MY DREAMS HAVE always been nonsensical—until last night. I didn’t know I was dreaming. I kept thinking I was exactly where I should be. I was with a man, familiar but mysterious. He was sexy and cocky, and he was feeding me. We were on a date at a restaurant, laughing and having smart conversation. A minute later, he changed. His expression dropped, he squinted, and at once, he seemed lovesick and tormented. He was whispering to me, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I closed my eyes to try to listen closely, and when I opened them, we were standing side by side, still and naked like winter trees in a creek. There was nothing around us but darkness. When I shivered, he touched my hand and I was warm.
“Who are you?” I asked him.
“Lucian.”
I could hear his voice. It was rough, pained. That was the end.
When I woke up from the dream, I started crying because I remembered him. I knew him and I didn’t know how. I knew his scent, his voice, his angled features, his full lips, and his searching eyes. I knew his warmth, his touch, and the comfort I felt near him. But awake, I was longing for him. It was excruciating. I was losing my mind. I was being fanatical, paranoid, melodramatic. None of those things were typical of me. I had always been pragmatic and certain of what was and what wasn’t out there.
I went to the kitchen in my sweats and grabbed my keys. Brooklyn was sitting at the round table, slurping up cereal.
“You’re up early,” she said.
“I’m leaving. Going to Tracey’s house to work on the denim. I’m really behind and need to catch up on some things. I have to get going.”
“You look like shit, Pinky.”
“Hey, Brooklyn, I hate that nickname. I’ve always wanted to tell you that.”
“I thought you liked it,” she whined.
“I got pink eye from your house two days before our prom. I’m a little bitter about it.”
“Sheesh, I thought we were cycle sisters. You shouldn’t have PMS for another two weeks. Or are you just being emo cause you didn’t get laid the other night?”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. She was impossible. “Brooklyn, do we know someone named Lucian? Like a really good-looking guy, wears black, maybe longish hair, a touch of facial scruff.”
Through a mouthful of Cocoa Puffs, she mumbled, “No, sounds hot though.”
“Wings,” I said.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“He might have wings.”
She spit out her cereal. “Wings?”
I nodded. “Wings.”
“Aww, honey, have you been eating? You do look emaciated. Or are you hallucinating from the X still? Geez, did Keith slip you something else? Should I drive you to work?”
“No.” I shook my head. Brooklyn was a terrible driver, but anyway, I wanted to be alone. “I’m fine, just had a weird dream.”
“I’d say.”
“I’ll be at Tracey’s in San Rafael. I hate that I have to drive all the way out there when we should be working in the warehouse. She’s such a lazy bitch.” I was trying to change the subject.
“You mentioned something to me about angels a couple days ago. What’s going on, Evey? You want to find a church and go pray or something?”
Brooklyn had been raised atheist. She had a total, absolute disconnect from anything religious or spiritual besides her mom’s religion of vegetarianism.
“No, no, I’m fine. Gonna head to work.”
I drove fast and recklessly. I missed him. Why? Him—who was him?
“Lucian!” I yelled as I drove fast across the Golden Gate Bridge. “Lucian!”
When I got to the other side of the bridge, I pulled into a space in the Vista Point parking lot and shut off my engine. I called my mom.
“Hi, honey,” she answered.
I hadn’t seen or talked to my mom in three weeks since I had told her I hated her for being so hard on me. My words were harsh toward the woman who had brought me into this world, but I had had years of resentment built up toward her. I had always been closer to my dad because I could do no wrong in his eyes. But my mom despised Brooklyn and thought fashion was silly and would never look at my sketches. It hurt me. It drove a wedge between us. I wanted her approval more than anyone’s, but she and I were different, and what I did didn’t interest her. It was hard to accept that my own mother could be so selfish that she wouldn’t even humor me by acting interested in what I had created. There were no siblings to talk it over with. I just had to learn to accept it. I couldn’t change her, but I vowed if I ever had kids, I would never dismiss their passion by telling them that it was a pipe dream, or by saying it didn’t interest me.
My parents were working-class Oakland lifers. My mom was a schoolteacher, and my dad was a UPS driver. They had been married for thirty-five years. The first ten they had spent trying to have a baby, then I came along. And I’m the only one. Imagine the pressure.
“Mom, I’m sorry about what I said to you at dinner.” I was going to take the high road.
“It’s been three weeks.”
“I know,” I said.
“I was giving you space, but I didn’t think it would take you this long. Better late than never, I guess. I appreciate the apology, Evelyn. I only want the best for you.”
“Mom, what is your idea of ‘the best for me’?”
“Some stability, that’s all.” Here we go again.
“I’m twenty-five. Stability is right up there with doing my taxes.”
She laughed. “You’re so spirited.”
Something came over me. “Speaking of—how come we never went to church?”
“Where are you right now, Evelyn? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
I got out of my car and walked toward the lookout. “I’m looking at the Golden Gate. I’m headed to Tracey’s. I just pulled over because I was thinking about you and I wanted to call you.” It was true. I had been thinking about her and the mysterious Lucian.
“We didn’t go to church because your grandparents were extremely staunch, devout Catholics who beat each other in front of me, told lies, were hypocrites, cheated on each other, and then divorced. It kind of left a bad taste in my mouth.”
My mom’s candor was shocking. “I can’t believe you just said all of that.”
“I don’t want you to hate me, Evey. I’m human; I make mistakes. I won’t always get it right, but I love you more than anything in this world, more than myself, and I want so badly for you to be happy. Your father and I didn’t take you to church, but we tried to be an example of love and honesty. We tried to show you that life can be fulfilling, that couples can be happy, and that you can be happy and have pride in what you do. But we also don’t want to see you fail. We don’t want to see you heartbroken either.”
“I have to decide what makes me happy. And maybe you have to let me fail sometimes, Mom. Maybe I need to experience a broken heart for once. You can’t control everything.”