Not Perfect by Elizabeth LaBan
CHAPTER ONE
Tabitha Brewer listened for footsteps before pulling the small notebook out of the junk drawer. She leafed through the pages, seeing that each day had a slightly longer list, before she settled on yesterday’s page. She hadn’t had a chance to finish last night, and she thought doing it now might make her feel better. Something had to. She grabbed a pen that had no cap and wrote at the bottom of the page: basil, two dollars. She thought good basil might actually cost more, but that seemed like a fair compromise. What else, what else? Oh yeah, when her cousin took her out to lunch yesterday she put a whole roll of toilet paper into her bag. How much did a roll of toilet paper cost? Again, she wrote: two dollars. She heard someone coming toward the kitchen, feet padding on the fancy tile in the hall. She hurried to write the places she took the things from in the far-right column, so she could remember whom she owed, then added it up. Between the basil she found around the corner in a flower box, the toilet paper, and that one loaf of bread she took early yesterday morning that was just waiting in a huge brown-paper bag outside D’Angelo’s on Twentieth Street, she wrote seven dollars at the bottom of the page, underlined it twice, and put the notebook back in the drawer.
“An everything bagel please,” Fern said as she came in and took a seat in the kitchen. She was so polite that Tabitha wished she’d found a way to steal one for her.
“No everything bagels today, Fernie Bernie,” she said, noticing that Fern’s jeans were just slightly too short and had a hole starting in the knee where a teething puppy they had said hello to the other day had taken a bite. How much longer could she wear those?
“Then I’ll take an anything bagel,” Fern said.
“None of those either, sweetie,” Tabitha said, coming over to kiss the top of her head. It was slightly greasy, and she knew she wasn’t doing Fern any favors by having her shampoo every three days instead of every other. But what would she do when the shampoo ran out? They were already long out of conditioner. “How about some toast?”
“Okay,” Fern sighed and groaned at the same time.
“Where’s your brother?”
“Sleeping still,” Fern said. “I don’t think he wants to go to school today.”
“Wait here one second,” Tabitha said, sprinting out of the big kitchen, trying not to slip on the tile, and bumping right into Levi heading to the bathroom. She stopped short and took a deep breath, glad Fern was wrong. She didn’t want to be late for her interview.
“Morning, Monkey,” she said casually. “You okay?”
“Yup,” he said. Just before he shut the door her eyes caught the elaborate vanity light over the sink. It was big and bright and cost a fortune. She wondered how many everything bagels she could get with the money they spent on that light fixture. Hundreds and hundreds.
Tabitha went back to the kitchen where Fern waited patiently. She opened the colorful ceramic bread box and pulled out a king-size loaf of Stroehmann white bread that she got for $1.99 at Walgreens yesterday, using change from the bottom of her purse. They ate the D’Angelo’s loaf last night for dinner. She’d grilled it on the stove top, then topped it with chopped tomatoes and the stolen basil, the dregs of the fancy olive oil she and Stuart had bought at Zingerman’s in Ann Arbor over a year ago, and a few drops of the precious balsamic vinegar they got on that same trip. She had to make that last.
She put two slices of the bland white bread in the toaster and waited. Butter, shoot, there isn’t much. But then she remembered the pats of butter she took from the diner when she met her cousin. Did she write those down in the notebook? She couldn’t remember. That didn’t really count as stolen anyway. They were meant for the customers.
When Levi came in she had his toast waiting, so there was no discussion of what he couldn’t have, what she was unable to give him. He ate it without a word. She took the plates from the polished granite island and put them in the sink, wondering where she could get some soap to do the dishes. She had run out last night. That was a hard one, people didn’t just leave dish soap around. But maybe they did. She’d have to think of an excuse to stop by Rachel’s house later. Rachel had extras of everything under that big sink.
“Come on, come on, come on,” she said to the kids as she watched them slowly put on their shoes. Tabitha realized Fern’s socks were mismatched but she didn’t move to get matching ones. She tried to tamp down the anxiety she felt. She had to be across town by nine fifteen. Once she dropped the kids off at school, which was in the opposite direction, she’d have just under an hour to walk thirty-two blocks. That should be no problem, she told herself.
They were all quiet in the elevator, which, of course, was still as pristine and well kept as always—as it was the first day they rode in it, going to the seventh floor to see the apartment that she thought would mean they could finally relax, finally feel like they belonged together and were settled into their life.
The door pinged open and Fern ran for Mort, the morning doorman. He heard her coming and turned just in time to lift her by the waist and twirl her around. She smiled and giggled and leaned in for a hug. He was careful not to hug too closely, Tabitha could see, but Fern didn’t notice. Really, Tabitha wouldn’t mind. She trusted him. And obviously Fern was already starved for an adult male in her life. Levi, on the other hand, barely grumbled, “Good morning.” Did that mean he was doing okay? That he wasn’t craving something he didn’t have?