Perfect By Chance: HOT 'N' HITCHED

1

LEAVING PARTY (ELOISE)

‘Honestly, Eloise, it’s for your own good,’ Victoria tells me, patting me on the back.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This year can’t get any worse.

First, my business goes bust. Which means I can’t keep up the payments on my apartment and have to move from New York back to Denver.

Then, my sister announces she’s leaving the country for six months. Six months!

Now, she’s telling me I can’t even crash at her apartment while she’s gone.

Way to kick a girl while she’s down, Vee. Thanks for that, sis.

It doesn’t help that tonight is her last night in the city, and so it’s kind of late notice to break the news to me that I’m currently homeless.

‘My apartment is like a greenhouse in the summer, anyway. Far too much glass. My plants like it that way, but trust me, unless you’re used to living in the Amazon, you won’t like it.’

My sister once actually did live in the Amazon, and she never stops going on about it. She’s a plant biologist, working in environmental management, which basically is a fancy way of saying that she studies plants, and the effects that humans have on plants in their natural environments.

‘So, what do you expect me to do, Victoria?’ I ask. ‘You’d rather I just slept on the streets, or like, under the Denver Millennium Bridge or something, because if I stay at your place I might get a little hot?’ If I was a cartoon character, I’d have steam coming out of my ears about now.

Victoria looks at me with her big, hazel eyes. Is it just me, or are they growing a little moist? ‘I’m sorry, Elly,’ she says. ‘Really, I am, but you can’t stay here.’

‘Well, who’ll water all your plants?’ I ask, looking around at the array of spider plants and cheese plants and a zillion other plants I don’t know the names of.

‘I have an automated water and feeding system, totally hydroponic,’ shrugs Victoria, standing up from the couch and going to fix herself a lemonade. ‘You thirsty?’

‘I have an automated water system,’ I joke. ‘I don’t get thirsty like you humans.’

Victoria rolls her eyes and laughs. ‘Very funny. Listen, Elly, there’s a reason you can’t stay here. Like, a big reason. I’ve booked somewhere for you to stay.’ She puts her lemonade down on the counter and then leans against the stainless-steel worktop.

My sister is filthy rich. Who knew that looking at plants all day could make you rich? I sure as heck didn’t. But Victoria’s always been the successful one.

Me? I’m the unlucky younger sibling. Everything I touch goes wrong. Or, at least, it feels that way at the moment.

I was meant to be living out my dream of becoming a fashion designer in New York. I had my own online fashion business and everything, selling my nature-inspired designs via Etsy. T-shirts with prints of American sparrows on them. Skirts made to look like waterfalls. Sweaters in mossy shades of green, and shirts with coyote faces for buttons. Guess I’ve always been a bit of a hippie at heart. Boho Gal 97. That was my name on Etsy.

I can barely allow myself to remember all that stuff now.

It’s too raw. Too painful.

‘Where have you booked me a place to stay? A night at the Hilton? Two nights at the Holiday Inn? And then what? What am I meant to do for the other five months and twenty-nine days you’re away?’

‘Look,’ says Victoria. ‘People are going to start arriving for the party in a couple hours. I need to get the canapés ready. You’re going to have to trust me on this for now. Can you do that for me? I’ll tell you more after the party. Okay?’ She widens her eyes and me. I know that face. It means: Be a good girl, Eloise. Don’t act up.

‘Fine,’ I say. ‘I’ll go take a shower and get ready.’

‘Atta girl,’ says Victoria.

I get up off the couch with a big sigh, and then walk through Victoria’s enormous, glassy apartment. How come my sister gets to live in this incredible penthouse, and I end up with next to nothing? We’ve both got brains. We’re both hard-working. Ambitious. We both got the same amount of inheritance from our father. I guess I’ve just been unlucky with my investments. I go to her spare room. At least she’s letting me stay here tonight, I think. At least Her Royal Highness is gracious enough to allow me that. I have to stop myself from giving a disgruntled snort.

