Peri in Progress

By Cat Lavoie

You know what they say about best-laid plans…

After a disastrous thirty-first birthday party where she gets stood-up by a man she isn't supposed to be dating, Peri McKenna decides it's time to change what hasn't been working—which is pretty much everything. Her love life is going nowhere fast, she's bored to tears by a job that makes her the office pariah, and the lifelong junk food addiction that used to be somewhat quirky is now positively problematic. To top it all off, her newly-purchased home is falling apart and wishful thinking hasn't done much to fix the leaky roof.

It's time be an adult now that she's officially 'thirty-something.' 
But when the first step of Peri's self-improvement plan backfires, she starts to wonder if change might be overrated.  
 
Enter Milo Preston, an up-and-coming chef who's in town to take over a local restaurant. When Peri and Milo begin working together, she finds it hard to ignore his easy charm and captivating emerald-green eyes. Since Milo is her best friend's estranged brother, Peri has to keep reminding herself that he is completely off-limits. As they grow closer, Milo introduces Peri to new foods, the joy (and pain) of jogging, and makes her think her luck might finally be turning.
 
But when the past catches up with them, Peri finds herself back at square one. Will she be able to sort herself out—or will the roof cave in on her once and for all?

*Please note that this novel was originally published in October 2015 by MARCHING INK, LLC.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cat Lavoie
• Release date: Oct 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533700483

Cat Lavoie

Cat Lavoie is a chick lit writer from Montreal, Canada. She loves writing fun and quirky romantic comedies and is the author of BREAKING THE RULES, ZOEY & THE MOMENT OF ZEN, PERI IN PROGRESS and MESSING WITH MATILDA.   A fan of all things feline, Cat loves cats and hopes to someday have a house full of them in order to officially become a crazy cat lady. (But one or two cats will do for now.) If she isn't reading or writing, Cat enjoys listening to podcasts (mostly comedy and true crime) and watching way too much TV. She fell in love with London many years ago and hopes to go back one day. Cat is currently at work on her next novel.   To connect with Cat and find out more about her books, visit CatLavoie.com and follow @CatLavoieBooks on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.  

Book preview

1

The Peri Project

It was a birthday surprise—just not the one I was expecting.

Throughout my twenties, I’d predicted that my inevitable and premature midlife crisis would happen during my thirtieth birthday party. I’d throw an epic tantrum, dramatically curse out the friends and family who’d gathered to celebrate my milestone, and disappear with a bottle of champagne and an entire triple layer chocolate cake. As it turns out, I rang in the big 3-0 without so much as a single tear. But exactly twelve months later, I was on the verge of losing it.

Screw him, I shouted over my shoulder at my best friend, Elsa. I just want to dance. It’s my birthday and I shouldn’t have to wait for anybody to have fun. I’m going to throw my hands in the air and wave them like I just don’t care. I took a defiant and confident step in the direction of the crowded dance floor, ready to lose myself in the music.

Peri, watch out!

But Elsa’s warning came about half a second too late. A brick wall—almost seven feet tall and wearing a tight black T-shirt that could barely contain his muscles—appeared out of nowhere just as I was throwing my hands in the air. Crashing into him face-first, I felt the heel of my shoe snap. I knew I’d sprained my ankle before I even hit the ground.

Peri! Are you okay? Elsa asked, rushing over to me. At least I think that’s what she said—I had a hard time hearing her over the terrible dance music blasting from the nearby speakers. I’d never been to The Cat’s Meow and, after spending an hour in that club, I knew why. I’m sure half the people there were using fake IDs and the rest didn’t look a day over twenty-one. They were going crazy over songs I’d never heard before. I felt old, out of touch, and horribly overdressed. I’d squeezed myself into a tight black skirt I could barely move in and my ridiculous top had both sequins and sparkles. The mirrored disco ball spinning above our heads—which I now had a perfect view of—was more discreet than me. Peri, Elsa repeated. Answer me. Are you hurt?

The brick wall was pumping his fist in the air, completely unaware that he was the reason I was sprawled out on the floor trying to avoid getting trampled by the abundance of stilettos dancing dangerously close to my head. I pointed at my leg and winced. My ankle. I could feel it beginning to throb and swell. What was I thinking wearing heels? Flats would have been a much safer option, but I’d wanted to step outside my comfort zone for a night on the town with my best friend and my secret (for now) boyfriend—or my Clandestine Lover, as I liked to refer to Declan, which never failed to make Elsa gag.

I think it’s time we call it a night, Elsa said, helping me up.

Keeping my weight off my right leg and holding on to Elsa for dear life, I stumbled off the dance floor and made my way to an empty leather couch at the back of the room. Ow. Ow. Ow.

