Imperfect Truth Read online

  “We have brunch with my mother in a few minutes.” He informs me of this as if it is an everyday occurrence. It’s not, thankfully.

  “Really? Can I skip it today? I’m not dressed.” Please, God, say yes.

  “No, you can’t skip it. My mother is expecting you. I suggest you come home and make yourself presentable.”

  His words cut into me, etching away at my already low self-esteem. My hands close into fists as I try to shake off the dejection I feel. I collect my belongings and hurry home. As I open the door, my body shivers at the shrill sound of her voice.

  She had beaten me home.

  “Well, look who decided to join us,” she says to Alexandre as she glances down at her watch and shakes her head. “A little tardy, and what is she wearing?”

  Alexandre rises from the couch and walks over to me. “Would you please freshen up?” he says in a hushed tone under his breath.

  With haste, I make my way into my bathroom, and within minutes my clothes are off and replaced with my classic black pants, a crisp white button down, and a face void of emotion. Sweeping my long dark locks out of my face, the transformation is complete. I’ve become the perfect Stepford wife.

  The door to the bedroom creaks as I emerge into the hallway. Taking brisk steps, I find them sitting on the pristine white couch in the living room. Lenore sits aloof, a perfect ice sculpture in her iconic strawberry tweed Chanel suit. Her long ebony hair is blown straight, and there is no emotion on her botoxed face. Her thin lips purse as she takes notice of me entering the room. As she turns her long and delicate frame to Alexandre, a memory flashes through my mind from a few years back, right after we announced our engagement.

  We sat at the rickety wooden café table at Bagatelle, a French Brasserie in the Meat Packing District. The air was crisp and refreshing, as the retracting glass walls were pulled open to enjoy the perfect fall day. Lenore sat across from me, pushing the food around her plate to keep up the pretense that she was actually consuming it. I had invited her to lunch to try to get to know her better, but the silence between us was deafening. Awkward and uncomfortable, I finally mustered up the courage to speak.

  “Lenore, I asked you to join me because I wanted to know if you would like to help me plan the wedding, I think it would be a great chance for us to get to know each other,” I said with the utmost sincerity in the world. With my father out of my life and my mother sick, I really wanted and needed a mother figure to help me plan. She raised her eyes to meet mine, and I watched as her pupils narrowed into contempt.

  “Oh, Ava, That implies I want to get to know you.”

  My hopes were crushed with a simple sentence.

  “Hi, Lenore.”

  “Ava.” She barely looks at me as she acknowledges my presence in the room.

  “So nice to have you here. Will you be spending the day with us after brunch?”

  “No.” She walks past me to the kitchen. I’ve been dismissed.

  Alexandre joins her in the kitchen, and I follow suit. The table is prepared with a catered brunch that Lenore obviously ordered. I take notice of the piping hot scones, Devonshire cream, A Quiche Lorraine, and many delectable preserves. Turning to Lenore, I gesture to the coffee and tea server sitting on the Calacatta marble kitchen island.

  “May I pour you a coffee? Maybe a tea?”

  “No.” She turns back to continue her conversation with Alexandre without giving me a second glance. Words flow freely between them. But for me, conversing with her is like pulling teeth.

  I walk to the coffee pot and pour myself a cup. Sitting back down, I become lost in my thoughts. My mind searches for when the changes started to occur in my relationship with Alexandre. Although not one moment can be pinpointed, my belief is that my relationship with Lenore, or lack thereof, was the start of the downward spiral. Most of our fights over the years stemmed from his mother’s behavior towards me. A vision from right after Alexandre and I were married becomes vivid in my mind. The first time Lenore had shown up unannounced at our apartment on a Sunday plays out before me.

  Lenore appears before me in all her superiority, her shoulders pulled back tight with the poise of a ballet dancer. Her tall, lithe body standing erect, She looks down at me. “Your behavior, Ava. I saw you out to dinner last night with your friend. You are a member of this family now. Some decorum, please. It’s not appropriate to laugh and act like that in public.” Lenore turns and walks to the other side of the room.

