Sorry this is on the short side. Longer chapters coming, I promise!
Chapter 9.
She didn't keep me long, actually. Once I told her where I was going, she immediately said that what she wanted to say could wait, and smiled at me approvingly, as if it were what she had been waiting for me to do all day.
I had fun with the kids. Really, I did. I always do. But I couldn't get that approving smile out of my head. It sparked a nasty little thought that led me deep into the back of my mind, an area which I had never really paid a whole lot of attention to before. I thought all the time I was playing. I thought all through dinner, all through clearing up, all through a fairly benign conversation with Charlie about how his date had gone. And at eight- thirty that evening, after calling to see if I was welcome, I thought while I walked to Abby's house. Here is what was on my mind.
I have always marketed myself as 'perfect'. I know that I'm not – not by a long shot – but I have always worked very hard to keep other people from finding that out. My friends are not fooled. They know about a lot of my faults. But nowhere near all of them. People at school, people who I don't really get along with, like Cokie Mason and Alan Gray, they think that I'm the average parent's idea of perfect. That's why they don't like me. I'm too goody-goody, too charitable, and too nice. They don't see or understand that I get money, power, control and a damn good reputation (which can be very useful) out of it. Not that that's the only reason I'm nice to people – it's just that it's a good extra benefit. My teachers (most of them, anyway) think I'm perfect, my clients think I'm perfect, and my parents think I'm perfect. So my question is this:
What happens when they all find out that I'm not?
Thinking about this for a whole afternoon and evening whilst still trying to appear perfect can be hazardous to your health. I was practically hyperventilating by the time I got to Abby's.
"You think too much," she told me, bluntly, handing me a glass of water. "Stop thinking about it. Acting perfect comes naturally to you. You don't have to think about it – I know; I've seen you do it."
"Maybe I don't want to be perfect."
"Well good. Because you aren't. It's just how people see you. I don't think you're perfect."
"You don't?" I had to smile. For some reason it was actually a relief to hear her say that.
"Of course not! Do you really think I could love you if you were?" She realised what she'd said before I did, and began to blush.
"You love me?" I whispered, half afraid that she would try to take it back. Abby looked at me and nodded, turning redder by the second. "I love you, too." I told her, and as she leaned in to kiss me, it suddenly occurred to me that I'd never been told I was loved, even by my Mum.