Impractically Perfect: A Romantic Comedy

  Impractically Perfect

  Genevieve Lerner

  Contents

  About the Author

  1. Everyone Likes A Good Proposal

  2. Loneliness Is Sexy

  3. Sometimes, We Are All A Little Clumsy

  4. Relationships Are Great!

  5. Everybody Makes Mistakes

  6. Families Make The Best Friends

  7. Life Is Always Surprising

  8. Scary Doesn’t Mean Fun

  9. We All Have Secrets

  10. Nobody’s Perfect

  11. Being Nice Is Overrated

  12. It’s Okay To Be Awkward

  13. Good Choices Are Hard To Make

  14. Everyone Needs To Get Away Sometimes

  15. Memories Are Confusing

  16. Things Never Go Right

  17. Things Can Get Crazy!

  18. Things Always Get Better

  Afterword

  Chrissy à la Carte

  Chapter One

  Copyright © October 2018 Genevieve Lerner.

  First Edition. All rights reserved.

  Thanks, Mom and Dad. I never could have done this without you.

  Genevieve is a traveler, writer, actor, and the mother of a very fluffy cat. She is a native of Rochester, NY, and holds a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Theatre Performance from the University at Buffalo, where she graduated Summa Cum Laude. She is also a graduate of the Second City Training Program in Chicago, where she perfected her comedy writing skills. Genevieve has written multiple plays that have been performed onstage, and runs her own travel blog at www.yestonowhere.com. In her free time, she enjoys playing saxophone, copying Bob Ross landscapes, and reading anything she can get her hands on.

  www.writer.genevievelerner.com

  Chapter One

  Everyone Likes A Good Proposal

  I hung up the phone, my heart full of flutters, my stomach dancing with joy. This was it! The moment I had been waiting for was finally here! Finally, finally, my wonderfully perfect boyfriend was going to propose to me, and we could start our perfect life together!

  It had certainly taken him long enough. Sure, I’m all for feminism and women proposing to men (and women proposing to women and men proposing to men), but I’m a romantic at heart. And there’s just something about a dude sticking a ring in your face and telling you that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you that excites me.

  So I had kept my mouth shut for the last few years, while our relationship got more intense, while we got older, while my limited supply of eggs leaked out of my body every month. I was nearing 30, and had been ready for...forever. And now it looked like he finally was ready, too.

  I was in the middle of an appointment when he called me. Even though I hated getting out of my mask and gloves and leaving the eight-year-old just lying there with an open mouth, I would certainly do it for my soon-to-be-fiancé.

  “Penny?” he had said when I answered, as if there was a possibility it could be anyone else. The only other woman in my office was the other dental hygienist, Cyril, and she was just as likely to voluntarily talk to a stranger as I was to suddenly morph into Christina Aguilera. “I have a question for you. Would you be able to meet me at about 7:15 in front of the Washington Monument?” He sounded stiff and nervous. Eeek!

  Not only was the Washington Monument the most romantic of all places in the city (mostly because of the pretty pond and mood lighting, not its phallic shape), but 7:15 was five minutes before sunset. There was only one conceivable reason for such an odd request: proposal time!

  I breathlessly stuttered out some garbled nonsense at him before saying that I would indeed meet him in front of the Washington Monument at 7:15.

  It was only noon; I had seven and a quarter hours of excitement to kill. Throwing my mask on to hide my probably creepy smiling, I went back into the office to finish flossing the eight-year-old’s teeth.

  “Have you ever been in love?” I asked her, only slightly aware that maybe that’s not the most appropriate thing to be asking a patient, let alone one who hasn’t gone through puberty. She surprised me by actually nodding. “With whom? What happened? Tell me everything. You can spit.” I filled the little plastic cup with water and offered it to her.

  “Um,” she said, “there’s a boy in my class called Caleb. He’s missing one of his front teeth and all the kids in my class make fun of him but I’m always nice to him. He’s always been nice to me too. He made me feel better when I vacuumed up the class gerbil. Anyway, we’re in love but he doesn’t know it yet, and we’re going to get married when we’re old, like thirteen.”

  “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” I told her sincerely. That was all I had ever wanted, to be honest. To be desperately in love from an early age, get married young, and lead a wonderful, romantic life forever. I could quit my job, be a stay-at-home wife, and things would be just…perfect. That’s not asking too much, right?

  It wasn’t long before Dr. Booper came in to tell her that her bite looked mostly fine but that maybe she would need a couple baby teeth pulled, we would have to see in the next month or so, and gave her a purple toothbrush which she excitedly showed her mother. Stella was a cute kid; I was already looking forward to her next appointment.

  But most definitely not as excited as I was for tonight, which would possibly go down in history as the Most Romantic Proposal of All Time. Maybe Sven would get a Nobel Prize for it or something.

  To say that I was distracted for the rest of the day would be an understatement. I looked at the clock behind me so many times that one of my patients actually asked me if I had a tic that I was trying to suppress. Luckily, I managed to sneak my way out half an hour early at 4 by convincing Cyril to stay late for me. She didn’t put up a fuss; she never really put up much of a fuss about anything.

