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

Anna whimpers a little, and I think I hear her say something about a date, but Drew kicks her in the shin.

I’m so used to being here for holidays for just a few days at a time that I’m not sure what to expect from everyday life here. Is family night a regular thing? It wasn’t when we were all in high school. In fact, there were a lot of nights when it was Dad cooking for the three of us kids and leaving a plate for Erica in the fridge. He never seemed to mind much. He knew what he was getting into with Erica, and family nights were not a regularly scheduled event.

After Bruce brings in my bags, Erica has a meeting to run to and ropes Anna and Drew into watching the triplets before demanding I take a nap and shower.

To my surprise, Erica has me set up in the little pool house off the backyard. She says I need my space (which I do, though this is way more than I ever had in the city) and that it gave her a reason to renovate the pool house sooner than later. It’s definitely a step up from the guest room next to the triplets.

After a long hot shower, I plop down on the bed to FaceTime Sierra. The phone rings and rings, and just when I’m about to give up, Sierra’s face lights up the screen. It seems somehow impossible that I saw her just earlier today. That moment feels so far away. The time difference between NYC and LA makes for a very long day.

“C!” she shouts over blaring house music. “We’re at Graham’s! I wish you were here!”

“I wish I were too,” I tell her.

“What?” The speaker crackles. “I can’t hear you!”

“Text me later,” I shout in my otherwise-quiet room.

“Sierra! Get back here!” someone calls from behind her.

“C, I can’t hear you, but I love you! I’m glad you made it okay. I’ll text you later!”

I nod and wave. The phone goes black, and I put it on my bedside table before curling up on my side. This was supposed to be my big year. I was going to graduate with an epic portfolio and get a handful of incredible job offers. But that’s not how my senior year at Parsons went.

Instead, all the grief I’d ignored and shoved off after Dad died hit me all at once. Dad died. Erica went ahead with the surrogacy. And I went off to New York to run away from my feelings about all of it. Everything was fine. People were so surprised to see how well I’d dealt with it all. But then Erica bought this new house last summer and I came home over Labor Day to pack up my room and go through a few of Dad’s things Erica had saved for me. And it hit me all over again, except then it was three years’ worth of pain all bottled up just waiting to be felt. Fresh waves of grief, not only for Dad, but Mom too, because not only was it Dad’s stuff, but also some of hers. Small pieces of jewelry he’d saved for special occasions like graduation or my wedding. Everything I’d never have with them settled like a weight in my chest.

And ever since then, I can barely bring myself to even sketch. All the joy is gone. It’s not an escape anymore, because there’s no hiding from this kind of grief. But maybe someday it will quiet just enough for me to find my way back to design. Maybe…My thoughts slow just long enough for me to drift off to sleep.





Anna squeals with excitement as she unpacks dinner, and Drew and I help the triplets set the table.

“That smells so good,” Drew groans.

“Fork on the left, Jackie,” I remind him as I come up behind him. “Mary, can you grab some napkins?”

“What about me?” Gus asks, his little glasses sliding down his nose.

“Gus, how about you take drink orders?”

He nods with a hop and runs straight for Anna.

Erica floats in from her office, inhaling deeply. “I need a gin and tonic.”

“Gus, did you hear that?” I ask

He studies the little notepad he’s begun to take orders on. “How do you spell that?”

Drew and I laugh. “I better go help him,” I tell her.

I take over the adult drinks while Gus rounds up juice boxes for himself, Mary, and Jack.

After a few mixed-drink trial and errors (I’m no cocktail genius), the seven of us finally sit down at Erica’s long dining table.

With Erica at the head, and me seated beside her, Erica takes out her Bluetooth earbuds and puts them on the table. “No more calls at the dinner table,” she tells me.

“Wow,” I say. “You’ve come a long way.”

She laughs dryly. “It’s a daily struggle. But my parenting coach says it’s essential.” She raises her glass.

“Parenting coach?” I ask.

“Yeah,” says Drew. “Our dear mother has hired some kind of parenting guru to shepherd her through motherhood.”

“Where was this guru when we were kids?” Anna asks with a snort.

Erica smiles and rolls her eyes. “The chaos of your childhood bonded the three of us together. How many other women could say they were raised in a production trailer?”

Drew shrugs. “A third of LA at least.” She turns to me. “Erica’s parenting coach has her doing dinner without interruptions, biweekly family nights, and get this—no more on-site production duties. She’s passed the torch.”

“Wow.” This version of Erica—or really just the fact that she’s here and not at work—is completely foreign to me.