Perfect Match Read Free Page B

inside the lockets, I felt my phone buzz in my bag. It was a text from Morgan, whom I realized I hadn’t seen all weekend.
    YOU ALIVE? BEEN MISSING YOUR PRETTY FACE, she wrote. GRAB A COFFEE?
    Morgan lived in SoHo, within walking distance from Bloomingdale’s, so it’d be super easy for her tocome meet up with us. But as I looked at my two friends gushing over their mockets, I tried to imagine Morgan hanging out in the men’s section. All we were doing was talking about and shopping for our boyfriends. Of all my single friends, she seemed the most sensitive about her lack of significant other. I didn’t want to blow her off, so I texted back:
    HOW ’BOUT LATTES TOMORROW BEFORE SCHOOL? WE’LL NEED THE CAFFEINE TO GET THROUGH ANOTHER MONDAY
    I knew I was doing Morgan a favor by opting to devote time to her solo, but something about my response felt a little forced. When had it started feeling like I had to dole out time with my friends based on whether or not they had boyfriends?
    â€œFlan,” SBB called me back to reality. “We’re about to check out. You want in on the mocket, right?”
    â€œOkay,” I surrendered, feeling more enthusiastic about getting out of the men’s department than about the gift itself. “Yes, I’ll take the mocket.” I was going to need some serious time in the shoe section to recover from this retail therapy session.

Chapter 3

SWEET MISFORTUNE
    A few hours later, I was holed up in my bedroom, avoiding my chemistry homework and holding up the mocket I’d just bought for Alex for the approval of my very discriminating Pomeranian, Noodles.
    He was curled up in my arms, making his contented half-snore, half-purr sound (anyone who’s met Noodles can attest to the fact that he must have been a cat in a former life). But when I showed him the mocket, his head perked up and he sniffed it suspiciously.
    â€œIt’s all wrong, isn’t it?” I asked, nuzzling his face.
    Noodles barked twice in the affirmative. I lay back on my bed and sighed. It was a week and a half until Valentine’s Day and after many hours of shopping for Alex I was back at square one. What’s more, I was feeling incapable of taking my own advice to Camille. I felt like so much was riding on this gift. Since ourrelationship was pretty new and I was still trying to feel things out, I just wanted to make sure to do everything right. The pressure was really starting to get to me.
    A knock at my door interrupted my thoughts. “Flan?” My father stuck his head in. “We’re ordering from Chin-Chin,” he said. “You want the usual?”
    Before he’d even finished his question, I had leapt from my bed to fling my arms around him. “Dad! When did you get back in town?”
    More often than not, the rest of my family’s professional globe-trotting duties left me sole proprietor of our way-too-big-for-one-girl town house in the West Village.
    My dad shrugged. “Bolivia was way too hot for your mother. We flew back this afternoon.”
    It only took one look at my father to know that he spent very little time in the city during the winter. His neatly trimmed blond hair framed a face too tan for February in New York. His most recent hobby was buying mansions in foreign countries, declaring them fixer-uppers, and spending all his time renovating them. So whenever my parents made an appearance at our house, it was always cause for celebration.
    â€œThat beats the leftover pizza feast I had planned,” I said, breathing in the familiar piney smell of my dad’s aftershave. “I thought I was home alone.”
    â€œFar from it.” My dad smiled, ruffling my hair. “We’ve got a full house, kiddo. Patch got in this afternoon from L.A. and he’s meeting Feb at the airport as we speak. I think they’re each bringing a
friend
home for dinner.”
    â€œThey’re not calling