  I just couldn’t bring myself to go to the Most Romantic Proposal of All Time without the perfect dress, or shoes, or manicure. Because posting a picture on Facebook of my new giant diamond on a hand with chipped, grown-out nails was pretty much my worst nightmare. Right after the one where a mad axe murderer chases me through my childhood neighborhood, all the way into the house I grew up in, where I hide in my bedroom closet and a monster attacks me.

  I took the subway downtown, power-shopped for an hour, and ended up with three dresses that I figured I could decide between, and probably return the other two later. Even though I knew I wouldn’t actually return them, it still made me feel better to say it in my head. After finding a new pair of shoes that I hoped wouldn’t rip up my heels too much and stopping into Crazy Sleepy Nailbeds for a mani/pedi, I called my best friend—my mom—for some dress help.

  “Mom! Guess what guess what guess what! It’s finally happening!”

  She didn’t know what I was talking about, but somehow she was still as excited as me.

  “What, Penny? Tell me tell me tell me! You’re killing me here, girlfriend!”

  I took a deep breath. This was the first time I was going to say it out loud. “SVEN IS PROPOSING TONIGHT!”

  “OH MY GOD! How. Frickin. Exciting. But how do you know, hun? I thought you always said you wanted it to be a surprise!”

  “I mean, it’s Sven,” I said, my cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling so hard. “He can’t keep a secret for his life. He’s just so obvious. Besides, it’s better this way, I can be prepared. Speaking of which...I need you to tell me which dress I should wear.”

  After texting my mom pictures of myself in all the dresses from a Chipotle bathroom, we decided on the dark plum one. It was simple, but the plunging neckline made me feel like one of the Kardashians. Plus, I didn’
t need a bra with it, which is always a plus.

  It was time.

  Well, actually it was pretty early. I arrived at 6:45 because I couldn’t wait a second longer, and then found a bench out of the way of the general foot traffic. My plan was to watch and wait there for Sven to arrive, and then make a sexy entrance, right on time. He would be stunned by my beauty in this fabulous dress, would momentarily forget what he had come here to do, and then all at once sweep me into his arms for a long kiss, after which he would throw himself on his knee and beg me to be his wife, because he really couldn’t stand to be unmarried to me any longer. It was foolproof.

  In my short dress, the early winter temperature had been bearable in the sun; in the waning light, I was definitely beginning to shiver. But now was not the time to be upset by silly things like being a little chilly. My eyes were closed as I imagined each step of my fantasy, and they didn’t open until I heard some awkward shuffling beside me, and something tapping me on my shoulder. I opened my eyes.

  “Sven!” I said, doing my best to mask my disappointment. He was seeing me way too early in my dress...but that was okay. It would still be super duper romantic, even without my planned entrance.

  He also looked...super casual. He had changed out of his work clothes, and was wearing… jogging shorts? The dimming light reflected off of his toned leg muscles, and I could see the outline of his pecs through his stained white t-shirt.

  Maybe I had overdressed. A lot. He glanced at my dress, and I instinctively pushed my boobs out as far as I could.

  “You’re early,” he said.

  “I couldn’t wait any longer,” I explained, snuggling up to him and putting my head on his shoulder. He smelled a little sweaty, and I remembered that he had taken to running after work several days a week. He had always been a gym rat, but lately seemed to be trying even harder to get himself into shape. With a sudden lurch of my stomach, I realized that I had skipped my own run today, in order to get myself ready for The Proposal of the Century.

  I never skipped my workouts. Ever. I never went over my daily calories, and I certainly never didn’t get my steps in for the day. So like…I totally understood Sven’s need to run right now. In fact, he probably just hadn’t had time to change into the sport coat that I loved so much on him. Seeing as I was all early and stuff.

  Sven looked me up and down. “Well, I was going to wait until after my run, but...”

  Ohmygod. This was it. I took a deep breath, and took his hands in my own. Today was one of the most important days of my life. Well, really, THE most important day of my life. Sure, our wedding day would be important, and our kids being born would be pretty cool...but none of that would happen without this—the first day of the rest of our lives.

  “Penny, I...you know how much I love you, I hope. And I want to spend every moment of every day with you.” So romantic, ahhhh! “But right now...” Here it comes! “...that’s not really feasible. Work is getting really crazy this year, and last time that happened you were a huge distraction. Wanting to go out to eat all the time, spending so much time just...doing nothing. I think that we need to spend a little more time apart.”

  “Oh!” I said brightly, even as I could feel my heart dripping slowly down my body and puddling in a pool at my feet. “I totally understand. Work comes first!” It was as if he had stuck a plunger down my throat, into my stomach, and was pumping away. I could feel the bile swirling around, threatening to explode out at any moment.

  “Great,” he said, standing up and flamingo-stretching out his quads. “I’ll call you sometime, okay?” He pecked my cheek, and ran off down the road, the Creamsicle sunset framing his perfect body.

  And that was it.

