Someone Just Like You

by Meredith Schorr

Genres: Jewish Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

Sizzling chemistry and tender friendship develops between two childhood rivals in this hilarious rom-com from the author of As Seen on TV.

New Yorker Molly Blum knows everything about her lifelong nemesis, Jude Stark. With their families so close, they should have been best friends. Instead, she thinks he’s a too-charming slacker, and he thinks she’s allergic to fun. After years of one-upping each other’s pranks (chocolate-dipped cat treats are not as delicious as they appear), one high school joke went too far, and they stopped speaking completely. But now that they’re supposed to help plan a massive party for their parents—together—there’s no better time to resume their war.

And it is on. Only somewhere between all the sniping and harmless hijinks, a reluctant friendship develops, along with an unexpected spark of sexual tension. It might have to do with the fact that she’s been dating Jude-lookalikes and he’s been dating Molly doppelgangers. Or the fact that neither of them is nearly as horrible as they thought. All Molly and Jude know is that they’ve mastered the art of hating each other. Falling in love, on the other hand, is a whole new battlefield.

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 352

Sample

Chapter One

I should have known something was up when my sister Nicole invited me to a random Tuesday night dinner with our other sister, Michelle, using Evite. Nicole had named the event “sibling dinner” as if we’d never shared a meal, and the occasion was too momentous to plan by simple email or text. Choosing the Dubliner pub in Hoboken, New Jersey, as the venue when two of the three Blum sisters resided and worked in Manhattan was another sign. Yet, despite these clues, I remained clueless.

I arrived at the rooftop bar the night of the dinner and immediately spotted my older sisters who, with long chocolate-brown hair and baby-blue eyes, could pass for my clones if it weren’t for the age difference of thirty-four and thirty-two years to my twenty-seven. They’d snagged a prime table, blocked from the blazing sun by a royal-blue Corona Extra umbrella. But they weren’t alone. Thrown by the unexpected appearance of our childhood neighbor Eddie Stark, I stopped short, causing the waiter walking behind me to spill part of a too-full cocktail down my back.

Before I had a chance to acknowledge the liquid dripping down my spine, Eddie vaulted off his chair and pulled me into a hug. “Good golly, martini-soaked Molly!”

Even as my mind spun with all the reasons why he could be here, I laughed and squeezed him back fiercely, inhaling his aftershave. It was a balance of Pretty Boy and Stern Brunch Daddy, which perfectly described Eddie.

“Good to see you!” I said, despite my concern that the circumstances for this “reunion” were ominous. Was his dad sick again? My uncertainty intensified at the delayed realization he was joined by his older sister, Alison. She also embraced me, but with a touch more restraint than her brother.

The Stark family had lived across the street from us growing up. More than three decades earlier, my mom and Laura Stark, with two little ones each, had become fast friends, and their bond only strengthened when, after a five-year break, they each had their third child in the same year. Back then, the households spent so much time together, it was sometimes hard to tell where the Blums ended and the Starks began. Both sets of parents still lived in the same houses, but the six offspring had all moved out years ago, most with their own spouses and children. Our dual-family reunions were now limited to special occasions, like milestone birthdays or the Passover seder we had three months ago. Which raised the question: what was happening here and why?

Nicole cocked her head and smiled indulgently. “It wouldn’t be a family dinner if Molly didn’t spill something.”

My mouth opened, poised to argue the accuracy of her statement. This wasn’t a family dinner. But I let it go. “You know I like to make an entrance,” I said with a questioning look to Michelle, hoping my oldest sister would provide silent insight into the reason we were all here.

She mouthed, “No clue.”

“Sit. Sit,” Eddie said happily. “Unless you need to wipe down your dress or something.”

“It’s fine. Refreshing, if a tad sticky,” I joked.

“Jude should be here soon and we can get started,” Nicole said.

My face contorted into a grimace before I could stop myself. Jude was the youngest of the Stark trio and the bane of my existence growing up. He’d been absent the last several times the families had gotten together, either working or away with friends. Alas, my luck had run out. But I was less concerned about getting through an evening with Jude and more worried about the reason we were all gathered together in the first place. Surely Eddie wouldn’t be smiling so damn much if his dad, who’d recovered from a heart attack the year before, had taken a bad turn.

