the Spinelli family raised their glasses in a birthday toast, Joanna smiled at the gathered clan and hoped it didn’t show that her heart wasn’t in it.
Thirty years old.
Today she was thirty years old, and on this milestone birthday, instead of being well on her way to a successful career in fashion design, married to the man of her dreams and—at the very least—pregnant with her first child, she was still struggling for recognition in her chosen field, still employed as a part-time assistant to her former lover—who had dumped her less than two weeks ago!—and she was so far from being pregnant with any child she might as well forget about ever becoming a mom.
My life needs a major overhaul. Oh, who am I kidding? My life needs a miracle.
And tonight, adding insult to insult, she didn’t even have a date. But her state of woe wasn’t her family’s fault, was it? So she had been doing her best to look cheerful and happy to be here with them tonight. And heaven knew, they’d tried to make her feel good. Her mom had knitted Joanna a gorgeous, dark red, oversize cashmere shawl—perfect for chilly Seattle fall weather—and her dad, always generous toward his one and only daughter, had given her a hundred-dollar gift card, while her four brothers had pitched in to buy her an iPad, which was incredibly sweet of them.
In fact, she still couldn’t believe they’d done it. She could hardly wait to buy some design software she’d been eyeing. Now she’d be able to work no matter where she was without having to lug her heavier laptop.
And then there was Granny Carmela, her dad’s mom, who had tucked a check for five hundred dollars into her card. Bless Granny, Joanna thought as she gave her eighty-six-year-old grandmother an extra hug. Such a loving, generous gift. If only five hundred dollars would solve Joanna’s financial problems...but that was another story, one Joanna didn’t want to even think about today. She subscribed to Scarlett O’Hara’s philosophy that anything bad could be thought about tomorrow.
Her family was a good bunch, for all that she complained about her dad’s controlling ways and her mom’s seeming subservience and the way her brothers sometimes acted like neanderthals. But what were families for, if not to bear the brunt of complaints? Who better to blame when your life went offtrack?
“Who wants a slice of cake?” her mother asked with an eager smile.
“Make mine a wedge,” said Tony, Joanna’s oldest brother.
“Tony,” his wife, Sharon, warned, looking meaningfully at his waistline.
“I know, I know.” He grinned. “German chocolate’s my favorite, Share.”
“Everything’s your favorite,” she grumbled.
“I’ll be good tomorrow. I promise.”
They all laughed. Tony’s promises concerning food were rarely serious. Or adhered to.
After cake and their favorite MORA ice cream had been consumed, Joanna figured she’d stayed the obligatory amount of time and could now leave without hurting her mother’s feelings.
“Oh, honey, I thought you were going to spend the night,” her mother protested, dark eyes filled with disappointment.
Joanna’s parents lived in the same small house in Georgetown that they’d lived in since the day they bought it. Located south of Seattle, their area was the oldest residential neighborhood in the city and had been a great place to grow up in. “Can’t, Mom. I need to get an early start tomorrow.”
“But, honey...tomorrow’s Thursday. You’re off on Thursdays.”
Joanna had an arrangement with her former lover/boss. She only worked four days a week. She would have preferred having her three days off in a row, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and her job not only paid well but gave her full benefits. “Yes, but...”
“Ann Marie, give the girl a break,” Joanna’s father said.
“But, Tony, she is off, and I thought we could—”
“I meant I have to work on my collection,” Joanna said, interrupting her mother. She desperately needed to have at least twelve designs ready to show, and possibly more—if she could find a place to show them, of course—and right now she only had nine completed and had only just begun to work on the tenth. Of course, if she didn’t manage to raise more money—that five-hundred-dollar birthday gift would barely pay a third of what she already owed on her Visa card—she was gonna be dead in the water.
Pushing her dismal thoughts out of her mind, Joanna managed to keep a smile on her face as she said her goodbyes and gathered up her gifts. The drive to her small apartment in Tremont, a convenient area she loved for its eclectic atmosphere, only took about twenty minutes.
Still, it was midnight before she fell into bed—actually, her sofa—and when the alarm went off at six, she groaned, sorely tempted to shut it off and go back to sleep for another hour or two. Tabitha, her ten-year-old gray cat, obviously felt the same way, for she burrowed under Joanna’s abandoned pillow and shut her eyes again.
Still half-asleep, Joanna stumbled her way into her minuscule kitchenette and turned on the coffeemaker. After filling Tabitha’s food bowl and putting out fresh water for her, Joanna headed for the shower. An hour later, dressed in jeans and a warm sweater—as usual, mid-September in the Pacific Northwest was a true harbinger of winter—thick socks and her favorite clogs, she headed to her converted living room and her worktable where she had a gorgeous piece of sea-green velvet.
Joanna sipped at her coffee and smiled. Despite the early rising time, it was great to have a whole day to work on her designs. So what if she was thirty years old and hadn’t yet met her goals? Thirty wasn’t the end of the world. Depending on how you thought of it, thirty was actually a beginning. So what if she was going to run out of money soon? She’d manage. She always did. And she’d never had to ask her parents for money, although Lord knows, she’d thought about it. But they didn’t have a lot, and they were getting older. Each time she’d been tempted to approach them, she’d stopped herself. They’d done enough for her in helping her pay her college and art school costs.
Soon she was so engrossed in the creation of her new design, the hours flew by. It was only when her stomach rumbled in hunger that she finally stopped working. Glancing at the clock, she was shocked to realize it was almost three. Her fridge yielded tuna salad that still smelled okay, so she fixed a sandwich and cut up an apple to go with it, then headed back to the dress form, where the velvet wasn’t draping quite the way she’d hoped.
Maybe the velvet had been a mistake. For this collection, she’d chosen to work with lighter, more forgiving fabrics—chiffons, silks, laces and the like. But the velvet had virtually cried out to be made into a one-shoulder, floor-length evening dress. The moment she’d seen it, she’d pictured it worn by Prince William’s beautiful wife. In fact, Joanna had a large photo of the duchess tacked onto her enormous bulletin board—a constant reminder of the effect she hoped to achieve and the kind of woman she hoped to attract as a client.
She was halfway through her late lunch when her cell rang. The ring tone announced the call was from Georgie Prince, her BFF.
“Hey, girl,” Georgie said.
“Hey.” Knowing a call from Georgie always stretched to at least half an hour, Joanna sank onto a kitchen chair and put her feet up on its neighbor.
“What’re
