Page 1 of The Deer and the Dragon
Chapter One
APRIL 15, AGE 26
I stared down the barrel of the lesser of two evils: the flesh-and-blood disappointment of a human man, or a life trapped in my imagination with a fictional lover.
I remembered reading that the brain stops forming at twenty-six. I watched the man across from me chew his food with his mouth slightly ajar, not bothering to swallow before he went on to name-drop yet another notch in society’s belt. He was holding his chopsticks wrong. He had mixed wasabi directly into his soy sauce. He’d spoken at a cringe-worthy volume throughout the meal, drawing curious, if disgruntled, stares. There wasn’t a single etiquette he followed, and it wasn’t even close to the worst thing about him.
I wasn’t sure if I hoped the bit about the brain was true. I was halfway through my twenty-sixth year and not so sure that this was the finished product I wanted for my mind. I was doing my best to be normal. This was what normal people did, right? They went on terrible dates with ordinary humans. They didn’t see things that weren’t there. They didn’t cling to ghosts and maladaptive fantasies they’d conjured in the dark. They took their medications they went to therapy, and they learned how to distinguish what was real.
If my brain had stopped forming, however, it might come with perks. On the one hand, it meant that thisbovine-mannered date wouldn’t be a core memory. The man in the suit across from me—Jared? Joshua? I’m pretty sure it was Josh—would be a forgettable date after a long string of mediocre sex and dating apps. On the other hand, maybe it meant my courtship habits and hidden, wish-fulfilling coping mechanisms were cemented in stone and there was no hope for me. Perhaps I was doomed to repeat a cycle of Joshes. This was my curse.
“Marlow?”
Oh, fuck. He was staring at me. Had he asked me a question? I squinted my eyes slightly, peering through the din of the too-expensive restaurant and the polite chatter of upscale patrons for a clue.
“Come again?” I attempted an apologetic smile.
His perplexed look was one I understood. Of course he would be confused that I hadn’t been listening. This was our second date, and he expected more from me. After all, I’d been utterly delightful last time. Painted, waxed, and squeezed into the most stunning dress, sporting the glossiest hair and the most charming smiles, I was a living superlative. I’d spent my life learning how to make the perfect first impression.
My profile had been curated to snag any curious suitor. First was a high-resolution picture that a friend had taken four years prior on a boat in Rio de Janeiro, where the greens and grays of the coast matched my eyes. “Where was that picture taken?” gave prospective dates an easy conversation opener. The next two had been selected to attract the outdoorsy types, from the HD pic of me flexing on a mountain in yoga pants and a sports bra to me on the beach laughing with friends—which also created the perfect excuse to show off a bikini body and gave me an easy way to screen out anyone who didn’t like curves. I rounded out the profile with a picture of me alone with my coffee cup and computer, looking very serious and business-like, immediately followed by a photo of me jumping on the bed holding a bottle of wine, dress flying up, muddy blond curls a cloud around my face, smiling as if Iwere having the time of my life. Whatever dream you wanted to project onto me, I gave you the option right there in my intricately tailored series of images.
“Who are you?” the app had asked.
“Whoever you need me to be,” my profile replied.
Every date was spent in a song and dance of asking the right questions, laughing at the right pitch, tossing my hair over my shoulder, arching my neck, lowering my lashes, and, as always, keeping them talking. They’d leave thinking they’d met their soulmate. I’d leave wondering if I could catch the newest episode ofFire and Swordsor if I’d have to wait until it was on a streaming service.
“I asked if you’ve been to the Galápagos,” he repeated.
“No.” I kept my tone as light as possible. I glanced down at the elaborately plated omakase sushi that had doubtlessly cost more than half of the country made in a month. This was why I’d agreed to go on the second date. I loved good sushi, and free just so happened to be my favorite price. The salmon belly was the most well marbled in the hemisphere. I’d come back with terrible company just to eat my weight in the stuff even if it meant thinking about what sort of life these ocean animals had before they ended up on my plate.
He grabbed the sake kettle and tilted the alcohol into his glass first, then mine.
I kept the disarming smile on my face as I said, “I’ve wandered my way through a lot of South America, but I was teaching English as a second language and I—”
“Oh, you have to go back and do it the right way. I have a friend who works at the most incredible resort you’ve ever seen. The fish swim right underneath…” His mouth kept moving as my thoughts drifted into the restaurant’s ambience while I started to think of marine life. I liked aquariums. I wondered how long it had been since I’d been to one. Maybe I’d go to the city’s aquatic zoo, bring a bag of magic mushrooms, pop in my headphones, and listen to music while counting sharks over the weekend.
Josh required little encouragement to continue the conversation. It only took a pleading look to the waitress and a firm “No,” when asked if we wanted desserts for her to bring the check without waiting for his argument on digestifs. She knew from the very intentional way I’d selected designer pieces, from the delicate chain around my neck to the bag that dangled over the back of my chair, that I could afford the bill if I’d requested it. My deadpan stare challenged him to give it to me. In my early twenties, I would have rushed to cover the check so that Josh wouldn’t expect anything from me. Now I expected him to procure his Amex as penance for making me watch him chew with his mouth open. It was the least he could do.
I idly wondered if Josh had ever asked me what I did for a living. Perhaps that was my own fault. I’d gotten so good at getting others to talk about themselves that I’d become excellent at living in the shadows. I wonder how many of my dates knew more about me than my name and how spectacular I was in bed.
We’d scarcely stepped into the cold, cloudless night before he asked, “So, should we go back to my place?”
“Oh.” I pouted slightly to underscore my feigned regrets while shrugging into my coat, saying, “I’m so sorry. I called a rideshare while I was in the bathroom. It’s only two minutes out.”
Josh looked like he’d been slapped. I wondered how many times a man with a forty-thousand-dollar Rolex was turned down. Then again, it had been a running pleasure of mine to play catch and release. The bigger the fish, the more satisfying it was to throw them back into the water. Everything about this evening had me wishing I’d stayed in to watch the documentary about whales rather than wasting the perfume by stepping out into the world.
“What about the concert?”
I frowned, scarcely looking up from my phone. “Concert?”
Confusion faded into agitation as he studied my face. “Next week, the one I—”
Fish. Everything about this man was a fish. When they tell you that there are plenty of fish in the sea, they forget to mention that half of marine life is boring, scaly and a part of an identical school of thousands just like him. I would rather be alone, high, and looking at tropical fish next weekend. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Josh—this is my car!”
“It’s Jacob.”
I grimaced. I really was sorry about that one. I should have checked his name from the dating profile when I’d escaped to the restroom.