  I turn to Alexandre, catching his eyes briefly and silently pleading with him to speak up in my defense. Under my breath I speak in a hushed whisper, “Alexandre, she can’t just show up at our apartment and tell me how I should act. I feel as though I’m locked in a cage, and your family has thrown away the key. Please, say something to her.”

  He touches my hair ever so gently. I lean into his body seeking his warmth. Lenore turns back to us and unease descends upon me.

  Engulfing me.

  Silence falls upon us like a dark haze, suffocating me the closer she gets. Once upon us, Alexandre says nothing just steps away.

  My body becomes cold.

  A part of me snaps and breaks.

  I. Am. Hollow.

  A throat clearing awakens me from my daydream, and I notice Lenore stand to depart.

  “This was lovely, Alexandre, I shall see you next week. Ava…maybe next time you’ll be courteous enough to prepare for my visit.” My mouth hangs open as she walks out of the room.

  As if on cue, Delia, Lenore’s maid, steps into the kitchen with a stern look on her round, sun-kissed face as she takes me in. Her hands are tucked into the white apron on her black uniform. She shakes her head in judgment, reminding me how my friend Jules jokes that Delia is the spy hired by Lenore to make sure I’m on the straight and narrow.

  As Delia clears the table, I excuse myself from Alexandre and make my way to the den. Grabbing my laptop, I power it up and sign on to Facebook. I click on my blog page and post the buy link for Changing Faces, making sure to tag him in the post, hoping he will see. Ryder Matthews is starting to become my new guilty pleasure. I head back to his profile to “stalk” him a little. He doesn’t supply much information. Closing the icon, I click on his pictures. There are a ton of pictures of his book covers and teasers, but only a few of him. Well, none of him, per se, just of his perfectly tailored suits. I secretly decide that all male authors are really females trying to cash in on female adoration to increase sales. Not Ryder, of course, but all the rest. A window pops up on my screen.

  Ryder Matthews: Hey, you posted my link. Much appreciated.

  Ava Readsalot: You’re welcome.

  I stare at the computer, trying to formulate what to type next. I don’t want to stop talking to him. Even though we had only messaged a few brief times, I’m completely intrigued by him.

  Ava Readsalot: I started reading Changing Faces: Blinded Lies today ;-)

  Ryder Matthews: and?

  Ava Readsalot: LOL

  Ryder Matthews: What does that mean?

  Ava Readsalot: It means Laugh Out Loud.

  Ryder Matthews: I know what LOL means, smart ass!

  Ava Readsalot: What does what mean?

  Ryder Matthews: Wow are you going to make me explain the question?

  Ava Readsalot: Yeah, I think I just might.

  Ryder Matthews: Ava, how do you like my book?

  Ava Readsalot: It really is a completely unique concept.

  Ava Readsalot: The main character is interesting, dark. He is so devious and perverse. Where did you come up with the idea?

  Ryder Matthews: Art imitates life sometimes ;-)

  Ava Readsalot: I highly doubt that. No one can be that wicked.

  Ryder Matthews: You never know…

  Ava Readsalot: Well anyway, so far I’m loving it ;-)

  Ryder Matthews: Good I’m glad.

  A strange feeling rushes through me. I know it sounds crazy, but knowing that he is happy makes me happy.

  Ava
Readsalot: What else makes you “glad”

  Ryder Matthews: Why? You taking notes?

  Ava Readsalot: Maybe.

  I start to type then stop…thinking of what I should write next. My hands on the keyboard, I finally decide to type exactly what I’m feeling.

  Ava Readsalot: For some reason knowing something makes you happy makes me happy.

  Ryder Matthews: Well I’m ecstatic to hear that.

  Ava Readsalot: LMAO you’re silly.

  We discuss his book some more, and within minutes, I’m hysterically laughing. It feels so good to laugh. After such a stressful beginning to my day, I feel revived by the reprieve Ryder has given me.

  Ava Readsalot: I’m hysterically laughing right now. Thanks I needed this.

  Ryder Matthews: ?

