Page 49 of Dallas

Because Sarah is the most precious person to me. Maybe because I know how difficult everything has been for her. So, I hope that I can give her a birthday that feels a little bit nice. It won’t make up for everything, but it’ll be something.

Chapter Thirteen

Sarah

I decide to go with a white dress with pink flowers for my birthday party. And I put on more pink eyeshadow than normal, and some glitter on my cheeks, because I am the birthday girl, after all, and I can’t say that that’s ever really meant anything to me.

But Dallas says it’s a big deal for me to turn twenty-one, and so I’m going to treat it like a big deal.

Maybe I’ll even order a drink.

A pink one.

I smile a little bit as I think about that.

I walk out into the living room where Dallas is standing, wearing a black T-shirt and blue jeans, a black cowboy hat. His shoulders are broad, so is his chest, his waist narrow. He’s a solid wall of muscle. I already know that from all the times I’ve hugged him. His body is warm, and I remember the heat from when he fell asleep on my lap the other night.I remember how it feels to be pressed up against him. I look down at his hands.

I’ve associated a man’s hands with pain for a long time. Pain and fear and disgust. But when I look at Dallas’, I don’t feel any of that. I imagine what they would look like, big hands gripping the fabric of my white dress.

No. I shove the thoughts away, and I smile.

“I’m ready for my party.”

“Good,” he says. His eyes flick over me, like he’s looking at something mundane. I can’t read the expression on his face, but it’s almost like he’s trying to be too casual, and I’m not sure why I think that.

“Ready to go?”

“Yes,” I say.

We get into the truck, and as I’m buckling, I look over my left shoulder and spot a platter covered with a tall, metal lid.

“What’s that?”

“A surprise,” he says.

“Asurprise? I get a surprise?”

“Yeah. Because it’s your birthday.”

“Well, that’s nice.” I see a little package back there too, with a pink ribbon on it, and I’m secretly pleased that the ribbon is pink because it is my favorite color, even though I try to pretend that it isn’t. Because just like in my little fantasy where I think about Dallas and I meeting at school, I sometimes imagine who I would be if I didn’t have to be tough. If I didn’t learn that being a girl is dangerous. If it hadn’t made me hate the things about me that were feminine or soft.

I think I would really like everything to be pink. I’ve really embraced the summer dress, because in recent years I’ve tried to disentangle my hatred and loathing about thepast from the way that I feel about my body, from the way that I feel about clothing, but there are still things that linger, I wonder who I would be if I felt like I had the freedom to be feminine and pretty all the time. To experiment with makeup and high heels. To look sexy, even. I can honestly say I’ve never attempted it.

He pulls the truck up to the curb, I get out and so does he, collecting the pan, and placing the little present on top.

“Come on,” he says.

And then we walk into the bar together. The bar is a funky place, styled like an old-fashioned saloon, with a large liquor cabinet behind the glossy bar top that looks ancient. “Laz,” he says, greeting the tall man behind the counter, with a big smile and a pine tree tattoo on his forearm. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, Dallas.

“This is my friend Sarah. It’s her twenty-first birthday.”

“Oh well, we’ll have some drinks on the house for the birthday girl.”

I smile, because the attention doesn’t feel creepy or wrong. And maybe some of that is because he has a bright gold wedding band on his left hand, but it just feels friendly, and I feel safe because I’m with Dallas.

“You can think about what you want,” I say.

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