Free Imperfectly Perfect by AE Woodward

always made a point to make a batch when she knew I was going to be around.
    I grabbed a cookie and fell back onto the couch, still feeling the effects of my hangover. I closed my eyes while chewing, savoring every last bite.
    "So how's my boy?"
    I opened my eyes and sat up as Ms. Strout handed me a cup of coffee. She smiled casually as she sat down in her rocking chair.
    "He's good. Same old, same old."
    "Oh," she pressed her lips together in a nervous line, "I hope he's not working too hard."
    "He works hard, but he plays harder," I assured her.
    "And how are you dear?"
    Ah, there it was. The dreaded question.
    "Well, to be honest Ms Strout, things have been better," I admitted.
    Ms. Strout had been the one, and only, woman that I ever felt like I could talk to as a kid. She never judged, or pushed her views on me. Shane was a lot like her in that way. They were both great listeners, but Ms. Strout always gave the best advice, and right now that was something I needed.
    "Well," she probed, sipping her coffee, "tell me about it."
    I gave her the shortened, less dramatic, version of my dilemma. I made sure to emphasize that I really was happy with my life, but as I approached my thirtieth birthday I felt as though something was missing.
    "So, do you want my opinion?" she questioned.
    "Absolutely," I nodded.
    "Despite what your Mother might say, life isn't perfect, it's what you make it. My life isn't perfect, well according to lots of other people. I could have easily fallen apart when Shane's father abandoned us," she paused and reached toward me to rest her hand on my leg, "But I didn't because, as terrible as it was to think my baby boy would forever be without a father, I wanted Shane to have the best life possible with me."
    "So, you're saying I shouldn't worry about it."
    She shook her head. "Not necessarily. I think you need to look at what you already have."
    I was trying to follow her, but the champagne fog seemed to still be clouding my mind.
    "Shane said the same thing."
    "He's a smart boy," she smiled. "You have a great life in the city and you are surrounded by people who truly love you. That's more than most people will have in their lifetime. Besides," she continued, "you are still so young. Thirty is the new twenty, or so they say."
    I had to hand it to her. She was right, things could be worse. I had more in my life at that moment than lots of people. I had a job, a roof over my head, and most importantly my health. But call me greedy, I wanted more. Right there in Ms. Strout's house I made a plan, I was going to grab the bull by the horns and start searching for the missing piece to my perfect puzzle.

I was ecstatic when the weekend was finally over, and it was time to head back to good old NYC. I can't even begin to explain to you how happy I was to be getting out of Maine and away from my family. I know that sounds terrible and I love my family-really I do-but in case you hadn't noticed, they have the tendency to be quite overbearing. I was emotionally drained. The bottom line is that there was a reason I left this place, and every time I came back I was reminded of exactly why I'm living in New York with the family I chose.
    It was no big surprise that after Liz's big news, all my family really put the pressure on me. I spent the remainder of my time at home diverting all the obvious questions,
    'So Emma, are you dating anyone special?'
    'Are you still living with those boys?'
    'Don't you think its time you started considering settling down?'
    At the airport, I took time to make sure I hugged Mom, Dad, and Liz while we said our goodbyes. I made plans for my next trip home, and promised I would visit when Liz had her baby in the spring. I may not be overly fond of my sister, but I was determined to be the best Auntie I could be and was going to spoil my niece/nephew every chance I got.
    So there I was, on the curb waving as they pulled away. It might sound horrible to say I felt relieved, but I did. Mostly