Clarissa Lincoln is a martini glass half full type. Heck, even when she slurps the last bits of icy vodka from the glass, she'll tell you it's plumb full!
Until a disaster of a night on New Year's Eve sends the daydreaming, serial dater spiraling as...
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The moment I remind her that it's her turn to talk. Rissa sinks back into the mood that's plagued her since she returned from the store. I've been racking my brain trying to figure out what could've happened so quickly, and I'm coming up with nothing.
My mood, on the other hand, is lighter than it has been in a long time. I usually avoid discussing the embarrassment of being played for a fool and the stress of the breakup. But it was so easy to spill to Rissa, and she didn't give me that pitiful look everyone did back then. Nor did she try telling me it was all for the best or to see the silver lining. Instead, she validated my anger and empathized with it.
I feel like a weight's been lifted from my shoulders, in a sense. I still drive to beat Serena at her own game, but now I have Rissa helping me.
And that's where this stays, I tell myself. Mixing business with pleasure was a disaster the first time and this time, it would be much worse. Rissa needs me to focus on helping her, so these feelings of mine have to be ignored.
It will be challenging, but I know it's right, and I'll get through it. When she walks away from this as a happy, self-adjusted woman ready for a real relationship it'll be worth it.
"What's going on, Rissa?" I question. "You were your usual self when Ed picked you up for Target, and you came back all mopey and weird."
"When you sent me on that carriage ride, you told him to go by those houses, right?"
"Of course I did. You love those houses."
"More than love them. That was a part of the dream, Conner. My dream was always to be married, with two kids, a boy first, then a girl, and we'd live in one of those mansions. I'd throw these fabulous parties every New Year's Eve and ..." She trails off as she lets out a huge sigh.
"You mentioned this; I sent you past the houses to reinforce it."
"But why? When the point is to get me to face reality?"
"Which is exactly what you're doing, Riss. You will eventually meet the right person, and together, you can make your dreams come true. It might not be that specific, but of course, it's possible."
"No!" She shakes her head. "It's not possible. Those houses probably cost millions of dollars. I'd never be able to afford one even if I did leave my job for one with better money. And that's a risk because tips aren't even guaranteed. What if I'm not the bartender I imagined? I could get fired and end up flat broke, and then they'd never take me back because I burned bridges. I should forget that whole idea and maybe tell someone about Diane and Justin—"
"Rissa, stop," I cut her off as I get up and move to sit next to her on the couch. "I know I asked you to spill, but I didn't mean every thought in your head at once. I'm a little lost here, let's start at the beginning."
"The beginning was you tormenting me with a dream I can't have," she says.
"Why can't you have it? I published a book that became a New York Times best seller. If I can do that, you can own any house."