I open my suitcase that’s lying on the bed and get out my shampoo and shower gel. I really do have all my worldly possessions in this room. There’s my suitcase, my cell phone, and of course my precious sewing machine. A sleek white Singer with over four-hundred stitch patterns. I go nowhere without that baby.

Unless of course I really am going to end up homeless, in which case I guess I’ll have to sell it to buy a sleeping bag and gloves.

As I go through to the bathroom, I try to push back the thought that Victoria is abandoning me.

Just like your mom and dad abandoned you.

I need to stop thinking like this. I take off my jeans and sweater and turn on the shower.

The sound of the running water makes me feel a little calmer. I’ve always loved the water. ‘A real-life water baby,’ my mom used to say about me. That’s one of the few things I remember about her.

That, and her beautiful laugh.

My mom died when I was six, from pneumonia. My sister was thirteen. You’d think her being older than me would’ve meant she was hit the hardest, but she wasn’t. I had a bit of a breakdown when it happened - in the way that a six-year-old can have a breakdown. Stopped sleeping in my own bed at night. Refused to go to school. Screamed constantly. My sister had to coach me through it. She even let me share her single bed with her for a year after Mom passed.

She’s always been there for me like that.

Then of course there was Dad. He died two years ago. Heart failure. I used my inheritance money to get the fashion business off the ground. That’s how I bought my sewing machine and fabrics and set up a PO Box for myself. Paid three months upfront on the place in New York to tide myself over.

Now look what you’ve done, Eloise. You’ve thrown away your father’s hard-earned cash.

My father was a psychiatrist. He made plenty money in his career over the years, but had to spend most of it on medicine. Ironic, I guess, given that medicine is how he made his money in the first place.

Oh great, now I’m crying.

Two years is kinda nothing in grief terms. I still miss my father, each and every day.

And although I’ve still got Victoria, it feels like she’s about to abandon me too.

I get into the shower, and let the warm water mix with my tears. At least when I’m surrounded by water like this I can pretend to myself that I’m not crying.

The truth is, Victoria is an amazing sister. She looks after me way more than a big sister should have to look after their younger sibling. She’s always got my back. And I shouldn’t have to expect her to bail me out every time I get into trouble, or protect me from this big bad world we all live in.

I acted ungratefully out there. Victoria was talking about having fixed up some accommodation for me. That’s more than I deserve, really. Even if it is just one night in a hotel, that’s something. Generous, even. I shouldn’t have to rely on her to help rebuild my life for me. I need to find myself a job, any job, and get on with things. Just like everyone else.

Except, I’m not like everyone else.

‘You’re special,’ my dad used to tell me.

‘There’s something wrong with me!’ I used to cry.

‘There’s nothing wrong with you, honey,’ he’d tell me. ‘I’m a psychiatrist. I should know. You’re just a little more sensitive than other people. A little more delicate. That’s no bad thing. One day, you might even find it’s a strength.’

Oh, Pops. I miss you so badly.

I lather up my hair with the shampoo and try to focus on the here and now. That’s something Dad taught me to try and do. A little trick called mindfulness. You take a breath and think about what you’re experiencing in the present. What your senses are telling you. The sound of the shower. The smell of the lavender in my shampoo. The feeling of the foamy water on my skin. Never fails to calm me. At least for a little while.

I get out of the shower and wrap myself in a fluffy white towel. Victoria’s towels are perfect. I don’t know how she keeps them fluffy like this.

I wrap one around my hair too, noticing how long it’s getting, and how dark it looks when wet. At least, even though I’m basically at rock bottom, I still look good. I’m not being vain or anything when I say that - I just know that stress wreaks havoc on the human body. Dark circles under the eyes, sallow skin, greasy hair. All sorts of things can happen to you when life deals you a blow. Or a thousand blows, in my situation. But thankfully, at twenty-one, I still have youth on my side. Youth is what keeps me looking perky, even when I feel like there’s a tsunami of turmoil inside.

I head out of the bathroom, noting the smell of seared tuna and Szechuan pepper skewers. My sister might be about to go and live in the jungle tomorrow, but that doesn’t stop her from cooking up some très sophisticated canapés before she heads off. Even though, in the jungle, she’ll probably be eating stuff like grubs and ferns, or whatever. Ew. Gross.