“He’s here!” Nicole waved in the direction of the stairs leading to the roof. “Jude!”

“Lower your voice,” Michelle hissed. “It’s a bar, not our private backyard party.” Ignoring her own command, she called out, “Jude! Here!”

I followed my sisters’ line of vision to where Jude was approaching our table. His wavy dark hair was, as usual, mussed up like he’d run his fingers through it moments before, and he had at least two days’ worth of stubble. The just-rolled-out-of-bed head was in direct contrast to his tailored uniform of black dress pants paired with a black vest over a white button-down shirt. He must have come straight from Hillstone restaurant, where he worked as a bartender.

Four sets of eyes (all but mine) crinkled with delight, and four sets of legs (all but mine) stood to greet him. Taking their cues from experience, my muscles immediately tightened. I rolled my shoulders back and subtly shook out the stress in an attempt to relax. We were all adults now. Reverting to old habits was a choice we didn’t have to make.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I just got off my shift.” He hugged his own brother and sister and both of mine, then gave me a nod of acknowledgment. “Mole.”

I nodded back. “Rude.” So much for making the mature choice. I caught one side of Jude’s mouth quirking before I turned my attention to the happy hour drink specials on the menu. At twenty-seven, the name-calling was as natural as it had been at seven and seventeen. At least “Mole” (his oh-so-clever nickname for “Molly”) was better than Buck Tooth Blum, which lost its validity when my braces came off at thirteen. Then again, Jude certainly wasn’t privy to any skin markings under my clothes.

After a round of drinks had been ordered and delivered, Nicole clapped us to attention. “I’m sure you’re all wondering what we’re doing here.”

“Not all of us,” Eddie said, and the two exchanged a knowing glance.

My curiosity was piqued. This…whatever this was…appeared to be a team effort between the two middle children.

“As you know, this year marks a big anniversary for both sets of our parents. Thirty-five years for the Blums and forty for the Starks.” Nicole paused. “Can I get a woot-woot?”

Michelle wolf-whistled. “Parents getting it done.”

Eddie covered Jude’s ears. “Not in front of the child. He still thinks Laura and Randy got it done exactly three times.”

Jude wiggled out of his older brother’s hold. “Too late. I walked in on them getting it done at least one more time. Remember, Mole?”

I nearly choked on my drink at the unsightly memory of when we were about ten and exiled by our brothers and sisters for fighting, only to discover Laura on her knees in front of a naked Randy in the Starks’ finished basement. Thankfully, Jude’s mom blocked our view of anything other than his dad’s hairy chest. Seeing Randy’s twig and berries at such a young age might have scarred me for life. “I’d rather forget.” I shuddered.

Nicole clinked a knife against her wineglass. “Simmer down, siblings. Given the difficult year both families have had, Eddie and I thought it would be nice to do something special to honor these momentous marriage milestones.”

I assumed on our side she was referring to the death of our maternal grandfather earlier that year. “I’m all for it,” I said, sneaking a peek at the original invitation on my phone, where it was confirmed the guest list had included not only the Blum siblings but the Starks. Note to self: Read more carefully next time.

Nicole beamed. “Of course you are!”

“Same.”

She clapped. “Yay, Jude!”

On autopilot, I sang, “Don’t make it—”

“As always, your originality is awe inspiring,” Jude said, cutting off my crooning the legendary Beatles song “Hey Jude” and pointing his fork at me. “I’m legitimately shocked this party wasn’t your idea, if only to prove you’re the best Blum daughter and the best neighbor of all.”

I rolled my eyes at the jab—uttered one degree above a whisper, but loud enough for me to hear—even though there was a bead of truth to it. I was a people pleaser by nature, especially when it came to my parents, and no one knew this more than Jude. My usefulness in volunteering to set or clear the table, taking out the trash, putting away the toys, etc., when we were kids tended to shine a light on Jude’s uselessness, and he hated it. I swirled my cocktail straw around and around my glass willing myself not to engage.

“Anyway.” Eddie raised his voice. “We were thinking about reserving a restaurant for a co-celebration. We’ll limit the guest list to close family and shared friends to keep it reasonable, but let’s make it special.”

“And we’ll split the cost six ways,” Nicole said.

