Mrs. Perfect by Jane Porter

someone else?
    Will you always love me?
    But I don’t. I can’t. Instead I kiss him and let him leave.
    For a long moment, I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know what to do with myself, either. I have a half hour before I have to drop Tori off at preschool. I should go sit with her. She’s just lying on the floor of the family room, watching cartoons. Instead I sit at my laptop computer in the little room off our bedroom that serves as my home office/wrapping paper/scrapbook room and get on the Internet to check out the flights to Sun Valley for the winter holiday: $380 each. Not bad. Not great. But it could be worse.
    I know Nathan said we couldn’t go this year, but he can’t be serious. Sun Valley is the place to be, and I love the town of Ketchum. Tons of our friends have houses or condos there. We usually book two hotel rooms, but this year we won’t go to a hotel. We can just stay with Kate and Bill. Their house is enormous—a seven-bedroom, seven-bath, ten-thousand-square-foot lodge—and they’ve asked us to stay with them every year. I book the five tickets and then reserve the car. By saving on a hotel, it’s almost free, isn’t it?
    Back in my room, I strip off my Juicy tracksuit and rummage through my built-in wardrobe drawers, searching for my tiny pink Cosabella thong panties and the matching pink bra.
    Years ago when I bought my first $200-plus bra, I felt guilty and sick. But $200 for a bra is nothing now. All of my lingerie is expensive. It’s Italian and French.
    Nathan claims that no one in his family ever spent that kind of money on underwear and that people with real money don’t blow it. The truly rich are far more conservative with cash than those who want to prove they’re successful.
    Living here in Bellevue, I’m not sure I agree, but I do know that Nathan’s family isn’t like mine. They have money, lots of money. They also detest me, at least his mom and sister. Nathan’s dad seemed to have a soft spot for me, but he died five years ago, and his mother and sister have just grown closer. And colder.
    It never crossed my mind that Nathan’s family would despise me. I’m an overachiever, former born again, straight-A student, and cheerleader. I wasn’t the most popular girl at Muir High (being born again had its drawbacks), but I was well liked enough to be put on the homecoming court and respected enough to be named ASB president.
    I didn’t get the same respect at USC. UCLA students mocked us by saying USC stood for University of Spoiled Children, but the truth is, I was there on full scholarship. A lot of us there were on scholarship, and I had a virtually free ride through a university that cost others over $30,000 a year in tuition alone.
    Nathan should have never told his parents about my scholarship. It prejudiced them against me. They were sure I was after his money.
    His mom said so to my face: “You do know under California state law that whatever assets one partner has before marriage remain with the partner after marriage.”
    I simply stared at her, and she added, as if clarifying her position, “If you marry Nathan, you’ll never have one penny of his trust fund. If you divorce him, you’ll have even less.”
    Even today, I’m just one step above poor white trash in their eyes.
    Nathan’s family is wrong, though. My family wasn’t affluent, but we weren’t white trash. At least, we weren’t until my mother fell into the gutter, but that was her choice, not ours.
    I step into slim, pale gold Adrienne Vittadini slacks topped by a pale gold Adrienne Vittadini knit top that has a long matching car coat. Scraping my hair back from my face into a tight, low ponytail, I study my reflection.
    There are times like now where I realize I’m pretty. I’m grateful that God gave me this face. It’s what attracted Nathan in the first place. Dark blond hair. Strong eyebrows. Angled cheekbones. Good mouth. Great body. But I work it. I work it every day. Why?
    I like