The Imperfection of Swans (2 page)

Kevin narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been looking for years? And you know about it before it’s on the market? How?”

She released one of his shoulders to wave him off. “By sneaking onto Renata’s real-estate website, of course. How else would I know all of this? Don’t be dense. And focus on what’s important.”

“Mom will kill you when she finds out. How did you get her work passwords and everything?”

“Seriously, Kevin. Focus. This is it. You’ve been dreaming about this since you were in middle school. It’s time.”

The brownstone called to him once more, and he gave in. The glow behind the windows seemed to begin to grow once more. “How much?”

A pause. Longer than comfortable. “Don’t worry about that. When it’s right, it’s right.”

“That bad, huh?” Kevin looked back to his mom’s brown eyes.

“The universe will provide, dear. Just trust it.”

“The universe couldn’t care less about a wedding dress shop. And I’m betting… what? Three million?”

No answer.

“More?”

“That’s not important. You’ve waited long enough. It’s important that you take a chance! Leap—”

“If you say, ‘Leap and the net will appear,’ I’m going to throw up.”

“Well, it will.”

The building beckoned once more, but Kevin ignored it, firmly keeping his gaze averted. “Well, maybe a net would, but I can guarantee it wouldn’t have millions of dollars in it.”

Noelle started to speak, but Kevin cut her off once more.

“Let me drive you home. I’ll drop you off a block away so Mom doesn’t see my car. The last thing either of us needs is for her to get wind of this.”

IT TOOK
over half a bottle of Malbec and a melatonin for Kevin to begin to find sleep. Though he hadn’t seen inside the brownstone, thank God, he kept decorating it in his mind. The rows of dresses. The dressing rooms. The pedestal in front of massive mirrors for customers to try on their gowns. He was torn between doing the place in warm earth tones and fabric walls with romantic, Victorian décor or taking a more modern route with steel, glass, and minimalist fixtures.

Finally, getting out of bed around two in the morning, raging at his brain for giving in to Noelle’s flight of fancy, he took another melatonin and a chug of wine directly from the bottle.

The alarm blaring at five thirty in the morning was barely enough to pull him out of bed. Even a too-quick, ice-cold shower did little to erase the fuzzy, hungover, drugged sensation that threatened nausea. Determining that driving was a dangerous option in Boston’s manic traffic, he arrived at New England Advertising via a cab, having stopped long enough to get a quad-shot of espresso. Nevertheless, he had succeeded. His body might be in a tumultuous state of being, but his brain hadn’t let any synapse fire that even slightly resembled a wedding dress or a brownstone.

BY THE
time his early afternoon meeting rolled around, the melatonin had faded, as well as his hangover. He might have been slightly jittery due to a second quad shot, but with the help of half a Xanax, he was back on his game. If he wasn’t, he needed to fake it in a room full of coworkers and subordinates. The last thing Kevin wanted was to make a fool of himself in front of Brent, the junior account executive; he’d never hear the end of it.

“They can’t be serious. They want Rihanna for their formula campaign?” Maybe he could feel his hangover returning.

Sylvie, the firm’s CEO, shrugged. “Kevin, I’m not saying it’s a good idea, but it’s what they want. And they have the money to pay for her. And us. Need I remind you?”

Kevin held up his hands, palms out. “Don’t get me wrong, I love me some Rihanna, but I don’t think babies chugging down formula while she sings ‘S&M’ over the mother’s shoulder is really the angle they should go for.” He needed to quit talking. He knew it. But he’d worked for over two weeks on this campaign, and his markup had been killer. “While we’re at it, why don’t we just invite Chris Brown to—”

“Don’t be crass.” Sylvie’s voice was stern, but they’d worked together so long, Kevin knew it was taking all her willpower to keep from laughing.

Brent, always lacking professionalism, let out a chuckle.

Sylvie glared at Kevin, as if it was his fault the moron acted like he was still in middle school. “Brent, I’m fairly certain we’re out of coffee.”

Taking a few moments too long to connect the dots, Brent sat with a confused look on his face before his cheeks flushed and he pushed back from the oval table.

Sylvie scanned over her team, a stern expression conveying more than words. When she arrived back at Kevin, one of her black eyebrows rose expectantly.

Kevin started to protest, but then he glanced out the high-rise’s window overlooking the Beacon Hill neighborhood, taking in the rows of brownstones on the opposite side of the Public Garden and Boston Common park. It was nearly a physical sensation. He could almost swear he heard a snap somewhere in his brain.

Who really cared? He’d spent countless hours on baby formula. Baby formula! For what?

When he didn’t respond after nearly a minute, Sylvie continued on with the meeting, not even pausing when Brent returned with coffee. It dragged on for nearly another two hours.

Kevin barely noticed when the rest of his team began to file out of the conference room. He still stared out the wall of windows and was lost, wandering the streets of Boston. Sylvie had to say his name twice before he responded. “I’m sorry, what?”

Her brows furrowed. “Would you meet me in my office, Mr. Bivanti?”

SYLVIE’S OFFICE
was more of a penthouse at the top of the building. The sleek, modern décor managed not to seem cold or stark, but only served to draw attention to the true beauty of the space—the two walls of the office that didn’t lead to other rooms of the penthouse were nothing but windows. In spite of the day being cloudy and gray, the light dusting of snow from the previous night covered Boston in a nearly magical layer.

Motioning toward one of the red leather swivel chairs across from her desk, Sylvie raised her voice to catch Kevin’s attention once more. “Sit. Please.”

Crossing the room, Kevin observed his boss more keenly than he had in a while. She was beautiful, her dark skin flawless and not even beginning to hint at her actual years. In many ways, she reminded him of his mom. Renata was always perfect. Gorgeous. Poised. Every hair in place. Every item of clothing and jewelry impeccable and chosen with intention. Maybe that was why Kevin was never afraid of Sylvie like all the others seemed to be. Every time he’d gotten a promotion, he’d almost felt guilty, like he was receiving a gift from his mom, an unfair advantage somehow.

