Perfect Girl - Weebly

what everyone else did.
“These crazy bicycle messengers don’t care what color
the streetlight is!”
That night, as exhausted as I was exhilarated, I met
Aunt Marty’s handsome husband for the first time, too.
Uncle Richard. He was a divorce lawyer who wore a silver
suit and smelled like cologne. His hands were tan, and his
gold wedding band looked like he polished it every day.
When I saw the way my uncle gazed at my aunt, I knew
how a man should view a woman. His eyes sparkled with
lust, love, and awe. He looked as though he’d never fully
understand his wife, but that was okay. Even at eleven years
old, I knew I wanted a man to look at me like that one day.
Uncle Richard joined the three of us for a late dinner on
the sky-high balcony of their apartment overlooking the
East River. After dark, we popped popcorn and watched
fireworks explode over the river. Just like a real family.
“What do you think of our little town?” Uncle Richard
asked me.
“I want to live here,” I said.
“You don’t mean that, Ruthie,” Mom said. She coughed
and cleared her throat.
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
Mom coughed again. “Does anyone know what’s holding
this balcony up?”
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