Page 51 of The Seemingly Impossible Love Life of Amanda Dean

“You’ve taught me a lot of things.” More things than Mandy ever wanted to know, actually. “I promise to do better.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I expect nothing less.”

As Mandy sat there atop that barstool, licking salt from her fingers, she realized she didn’t need fancy parties at yacht clubs, or canapés or petits fours, and she definitely didn’t need parties where she had to wear heels, and get dressed up just to impress a bunch of people who would likely forget her name by tomorrow anyway. She was utterly content with flip-flops and fried appetizers you ate with your fingers, and just being herself.

Had she ever truly been herself with Edmund? Did he even know who she was?

They had dated for so long, Mandy could barely remember a time without him, but were those memories from before better than anything in her present? When was the last time she fell asleep on the couch and stayed there all night, leaving the bowl of ice cream she’d just eaten on the coffee table, where it got all dried and petrified by morning? Or the last time she didn’t wash her hair for an entire week because she had spent so much time working on her art?

She needed to do that again. Well, not thenot-washing-her-hair-for-a-weekthing. But paint. Get so wrapped up in her projects that the world around her would fade away. Mandy needed to remember whoshewas.

“Let’s get out of here,” Mandy announced to Isa, then motioned to the bartender for their check.

One thing about the Fourth of July was that many places were closed, but that didn’t matter so much, because art was everywhere if you knew where to look. Mandy and Isa took a drive to one of their favorite beachside locations, where an enormous amount of chalk art could always be found. The holiday did make parking more challenging, but luckily being extra familiar with the area helped. And while the number of people who were out that day was more than usual, the number of artists scratching away on the concrete did not disappoint.

Some guys banged on their drums—or banged on things meant to be drums—but the sound was amazing. They were creating music with everyday items—buckets, cans, even a two-liter bottle full of beans—just like the people on the ground were making art with their hands.

“Dance with me.” Isa pulled Mandy aside and threw her hands in the air. Dance like no one was watching—that had been their thing, something they hadn’t done in far too long. Hell, Mandy couldn’t remember the last time they had danced. And even though there were plenty of people watching, it didn’t matter.

She grabbed Isa’s hands, and they spun in circles, throwing their heads back and laughing. Mandy hadn’t laughed that hard in a really long time. They likely looked ridiculous, but it didn’t matter. Their charisma must’ve been contagious, because soon a nice crowd had joined in on the fun.

Sweat trickled down Mandy’s face, but this was exactly what she needed. To let loose and have fun. To refill her creative well. To reignite her passion. She wasn’t just the girl who made the pretty ads; Mandy was an artist. She had a point of view. She had something to say. And while maybe her voice had been quieted over the past couple of years, it wasn’t gone.

And with Isa by her side, Mandy felt inspired for the first time in a long time.

She almost felt like she could take on the world. Almost.

After pulling Isa off the impromptu dance floor, they wandered down the path next to the beach as skateboarders, rollerbladers, and bicyclists passed by.

“He said that I was embarrassing him.” Mandy was finally ready to talk about it. “He left me all alone, and this guy started talking to me. What was I supposed to do, ignore him? How was I supposed to know he was like the boss or something?”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. That’s the thing. It was a perfectly normal conversation. I mentioned chicken wings, and Edmund’s head practically exploded.”

Isa stifled a laugh. “Sorry. I mean, could you imagine Edmund eating a chicken wing? With his fingers?”

Okay, that image was funny. Edmund would likely try to use a knife and fork if he attempted to eat one at all. “It’s just, why does it matter if I eat chicken wings, or talk about eating chicken wings?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Sometimes I wonder if Edmund even knows me at all.” Mandy had never said those words out loud before.

“Well, have you shown him who you are?”

“Are you saying it’s my fault?”

“No, that’s not it. You just always do this thing where you lose yourself in every relationship you’ve had. You become a different person.” Isa was right, and Mandy hated to admit that. The only time she had ever been 100 percent herself was with Isa—that is, until the very end, and well, look how great that turned out.

Mandy stopped in front of a bench and sat, exhausted from either walking or the conversation, she wasn’t sure. “I don’t mean to.”

“I know you don’t,” Isa said, but did she really mean it? Mandy never told her about why things went down between them the way they did. Isa had stopped asking, but it was unlikely she forgot—Mandy still thought about it all the time. “It’s just, maybe it’s time to be the real you. And if he doesn’t love that, love you for who you are, then at least you’ll know.”

It sounded so simple. So why did it feel so impossible? If things didn’t work out with Edmund, then what? Where would that leave her? Just a girl with another failed relationship. Mandy was so tired of that. Tired of dating. Tired of trying people on to see if they were the right fit. People weren’t shoes. Shouldn’t people bend a little for each other? Mandy never meant to change who she was for the person she was with. It always started innocently enough. She just wanted to make them happy. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do? But was she the only one? Were they not trying to make her happy in return? Was that where the problem lay?

Why did it feel like no one would be able to love Mandy just the way she was?

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