Fake Married to My Best Friend’s Daddy by Sofia T Summers
Jessica - Three Weeks Earlier
The clinking of glasses and the chatter of co-workers filled the low-lit room. In the old historic house of downtown Norfolk, two living rooms had been opened up to create one long event space with a fully-stocked bar, while two long tables were covered with finger foods, fresh bouquets, and white pillar candles. The flickering lights helped create a warming ambiance to fight off the icy night fogging up the tall and skinny windows.
Most people didn’t seem to notice the cold February night. They were too wrapped up in the enjoyment of each other’s company, the toast being given, and the ample amount of booze available. I enjoyed myself, but I wasn’t drunk enough to whoop or holler like some of the others.
As people clapped around me, I took a long savoring sip of my Negroni, tasting the bitter herbal flavors of gin. The last toast was finally over, but one more person wanted to speak. My soon-to-be-former boss stepped up near the greenery-adorned fireplace. Adjusting his brown tie, the portly man scratched at his graying beard with a bashful smile, while my back pressed into the gray wall.
“Before you all get back to your drinks and the lovely spread of hors d'oeuvres,” he began in his familiar resonant tone. “I just want to thank everyone who put this happy hour together, including Frank, Catherine, and Jessica. This inn is a lovely place. Not as lovely as our beautiful museum, but it might be a close second.”
The room of forty-odd guests chuckled across the long dimly lit room. All members of the Chrysler Museum of Art's educational department, I’d come to know each of them well over the last four years. Many of them were good friends, but I could tell whose laughter was done in earnest. There were some people still trying to suck up to their old boss, Stuart Calhoun, one last time.
As the light laughter dwindled, Stuart continued, “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that it’s been a real pleasure serving as your director for the last thirty-five years. The Chrysler would be nothing without you wonderful folks, and I know I’m leaving our museum in the best possible hands. And who knows? In six months, my sweet wife might get tired of me around the house, and you all will be seeing me again as a volunteer!”
Another wave of laughter swept over the crowd.
Everyone clapped with more raucous applause than they offered the few toasts in Stuart’s honor. Clapping along with them, I quickly snagged a piece of prosciutto off the elaborate charcuterie board. The party shifted back to casual conversation, the music turned up to a comfortable volume, and a friendly smile turned my way.
“So,” Grace Huang began to ask. “How much of this party did you plan, Jess?”
“Not much,” I insisted with a shrug.
Grace was one of the curators of education at the museum, working to manage the library and the educational studios. She was one of the people I worked with most in programming, and I was glad for it. She’d become a good friend over the years.
Picking up a cheese cube with a colorful toothpick, Grace narrowed her dark almond-shaped eyes. Her blunt black bangs and black tailored dress made the skeptical look even more intense. Her whole exterior would’ve been a little spooky if she didn’t have such a bright personality.
“Really? How much is ‘not much’, ninety percent?”
“About half,” I confessed. “I got the vendors together. Catherine got the specially engraved watch, and Frank handled getting money from everyone.”
Grace laughed, “So you planned the entire party?”
“Yeah,” I sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I did.”
“This is why you’re perfect to take on Stuart’s job!” Grace hissed under her breath. “You’ve always done the work of ten people, and you’re the best person in this department!”
I laughed, “I think some would beg to differ.”
“Oh, who cares about those people!” Grace teased before taking a sip of her white wine. “They’re just jealous. You’re the one who’s made the student art exhibitions so successful.”
“There’s one person who would just love to tell you otherwise.”
Glancing in her direction, Tiffany Reagan flipped her dyed strawberry-blonde hair as she flirted with an intern maybe eight years younger than her. I didn’t care much about the age difference. Things like that didn’t matter to me, but the poor boy was so not into her. Still, she giggled and played all her childish games.
It was just like how she threw a tantrum when I was given credit for my work. If she picked up one piece of art or offered one idea to a project, Tiffany wanted all the credit. The country-clubbing socialite had grown up with the planets and their courses revolving all around her. She didn’t like it when life reminded her that wasn’t true.