  Ava Readsalot: Rough day!

  Ryder Matthews: Want to talk about it?

  For the next twenty minutes, I tell him all about the “Ice Queen.” His answers are concise, constructive, and supportive.

  They inspire me.

  He tells me her self-importance is a ruse to mask her lack of self-esteem, and that her obvious disdain for me is caused by her jealousy about my importance to her son.

  Ryder Matthews: Don't conform…be unique, speak truth. Don’t let them force the real you to hide. From what I’ve come to know in this short time, any change on your part would be an utter travesty. You are perfect Ava. He’s a fool if he doesn’t see what he has in front of him.

  When I finally sign off…

  I feel alive.

  I LEFT HOME IN a hurry this morning to join my friend Jules in Soho. Alexandre was on the couch with the television clicker in hand when I left him. Typical.

  Jules and I went to college together. She grew up in the city, and I was from Westchester. I sought her out in the small southern school we attended. A mutual friend gave me Jules’s name and phone number, telling me we would get along. I remember the day I called as if it was yesterday…

  “Hi. Is Jules there?”

  “Speaking.”

  “Hi, umm…this is Ava. I got your phone number from Marci Sager. I know Marci from high school. Well, she told me there was a girl from the city that she knew from sleep away camp going to college with me…”

  “What?”

  “She told me…”

  “Yeah, I get what she told you…so you just called me?”

  “Yes, well she gave me your number.”

  “Wow, that’s just scary.”

  “So does that mean, you don’t want to come out for drinks?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you just call random strangers to meet for drinks?”

  “Well, you’re from NY.”

  “I could be a serial killer.”

  “Well, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, so you want to come for drinks?” She didn’t speak for a second, so I peeked at the phone to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. “Hello?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I met a few guys today on campus. They told me to meet them at Deuce’s.”

  “Were they hot?”

  “Smoking.”

  “Sure, why the fuck not.” I knew that very second that we would be lifelong friends. Throughout the years in college I clung to her jaded New York personality. She made feel me closer to home.

  With a shake of my head, I right myself from my memories and take in my surroundings. I notice a hot pink awning with a whimsical display of dresses and accessories in the window. Grabbing Jules arm lightly, I motion to the boutique. She enters the store, and as I’m about to follow I notice a group of women—my age, beautiful, thin, and looking as if they don’t have a care in the world. They speak to each other with animation, carefree and full of ease. Their happiness is almost my undoing. When did I become so jaded that the happiness of others could break me down?

  I lift my chin toward the sky, my eyes fluttering from the sun. I need a moment. I wish I could be as carefree as them. I inhale a calming breath, and as I stand here, the soft breeze tickling my arm, I realize that this is exactly what I need: a me day. I deserve one.

  I enter the store and see Jules standing by a clothing rack. She looks up at me with a smile…beaming brightly until she catches the look on my face. She furrows her brows, giving her face the appearance of a tiny frown line. Even with the wrinkle, Jules is beautiful. She has shoulder-length brown hair that cascades down the nape of her neck with luscious waves, and the brownest eyes I have ever seen, eyes that could never lie, and right now they are looking into my soul.

  “Okay, spill,” she blurts out while searching the size on a pair of tiny sequin shorts. I shoot her a questioning look. “Av, you know what I’m talking about. What’s going on with you and Alexandre?”

  I hate keeping things from Jules, but as much as I love her, she just doesn’t understand the dynamic of my relationship with Alexandre. She doesn’t understand why I stay with a man who won’t stand up for me, who would allow his family to treat me repugnantly.

  “You know, the usual,” I say.

  “So basically, you speak and he doesn’t listen?”

  “Yup, same old, same old.”

  “I mean seriously, dude. Aren’t you sick of it?” she asks, throwing her arms in the air dramatically.

  I burst out laughing. “Yeah, of course, but what am I supposed to do?” Shrugging my shoulders, I turn my attention back to the rack in front of me.

  “Ava …You know what? I got nothing.” She frowns. “Men are so stupid. Don’t they know that if they break you, there’s always someone there to pick up the pieces?”