Jude drummed his fingers along the table to the beat of the song playing over the speakers. “Not for nothing, but is it fair for me to contribute the same amount of money as Alison, Michelle, and Eddie when you all have kids who will eat the food too? And what about spouses? I assume I can bring a date, but if not…”

“We’ll figure out the cost later. Wait…” Nicole grinned. “Are you seeing someone? Spill the tea.”

Jude blushed, looking like the “sweet” boy my sisters knew him to be and nothing like the devil he only showed when no one was around to witness except me. Like when he offered me what I thought was a piece of chocolate but was really a Purina Fancy Feast beef-flavored treat for Gizmo, the Starks’ cat. In hindsight, I should have questioned the uncharacteristically generous Jude’s motives, but in my defense, it looked like a square of a Hershey bar. Regrettably, it tasted more like…well, cat food.

“It was a hypothetical question, but if you must know, I am seeing someone,” Jude said. “Whether I’ll still be seeing her by the party remains to be seen.”

“Jude’s dating a lawyah,” Eddie said, the proud brother.

“Impressive! Maybe Molly knows her,” Nicole said.

“Yes, because all lawyers know each other,” I mumbled into my Tom Collins.

“And Molly’s not a lawyer anymore,” Alison, whose file digitization company worked with my old law firm, said.

“I’m still a lawyer, just not a practicing one!” I cringed inwardly. Why was I so defensive? Upending my legal career to prevent a lifetime of misery hadn’t been my plan, but I was so much happier as a legal recruiter.

“Molly’s boyfriend is a major league baseball player,” Nicole said.

Jude’s dark eyes widened, and his jaw dropped as if dumbstruck. Too bad Nicole was wrong. “Minor league.” Stan played for the Brooklyn Cyclones. “And he’s not my boyfriend. We’ve only hung out a few times.”

Eddie raised a hand. “Hold up. Let me get this straight: Jude’s dating a lawyer and Molly’s hanging with a baseball player?”

The siblings exchanged glances and…wait…were they snickering? “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” they responded as a group.

“All your interest in our love lives makes me wonder how unsatisfied you must be with your own,” Jude said.

“Exactly,” I said, daring a bonding glance at Jude.

He peered at me through his beer glass. “What’s this about you not being a lawyer anymore? You would have made a great prosecutor.”

A compliment from Jude? “Yeah? And why is that?”

He smirked. “Because you like to see people punished.”

Having walked right into that one, I released a long, slow sigh. “Clever.” I had witnessed Jude get into trouble on the regular. From his perspective, I probably appeared to revel in it, but he had only part of the story.

“I figured you’d have made partner by now in world-record time. Did you quit to run for city council?”

I scoffed. “Why? If I say yes, will your disinterest in politics suddenly be replaced by an unquenchable thirst to run as my opponent again?” I’d been the easy pick for student council president senior year of high school until “Mr. Popularity” Jude decided to throw his hat into the ring at the last minute because he knew how badly I wanted to win. His debate speech promising free pizza every Friday afternoon as an incentive not to cut out of class early was more persuasive than my anti-bullying campaign, and it sealed his victory. Even ten years later, the memory made my blood heat to a simmer. “I suppose your experience choosing the snacks for the school vending machines really primed you for your current position of serving drinks at a bar, huh?”

The initial gratification as the jab left my lips was immediately replaced with stubborn and enduring guilt. I knew bartending hadn’t been Jude’s first choice for a career.

“Not exactly, but the satisfaction of beating you is the reward that keeps on giving.” Jude flashed a cocky smile and locked his arms behind his head. The swell of his arms from this posture proved that despite being the youngest child, he was no longer the rug rat in the group.

I barely avoided snarling. As if anyone at this table would be impressed by his triceps.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Are you two done?”

His voice pulled me back to the present, and I was determined to stay there. No matter how hard I tried, in the words of Michelle Obama, to go high when Jude went low, he brought out the worst in me.

Eddie continued. “We were thinking of having the party the third weekend in October, which gives us three months to plan and send out the invitations.”

“Will we use Evite?” I couldn’t resist.

“We’ll use proper invitations.” Nicole wrinkled her nose. “In case some of the older guests don’t have computers.”

