“He took these?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Girl.”
“I know.”
“First of all he’s a really good photographer and second—”
“Iknow. You don’t have to say it.”
“I mean… he like, loves you. Like looooves you.”
“It’s that obvious, isn’t it? And he doesn’t even photograph people usually. Just nature. I spent the entire flight back looking at these, crying. I was so lucky no one was sitting next to me.”
“Have you heard from him?”
“He emailed me these, but that’s it. It was a blank email with just the pictures.” I pull up the photo he took of me and Titus that morning in the clearing.
“Oh yeah. He’s turning into Hemingway up there over these pics.”
I laugh, but more tears leak out of the corners of my eyes. I wipe my face this time. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Here’s the advice I’m going to give you. First of all, don’t ever avoid me again. Vivianne loves me. I will show up at your job. I’ll bring Brook. You don’t want that.”
“God. No I don’t.”
“No you don’t. Second of all. I think you need to talk to someone. Find a new therapist. I agree, whatsherface sucked and you weren’t clicking with her anyway. Find someone you want to talk to and take care of yourself.”
“And thirdly?”
She holds up her hands. “Oh no thirdly. I can’t help you there.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
“You think I’m going to tell you to run after him? Nah. We’re not that drunk yet.”
I laugh and reach for my wine.
“I’m too selfish to tell you to move to bumfuck Northern California and I would never tell you to leave Mode for a dude. Never. That’s crazy, but I think you are feeling a lot and I think you are hurting. Maybe if you talk to someone you can sort out what’s really going on and you can see if you really do love him, all this other shit aside.”
I let out a deep breath as more tears roll down my cheeks. She’s right.
“In the meantime, I’m gonna order us some pizza and you’re going to eat. I know you probably had a carrot and some champagne today and I know there’s an image at Mode, but we are both thick women and we are beautiful that way.”
“Amen,” I say. “Extra pepperoni, please.”
“Coming right up.”
* * *
Shep
The morningof the third Saturday in December, I get a phone call. It’s Connie calling me from the diner.
“Morning, Shep. I’m glad I caught you,” she says.
“Everything okay?” I ask her.
