If the Shoe Fits (Meant To Be #1) by Julie Murphy

After the kids are in bed, I find Erica at the kitchen table having another drink.

I search the fridge and find a spiked pomegranate seltzer. “Do you mind?” I ask.

“Oh, honey,” she says, “this is your house. Is the guesthouse to your liking?”

“It’s gorgeous,” I say. “In fact, I think I might just sit outside by the pool and enjoy this before bed if you don’t mind.”

“How about some company?” Erica offers.

“Sure.”

I walk out through the massive sliding glass doors that Erica seems to leave open for the most part, and settle onto a teak lounger with black-and-white-striped cushions.

“Here. Bundle up. It’s chilly.” Erica sets her drink down and hands me a blush chenille blanket before she wraps a matching one around her shoulders and leans back on the lounger beside me.

We sit there in silence for a moment, searching for stars we know are there if we could only see past the light pollution. After growing up in LA and spending the last four years in NYC, stars are some kind of elusive thing to me. I’m so used to not seeing them that when I finally do, they’re breathtaking. Alas, no stars for me. At least not tonight.

“Thanks for putting the kids down,” Erica says. “I meant to read to them tonight, but time just got away from me. Happens more often than I would like to admit.”

“They were exhausted anyway. Besides, it sounds like you’re really trying with this coach.”

Her eyes search the hills above us as she shakes her head. “I wasn’t supposed to do this without him. Anna, Drew, and I got by just barely. Some days I would call in sick for them because I couldn’t get them to school that day. And then…in high school, but with Simon…things fell in place, sort of. The girls didn’t need as much from me, and they had Simon too. But…he was a much better parent than I ever could be, so here I am, trying my best. For the triplets, but for him too.”

With Erica, Dad was the one to beg for more kids. He wanted to be the stay-at-home dad to rule all stay-at-home dads. He wasn’t shy about hinting at it, and of course Anna, Drew, and I were always encouraging him. Finally, Erica caved. It wasn’t that she didn’t want another kid with my dad. It was that she didn’t want to be pregnant. So when Erica suggested they use a surrogate, Dad happily agreed.

The surrogate was a hippie from West Hollywood named Petra. Just days before she was set to be inseminated, Dad was struck by another car on the 405 as it was changing lanes. He was in their blind spot.

Eventually, Erica decided to go through with the surrogacy. She said it was her way of healing, and even though it was excruciating, I’ll always be grateful that she made the decision to honor Dad by going through with his dream of having a baby. Even if they couldn’t do it together. The surprise, though, was that instead of one baby, Petra carried three.

It was a bumpy ride with Erica trying to find her footing, but their nanny, Roxanne, was her saving grace. Then two months ago Roxanne met a girl and fell in love and decided to travel the world with a backpack and a laptop.

That’s where I come in. Even though Erica is trying to be more present, the triplets have had a revolving door of sitters since Roxanne. And with little to no post-college prospects, it felt like the right thing to do was to come home and help out until Erica can find someone to be here full-time. I love the triplets dearly, but I also have to keep reminding myself that this is temporary and that hopefully someday—one day—my creativity will come rushing back.

Erica takes a sip of her drink and sets it on the little glass table between us. “You know, I was a wreck over missing your graduation.”

“Honestly, it’s fine. The day was total chaos, and it’s such a long thing to sit through for five measly seconds.”

“When the show is done filming, we’ll throw you a big party, and I’ll see about getting in touch with some fashion industry contacts I may have. I just can’t believe someone didn’t swoop in and nab you the moment you walked across the stage.” She sighs. “Creative businesses are such fickle things. I’ll put in some calls, but until then, it just means so much that you’ll be here with—”

“Erica, can I ask you something?” Ever since Beck left, something has been festering at the back of my mind.

“Of course,” she says, still a little startled that I interrupted her. The list of people who interrupt Erica Tremaine is very short.

“When Beck was here…why did you shoot down the idea of me going on the show? It can’t just be the number of contestants. That’s fluctuated before…and I know you need me here with the triplets…”

“Oh, darling, it’s just a silly show. You wouldn’t want to waste your time with that. You’ve got so much ahead of you. Reality TV is a perfect fit for some people, but for others, it can haunt them for years.”

“Is it…Is it because I’m fat?”

She gasps and then chuckles nervously. “You’re not fat! Don’t say that about yourself.”

Erica and I have worked through a lot over the years. At first, I thought she was some vicious power-hungry Hollywood big shot who would eat my dad alive. But for as much as we’ve grown, the one thing she still can’t quite seem to make sense of is how to talk about my body.