Your Perfect Life by Liz Fenton Page B

with crusty eyes and bitterness lodged in my throat. In fact, I’d started to crave the chaos in the morning. I liked taking care of people; it felt surprisingly good considering I hadn’t so much as fetched my own americano in years. I always thought of this as another perk of all my hard work, but now I wondered if it was just another way to avoid actually living my life.
    I felt bad for Rachel. I knew she was missing her family so much. But who was I missing from my own life? Destiny? Yes, of course. But I couldn’t think of one other person. I was an only child and my parents had retired to Florida several years ago. I hated to admit I’d been somewhat relieved. My relationship with my mom, Natalie, had been strained since highschool for reasons I didn’t want to get into. She was a creature of habit and called me the first Sunday of every month, but she was usually more interested if Angelina and Brad were really as nice as they appeared than in what was actually going on in my own life. My relationship with my mom had always bothered Rachel. Even though her own parents had moved to Boston three years ago, they were still very close, which was something that I now had firsthand experience with, fielding more phone calls and emails from her in a week than I had ever received from my own mom. Which was fine with me; I’d always considered Rachel my real family. She was the one I had turned to when things went sour with whatever guy I was dating; she was the one I called first when I got the GossipTV job.
    Did I miss Charlie? Yes, there was a part of me that missed the comfort of seeing him stride into the hair and makeup room each morning in his uniform of plaid shirts and baggy cargo pants, ready to brief me on that day’s script. Or making sure I never got mic’d by Wally, the creepy audio guy who always breathed heavily as he ran his hand up my dress to attach the mic pack. But I couldn’t afford to have that kind of distraction at the studio. I just didn’t have time for emotional attachments, or at least that’s what I’ve told myself. But being here, in this life, makes me wonder if there’s more to life than reporting on other people’s lives. Rachel’s life may be a complete cluster fuck half the time, but at least she has roots. Take away my silk sheets, my fifty-seven-inch TV, my view of the Hollywood Hills, and what did I have?
    As I’m packing up the car to meet Rachel, Hilary prances up with her designer jogging stroller. Decked out in a striped jogging bra and matching shorts, she looks like she just stepped out of a Nike catalog, not like she had a baby nine months ago.“Hey there,” she says, coming to a stop in front of my house. “We missed you at the park a few days ago.”
    “You did?” I say blankly as I heave Charlotte’s stroller, which Rachel found on craigslist, into the back of her minivan.
    “Our weekly play date?” She looks at me oddly.
    “Oh yeah,” I say, hitting my forehead with the palm of my hand. “Sorry.”
    “Where were you?” She pushes the point as she glances into the messy van. I walk over and stand in front of the open door to block her view of the dirty diaper and half-filled bottles that I didn’t remove yesterday.
    “Where was I?” I repeat. I glance at my reflection in the car window and run my fingers through my hair. “I was at the salon.”
    Hilary gives me a once-over. “Oh, yes, the highlights. Nice.”
    Nice? “Thanks,” I answer flatly, ready for her to jog off down the street.
    “Which salon did you go to?”
    “Anya’s,” I say smugly as I snap Charlotte into her car seat expertly. I’d really come a long way since those first few days. I hadn’t pinched her little chubby leg in the buckle all week.
    “Really?” Her eyebrows raise. “And what did John think of that?”
    None of your business, lady.
    “He was very pleased,” I say with a wicked smile before adding, “Listen, Hil, I need to run, I’m having lunch with