If you’re in that much pain, then we definitely need to go home and put some ice on your ankle. And, to be honest, I can’t leave soon enough. This place makes me feel ancient.

But it’s my birthday, I said, whining like a child and readjusting the glittery pink BIRTHDAY GIRL tiara on my head. I did not wear this stupid thing and make a fool of myself just to go home early. I think some of the glitter fell into my eye and that’s why I didn’t see that guy in front of me. I bet it’s full of toxic glue.

Elsa shook her head, and I could see her trying not to laugh. First of all, that tiara is a treasured tradition. We’ve been wearing it on our birthdays since grade school. And if you’re going to blame anything for tonight’s turn of events, I’d blame those dance moves. Were you trying to pirouette or something?

I stuck my tongue out at her. If you’re going to act like a petulant child, might as well put some effort into it. No, we can’t leave. Declan might still show up. Maybe he’s just running late.

Elsa grunted and rolled her eyes. What happened to ‘screw him?’ And unless he’s coming here with an ice pack, he’s not going to be useful at all. As far as I know, sticking your tongue down someone’s throat is not a recognized medical procedure.

It’s always been hard for Elsa to hide her complete and absolute hatred for Declan. I was hoping she’d be able to fake it for the sake of my birthday. Apparently not. It was hard enough convincing her that The Cat’s Meow was my idea. If she had known Declan was a regular here and he was the one who’d suggested this place for celebratory birthday drinks, she would have never agreed to come along.

Let me check my phone, I said, fishing it out of my bag. Maybe he tried calling me. My face broke into a huge grin when I saw his name on the screen. I held up the phone triumphantly. A text! He sent me a text. And then I proceeded to read Declan's message and my face fell faster than I did on the slippery dance floor.

Hey McKenna

Can’t make 2night. Sorry.

No explanation. Nothing—not even a simple happy birthday. How hard is it to type two little words? I would have been happy with Hap B-day.

He’s not coming, is he? Elsa asked, even though I’m sure she already knew the answer.

I shook my head, determined not to let my disappointment show. He had an emergency. I don’t know why I felt the need to lie. Even if I had told Elsa that Declan was busy feeding hungry orphans or clothing the poor, she’d still talk about him with a scowl on her face.

Did His Royal Highness run out of fancy imported moisturizer or something? Never mind. I don’t want to know. I need to get you home. I’m allergic to cats and The Cat’s Meow is giving me hives. How’s your ankle?

I looked down at my injured foot and tried to move it from side to side. A sharp pain ran up my leg and I screamed out loud. I hope it’s not broken.

We have two options. Either I take you to the ER, or I take you home. Which one is it?

As bad as it hurt, I was pretty sure a broken ankle would be a thousand times more painful. And there was no way I was spending hours in a waiting room sitting next to someone hacking up a lung or bleeding all over me. Maybe there was a way to salvage a part of this evening. Unlike Elsa who’s been celebrating the same birthday (her twenty-ninth) for the last three years, I was only going to turn thirty-one once and I did not want to waste a minute of my special day at the hospital. Home, I said, sighing.

After limping all the way to the exit—using Elsa as a human crutch—we finally made it outside. My friend was the designated driver that night, so I’d been free to drink all the strawberry mojitos I could handle—which ended up being just one, minus the few sips I spilled down the front of my shirt. Thankfully, Elsa’s car wasn’t parked too far from the entrance so I was able to climb inside her red Mini Cooper with minimal pain.

Ready? she asked, sliding the key into the ignition.

I took one last glance at the club door just in case Declan was pulling a prank on me and he was actually waiting for me inside with flowers and a really thoughtful gift—like a pair of earrings (amethysts, since my favorite color is purple) or a weekend trip to New York City where we’d be free to stroll hand in hand without worrying about bumping into somebody from work. When you live in tiny Messina, Connecticut, you can’t sneeze without sharing your germs with someone who’s known you since grade school. I sighed and looked away when a group of guys (none of whom were Declan) stumbled out of the club and roared with laughter as one of them puked on the sidewalk.

Peri? Elsa asked. Have you heard anything I’ve just said? Did you hit your head when you fell? Should I be worried about a concussion?

I shook my head and smiled. Sorry, I was just daydreaming. Let’s get out of here. I needed to forget about this messy evening and I knew something that would help me do just that. Hey, Elsa! Do you know what my ankle needs? I asked.

Ice? Possibly a brace?

No, I was thinking of something less boring and more delicious.

Elsa squinted and, tearing her eyes away from the road for a fraction of a second, gave me a look. I knew she knew what I was thinking about. Without a word, she turned the car around and headed to Bob’s Hamburger Hut, our favorite greasy spoon diner. Since I had trouble walking, we ordered from the drive-through window and ate bacon cheeseburgers, cheese fries, and frosty chocolate milk shakes while singing along to the radio. I only looked at my phone twice to see if Declan had called or texted. The birthday message I wanted to receive never came, but the junk food did a good job of numbing the pain.

