The Imperfection of Swans

By Brandon Witt

Kevin Bivanti’s dream is to open a wedding dress shop, a place with the stunning gowns to make every bride-to-be feel adored. At thirty-eight, he quits a successful advertising career to buy an old brownstone in a trendy Boston neighborhood and to make his dream a reality. When one of his cosigners drops out, fate intervenes, ushering in Casper James, who hopes to open his own bakery. With Casper willing to take the risk, their ambitions meld into a wedding dress and wedding cake boutique.

Extensive renovations to the brownstone, an affair with his ex-husband, family drama with his mothers, and the anxiety of significant life changes push Kevin to the brink of a nervous breakdown. In the midst of stress and uncertainty, Casper becomes more than a business partner, a mutual attraction that adds another layer of intensity and risk.

With their dreams on the verge of reality, Kevin and Casper must find the courage to face the stress of managing their attraction, the gamble of a new business venture, and the resurgence of Kevin’s personal demons.

to Kevin Eksterowicz

thank you for inspiring this novel

thank you for being the cover model

most of all,

thank you for your friendship

Twenty-six years ago

THE HUNGER
didn’t hurt.

Actually, it did a little. His stomach cramped. His head seemed to spin every so often. His hands trembled, a touch. Those were okay, not too big a deal. More than anything, the hunger felt safe, strong. It felt powerful. Kevin felt powerful.

Kevin Bivanti hadn’t eaten in three days. There had been a saltine the evening before, and though a twinge of guilt tugged at him about the indulgence, the cracker had been mostly air. That shouldn’t matter, should it? He thought the three days still counted. A saltine wasn’t food, not when you only had one.

With his schedule, between getting up before the sun for the paper route and the alternating events after school of student council, play rehearsal, and choir practice, it was easy to convince his moms that he’d eaten elsewhere. That one of the teachers brought snacks, or he’d stopped by a friend’s house to help with homework and eaten with their family.

While a matter of pride to brag to his seventh-grade friends at lunch that he’d not eaten in days, that he was above such trivial needs, he couldn’t let his moms know. Kevin would rush through the door in the evening, kiss them both hello, and shut himself in his room, ready to face the hours of homework. If only that were an excuse too. He had friends who claimed to be studying in their rooms but were really playing on Game Boys, sneaking out to meet friends, or simply avoiding the work to be done. Not him. Hours upon hours he worked every night. Never taking a break or slipping up, not like he had with the saltine. There was no room for a slipup. He’d worked too hard, and he was not going to fail.

Times like this were the only thing in his way, and the realization made them so much worse. Time wasted as he curled up on the floor beside his bed, his arms wrapped around his knees, struggling to breathe. So much time just trying to pull oxygen into his lungs. Papers to be written as he lay shaking, thinking he was going to die, waiting for that last breath to refuse to enter his body. Twenty-five blank pre-algebra problems taunting him while he lost his mind.

That was the worst part.

Much worse than thinking he was dying.

He’d been in this position so many times over the past year and a half that some part of his brain knew he wouldn’t die. That he would arrive on the other side and still be there, the work waiting. But he wouldn’t be able to do it. At least at some point, he wouldn’t be able to do it.

He was going crazy.

After one of these attacks, he knew he wouldn’t come out of his curled-up position. His body might, but his brain, the stuff that made him Kevin, would remain in a tight ball, shaking on the floor, trapped in panic, forever.

Sometimes, during the worst moments, Kevin would manage to call out. Either a cry of fear or yell for one of them. They would hear, rush into his room, and soothe him. His moms gently caressed his back and hair, whispering calming words, even as he could hear fear seeping into their voices. They knew he was going insane. He knew they did.

And he couldn’t stop it.

This night, even as he lay in the claws of terror, Kevin knew this was one of the better nights. He wouldn’t need to call them, wouldn’t need to let them see yet another example of his failure. If he could just stretch out his hand the few feet and pull his salvation from under the bed.

After two attempts to drag in more oxygen, Kevin gave up on breathing and managed to throw a trembling hand toward the magazines that lay a million miles away.

He didn’t realize he’d taken ahold of them until they were mere inches from his face.

As the bedside lamp caught their glossy covers, a small molecule of oxygen found its way inside, giving Kevin enough strength to flip the magazine open, taking advantage of the salvation inside.

With each turn of the page, Kevin’s heart rate slowed. The shaking gradually stilled as one gorgeous white gown gave way to the next.

Muscles released their cramping and progressively loosened as the tips of Kevin’s fingers traced the intricate patterns in the lace.

Tears dried on his cheeks, and the corner of his lips gradually turned up at the peaceful, happy expressions of the beautiful brides.

Breathing slowly returned to an automatic function with every passing page of flawless bridal photos. Each one soothingly perfect. The lines of the dresses artful yet purposeful. The beautiful structure of the white gowns both hypnotizing and inspiring.

