Page 95 of Sparking Sara

“Not really. I mean he’s kissed me. But he’s sleeping on the couch for now. I guess I wish he’d treat me more like some of the others do. Like he understands my potential instead of focusing on my limitations.”

“Why don’t you just tell him that?” she asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know. We’re more like two strangers trying to be polite to each other.”

“And by ‘the others’ you mean …?”

“You know, my therapists. Denver. And now, you.”

“It’s got to be hard on Oliver,” she says. “You not remembering him. I can only imagine what it would be like if Dan didn’t remember me and our life together. He’s probably trying to find the balance between not pushing you hard enough and coming on too strong. Surely he must know you don’t have to be with him if you don’t want to. You could leave at any time. Or kick him out. I find it commendable that you’re giving him a chance.”

I nod. “I’ve tried to put myself in his position. I thought it was only fair to give it a try.”

“You said you lost a few years of memories. What’s the last thing you remember?”

I smile. “Actually, it was our road trip.”

“The one to Cape Cod?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God, that was epic!” she cries. But then her face turns sad. “It was the best and worst vacation of my life.”

“How do you mean?”

“Do you remember why we went there?”

“You wanted me to paint a picture of you and your dad. You gave me a photo of the two of you on the beach when you were very young. But it was old and weathered and there wasn’t much detail.”

“You asked if we could go there, to the exact spot the photo was taken.”

“Did I ever paint the picture for you?” I ask.

She pulls out her phone and taps around on it before showing me the picture. It brings tears to my eyes because I know how much she missed her dad.

“I love this painting,” she says. “But I also hate it because it was the beginning of the end for us.”

“How do you mean?”

“You discovered you had a knack for painting people’s memories. Especially when you went on location to the spot of the memory. I was so proud of the painting, I showed it to everyone. I put pictures of it online. I showed it to gallery managers. I pimped you like there was no tomorrow.”

I look up at her, and everything that people have told me about my career starts to make sense. I try to hold back the tears. “So you asked me to paint this and then I went and became some kind of diva artist who would leave her best friend at the first sight of fame.”

She smiles at me sadly. “It all happened so fast. I think you just got caught up in the glitz and glamour.”

“I’m such a bitch,” I say. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Lydia studies me. “You’re not a bitch. Not anymore. You’re different,” she says.

I laugh. “You’re different, too. Whathappenedto us?”

“Well, you got a good knock on the head and I found a man to knock sense into me.”

“You look happy,” I tell her.

“I am.” She grabs my hand and puts it on her belly. “Feel.”

I rest my hand on her stomach as her baby kicks and squirms. Then I lean over and talk to her baby bump. “I hope you realize what a great mom you’re getting. I hope she’ll let me be a part of your life because she’s one amazing woman.”

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