The Dream - Whitney Dineen Page 0,49
24, 2008
Dear Molly,
The new guy my mom was seeing just cheated on her. She tried to make excuses by saying they hadn’t agreed to be exclusive, but that’s a load of b.s. I don’t think she feels worthy of monogamy and therefore doesn’t expect it. I told her she needed to dump him yesterday, but she says she has a three-strike rule and she has no plans of changing that.
Just to be clear, Donna will let a man cheat on her three times before she sends him packing. I am officially going on record that I will not. You stray once and you’re gone. I don’t care if the guy slips on a banana peel and accidentally falls on another woman with his mouth open. If that mouth hits anything interesting, he’s history. There will be no second chances.
I wake up feeling like my head has been caught between two cymbals bent on a thunderous reunion. Not only does my brain hurt, there’s a ringing in my ears that sounds like someone pressed a doorbell and refused to let go.
I roll out of bed and stagger toward the bathroom. I didn’t drink much last night so I shouldn’t be feeling this rough. That’s when I remember the nightmare I had about trying to kiss a bunch of frogs in a swamp. None of them would let me catch them, except for that one who took off his hind legs and threw them at me. I kissed him anyway but woke up before he turned into anything.
I crawl into the shower and let a spray beat down on me while I try to clear my head of any lingering weirdness.
Before last night, I’d never thought of Buck in a romantic sense. The idea isn’t an unpleasant one, just foreign. Good god, I don’t need this kind of distraction right now.
I hurry to get dressed and blow my hair dry. I don’t bother to put on any makeup, I just lace up my tennis shoes and head out the front door. What was going to be a walk, quickly turns into a brisk jog, punctuated by moments of full-on sprinting.
Every time my feet hit the ground I feel a surge of power flow through me. It’s such an addictive sensation, I wind up running to the riverbank four miles away before a persistent cramp in my left side forces me to slow down.
I spot a park bench a short distance away and decide to sit for a bit. Once stationary, I stare out at the river and will the serene waterscape to bring me clarity. It flows steadily, carrying the sensation of peace I crave.
Could I be interested in Buck in a romantic sense? Surely if that were possible, the thought would have come to me before now, wouldn’t it?
Then there’s Davis. Until recently, I rarely even thought about him. Yes, I’d pine for a few days after spotting him in town, but I didn’t allow myself to be distracted for too long. Now that I’m working for his family, and apparently seeing him everywhere I go, I’ve fallen right back into my angsty high-school self, and I hate it. I don’t want to be the insecure mess I once was.
I do know one thing; I don’t want to be alone. A mate is no longer something I’ll get around to eventually, it’s something I want right now.
A feeling of kinship with my mom nearly overwhelms me. She tried harder to find someone to share her life with than I ever have—usually to her detriment— but at least she tried.
It’s sad she never thought highly enough of herself to demand she be treated well. She died without ever knowing true love. She died in a trailer that she didn’t even own.
For all my planning, I’m no better off than she was. I’m still living in the same place, and while I have a decent career and a lot more money than she ever did, I’m not doing anything with it.
I stand up, turn around, and start walking toward the old sewing machine factory that Davis’s dad and uncle recently renovated. The bottom floor hosts a bunch of fancy shops including Emmeline’s, which is the kitchenware boutique that Emmie Frothingham runs. The second floor is dedicated to office space and is where Beau Frothingham has his realty company, and the third floor is high-end condominiums in a big-city loft style. I’ve never seen them in person, but according to the article that ran