Page 134 of Mr. Picture Perfect
“It’s my fault, I kept pushing you away and away!”
“No, no, it’s mine! And you still got them hot pink tongs! Noah told me, you’ve still got ‘em!”
“I use them every day, oh, Deidra, let’s never fight again!”
“Not ever, not even a little bit! I miss my drinkin’ buddy!”
“Girl, I miss you, too!”
Noah and I look at each other, flabbergasted, then face our reunited mothers and begin to applaud. As their scene has earned them the attention of everyone else in the room anyway, our lead sets the example for the rest of the room to applaud as well. Even Nadine joins in, whistling with fingers in her mouth, likely having no idea the deep, dark drama that underlies this moment of two ex-best friends at long last burying the hatchet and rediscovering each other. Our mothers don’t seem to even notice, continuing to squeeze one another and exchange vows of eternal friendship as well as apology after apology.
Our respective dads watch from the side, Noah’s with misty, happy eyes, and my own with a curious, faraway expression, as if observing something strange yet touching. He looks my way, like he senses me, then after a moment’s pause, gives me a smile.
I smile back.
I guess you can say we had our own reconciliation, too.
It was just after the event when I was in the back guesthouse-slash-dressing-room removing my makeup that Mindy so artfully applied that my parents and Nan found me. My mom gave me the biggest hug, telling me how proud she was to be my mother and that she loved each and every thing about my performance. Even my Nan, usually dry as a bone, seemed overcome with tears when she hugged me and whispered in my ear, “That song, sweetheart, I just know your Gramps up in Heaven heard your divine voice, and he most certainly is proud of you today, too.” My dad even came up to me and gave me an unexpected hug. I remember thinking I couldn’t remember the last time he hugged me. “Real, real proud of you, son. You do this family mighty proud.”
I’m not sure why, but just those tiny nuggets of praise from my family was enough to spill me right over the edge, and as soon as I started crying, all three of them rushed to hug me. Our family has felt broken for such a long time and for such a complex tangle of reasons, there’s no telling how it can all possibly be sorted out.
But when my dad and Nan saw themselves out of my dressing room, it was my mom who hung back to hug me one last time, and in my ear, she said, “I think we’re going to try therapy. Couples for the both of us, but … also therapy for just me. I think I could use … I could use someone to talk to. Someone professional.” The hug we shared after that was longer than all the hugs combined.
Somehow, I felt like I got my family back today.
Even if things aren’t perfect right now, even if they’re not perfect in a week, or a month, or even a year from now, isn’t it the effort that counts the most?
“Let me say it clearly,” I tell Noah as we stand there watching our mothers sob and squeeze each other.
He turns to me. “Say what clearly?”
“No vagueness. No subtlety. I will say it as clear as clear can be so there is no margin of error.” I take his hands into mine. “I want to be your boyfriend. And I want you to be mine.”
Thankfully, it only takes his CPU three seconds to process.
After which, he appears pleased. “I appreciate the directness.”
“Anything for my boyfriend.”
And we kiss.
It is with abundant joy in my heart that this wild night comes at last to an end. When Noah and I leave the McPherson estate, we leave hand-in-hand.
And it isn’t much longer after that night that Noah and I find ourselves walking up to the front of a fancy restaurant in Fairview in our finest dining attire.
Also hand-in-hand.
The restaurant, owned and operated by the Strongs, is a high-dollar establishment called Nadine’s. The head chef happens to be Malcolm’s father Mario Tucci, and it is with great and delicate care and outstanding service that Noah and I enjoy the most amazing dinner I think either of us have ever experienced. Our server is a sweet guy with a goatee named Pablo, who is extremely attentive and seems to anticipate our every need. The manager on duty is a beautiful blonde woman named Cindy Anne Thorpe, who checks on us a few times and treats us like royalty. When our desserts are served, I insist on feeding Noah his first bite. Of course he resists the notion at first, embarrassed, but ultimately succumbs to my irresistible eyes (and obnoxious pleading) then immediately asks me to feed him a second, third, and fourth bite.
He doesn’t even care if there’s a teen watching in the corner.
Who is probably on a date with her boyfriend.
And sneakily has her phone out.
Recording our moment because we’re so dang adorable.
“Do you think Anthony came here already with that woman who bid on him?” asks Noah on our slow, leisurely way out of the restaurant strolling to my car, our arms hooked together.
