“You ready to go?” a voice asks.
“What?”
“We’re closing up the store.”
I blink back to reality. The bookstore is empty except for a handful of employees watching me warily.
A car drives me to the hotel. I’m too tired to keep my eyes open—until the second my head hits the pillow. I stare at the ceiling and wait for sunrise.
The next day, I do it again.
The day beforethe premiere, Daphne flies into LA and takes me dress shopping at the Grove.
“How do you want to look?” she asks as we sort through evening gowns in the dressing room at Nordstrom. “Dramatic? Whimsical?”
I push aside dresses with sequins and bows and pretty, iridescent fabric. “Invisible.” The last thing I want is to be perceived. My plan is to show up, watch the movie, check this off the to-do list, and move on to my next event. Two signings in, and I’m already counting down the days until this tour is over.
Daphne turns to the sales associate. “We’ll try a little bit of everything. Color, silhouette, and style. She’s dressing for revenge.”
“Not true,” I say.
“Anything for you?” the sales associate asks Daphne.
“I’m all set. I made my dress.” She shows off pictures of the dress she designed, and the employee squeals in delight and asks if my dress should match. “I’m her plus-one, but she’s walking the red carpet alone. No need to match,” Daphne says brightly.
With instructions and my measurements in hand, the associate sets off, and Daphne slips her sandals off and tucks her feet up under her legs on one of the dressing room’s soft lounge chairs. “Have you heard from West yet?”
“He won’t call,” I say as I try on a black V-neck ball gown with spaghetti straps and a fitted bodice. It fits like it was made for me; it doesn’t even need to be altered. “And I don’t want him to,” I add as an afterthought. Daphne audibly scoffs. “You don’t like it?” I turn to see the low back in the mirror.
“The dress is stunning. Your statement was ridiculous.”
I make eye contact with her reflection in the mirror. “It’s over, Daph.”
“Except it’s never really over between you two.”
“You only think that because your view has been poisoned by mine.” I wasted hours of her life ranting about how much I hated him, and she saw right through it.
“Or maybe it’s because when we were all trapped in that Martha’s Vineyard house together, I saw the way you two looked at each other. Or because I’ve readTorchedandDrought. Or because I heard the giddiness in your voice after you ran into him in Tucson. Believe whatever you have to tell yourself, but you two still have unfinished business.”
I sigh. “West and I both held on to the hope of ‘maybe, someday,’ but when someday finally arrived, it wasn’t the right time.”
“Why not?”
“We weren’t ready.”
“Except hewasready,” she says.
I don’t have an argument for that.
It’s almost midnightwhen I takeOasisout of my travel bag. I’m alone in a hotel room, and I can’t stop replaying my last conversation with West.
I’m done with first kisses. I can’t keep losing you.
The thought that West and I will never have another first kiss makes it impossible to sleep. Daphne was right about West and me; even when there was nothing going on between us, there wasalwayssomething going on between us. That sliver of hope is what allowed me to spend nearly a decade building a life without him. I chased every dream and chance of happiness, knowing that at the end of a horrible or wonderful day, I could fantasize about a future with West.
Faced with a world where I might never speak to him again, I’m scrambling to hold on to any piece of him that I can, which is why I’m finally brave enough to read his first novel.
I open the front cover, and a folded piece of paper falls onto my lap. I pick it up, assuming it’s a receipt from the bookstore, but it has torn edges and printed lines like it was ripped from a notebook. I unfold the pages and smooth it out on top of the hotel bed.