  As if fate intervenes, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I open Facebook Messenger.

  Ryder Matthews: Damn Amazon!

  Ava Readsalot: What’s wrong???

  Ryder Matthews: The usual, my preorder.

  Ava Readsalot: Anything I can do to help?

  As I type, I pick up a paisley printed prairie skirt and lift it up to show Jules. She shakes her head no and rolls her eyes. Guess not. My phone vibrates again in my hand.

  Ryder Matthews: Post my link.

  Ava Readsalot: That all?

  Ryder Matthews: I can think of a few other things…

  Ryder Matthews: ;)

  I laugh to myself at his attempt to flirt. Why the heck not? Crossing the line sounds fun. Here goes nothing.

  Ava Readsalot: Oh really…

  Ryder Matthews: Yep.

  Ava Readsalot: Care to elaborate?

  Ryder Matthews: Nope.

  Ava Readsalot: But now I’m intrigued.

  Ryder Matthews: You know what they say…

  Ava Readsalot: Hmm…What do they say?

  Ryder Matthews: Curiosity killed the cat.

  Ava Readsalot: Oh, are we talking about pussies now?

  Ryder Matthews: SMH. You, Ava, are too much.

  Ava Readsalot: Who me? What did I say ;-)

  Ryder Matthews: You are trouble. Cute trouble, but still trouble.

  Lost in thought and that delicious interaction that just took place, I don’t notice that Jules is staring at me.

  “What are you laughing at over there?”

  “What? Oh nothing, just a funny post on Facebook.”

  “Must have been really funny. You’re beaming.”

  “It was. Give me a sec.” I hold up one finger as I stare at my phone, trying to decide my next quip. As I start to type, the window indicates that Ryder is responding first.

  Ryder Matthews: What are you doing today?

  Ava Readsalot: Just shopping, maybe trying on dresses.

  Ryder Matthews: Really??

  Ryder Matthews: I wouldn’t mind spending my day doing that.

  Ava Readsalot: You want to try on dresses? LOL.

  Ava Readsalot: Is wearing women’s dresses your thing?

  Ryder Matthews: Wow!

  Ryder Matthews: No…I want to watch YOU try on dresses.

&nb
sp; I start to type back, then erase, then I find myself staring blankly at my phone. A witty comeback is necessary, but my brain has been rendered useless. I settle for a simple…

  Ava Readsalot: Oh.

  Ava Readsalot: Why in the world would you want to waste your day doing that?

  Ryder Matthews: Anytime with you would not be wasted. It’s a shame you think otherwise.

  Ava Readsalot: This is strange don’t you think?

  Ryder Matthews: What exactly?

  Ava Readsalot: You. Me. Us talking…it’s strange.

  Ryder Matthews: You’re going to have to elaborate here babe.

  I shudder at the moniker. Something about him calling me babe has me flustered in the best way possible.

  Ava Readsalot: I just mean we’ve never talked before and now we are talking all the time.

  Ryder Matthews: Is that not ok with you? I don’t want you to feel awkward about talking to a colleague.

  Ava Readsalot: You’re not a colleague. Lol

  Ryder Matthews: Well we work within the same industry and networking is a good thing, right?

  Ava Readsalot: So this is networking?

  Ryder Matthews: This is definitely networking…but it’s also fun;)

  Ava Readsalot: I think you’re the one who’s trouble Mr. Matthews.

  Ryder Matthews: I like that…

  Ava Readsalot:???

  Ryder Matthews: You calling me Mr. Matthews.

  Ava Readsalot: Lol would you prefer I call you Mr. Matthews? I kind of thought we were past the formal stage.

  Ryder Matthews: We are.

  Ava Readsalot: Well then wouldn’t it be strange if I started calling you Mr. Matthews…lol

  Ryder Matthews: Ok, you’re right. In public you call me Ryder. In private I’m Mr. Matthews;)

  Ava Readsalot: Good God, you are such a male. Lol

  Ryder Matthews: You know it. I’m all male babe;)