CHAPTER 1INWHICHACHOSENONESUFFERSFROMOCCUPATIONALBURNOUT
COURTNEY
When I was little, I was 20 percent sure I could use the Force, 30 percent sure I was a long-lost princess, and 40 percent sure I could talk to animals because I was 90 percent sure I was special.
It turned out the 10 percent variable was out to screw me.
I was never shipped off to a magic school without parental consent to lead a troop of grown-ass adults and assorted woodland creatures into battle. I never got to vanquish an evil overlord, subsequently earning the undying adoration of every peasant in the land. I was never anything more than just me.
And eventually, that 10 percent variable convinced me until I was 100 percent certain I was not, in fact, special. I was a raindrop, not a snowflake. Snowflakes were unique, but each drop of rain was the same as the one before it and the one after.
So I decided to make myself into a lab-made snowflake and turn my life into the fairy tale I never had. I’d become something great—a real-life heroine. If I wanted to earn a Happily Ever After, I had to be perfect.
I wasn’t totally sure what a real-world Happily Ever Aftereven looked like, but everyone else seemed to agree that it had something to do with having a dream job, house, and spouse, so I shaped my life accordingly.
The rules of the real world were clear. Regarding relationships: I must be sweet and agreeable in order to be lovable. Regarding my profession: I must be the best in order to earn—well, if not the most, then the begrudging respect of my coworkers and a salary that was 18.4 percent lower than a man’s, but which I would receive with a grateful smile because I couldn’t become my world’s version of a villain: an unlikable woman.
Although I secretly thought Earth’s world-building left something to be desired, I complied with the guidelines and set out on my quest.
Initially, I thought I’d be a doctor, but I couldn’t figure out all those Latin words. My grades weren’t good enough for me to become a scientist. My gag reflex was too sensitive for the everyday heroism of plumbing. During all the time I spent trying and failing to do meaningful things, I began to worry the rest of my Happily Ever After would fall apart too. (Sure, maybe princes in Disney movies had soft spots for reclusive unemployed bookworms, but this was real life.)
Luckily, I ended up with a respectable degree in marketing and then a respectablejobin marketing. Was it perfect? Maybe not, but it was good enough to get me into the real-world version of a magical ball—the business mixer where I met my boyfriend, Will. With a square jaw, strong nose, and wavy blond hair, Will had the sort of all-American good looks that made him seem approachable and like he was probably good at golf. A modern-day prince.
I’d almost done it. Almost conned my way into a quintessential Happily Ever After…
“Courtney?” my mother asked, snapping me into reality. Around me, seated at the long cherry dining room table, my family chatted and ate, no one else noticing my distress. “I asked if there’s something wrong with your turkey. You’ve barely eaten a thing.”
I realized my fingers were clenched too tightly around the delicate stem of my wineglass, threatening to snap it. I loosened my grip, fighting the urge to hold on tosomething, even though my idealized future was slipping through my fingers.
“Turkey is excellent.” I popped a bite into my mouth and choked it down before I could admit that I had no idea why people convinced themselves that turkey was a special holiday treat and not an atrocity.
The lie seemed to do its job, because Mom smiled, pleased, and returned to her conversation with my uncle. Probably, in her mind, if the turkey was fine, everything was fine; she’d never dream her perfect daughter wasn’t.
The house was overstimulating—too bright, too hot, too loud. Silverware clinked and conversation hummed, peppered with the occasional polite chuckle. Heavy Thanksgiving scents assaulted my nose—nutmeg, stuffing, and the sweet tinge of yams. The marble countertops and vaulted white walls were a monochromatic blur. I hated marble countertops. They stained too easily to be practical, yet they were a staple in every Westra home because everyone knew your life had tolookgrand for your life tobegrand.
I reached up and touched my mouth. My fingers hit teeth.
I was smiling.
I was somewhat of an expert at smiling convincingly through clenched teeth. I’d mastered the art of becoming what people expected of me. I could be everyone’s hero. It was just a matter of switching capes to look the part. I was currently wearing the daughter cape, the one that would make me look smart and successful in the eyes of my family.
If it weren’t for what happened yesterday, today might have been the beginning of my epilogue—that wonderful conclusion where everything I’d worked for would come together to create my Happily Ever After.
Maybe I wouldn’t return to a hobbit hole as a lauded herowhere I’d feast for weeks, but Thanksgiving dinner at my parents’ house was a decent compromise.
I wouldn’t chop the head off an ogre and bellow in triumph before an army of adoring soldiers, but I would tell my family about my promotion.
There wouldn’t be a prince whisking me away to a castle, but there was Will. He even had a ring. I saw it in his sock drawer. We’d discussed it, so it wasn’t a surprise. I’d say yes when he asked. Of course I would. That was what you did in an epilogue.
I dug my nails into the edge of the table. My stomach hurt. My stomach always hurt. I couldn’t remember a time when it didn’t. I’d thought having those ulcers treated in college would fix the issue, but it didn’t.
Having ulcers was a rite of passage in the Westra family. It displayed your grit, your drive. You didn’t truly want success unless you had the stress-induced medical problems to prove it.
“Ooh, quinoa!” Will exclaimed beside me, reaching for the dish my dad passed his way. It was, perhaps, the most excited anyone had ever been about quinoa in the history of the world.
“Great for the heart,” I said. It took all my effort to pretend like I cared about the health benefits of quinoa, but I slipped on a different cape—the girlfriend cape—a perfect blend of cute and sexy. I winked and leaned in. “Which is good news. Taking care of your heart is a priority of mine.”
Will smiled and squeezed my hand, which still had a death grip on the edge of the table. He was a good guy who didn’t deserve my messes. I still hadn’t told him what happened yesterday. Couldn’t. Not after I’d been assuring him for weeks I’d be getting that promotion.