Over the course of the next hour, our large party of six morphed into mini soirees of two or three. Jude and I managed to avoid overlapping conversations. After dinner, Nicole insisted the three of us share a cab back to the city rather than take the PATH train, and the driver dropped her off on the west side first. Jude and I both resided across town on the east side in Murray Hill. Our apartments were six blocks apart, because apparently eighteen years as neighbors wasn’t enough for us. Nicole had called shotgun, a relic of our youth, which left me alone in the back with Jude, and neither of us switched to the front when she got out.

I curled myself as close to the door as possible. If, God forbid, it opened, I’d roll onto the street. But the fear of falling to my death wasn’t strong enough to lessen the physical distance between us. And we hit traffic because…well…of course we did. I was listening to This American Life when he nudged me in the arm.

I removed my earbuds. “What?” Were we home? I glanced out the window, expecting to see one of our apartment buildings in the distance.

“Why aren’t you a lawyer anymore? What was it? The long hours? The pressure? The lack of control?” Jude’s voice seeped condescension.

I glared at him. “Did you read a top-ten list on BuzzFeed or something? None of the above.” All of the above and then some. “I’m still a lawyer. Like I said, I’m just not practicing.” I was surprised this was news to him, although it had probably been at least a year since we’d seen each other and I wasn’t so self-absorbed as to think my career path was a topic of conversation at the Starks’ dinner table.

“What do you practice?”

I squeezed my flaring nostrils. “I’m a legal recruiter.”

He made a sound I assumed was supposed to be a laugh. “So, you quit the law to find jobs for other lawyers?”

I gritted my teeth. “Yes. And paralegals and other legal administrative staff too. Any ‘law-related’ positions, really. The majority of recruiters are former lawyers or paralegals. It’s not an unprecedented move.” I wasn’t the first to make the transition, nor would I be the last. My eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you?”

“Just curious,” is what he said, but his dubious expression screamed otherwise.

Don’t press him for more. Let it go. But I couldn’t. “You’re dying to say something. Just say it.”

“Wasn’t your dream of being a lawyer why you worked so hard in high school…why you were so determined to be in student government in the first place?”

I might have actually hissed at the audacity of his reminder, given that the inclusion of student council president on my college applications might have gotten me off the wait-list and into the acceptance pile of an Ivy League school. But it was true. My goal of being a lawyer motivated my placement in the top twenty in my high school class of 365, graduating summa cum laude from the University of Michigan, and attending a top-tier law school. My hard work earned me my pick of summer associate programs before I accepted a first-year position at Fitzpatrick & Green, one of the largest global law firms. “Reality didn’t live up to my dreams.”

“It’s not like you to quit.”

My lips pursed. “I didn’t quit.”

Jude cocked an eyebrow.

“Okay. Technically, I quit, but not because I couldn’t hack it. I just wasn’t happy. I get more satisfaction from assisting others in finding jobs that make them happy.” I clenched my jaw. Why was I trying to justify my choices to my childhood rival? Jude’s opinion meant nothing to me anymore. I’d given up trying to prove myself worthy of his friendship or, at the very least, his kindness around the fourth grade.

It didn’t matter. Life was good. Legal recruiting suited me more than being a lawyer ever had. I had a fabulous apartment, with the exception of its close proximity to Jude’s, where I lived alone but in walking distance from both work and my best friend, Esther. And I’d just started dating a minor league baseball player, which was a way more glamorous job than that of Jude’s “lawyah” girlfriend. I would know. In fact, the only source of my discontent was being trapped in this car with Jude right now. He could suck it.

“Understood.” He turned to face the window and muttered, “Quitter.”

The blood rushed to my head. I’d done nothing to deserve his disdain. I closed my eyes as a montage of activities contradicting that statement danced in my head. I had, in fact, done plenty to Jude over the years, but only after he made it his daily goal to make me cry first. He’d given me no choice but to become a worthy opponent or play victim indefinitely. Since graduating high school, I’d made an effort to avoid hostility, but he seemed determined to rattle my chain every chance he got.

