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

The envelope is sealed, and I’m very careful to open it so that I can preserve it as much as possible. Inside is a note card.

FROM THE DESK OF ILENE WOODS

My dear Cindy,

I told your father to give you this note on a special day. On a day when he thinks you might need it most. So maybe today is your graduation. Or your wedding day. Or the first day at a new job. Whatever day it is, I wish I were there to witness it.

I could fill pages with all my wishes, but instead I’ll just say to you, my lionhearted girl, that you are my wildest dreams come true. And if I had to choose from a full, long life without you and only seven sweet years with you, I’d choose you every time. My greatest hope for you, my love, is that you choose yourself as well. Choose what makes you happy. Things, places, people. Only choose the ones that bring that delight to you. Don’t be a hostage to duty or obligation. I didn’t carry you and birth you and raise you to waste your precious life on anything except unbridled joy. Choose joy. As I lie here, I can tell you my only regrets are the times I did not choose myself.

Maybe joy isn’t always a choice. Maybe things aren’t that simple. But then…maybe they are.

I love you, my dear girl. I love you.

Watching over you always,

Mom

PS: Cut your dad a little slack. And be nice to the new stepmom. Whoever she is. It can’t be an easy job.



I wipe away tear after tear with my thumb before any can drop onto the note card. It’s hard to remember my mom sometimes, but her voice is fresh in my head now. Her words whisper in my ear. Choose yourself. I hear it over and over again as I fall asleep with her letter clutched to my chest and my parents’ rings on my fingers. Choose joy.



As I’m splashing around with the triplets one last time on Thursday morning, I hear my text message alert from where my phone sits on one of the loungers with my towel and water bottle.

When I told Erica I was going to New York, I didn’t tell her what for. I don’t know why. Maybe I didn’t want to disappoint her and ruin her plans for next season, or maybe I was scared that I’d go all the way there and not get the job offer. Or maybe I was just still feeling a little bit bad about calling her life’s work trash. Either way, Erica seemed a little distant and unbothered, only asking if I needed some pocket money and when I would be home. I lied on both accounts. No, I didn’t need any pocket money. (Yes, I very much did.) And I would be home next week. (Despite only having a one-way ticket booked at the moment. Renée insisted we see how things go and assured me that a return flight could be booked at any point.)

Again, my phone chirps. “Okay,” I say to the kids, “you three stay in the shallow end while I check my phone.”

Mary, who has turned into a cannonball daredevil over the summer, despite her inability to tread water for longer than four seconds, lets out a loud hmmph.

After drying my hands off, I sit down on the edge of the chair and pull up my messages.

Erica:

Are you home?

Beck:

Back in LA. Coming by. Get pretty!



After shooting off a quick message to Erica, I flip back over to Beck and my lips curve into a soft smile. Beck might be one of the best things I got out of the whole experience. I’ve been trying to think of how to break the news to her that I’m not interested in my own season, and if she’s coming by today, I’ll be happy to get it over with before I leave town.

All dolled up over here, I respond, with an upside-down smiley face.

After another hour of pool time, I herd the triplets inside and send them to get changed while I whip up some goodbye grilled cheeses. I asked Erica to give Jana the day off so I could spend one perfect day with the kids, which was much needed after the reaction I got when I told them I was leaving again. (Gus cried. Mary called me a traitor. And Jack asked if I was leaving again because he’d wet his bed. In terms of guilting, they’re all three very gifted.)

I toss one sandwich in the pan while I turn around to prep the other three, and the doorbell rings.

“Great,” I say, looking down at my ensemble. Still in my damp swimsuit and a Dora the Explorer towel that doesn’t actually wrap around my whole body. “Coming!” I call. “At least it’s only Beck,” I mutter as I swing the front door open. “You want a grilled chee—”

“Good afternoon, Cindy,” says Chad Winkle in his signature tux with an entire camera crew at his back.

Beside me, a man dressed as a herald blows into a trumpet with a flag embroidered with the Before Midnight logo.

“I told you to look pretty,” Beck barks from behind him. “Let’s reset,” she calls. “Keep rolling in case we get anything. Hair, makeup, give her that no-makeup-just-out-of-the-pool look. Can we get her a real towel? Irina?”

“I don’t think towels constitute wardrobe,” I hear Irina’s voice say from somewhere.

“This is a real towel” is all I manage to say. “And I sent you an upside-down smiley face. Wait. What are you doing here? What are you all doing here?”

“What does an upside-down smiley face even mean?” asks Beck. “That’s just a smiley face, but upside down.”

“It’s like the eye roll of smiley faces,” I tell her as I cross my arms over my chest.

Beside her, Mallory sighs. “Do you only answer doors in a towel?”