“Four metrics were marked as Satisfactory.” Jacob gave a long pause. “Satisfactory.”
Dragging my finger while keeping my heart rate perfectly steady was more difficult than you’d think. But it seems to me we have more control over our own bodies than we realize. It’s just that without any way to measure it, we’re shooting in the dark.
“Obviously, I don’t expect to ever be on great terms with Laura Kim,” Jacob said. “No one just bounces back from a murder accusation. Regardless of whose finger was, technically, on the trigger.”
Before I knew it, the Snugglebay was in my sights.
“Interdepartmental Coordination—what does that even mean? I coordinate. Of course I coordinate.”
The goal pulsed with an inviting glow, and the Floatalongs quivered in anticipation of finding their way into the light.
“Laura doesn’t seem like the type to knock me down a few pegs for the sake of putting me in my place. But what if it’s subconscious?”
I must’ve been eager to get the damn mini-game over with, because a few of the Floatalongs started to drift. I got hold of myself and focused—believe me, one of the hardest things to force yourself to do is relax—but I must have managed. Because my puffballs got back in line, and pretty soon we were home free….
“Vic??”
Same tone of voice he’d used when he was calling me to dinner.
Only, twice as irritated.
The puffballs scattered.
I slipped my earbuds out, clicked off my phone and stuck it in my pocket, noting Jacob’s phone was still face-up on the table…though I didn’t call him on it. “Laura might be the most ethical person we know,” I said, and then immediately regretted it. Because God forbid I tell Jacob any aspect of him is merely satisfactory. “You know how hard it is to quantify anything. She’s probably working from wonky numbers.”
Jacob’s eyes narrowed.
I hastened to add, “Not to mention the fact that we can’t let on what you can actually do.” Not unless he wanted to start a whole new life as a lab rat.
That seemed to mollify Jacob, somewhat, and he turned back to his plate.
It came as no surprise that “satisfactory” didn’t cut it for him—I’d seen one of Jacob’s second grade report cards. His mom had jettisoned most of the childhood memorabilia when he went off to college and she filled his old bedroom with sewing stuff. But there was one she’d kept because she thought the teacher’s comment was funny.Reads well above grade level. Would prefer if he raised his hand before correcting me.
His marks were straight A’s.
To put it mildly…I couldn’t relate. In terms of scholastic performance, I had never aspired to be anything but mediocre. Numbers always eluded me, while reading assignments left me bored out of my mind. And once I flunked a grade, I focused on making wisecracks. Because if I had a smart comeback for everything, at least no one could say I was dumb.
Was it ADD, or just the result of bouncing between foster homes? I’m not sure it matters. As loathe as Jacob might be to add a “satisfactory” to his permanent record, I was none too keen to stuff more dubious diagnoses into mine.
Besides, I was perfectly capable of learning new things. Just ask the Floatalongs who’d nearly made it to the Snugglebay. On the very first try.
Jacob was back with a damp dishcloth to mop up the soy glaze before we found it stuck to everything. As he leaned over the table and rounded up every last noodle fragment—and as I enjoyed the view of his meticulously tended glutes—I pondered the burden of perfectionism. Everything’s got a point of diminishing returns, and sometimes good enough is good enough. Aiming for more will just make you crazy.
“Think about it this way,” I told him. “When you need to fly under the radar…you’ve gotta aim low.”
“But that’s the thing. I wasn’t aiming.”
I rounded the table, took him by the shoulders, and made him face me. “Look, mister, we both know you’recapablewith a capital C. You’re shrewd and you’re relentless and you can reason circles around anyone.”
Uncertainty flickered in his dark, soulful eyes. In my opinion, a little bit of self-doubt is a good thing. It stops us from getting too far up our own asses. But insecurity hits him way harder than it does me.
“Forget about the FPMP.” My hand wandered across his broad shoulder and settled against his cheek, cupping his jaw. My thumb traced his lower lip. “I just so happen to have the results in from the annual husband report. And it looks like you crushed it.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. I restrained myself from kissing it.
“It’s true,” I said. “Top score in the categories of ‘gets me,’ ‘backs me up,’ and ‘laughs at the same bad joke more than once.’” My willpower ebbed, and I tilted my head to angle my mouth toward his. “Benefit package is officially renewed.”
Our mouths met, familiar and easy…and good. I didn’t always understand how someone like him ended up withsomeone like me—but in moments like this, I didn’t need to. I just had to show up, lean in, and not screw it all up.