  Looking down at my stupid plum dress, I wanted nothing more than to disappear, right then, forever. What was wrong with me? Why had I assumed Sven would be proposing tonight? I was such an idiot. The shame swirled into a fog around my head while I ripped off my stupid shoes that I couldn’t return now because they were covered in blood from ripping up the backs of my heels. Ignoring the stares of passersby, I unzipped, threw my scrubs on over everything, and shimmied out of the dress. Good thing I had cut the tags off already, because this was obviously a day I wanted to remember forever.

  Clearly, I was doing something wrong. That was the only explanation. Everyone else my age was already married, and half of them had kids. Sven and I had been together for three and a half years: wasn’t that long enough for him to figure out that we were absolutely perfect together? How could he do this to me?

  And now, not only was he not proposing, but he wanted to spend more time apart? What had I done to make Sven hate me so much? Whatever it was, I was going to fix it. I was going to make myself into marriage material, even if it killed me.

  Chapter Two

  Loneliness Is Sexy

  All of my roommates were home by the time I got back. Unable to see myself keeping from crying while stuffed into a subway car, I had taken a taxi that I didn’t want to pay for after my spending spree, and ended up sobbing in the backseat the entire time anyway. The sobbing got more and more intense as I imagined what our lives could have been, if only, and very quickly turned into a full-blown panic attack—my third one this week. I tried to tell myself that the driver didn’t notice, but he had definitely kept checking on me in his mirror.

  The first one to greet me in a particularly friendly series of hisses was my roommate’s evil cat, who went by the very unfortunate name of Mrs. Purrpaws (the stupid cat, not my roommate). I was extremely allergic to cats, but luckily, Mrs. Purrpaws hated me and avoided me at all costs. Aside from her damn cat, living with my best friend, Gillian, was otherwise pretty perfect.

  Gillian and I had met the very first day of college, in our first class together (A History of the World 101). We had been the only two people in the class to laugh when our professor had spilled his entire water bottle all over himself, which turned out to be full of chocolate milk. We became instant friends. We both preferred bubblegum-flavored gum to any other, and we both hated cilantro. We both loved tie-dye (thankfully, a trend we eventually outgrew). And most importantly, we made each other laugh.

  Our friendship had withstood the test of time over the past decade, throughout boyfriends and travels, apartments and breakups.

  As a dental hygienist, I did alright for myself, but after all my investing into my 401k and making sure I had money in my seven different bank accounts that I only used for very specific things, there wasn’t a whole lot left for luxuries such as rent.

  Gillian, on the other hand, was a successful freelancer in the world of social media advertising for political campaigns. She made more money than she knew what to do with, and was never one to worry too much about saving for a rainy day. She had bought this beautiful place last year, right in the heart of D.C., crown moulding, stainless steel kitchen and all. I was the first person she asked to live with her, even though we had never actually been roommates before. I had been living in a tiny studio way out in suburbia and my commute to work and been an hour and a half. Because she was my friend (but also probably because she pitied me), she let me pay about half of what my rent should have been. In Gillian’s apartment, I was so close to work that I could bike there. Not that I did often, because that would require wearing a helmet, and my hair never looked good after that kind of trauma.

  The apartment had three bedrooms, but the third was taken by two people. Not a couple, but a pair of twins, Camille and Candice. They shared a bedroom, which was weird enough. They were in their forties, which was weirder. And they were identical, which was not so much weird as it was confusing. They were some of the oddest humans I had ever met. Neither Gillian nor I were entirely sure what Camille and Candice did all day, aside from recording their podcast that they ran about who-knows-what. But somehow they always had money, and since they kept to themselves for the most part, no harm, no foul.

  Unfortunately, Gillian also often decided that certain things that w
ere in her best interest were also in our best interest. She never did the dishes, but would get mad if I forgot a single spoon in the sink once in awhile. She hated clutter, but would never actually clean anything herself. She would demand that we do things for her, like buy her groceries and the most expensive toilet paper there was, reminding us that we should feel lucky to be living in such a great city for such a small amount of money. And we were…but sometimes I thought it would be nice if she just asked instead of yelled at us about it. And sometimes I wished that Gillian could be a little less…well, Gillian about the whole thing.

  But right now, Gillian was fawning over the dress I was wearing. She had already stolen the black one that I had planned on returning, had stripped down to her underwear, and was trying to pull it over her ample bosom. She would stretch it out there, just like all of the other clothes she borrowed from me, claiming that we were the same size. And I wouldn’t even get to wear it. Or, you know, return it.

  “I love this,” she screeched, dancing around the kitchen, her boobs pushed up way too much because it was definitely a size too small for her. “I’m borrowing it for my work picnic tomorrow.” I didn’t bother pointing out that it was definitely not picnic attire; Gillian had never really cared about my opinion when it came to things like fashion. Or anything, really.

  “So,” I said, trying to change the subject, “I had an interesting conversation with Sven today…”

  “STOP IT, are those new shoes? I love them, gimme gimme gimme…oh. Ew.” The bloodstains were even more apparent than I had realized. “Oh well. I have great news!”