After our bellies were full and our voices hoarse from the singing, Elsa and I called it a night. After a few minutes of silent driving, we stopped in front of my house—a tiny redbrick bungalow at the end of a quiet, tree-lined street. I grew up in that house and I would have been really proud of the fact that I now owned it, but it was a bottomless money pit and the cause of most of my recent headaches. Buyer’s remorse made my stomach churn every time I looked at the peeling paint and—a more recent surprise—the cracked foundation.

How’s the roof holding up? Elsa asked later that evening after I’d managed to get out of my clubbing clothes and carefully hop into bed.

I waved my crossed fingers in the air. It rained again today and the living room is dry as a bone. I think the problem is solved. It might be a birthday miracle.

I have no idea how these things work, but I’m pretty sure a roof can’t magically mend itself. You’re going to have to call someone eventually, Peri.

She was right. I was in a state of complete denial, of course. Positive thinking and crossed fingers couldn’t mend a roof. Every time it rained I panicked and looked everywhere for puddles. Sooner or later one would appear in the living room or the guest room closet. And then I’d cry and curse my crazy impulse purchase. Why did I buy an old house when I could have splurged on a new designer wardrobe or a month-long tropical vacation? I loved my childhood home, but I loved it a lot more when I was a child and didn’t have to deal with any of its problems.

My parents sold it to a young couple two years ago when they decided to move to a retirement community in Florida. When the new owners put it back on the market last year, I thought it was fate giving me a sign.

Now I know it was fate teaching me a lesson. The new owners knew it was trouble. My parents probably knew it was trouble when they put the FOR SALE sign on the front lawn and bought a condo in Florida.

When I called them up and told them I’d put in an offer on our old house and planned to use every penny of the inheritance I got after Granny McKenna passed away for the down payment, the silence at the other end of the line should have told me everything I needed to know. But my mother’s sharp gasp when I told her I’d voluntarily removed the home inspection clause from my offer confirmed it for me. Unlike the bank—who was more than willing to lend me money—they did not approve. But it was too late to go back.

The sellers accepted my offer and the house was mine. Leaky roof. Creaky floorboards. Hastily plastered hole in the bedroom wall punched by an overzealous eight-year-old kid (me) after her first karate lesson. It was all mine.

I heard Elsa rummaging through my kitchen and a pang of hunger hit me even though we’d just eaten. What are you doing? I called out.

Do you have a bag of frozen peas in here? she asked.

Maybe she was getting ready to fix us something delicious? But I was skeptical since frozen peas couldn’t possibly be involved in something delicious. I made a face. I hope not. If you find one, please throw it out before it contaminates the ice cream.

It’s for your ankle, silly. But I guess I forgot who I’m talking to. When’s the last time you ate a vegetable? And potato chips don’t count.

Hey, I like carrots, I said.

I could practically hear Elsa rolling her eyes. Yeah, but only with a side of blue cheese dressing and chicken wings smothered in Buffalo sauce.

My best friend knew me so well. I’d been a picky eater and junk food addict for as long as I could remember, sneaking gummy bears and candy bars into the classroom when I was a kid and trading the healthy snacks my mom packed in my lunch box for cake and more candy. While Elsa indulged in junk food now and again, she also ate salads on purpose and drank a truly awful concoction called a green smoothie every single morning. Whenever I saw her making it with kale and spinach, I could barely hold down my breakfast, which was usually potato chips or whatever kind of cake I could get my hands on.

Holy F-word, Peri.

It’s just you and me, Elsa. You don’t have to censor yourself when we’re together. Your boss can’t hear you. Swear away.

I’d rather not, she said. You know Principal Ellis says I need to get rid of my potty mouth ASAP. I figure it’ll be easier if I go cold turkey. I’m counting on you to keep me in check.

Okay. I laughed as I remembered what was causing this new resolve. Elsa was head librarian at Messina Elementary and during a heated phone call with her boyfriend James last week, she started swearing at him, not realizing that an entire second grade class had just entered the library, and they were overhearing every foul word. They were supposed to be learning about recycling but got a comprehensive lesson in trash talk instead.

Um, Peri. I think you need to limp on over to the guest room.

What is it? I asked, even though my gut told me I didn’t want to know the answer to that question.

I climbed out of bed and experienced a temporary moment of joy when a faint bolt of pain shot up my leg. My ankle was still sore but it wasn’t getting worse. And then I remembered the reason I was standing up and all that joy faded away.