Time to get dressed up for the party. Even though the last thing I feel like doing is celebrating my sister’s departure from this end of the world with a load of people I don’t know. Even if there will be delicious snacks.

I take the towel off my head, letting my hair dry naturally, and put on some make-up — nothing much, just a little lip gloss and a lick of mascara — I’ve never been one for going overboard with the cosmetics. Then I pick out a tight black dress and sensible black shoes. Most of my clothes are ones I’ve designed myself, the ones with nature designs embroidered or screen-printed onto them. Tonight, though, is all about my sister, so I put on something elegant that doesn’t draw too much attention to myself.

I have a little trouble doing up the zipper at the back of the dress, so I go through to the kitchen, and ask Victoria for a little help.

‘Oh my goodness,’ she says, when she sees me. ‘Elly. You look gorgeous.’ She does up my zipper, and then looks at me again. ‘Wow.’

I laugh. ‘You sound surprised.’

‘Don’t be silly! You know how cute you are. I just haven’t seen you dress up like this, in a little black number, since… well, since Dad died.’

It’s Victoria’s turn to cry now. Jeez. The Clarke sisters are really going for it tonight.

‘It’s okay, Vee,’ I say, giving her a big hug. ‘Dad would’ve been so proud of you, going off to the jungle for a second time. And Borneo this time around - it’s an adventure most people can only dream of! Don’t worry about me while you’re gone. I can look after myself.’

Victoria holds onto me tightly. ‘Thanks, sweetie,’ she says. ‘I know you’re a big girl now. But you’ll always be my kid sister. I just wish I didn’t have to leave you like this. If it wasn’t such a good opportunity for me-’

‘Are you kidding me? It’s a game-changer. You have to do it. Go get ‘em, kiddo. Find out everything you can about Southeast Asian bamboo or whatever it is you told me you were studying.’

Victoria giggles. ‘Actually, that is what I’m studying. Hole in one. But I won’t bore you with the specifics.’

‘That’s a relief,’ I say. ‘The guests are arriving soon, and if you start talking plants to me, you’ll probably get so engrossed you miss them all!’

Victoria gives me a small, playful shove. ‘Hey, look who’s talking, Miss Fashion-Obsessed. We all have our own passions, don’t we?’

I hug Victoria one more time and then wipe away the tears from her cheeks. ‘Now listen,’ I say. ‘Why don’t you let me finish up in the kitchen while you go get ready? Looks like the canapés are pretty much done. I’ll organize the other snacks — the chips and olives and stuff. And I can get the champagne flutes on the table.’

‘You’re a star,’ says Victoria. ‘Now I’d better go and make myself look like I haven’t just been bawling.’

Victoria heads off and I go to set things up in the kitchen. Maybe I’m not so useless after all. I used to work as a waitress, way back when, and I know how to put out a good spread. I take the pink napkins Victoria has laid out on the kitchen counter, and fold them into tiny, ornate fans, then place each one in a champagne flute. It’s a little nineties, maybe — the kind of thing my parents would probably have done at their parties, back in the day, but I happen to enjoy dabbling in the old-fashioned art of napkin origami, so why not?

I lay out the snacks across the counter, in such a way that they’ll be easy to reach and intuitively arranged for the guests — savory flavors in the front, sweeter foods in the back. I arrange pitchers for the lemonade and non-alcoholic punch, and I pick out the best bottles from Victoria’s liquor cabinet and position them invitingly on a drinks table. All in all, the place looks good.

Victoria didn’t want to go all out with decorations or anything, given that she’ll be leaving in the morning and doesn’t want to have to do too much cleaning up. Her apartment’s already sparkling, as always, and I imagine her guests tonight won’t really be the type to trash the joint. The Botanist Brigade aren’t exactly party animals.

I can hear the shower on in the bathroom, so I wander over to the balcony and take a seat outside in the warm spring air. Oh, Denver. It’s so bittersweet to see you.