“Do you still want this office, Mr. Bivanti?” Sylvie left her perfectly manicured mother-of-pearl-tipped fingers folded on top of her desk.

Kevin’s voice caught in his throat. He knew she didn’t mean the question as any sort of challenge. It was an ongoing blunt conversation between them. Sylvie had made it clear to him over a year ago that she was grooming him to be her successor.

Her tone softened. “You were quiet in that meeting. You disappeared halfway through. Like you gave up. And for you not to keep fighting about that ridiculous formula campaign….” She paused, giving him time to answer.

In all honesty, she was rather hard to hear. Kevin’s heart was beating so fast, and the pounding blood in his ears drummed out all other sounds.

Sylvie reached forward, stretching out one of her hands to place over his left forearm. “Kevin, honey, are you okay?”

Kevin nodded, then shook his head. “No. No, I’m not.” He lifted his gaze from her hand to her warm hazel eyes. “I’m sorry, Sylvie. I have to quit.”

KEVIN

THE FOLLOWING
day at work was nearly as much of a blur as the formula meeting had been. No aspect seemed real or familiar. Things Kevin had done a billion times in the past as easily as second nature were suddenly foreign. Breathing was enough of a challenge, let alone trying to function at his normal breakneck pace.

Kevin had texted Noelle after he’d left Sylvie’s office the night before. She’d called instantly, but he hadn’t answered, instead texting her back that he needed time. Even nearly three hours at the gym hadn’t brought him back to normal. It had helped him fall asleep quicker. His stomach, growling from the solitary apple he’d eaten for dinner, had tried to keep him awake, but a glass of Malbec formed a winning team with his exhaustion.

By the time lunch rolled around, which involved an avocado and a few slices of turkey, Noelle had texted him, telling him to come to dinner that evening. He couldn’t say he was surprised. They had family dinner every Sunday evening, but there was no way she would be able to wait until then. Considering he hadn’t heard from his mother, Noelle had yet to break the news. And Kevin was in no mood to rush into that. However, by two in the afternoon, and at no less than fifteen text messages from Noelle, he caved and said he’d be at dinner by seven.

Typically, driving the twenty minutes to his moms’ house in Jamaica Plain was a relaxing experience. He would have just showered and shaved, and though dressed casually, he would be nearly as flawlessly put together as his mother. This evening, though, having come straight from the office, there’d not been time. His suit was crumpled and his nerves had brought on an unusual case of sweating. He had left half an hour early to stop in for an emergency manicure, but it wasn’t enough.

Kevin couldn’t recall a time before living with his moms in JP, though he assumed that was normal. Not many people remember their first three years. In spite of being a downtown city boy at heart, the “street car suburb” had become a place of safety, at least within the walls of their home. Jamaica Plains itself had changed greatly over the years, gentrifying after he’d already been an adult. As a kid, JP had been a touch more… well, there was good reason his moms had been able to buy such a large home with a small house budget. In actuality, the old chaos outside of his childhood home seemed to fit the emotional state he used to live in. Still. Home was home. And if home also came with a healthy dose of pressure, he didn’t hold it against it. After all, what didn’t?

Driving up the curvy South Street lined with simple Victorian and colonial homes, instead of falling into the peaceful state of mind they normally induced, his anxiety spiked. He had to pull over into one of the few parking spots left on the newly updated Hyde Square shopping district, to try to regain control. He turned the BMW’s air conditioner on full blast. Putting his face close to the stream, he let the air simultaneously fill his lungs and cool his skin. He could do this. He could. Sure, it wouldn’t be fun, but he could do it. It was just dinner. Just his moms. It wasn’t like he was breaking huge news to both of them. And Noelle was already on his side.

Right, like she would be the reason to be nervous anyway.

Just as his brain began to enter a deeper level of freak-out, he put the car back into drive and pulled out of the parking spot without looking. He took little notice of the blaring horn behind him.

At least there would be wine with dinner. He didn’t love his mother’s favorite Chianti, but it would do the trick.

Taking a right onto Jamaica Street, he passed St. Thomas Aquinas Parish, looking every bit of a tiny castle. Boston was full of stunning cathedrals and churches, and JP, despite its heavy influx of gays and lesbians, was no different. Maybe he could go in and pray. It was still ten minutes until seven. It would be a quick prayer.

Too bad he didn’t pray.

With each sloping turn of Jamaica Street, Kevin began to get greater control of himself, to the point he turned the air conditioner back down and was actually able to breathe without assistance.

Until he saw the driveway of the narrow three-story home.

“Goddammit, Noelle!” And like that, the sweating was back and the air conditioner was switched to full power once more. He knew a scheme when he saw one.

He recognized the three cars filling up the driveway, and he also knew the three that were missing. Despite his panic, he could almost make the connection, and knowing Noelle, there had to be one.

He could go home. Call and say he’d gotten sick.

Hell, he could intentionally get into a fender bender. They couldn’t argue with a car wreck.

Sure they couldn’t….

He drove a few more blocks looking for a free space. Might as well get whatever torture Noelle had planned over with. Postponing it would only make it worse.

AFTER PARKING
and nearly slipping twice on the icy sidewalks, Kevin made his way up the front walk of his childhood home. It looked like Noelle had added more Christmas lights since last Sunday, though how that was possible, he couldn’t fathom. The lawn had already been lit up like a tacky runway at the airport.

Kevin paused at the front door, letting the crisp air soothe him. Or at least trying to. Before he was ready and before he could knock, the stained-glass front door opened, and Noelle joined Kevin on the porch, then shut the door behind her.