When I reached Elsa, she was standing in a puddle of water and looking up at the source of the problem—the ceiling. The large brown water stain that had been gracing the ceiling for as long as I could remember had now graduated to a full-fledged leak.

Where do you keep the buckets? Elsa asked, giving me an encouraging smile.

Closet. Hallway, I said, unable to take my eyes off the water drip-drip-dripping onto the sand-colored rug. I wanted to scream and cry, but I was too tired to act out the tantrum that was building up inside of me. Stupid house. Stupid roof. Stupid me.

When Elsa came back into the room with supplies, I soaked up as much of the water as I could with the fancy pink towels I got as a housewarming present. I’m not sure this is how Aunt Gina intended me to use them, but the high thread count made them exceptionally absorbent.

I’m sorry, Peri, Elsa said, moving the bucket a few inches to the right. You shouldn’t be dealing with this on your birthday.

I never should have bought this house. It was a huge mistake.

Elsa just nodded. We’ve had this conversation many times before. Just like we’d discussed how I shouldn’t be dating Declan and how my poor eating habits were going to catch up with me. Lately, every conversation we had revolved around the mess that was my life. And now we were literally cleaning up a mess on my floor. I’d had enough.

I’m done, I declared.

Yeah, there’s nothing more we can do at this point except wait for the floor to dry. The leak doesn’t seem to be getting worse so . . .

No, I said, putting up my hand to stop her. I smiled and took a deep breath. I’m done with the old Peri. It’s time for me to change. I’m thirty-one now. Remember when I turned twenty-one, I wrote up a list of things I wanted to achieve before I hit thirty?

I remember that list. I also remember that you wrote it while we were both drunk at a bar. Didn't you write it on a napkin?

I nodded. And I think I still have that napkin. I pointed to the guest room closet. If you just move a few boxes on the top shelf, I think it might be in a scrapbook.

Elsa sighed. "I’m not moving any boxes, Peri. That list is scribblings on a cocktail napkin. Drunken scribblings."

But I kept it. I didn't throw it out at the end of the evening or leave it on the table. I folded it up and put it in my purse and then stored it in that box. It has to mean something.

Yeah, Elsa said with a laugh. It means you might be a hoarder and you really need to stop bringing garbage home.

I ignored her. I wanted to do all kinds of cool and noble things, like get involved with a charity and volunteer at the children’s hospital. I’ve done none of it. None. The only thing I’ve done in the last year is buy this house. I was so mad when my parents sold it, but now I know it was the smartest thing they ever did. The first year of my thirties is gone. I have to stop wasting time. It’s time for New Peri.

There’s nothing wrong with the Peri standing in front of me. You just need a project. Something fun to distract you, Elsa said in the soothing voice she probably reserved for students who cried in the library. Like a hobby.

I knew my friend was just trying to help, but if Elsa thought arts and crafts were going to solve my problems, she was dead wrong. I was on a real mission. My issues were too serious for a bit of scrapbooking and glitter glue.

"I am going to be my project."

Elsa smiled. That’s nice. Good for you. You know I’m here for you every step of the way.

In all fairness, Elsa probably thought that my journey would have only one step and I’d wake up the next morning and forget all about what I said. I couldn’t blame her for that because my track record for following through on things was less than stellar. I’d just have to prove her wrong.

Elsa yawned and stretched her arms up over her head. I am so tired. I don’t feel like driving home—I think I’m going to go crash at my mom’s house since your guest room is a bit of a danger zone right now. One second I’ll be dreaming of warm waterfalls and the next I’ll wake up to the harsh reality of a cold rainwater shower. I can’t risk that. Elsa waited for me to crack a smile, but I couldn’t muster one. Are you going to be okay here? she asked.

I nodded. I’m sorry you have to go out of your way because of my crumbling roof.

You know my mom lives across the street, right? If the roof caves in on you just scream really loud and I’ll come over. I rolled my eyes as she pulled me in for a hug. Happy birthday, my friend, she said. I know it wasn’t a great one, but it’s just one day. Things will get better.

Will you come over tomorrow to help me get the house ready for New Peri? I asked. Elsa’s blank stare told me she’d completely forgotten what I’d explained to her about a minute before. I was annoyed, but I tried to stay calm and avoid getting aggravated over this one little thing. New Peri was cool like that. I need to get rid of all the junk food in this house. It’s Step One of a plan I haven’t quite fully figured out yet. But it seems like a good place to start.

Yeah, no problem. Sounds like fun.

I wasn’t too sure about that, but I smiled and limped over to the front door with Elsa. After promising to put more ice on my ankle, I watched as she crossed the street and, after rummaging through her bag for her keys, unlocked the front door of her mother’s house—a brick bungalow identical to mine. But with a better roof.

After a few hours of tossing and turning in bed, I gave up on sleep and picked up my laptop from