Read Online Mrs. Perfect by Jane Porter - Free Book Online Page A

and prepare for hosting the group.
    Who would have ever thought that book club would be stressful? When I joined two years ago, I’d imagined interesting conversations among relaxed friends. Instead, book club freaks me out. It’s not enough to read the book. I’ve got to get online and research what all the critics are saying, including positive and negative consumer reviews. I need not just the Amazon reviews, but those from the
Seattle Times,
the
Los Angeles Times
, and the
San Francisco Chronicle
.
    I don’t even like most of the books we pick. They’re dark and sometimes so damn boring that I can barely plow my way through the paragraphs.
    Every now and then, I just wish we could read something fun. A Jennifer Weiner novel. Jane Green.
    Nancy Drew.
    I pick up the book with its murky vintage photograph cover. It’s the newest big hit. It’s being read by everyone, and of course there is terrible suffering and loss. A book club book wouldn’t be a book club pick if it wasn’t achingly poignant or heartrendingly bittersweet.
    I toss the book back down and head to my closet, feeling crabby all the way to my bones. I’m just so damn tired of trying so hard. So damn tired of trying to keep it all together—not just me, but Nathan and the girls, too.
    Nathan’s home early, and he’s promised to take the girls out so we can have the house to ourselves for the book group tonight.
    “What’s wrong, honey?” he asks, catching sight of me standing motionless in our walk-in closet.
    “I don’t know what to wear.” I’m wearing just a bra and thong as I face the rows and rows of clothes. “Nothing I ever wear is right, either.”
    “Taylor, you’re always impeccably put together.”
    “And it’s so much work. I’m sick of it.”
    “Don’t let your book club do this to you. It’s supposed to be fun.”
    “Monica says I never read the book.”
    “Do you read the book?”
    “Yes! Maybe once in the entire last year I didn’t finish it, but I still participated. I still did the research. I tried.”
    “So don’t let her upset you. Monica’s in competition with you. She has been ever since you first met.”
    He’s right, but it’s small comfort when Monica will be holding court in my living room in less than an hour.
    I reach for Roberto Cavalli animal-print jeans and his silky black fitted blouse. With the right shoes and my hair drawn back into a smooth ponytail low on my nape, I hope I’ll strike the appropriate note for discussing yet another tortured, dysfunctional American family where dad drinks too much and mom takes to bed and no one protects the children.
    “God, Taylor, you always look so amazing,” Suze exclaims as I greet her at the door sixty-some minutes later.
    I kiss cheek-cheek with Suze and then Jen, who have arrived together. They’re Medina moms, not that that’s such a big deal, but last year when we had the whole kindergarten fiasco, quite a few of the Points moms weren’t talking to the Lakes moms. Fortunately, everyone’s moved on to other things, and the kindergartners in question survived and are now happily well-adjusted first graders.
    Nathan and the girls haven’t left yet, so Nathan’s uncorking wine and pouring drinks. After Jen and Suze, Ellen arrives. Ellen is an Atlanta transplant who lived in New York before the South and brings her East Coast edge with her.
    After Ellen, it’s Patti, Raine, and then Monica close behind. Kate and Lucy also show up at the same time, and I wonder if they’ve driven here together. Lucy looks as though she’s been crying, and Kate keeps her close at her side. Two more women arrive—prospective members?—and they’re talking animatedly as they drop their purses and books on chairs and then head for the appetizers and wine.
    I’m in charge of the main course, Jen has appetizers, Patti dessert, and Kate has wine.
    The appetizers are a tad ethnic for my taste. I was raised on the best of the 1950 cookbook—hot crab dip,