Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I thought about him every time I saw someone sketching, remembering how he was constantly drawing things—with a pencil on the back of a test he’d failed, with a pen on a paper napkin at a restaurant, with a Sharpie on people’s arms at parties. One time he’d spent all night “tattooing” my left arm in gorgeous, scrolling mandala designs that stretched from my hand almost to my shoulder. My mother had been furious and my ballet teachers appalled, but I’d loved the idea that he’d created something so beautiful on my skin, as if I were his canvas. I’d wished it was a real tattoo, and he’d promised someday it would be. He’d promised a lot of things.
But it turned out he was better at sex than promises, and his sudden vanishing act had left a bruise on my heart that had never completely healed. To make peace with it, I’d simply come to accept that tender spot as part of me, and I avoided pressing on it.
Could the dream be about Dallas? But why now, twelve years later, when I’d already moved on? Sure, it had taken me a long time, but I’d gotten there. I dated occasionally. It wasn’t my fault I’d never fallen head over heels for someone again. It wasn’t like you could choose your soulmate—either you felt that thing or you didn’t. And I’d just never felt it for anyone else. What was I supposed to do, fake it? I’d rather be single.
The three of us were quiet for a moment before Emme spoke again. “Why does it have to mean anything? Maybe it’s just a random bad dream.”
I shook my head. “I don’t believe anything is random. But let’s talk about something else, okay? I’ll figure it out. Deciphering messages from my subconscious is not your problem.”
“Well, what’s your subconscious saying about that dark purple dress?” Emme asked.
I laughed and shook my head. “Nothing yet, but I’ll let you know if I hear something.”
“Good. We’re now thinking October or November up at Abelard, and I’m envisioning kind of a soft autumn color palette—eggplant, heather, thistle, sangria, eucalyptus.” She ticked the colors off on her fingers.
“That’s going to be beautiful, Emme,” I said. Abelard Vineyards was the winery our cousin Mia and her husband Lucas owned up on Old Mission Peninsula. It would be gorgeous that time of year.
“I agree,” said Stella. “But can you really plan a wedding that fast? That’s only a few months away.”
Emme rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “I’m a wedding planner, Stella. That’s what I do. We’ll get better prices in the off-season, and besides …” Her cheeks went pink and her shoulders rose. “We don’t want to wait. We want to be married yesterday.”
Now it was Stella who sighed. “Must be nice to be so in love. How’s it going living together?”
“Fantastic. I’ve never had so much sex in my life,” Emme whispered excitedly. “And it’s better every time. Nate is just … so generous. And talented. And well-endowed.” She shivered. “It’s mind-blowing.”
I peered into my empty glass, wondering if a second glass was a horrible idea. I didn’t drink much and had a pretty decent buzz from the first.
Emme looked across me to Stella. “What about you? Things still strictly platonic with Buzz?”
I nudged Emme with my foot. Buzz was our nickname for Stella’s psych professor boyfriend, Walter. We called him that because he was so passionate about his beekeeping. What he wasn’t passionate about was Stella—at least not sexually. Emme and I remained perplexed about their year-long relationship, which seemed more like a friendship than anything else, or maybe like a brother and sister hanging out together. But Stella claimed to be fine with that.
“Yes,” she said. Then she looked around, like she was trying to find something she’d lost. “Is there a menu anywhere? I’m getting kind of hungry.”
“I’m up for some food,” said Emme. “I’ll flag down the bartender.” But beneath the bar, she nudged me back, and I knew she’d noticed, just as I had, the way Stella had avoided any further discussion about her and Buzz.
I understood completely. Who’d want to follow up Emme’s dreamy rhapsodizing about Nate’s sexual prowess and their mad rush to the altar with anecdotes about holding hands at the movies and listening to endless stories about pollination on their Sunday morning jogs? I didn’t want to talk about my sex life either. Two-year dry spell aside, it was pretty depressing that I was twenty-nine and the only guy I’d ever experienced mind-blowing sex with was my high school boyfriend.
Stop thinking about him.
I put him from my mind and did my best to focus on what Emme was saying about centerpieces and seating arrangements.
Dallas Shepherd was nothing more than a memory.
Two
Dallas
“I really think you should reconsider, Lisa.” I handed back the picture of Tweety Bird to the eighteen-year-old girl sitting in the chair across from me. “My gut feeling is that you’ll regret getting this tattoo.”