Wishful Thinking by Kamy Wicoff Read Free Book Online Page A

through his thick, dark hair, still his greatest asset, Norman headed toward Scott, who immediately took out his phone and started typing on it, apparently employing a similar defense against Norman’s advances. Jennifer sighed. Now Norman would be a kiss-ass, Scott would blow Norman off, and Norman would think it had gone well. Even worse, Scott would probably steal his idea, as Norman actually was a talented writer. Norman was a starfucker who got fucked by stars.
    Melissa and Jennifer exchanged a knowing look. After all their years together, Melissa knew Norman almost as well as Jennifer did. It was hard to believe Melissa was in her late twenties now. Jennifer had found her nearly six years before through a West Village mommy message board, a girl from Long Island with four older brothers who showed up for her interview wearing too much perfume, tight-fitting sweats that rode dangerously low on her hips, and a glaring addiction to tanning booths. Julien had immediately fallen for her, and she for him.
    Jennifer looked at a clock on the wall. It was already ten after four, and there were no signs of the recital starting. “How long will this take?” Jennifer asked Melissa. “I mean, what time will he go on?”
    “Just a sec,” Melissa said. She was texting somebody on her phone. Jennifer stared at it hungrily. She had an overpowering urge to ask if she could borrow it to call Vinita, but she resisted. If she wasn’t supposed to use her phone, maybe she wasn’t supposed to use other people’s phones, either.
    Melissa put away her phone and took out the program. “So what time?” Jennifer asked her again, anxiously. Jack had begun covering Jennifer’s scratched hand in chocolaty kisses. “He’s playing close to the end,” Melissa replied, yawning. “Maybe five or five fifteen?”
    Jennifer jerked her hand away from Jack, who wailed. “What?” she cried. “I mean, I thought the whole thing was over by five. I have to get back to the office.” She had formulated a plan: listen to Julien play, then run like hell back to work. The West End School wasn’t that far from 250 Broadway—fifteen minutes by cab, if traffic was light on the West Side Highway. If she hurried, she thought, she might even make the four thirty meeting, or at least be only a few minutes late. She certainly wasn’t going to wait around until 5:00 p.m. and hope the app would work a second time and transport her back to 4:00 p.m. at her office. It was much too big a risk.
    She nudged Jack off her lap and placed him in Melissa’s.
    “But Mama’s hand is hurt!” Jack protested. Instinctively she reached for her phone and handed it to him. “Play Angry Birds,” she said. “I’m going to find Julien’s teacher.” Appeased, Jack reached for her phone. “No, wait!” she yelled, grabbing it back as though he’d just picked up a hand grenade on the street. This time several people stared, including Norman, who had returned from his “meeting” with Scott Spencer afterall of thirty seconds. “I need to keep it with me, actually,” she said, as coolly as she could. “Norman, can he play on yours?”
    “I don’t have Angry Birds,” he said. “You know I don’t believe in it.”
    Jennifer wanted to ask him how it was possible to “believe” or not believe in Angry Birds, while having her usual nagging doubts about whether her dependence on Angry Birds in situations like this made her a bad mother. But now was hardly the time.
    “Melissa?” she asked, trying not to sound desperate.
    “I have it,” she said cheerily, handing her phone to Jack. “I even have the one that’s in outer space!” As Jack settled in to play, Jennifer headed backstage.
    “B ACKSTAGE ” WAS REALLY JUST one of the larger practice rooms in the school. Once there, she navigated her way through at least thirty-five kids running around the room, abusing their instruments, until at last she spotted Owen, Julien’s guitar instructor. Wanting to avoid