I grew up in this city. In many ways, it feels like home. But when I moved to New York, it was a dream come true. It was meant to be the start of Eloise Clark, Version 2.0.

I feel like a kid whenever I come back to Denver, because, well, I was a kid most of the time when I was here. Visiting the Art Museum with my dad at the weekends, school trips to the amphitheater and the zoo… Denver might look different these days — it seems to change and grow so quickly, becoming more and more modern and futuristic in its skyline every time I visit — but it’ll always be the same old Broncoville to me. It’s a friendly place, and a place I’ll always hold close to my heart, but…

Man, I miss New York. The crowds. The buzz. The eccentricity. There’s nothing like it.

Of course, it’s easy to romanticize a place when you’re not there. While I was living in New York, I was making clothes inspired by the trees and mountains and wildlife of my youth, so maybe it’s a case of grass is always greener.

‘Ahem.’

What the heck? There’s someone coughing behind me. It’s a deep, gruff cough. Definitely not my sister’s.

I jump out of my seat and turn around only to have the shock of my life.

There’s a man standing there, well over six foot tall. Well, to call him a ‘man’ doesn’t seem quite right. He’s a mountain. No, a beast. He’s wearing a black long-sleeved shirt and jeans, and he has biceps so big they’re straining to break free of the sleeves of his shirt. He has dark hair, a strong jawline with thick, dark stubble across the lower half of his face, and the most piercing blue eyes I’ve ever seen. There’s a leather bag slung over his shoulder, and a rigidity in his posture that I’d normally associate with a bodyguard or a police man. The craziest thing of all though, something I’ve never seen up-close on anyone I’ve ever spoken to, and certainly not anyone in my sister’s apartment, is that he has a tattoo on his neck. It’s a skull. A big, dark, inky skull, right there on his freaking throat.

I feel sure that this man is going to rob me. I listen out for the shower. It’s stopped running. Has he killed my sister already? Is he going to throw me off the balcony?

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ I cry, trying to control the panic in my voice. ‘This place has security systems, you know. You lay one finger on me and it’ll set off an alarm so loud your ear drums will burst clean out of your ears.’

‘You must be Eloise,’ says Mr. Man-Beast. I can’t help but notice it looks like he’s trying to hide a smirk at my sudden outburst. My feigned attempt at bravery.

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. ‘You know my sister?’ I ask. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of a doorbell, Mister?’

‘Rex Wilder,’ he says. ‘I tried knocking, but there was no reply. The door was open. I’m only ten minutes early, so I figured it’d be alright.’

Guess he won’t be apologizing then?

Mr. Man-Beast fixes his piercing blue eyes on me and then looks at the drinks laid out on the table. ‘Okay if I help myself to some punch?’ Before even waiting for a reply, he takes a glass and pours himself a generous measure.

Oh my god. This guy. First he’s all breaky-and-entery and now he’s all make-myself-at-home to go with it.

‘Well, I guess you already did,’ I say, pouting.

Thankfully, my sister appears at that moment, before the rude dude and I have the chance to say anything we’d regret.

‘Rex,’ my sister says, extending her arms to him. She gives me a quick hug, and I can’t help but feel a sting of jealousy that my sister gets to hold her body close to that muscular beast. I wonder how he feels. If I closed my eyes, so I couldn’t see his rude face, and I tried to imagine he was someone else — someone less rude — I imagine I might potentially enjoy pressing up against that taut physique.

My sister is wearing a long red dress, and she looks fantastic. I wonder, for a brief moment, if this guy is her boyfriend, but the thought is so impossible it almost makes me laugh out loud.

For one thing, my sister just doesn’t date. I don’t know if she’d call herself asexual. I don’t think so. I just honestly don’t think a relationship is important to her. She’s always been so focused on work.

I mean, I’m pretty ambitious and hard-working too, but I still have feelings of a sexual nature… I can’t deny that!

Even if my sister was interested in seeing someone, she’d never go for a guy like this. She’s so straight-laced. So sciencey. He’s so… rugged. And thuggish.

‘I see you two have already met,’ says my sister. ‘That’s wonderful news. I really hope that the two of you—’ Her