Following my glare, Grace rolled her eyes. “Oh God, I don’t give a crap what Miss Where-Were-You-Really-Born thinks. That little WASP can stick her stinger where the sun doesn’t shine.”
I nearly keeled over from the sudden fit of laughter. It might’ve been the slight buzz from my cocktail, but I couldn’t help but laugh at Grace’s priceless expression.
“Look,” I sighed after catching my breath. “I’ve already put in my resume for the job opening. I’ve got the experience. I know the department, but I’ve got some personal stuff to deal with before I start worrying over the interviews.”
The lease on my condo was going to be up next month, and my landlord wasn’t going to let me renew the contract. He’d decided to sell the place. As a polite gesture, he offered me the first crack, but I was living on my own and had plenty of other things to agonize over. I didn’t want to add homeownership to that list.
Explaining it all to Grace, she nodded in understanding.
“Is that what your weekend plans are?” She asked. “Apartment hunting?”
“Nope,” I answered. “I’m going to be celebrating my birthday this weekend, and that’s all I’m doing!”
“Right, your friend, Nicole, sent me an invitation to your birthday party tomorrow night!”
“Are you going to come?”
Grace grinned. “Yeah, I’ll be there! I haven’t seen Nicole in a while.”
“She’s been pretty swamped with her new son,” I admitted. “Ben’s a month old now.”
“Aww!” Grace gushed, picking up another cheese cube. “Do you have any pictures?”
“Of course!”
Showing off Ben and his older sister, Lottie, was one of my favorite pastimes. Pulling my phone from the pocket of my evergreen pencil skirt, I pushed up the sleeves of my ivory sweater and found the photos from the day baby Benjamin came home.
With a mess of dark hair and gray eyes, the color of his irises had already shifted since I’d taken these pictures. Nicole had green eyes, but her husband’s were dark golden-brown. It was going to be several months before we knew what Ben’s eyes were destined to be.
“He’s so precious,” Grace fawned as she scrolled through the photos on my phone. “Those sweet little chubby cheeks! Ugh, take this away from me, it’s making me want one.”
I laughed as I slid my phone back into my pocket.
“Follow me to the bar,” I told her, swirling my empty glass around. “I need to get myself another cocktail.”
My ankle boots tapped across the old hardwood floors as we both refreshed our glasses. It was late when everyone finally said goodbye, leaving me and a few others to clean up the party’s remnants. I didn't have much to do, but I found myself toting home a dozen bouquets of roses in a large cardboard tray. Shoving them into the back of my Italian hatchback, I figured I could give them away over the next few days. I certainly didn’t need over a hundred roses dropping petals all over my condo.
As I yawned, a breath of hot air plumed out of my lips as I got my car started. The car’s display screen told me it was already after eleven o’clock. I was usually in bed reading by now.
Maybe a little old lady was living inside my young body, but I was fine with it. I had a wonderful group of friends, a loving family, and my dream career. There was nothing I could complain about, not even the chill of the night air.
Still, my thoughts drifted toward the party as I pulled up to a stoplight. Grace hadn’t been the only person to bring up the job with me. Multiple people had, including Stuart Calhoun himself. He wished me the best of luck on the interview, but I knew who the other guaranteed competition was going to be.
He wished her luck too.
With her polished fingers sharp like claws, Tiffany Reagan was the only person qualified for the position. She had all the right connections and qualifications. She could give anyone who cared to listen to her a long diatribe about putting on an art show to help feed African orphans when she was sixteen. However, the story would’ve been more impressive if she didn’t refer to Africa as a country.
She might’ve looked good on paper, but I knew I was the better woman for the job. Everybody knew, even our retiring director. I just had to prove it when I met the interview panel. Then, like the coming spring, my life would flourish into all it could be. I’d have everything I could ever possibly want, and I refused to let anyone get in the way… especially Tiffany Reagan.
