woman who was more passionate, more big hearted, or more loving than Victoria Witherspoon. If anything, it was a miracle that she wantedme. I would never understand why she didn’t see herself the way I did.

“Can I ask you a question, David?”

“Of course.”

“Why do you want to be with me?”

Was she kidding me right now? There were so many ways I could answer, so many reasons I could give. But there was only one that mattered. “Because I love you.”

“But why?” she pressed. “I won’t tell my mom about us because I’m afraid of what she’ll say or do. I told you I loved you and then I took it back. And now I’m drunk and feeling sorry for myself, and I just don’t understand why anyone would sign up for this.”

I rested back against my headboard, settling in for what I anticipated would be a long, convoluted conversation. “Can I askyousomething?”

“Sure.”

“Do you remember what you thought the first time you saw me?”

Victoria was quiet for a few moments, and then she chuckled lightly. “I thought you were the single most handsome man I’d ever laid eyes on. That if I’d had a fairy godmother who’d granted my wish for the perfect man, you would have been it. And then, two minutes into our conversation, I was trying to figure out how I could keep talking to you all night.”

“Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you?” I asked quietly.

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