I wish I could bury the fluttering in my heart. I clear my throat. “Okay.”
An hour later we’re in Marin County where Linden flies from. Unfortunately, we’re grounded. There are no choppers available at such a last minute notice, so we end up at seaside bar in Sausalito. I admit I’m a little disappointed at not seeing Linden in action first hand, but I’m happy just to nurse a Bloody Mary with great company and a beautiful view.
“You know when we’re married,” Linden says after we’ve sat there for a while, watching the waves lap the shore, the city skyline in the background, “I’ll take you up into the sky anytime you want.”
I can’t help but smile. “Oh, are we still getting married?”
“Thirty is coming up soon.”
I glare at him. “Hey, I just turned twenty-six. Give me a break.”
He shrugs. “Just reminding you. A pact is a pact.”
“Right,” I say, taking a long swig of the Bloody Mary. I wish the rest of my life followed such a pact. I give him a sidelong glance. “You’d take me up anytime I wanted?”
“Of course,” he says. “You’d be my wife. And you’re bound to love a C&C.”
“C&C? Like the sailboat?”
“Chopper and cock,” he says. “Cock in the cockpit. Blow job while flying. Can’t be beat.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve already had this done before,” I tell him and I cringe at the thought of him getting head by some bimbo in the air.
He reaches across the table and pats my hand. “You’ll be the first.”
“You’re so romantic,” I say dryly to which he laughs.
Here goes another year.
I think I’m in love with Owen Geary.
In fact, I know I’m in love with Owen Geary. Even the sound of his name does this thing to my blood, boils it up a little, makes my head feel all swimmy.
Twenty-seven is going to be the best year yet.
It’s mid-October and San Francisco is going through yet another heatwave. I’m wearing black leather shorts to my job at All Saints, trying to ignore the small traces of cellulite that appear on my upper thigh in the wrong light. I’m still in my twenties, life is still good. I can get past the fact that my own fucking skin is turning on me.
Sometimes I wonder if I need to become a vegetarian, maybe eat more kale and nuts and less cupcakes and fruity cocktails. When I turned twenty-seven yesterday, I made the conscious decision to start using night cream and serums and fancy sunscreens. My father may have darker skin because of his Mediterranean heritage, but I knew I wasn’t exempt.
I also decided I needed to start doing yoga and training for marathons. The city’s one was a few weeks ago and all the fit, lean ladies were doing their effortless runs through Golden Gate Park or their sprints up the stairs to Twin Peaks. I used to be able to coast through life without lifting a single weight but now my body is starting to add extra fat to my thighs, stomach, and boobs. The boob part I can live with, but I feel like if I don’t do something soon, I’m going to be a blob. A blob with big boobs.
Part of me wants to just keep on keeping on, as I always have. But I can’t do that. I have goals. Sure, I’m still a manager at All Saints, but I feel like my own store is just within my reach. And my love life is finally where it should be.
Of course there are things about Owen that aren’t perfect. He’s an accountant at a major firm downtown, so he’s extremely successful but he works long hours and he doesn’t really have that dreamer’s mentality about him. He’s handsome in that clean-cut all American boy way, and it’s great, though his ears are a little bit big and pointy. And he loves to talk about golf when I’d rather him talk about hockey.