Fuck. I don’t even want to think about how much this could mess with the first real, new friendship I’ve found in a very long time.
Why? Why did I have to have that dream?
I can’t sit still. I get up. I pace, running my hands through my hair, desperate to come up with some other explanation besidesthat I have developed some kind of fantasy romantic feelings for?—
Wait, that’s it.
It’s a fantasy.
It’s notreal. I don’t have actual feelings for actual Owen. I havefantasyfeelings forfantasyOwen.
And that only makes sense because for all our back-and-forth this week, I don’t really have a lot of basic, real-world information about him. Case in point, I realize: in the dream, I didn’t have a clear image of what he looked like.
Because I don’t actuallyknowwhat he looks like.
In fact…
I’m onto something now. I grab my phone. If I could picture therealOwen, it would neutralize my runaway imagination. I’m certain of it. And then surely that would quash whatever misguided feelings my subconscious thinks it’s having about him.
I text Zoe.
George
Hey sweetie, Merry Christmas! I heard you’re out on a big adventure!
Zoe
You did? How?
Whoops. Shit.
I had to ask Owen where his can opener was. And he told me you guys went out.
You’ve been up there a week without a can opener?
I have no answer for that, so I just blow past it.
Listen, Zo, this is going to sound weird, but could you send me a picture of Owen?
Yeah, that does sound weird. Shit. Also, exactly the kind of thing she likes to glom on to.
She starts typing. Okay, nope.
For character research!
I want to base a character on him.
Oh my God, what am I doing?
As a thank you for letting me use his cabin.
There. Except…
Just a minor character!
Anyway, it helps to have a visual.
Jesus Christ, I’m going to give myself a coronary here.
