“We must do lunch sometime soon,” Zoe says.
I know she doesn’t really mean it. We were never that close, but I know she thinks she does. The Hughes had a number of foster children in and out through the years—they had the money and the room, and they were generous that way. They weren’t able to conceive children of their own. Lionel has an affair a year; that’s what we all used to joke. And Zoe numbs her heart to the pain. But they were never mean to any of us.
“We must,” I agree.
When we hang up, my mind won’t stop racing. Between my past and my future, I feel so mixed up. The only way I can hope to make this work with Dylan is if I clear all my skeletons out of the closet. So I reach for the phone again, and before I can think too hard about it, I dial his number.
As soon as he says hello, I feel like I’ve made a mistake. But I plunge onward. “Hi, Joel. It’s Jasalie.”
Your ex-fiancée, I almost add in case he’s forgotten about me, but I think that may be going too far.
“Jasalie.” Joel sounds surprised. “Hi. How are you?”
“Good,” I say. “I’m good. You?”
“I’m good, too. Um, why are you calling?”
I laugh. God, I feel like an idiot. “I’m not sure. I haven’t talked to you since we broke up, and I just wanted to…” I choke up. “I just wanted to thank you. For trying. I know I’m not easy to be with.”
“You weren’t that bad.” But I can tell he’s smiling. “We weren’t close to being in love, were we?”
“No.” I exhale. “We wanted to be, though. We gave it a shot.”
“That we did.” Joel says. There’s a small silence, and then he gives me the permission I’m looking for. Either that, or he lets me forgive myself for what I thought was my fault. “I hope you have a happy life, Jase.”
“I hope you do, too, Joel.” I put the receiver back onto the phone softly.
I make one more sculpture, and when Dylan still hasn’t returned, I flop down on the bed, hug one of the pillows to my chest, and fall asleep.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bang, bang, bang.
I shake my head in an attempt to clear out the fuzziness. When I stand, I fall back onto the bed momentarily with a massive head rush.
If this is maid service, I’m going to be really pissed.
Bang, bang, bang,again on the door. Not loud, exactly, but not soft, either.
As I open the door, Dylan’s dark eyes look back at me. His expression is serious but gentle as he hands me a beautiful framed photograph of the desert.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I forgot my key.”
I finger the red clay and brilliant blue sky in the picture he brought me. “This is gorgeous, Dylan. Thank you.”
He steps inside the room, and we stand and look at each other in silence. Finally, Dylan breaks it in a rush of words filled with emotion.
“I haven’t brought a woman into my life since Annabella. Not in any meaningful way. I swore I never would, that I’d wait until I retired to get serious about someone. But you…you make me break all my vows. Only in the best ways.”
I catch my lower lip in my teeth, and Dylan’s eyes go straight to my mouth.
“My family—let’s just say I don’t do conflict real well. I prefer to get out my aggressions on the football field. You know?”
I want to ask him more about his family. But I’m too scared of getting into a reciprocal confessional.
Instead, I show him the second sculpture I made while he was gone.
He studies it before he speaks. “It’s you, isn’t it?”