Within fifteen minutes, Kevin had once again taken his place at his desk, the bridal magazines captivating and healing him enough to stave off the insanity for a while longer.

A few more pages and he’d be able to return to his work. Return to his goal. But for now, he’d found strength enough in tulle, brocade patterns, and silk.

KEVIN

FROM A
block away, the lower two stories of the brownstone appeared covered in aged copper. Now that Kevin stood a couple of feet from the storefront, he could see the beveled columns and arches were painted in a faux style. The effect was deceiving. Shielding his brow with his hand to protect his eyes from the gently falling snow, he peered at three stories, two of which matched the rest of the attached curved brick brownstones on the block. Snow was building over the ropelike vines of english ivy that covered the walls. Unlike the lower two levels, the top stood out from its brothers. Instead of the evenly spaced small widow’s peak windows that lined the rest of the roof, there was a wall of curving glass.

Even though he’d spent his entire life in Boston, Kevin never tired of the endless historic brownstones. They were the perfect balance between artistic style and clean, pure lines. They soothed him.

Kevin adjusted his scarf, pulling it closer to guard against the evening breeze. He turned away from the building and toward the grinning woman next to him.

“Well? What do you think? It’s perfect, right?”

“Of course it’s perfect, Noelle. It’s a brownstone.” Kevin moved closer, walking up the two curved steps to the copper-green front doors. He attempted to peer through the window. Leaning back, he rubbed his gloved hand over the glass and tried again. No luck. “I think the windows are covered in black paper or something from the inside. I can’t see anything.”

“Does it really matter? It’s a brownstone. On Tremont Street. Who cares what it looks like on the inside?”

Kevin returned to where his mother stood on the sidewalk, seemingly oblivious to the cold, in nothing more substantial than a tacky Christmas sweater. She could only be thinking one thing, but it was too crazy. Maybe too wonderful. Too wonderfully stupid, in any case. “And the reason you forced me to meet you down here after an exhausting day of work instead of letting me go to the gym is why?”

Noelle rolled her eyes, but her grin never faltered. “I swear, you are a carbon copy of Renata—heaven forbid you use any imagination. I’m not sure how I handle the two of you!”

Kevin rolled his eyes in response, both in an effort to mock her expression and partially because he meant it. He’d have to spend twice as long doing cardio the next day to make up for this loss of time. And for all things, another of his mom’s crazy schemes. “You can’t be serious?”

She had the audacity to sound irritated. “Of course I am.”

He didn’t even try to hold back a sigh. “I suppose you took the Orange Line down? Let me drive you back to JP.”

Noelle managed to strike an imposing figure with her hands on her hips, despite the red fluff ball that made up the reindeer’s nose on her sweater. “A wedding dress store is your dream, not mine. I shouldn’t be fighting harder for your dream than you are, young man!”

An unintentional barking laugh escaped him. “I hardly qualify as a young man.”

“Forty or not, I am still your mom, so you will always be ‘young man’ to me.”

Kevin’s gasp was equally as unintentional as his laugh. “Forty! I’m thirty-eight!”

Noelle shrugged. “So I rounded up.”

“How would you like me to round up? All of a sudden you’d be seventy.”

Another shrug. “Age is just a number.”

“Yeah, a bad number.” Kevin motioned toward the offending sweater. “You’d have to be pushing seventy to try to pull that thing off. That or be eight years old.”

She just grinned. “You sound just like your mom.”

“Speaking of, does she know you’re down here with me?” Another question he needn’t ask.

“Of course not. She has her spin class this evening. You know that.” Noelle gestured back to the building with a wave of her mittened hand. “And quit trying to avoid the topic. It’s perfect, and you know it.”

Kevin glanced toward the beautiful brownstone. “How would I know? There’s no telling what the interior looks like.”

Again with the hands on her hips. “Whatever it looks like, it’s perfect.”

The curved bricks. The New England style windows. The glass wall on top. Kevin didn’t even have to close his eyes. He could see a glowing light from the faux copper storefront windows. He could picture gleaming hardwood floors. The white wedding gown backlit by a Christmas tree in the window display. A carved wooden sign over the front doors.

He exhaled the breath he’d unconsciously held. “Yeah, Noelle. It’s perfect.”

She brought her hands together in a solitary, decisive clap. “Wonderful! I knew it would be.”

The glow faded from Kevin’s mind, the dress diffusing back into darkness. “Again, I assume you took the Orange Line. Let me drive you back home.”

Noelle ignored his words, closed the small distance between them, and grabbed both his shoulders in her firm grip. “It’s not even on the market yet. It will be in the next couple of weeks, if I’m reading the details correctly. Apparently, there are things they need to do to the inside to get it ready. I’ve been looking for years. For just the right thing. Ever since Scott. Nothing was ever right. This one is.”