Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I can see Deanna in her car before a date, fixing her lipstick again and again, wondering if the guy is going to make her laugh.
In some big modern office before a meeting, rallying all her confidence, trying to figure out how she can convince a man who doesn’t take her seriously to consider her company.
“Before our last investor meeting, before I met Lexi to drive to her office, well, while I was still in my room, at home. I sat there in my magenta suit, trying to imagine it going well. The meeting in the conference room at first. A lot of interest from Willa. She’s a woman in her fifties, a VC, venture capitalist, with all sorts of power. I imagined her taking us out for drinks to celebrate. Then I started looking bigger. Millions of users. Tens of millions in monthly payments. Features in famous papers, appearances on morning news shows, a billboard in Times Square.”
“I can picture you there.”
“Overwhelmed by people?”
“And pride,” I say.
“And Lexi, right there, next to me, loving every second of it.”
Lexi again. She still feels wrong, here. Too much light, too much sun. Like putting a hat on a hat.
The mental images of a future with Lexi are far away. Clouded by the vivid images of Deanna. In that magenta suit, on a midtown street, holding an old-school briefcase and telling off the guy on the other end of the phone.
“You’d look good there,” I say.
“In a magenta suit.”
There’s something intimate about sharing a mental image. Like sharing a bed. “And an ‘I Heart New York’ T-shirt.”
“Never.” She pushes off me.
My body feels cold immediately. I want her closer. I want all this.
“Your turn.” She treads water a few feet away, waiting. She swims back to me. This time, she wraps herself around me quickly. “I can say please.”
“Can you?”
“Please, River. Tell me a dream.”
I laugh. “Was it hard to say that sincerely?”
“It’s a little cheesy for me, yeah.” She curls her fingers into my back again. “But I want to know.”
She does.
She’s interested in me. My needs, my wants, my future.
It’s not the romantic or sexual interest I expect. I’m not sure what it is. Only how much I love it.
“I dream about Grandma walking me down the aisle,” I say. “Sometimes, I see the woman I’m dating.” There were times it was Lexi. A lot, even. She was the princess in the fairy tale. It was easy to imagine her in a giant wedding dress. In an elegant ballroom. The sort of place a Huntington belongs.
For a moment, I see it. The tiara in her blond hair, the seamed bodice, the huge skirt.
Then the image shifts, and I see Deanna in a modern silk dress. A sheath with a deep V-neck and a low back. All long and elegant and understated and powerful.
A ballroom at first. Then a rooftop bar. Some place in midtown. On a day like today.
Well, the New York version. Humid and hot—too hot for a suit and a silk gown—but perfect nonetheless.
Sunset, twinkling lights, champagne toasts.
Grandma, beaming with pride as I dance with my wife.
“Other times?” she asks.
“Sometimes, it’s no one in particular. A vision of a life I’m supposed to have.” The image is too vivid. Way too vivid. I look at her. At the scene. Deanna, up to her neck in water, in the Pacific.
Only that fits, too. I can see the two of us on the beach. The same outfits. Or something breezier. A chiffon dress and a linen suit. New York elegance in California.
She belongs here, yes, but she’d belong there more.
A few weeks ago, I would have said Deanna fits anywhere. But she doesn’t. She just doesn’t care as much as other people do.
“You want to get married?” she asks.
“I do.”
“Kids?”
“I don’t know.” My relationship with my parental figures is complicated. I love Grandma, but I don’t want to be anything like my mom or my dad. Not as a parent. Addiction has genetic influences. I’m careful around alcohol. I never dabble in drugs.
I don’t want to give that to a kid.
“Do you?” I push the question back to her.
“I thought I did, when I was younger,” she says. “Now, I’m not sure. Work is always first, and I like things that way. I like waking up, knowing I can go into the office if I want, or stare at code all night. I don’t want to do that to a kid. I know what it’s like to grow up with a parent who doesn’t put you first, no matter how much they might want to.”
“It’s hard,” I say.
She nods. “Describe it to me. The wedding you’re dreaming about.”
“It’s different, at different times.”
“The last time, then.”
When I heard the news about Grandma. It was about six months ago now. “It was sunset at the beach.”