It hadn’t always been that way. I had a fuzzy recollection of us playing together long, long ago without fearing he’d destroy my toys or make me the subject of public ridicule—when we were pals. There were even embarrassing pictures to prove it, including one of us at three years old smiling and holding hands, both topless in bathing shorts, in a baby pool in the Starks’ backyard. The eight-by-ten photograph was hung prominently along the stairwells in both families’ houses. It was bad enough my parents hung a photo of me topless, but the Starks too? “You were a toddler, Molly,” my dad said when I complained. “You two were adorable,” added my mom. “It’s not like you had tits yet,” my sisters said. Still…it was embarrassing.

I gave Jude side-eye. He was now texting someone. The lawyer? If the traffic kept up, we might be stuck in this car for another twenty minutes. I could use the time to ask how we’d gone from holding hands while joyously splashing in a kiddie pool to him telling our mutual friends I had the farts after he sprayed a classmate’s bathroom with liquid gas at a birthday party, me taping a note with the words “I wet the bed” on his back, and other misdeeds we could never retract. Except there might be a statute of limitations on questioning a lifelong rivalry. And there were certain ghosts in our history I wasn’t prepared to conjure up. So instead, I put my earbuds back in and directed my thoughts to something positive.

Throwing a co-anniversary celebration was a thoughtful gesture. My mom had been so sad since Papi had passed. Hopefully, the party would bring her joy and give Mr. Stark incentive to lay off the fried food. Jude and I could certainly set aside our issues for one night. It wouldn’t be the first time. And until then? Well, it wasn’t like we’d have to plan the party as a duo or anything. We could all agree that would be a bad idea.

Chapter Two

A few days later at work, I tapped the hardcover résumé in front of me. “I’m so glad you came in. You’re even more impressive in person than you are on paper,” I said.

“Thank you.” Patrice, the late-fifty-something Black woman on the other side of my office desk, gave me a wry smile. “Does that mean you have a job for me?”

Ignoring the beep of my iPhone, I scrolled through the list of job openings on our company’s internal database again. There were available positions for senior paralegals, for sure. But were any of them suitable for Patrice? The in-house legal department of a television station was seeking a legal assistant, but the head of the department was notorious for not supporting other women. There was also an opening for a paralegal at a midsize firm that claimed to prioritize life balance while simultaneously pressuring employees to work weekends and holidays.

Patrice had told me she was needed at home most nights to care for her young grandson. She was warm and friendly and deserved a collegial working environment. How could I connect her to a job with full knowledge it either didn’t fit her lifestyle or countless people had held it before her and quit out of sheer misery? She’d be back seeking a new job in a few months, likely with a different recruiter, one who hadn’t pocketed the commission for sending her to hell, and I’d have to return a portion to the client anyway. It wasn’t worth it.

“Not at the moment, unfortunately. But an amazing opportunity will come around and I’ll be excited to share it with you when it does.” This, at least, was true. Patrice was a referral from someone I’d staffed a few months before, and I’d called her for an interview without having any particular job opening in mind. She was my first referral, and I was especially motivated to get it right.

When she was gone, I checked Gmail on my phone. After reading Nicole’s message, I wished I hadn’t.

Both sets of parents love the city, so what better place to have the party than Manhattan? Jude and Molly: We’re putting you in charge of choosing the venue because you both live there. It’s a big responsibility, we know, but consider it a compliment and a tribute to our faith in you! Besides, your time is the most flexible since you’re both single and childless. I’ve attached a list of places you should consider.

My skin itchy with irritation, I emailed a response.

I’m happy to help with the venue, but since you (Nicole) also live in Manhattan and don’t have children, perhaps you can join us too.

Three was not a crowd with a threatened twosome of Molly and Jude.

I went to the pantry to refill my coffee. When I returned to my office, there was a response from Nicole.

I’ll be too busy overseeing the planning but will be available for consultations and tiebreakers if you and Jude can’t agree.

I spat my coffee. If we can’t agree? There was no if. And consultations? Really?

While I was still contemplating my reply, an email from Jude came in.

Thank you for organizing everything, Nicole. I know how the restaurant business works and my connections are far-reaching. I’m happy to take care of this.

I stared down at my phone. Well, that was unexpected. Thank you, Jude! I didn’t share his confidence in his party-planning abilities despite his so-called knowledge and connections, but I was grateful he’d volunteered. The less time we spent together, the better for everyone. Period.

And then another email from him landed in my inbox.

In case my last message wasn’t clear,. . .