 Dreamscape presents After I Do by Taylor Jenkins Reid. Narrated by Tara Sands. Flagrant, Adjective, I would be standing right there, and you would walk out of the bathroom without putting the cap back on the toothpaste. The Lovers' Dictionary. Part 1. Where Does The Good Go? We are in the parking lot of Dodger Stadium, and once again, Ryan has forgotten where we left the car. I keep telling him that it's in Lot C, but he doesn't believe me. No! He says for the tenth time, I specifically remember turning right when we got here. Not left. It's incredibly dark. The path in front of us lit only by lamp posts featuring oversized baseballs. I looked at the sign when we parked. You remember wrong, I say. My tone clipped and pissed off. You've already been here too long, and I hate the chaos of Dodger Stadium. It's a warm summer night, so I have that to be thankful for, but it's ten p.m., and the rest of the fans are pouring out of the stands, the two of us fighting through a sea of blue and white jerseys. We've been at this for about twenty minutes. I don't remember wrong, he says, walking ahead and not even bothering to look back at me as he speaks. You're the one with the bad memory. Oh, I see, I say, mocking him. Just because I lost my keys this morning, suddenly I'm an idiot? He turns and looks at me. I use the moment to try to catch up to him. The parking lot is hilly and steep. I'm slow. Yeah, Lorne, that's exactly what I said. I said you were an idiot. I mean, you basically did. You said that you know what you're talking about, like I don't. Just help me find the goddamn car so we can go home. I don't respond. I simply follow him as he moves farther and farther away from Lot C. Why he wants to go home is a mystery to me. None of this will be any better at home. It hasn't been for months. He walks around in a long, wide circle, going up and down the hills of the Dodger Stadium parking lot. I follow close behind, waiting with him at the crosswalks, crossing at his pace. We don't say anything. I think of how much I want to scream at him. I think of how I wanted to scream at him last night, too. I think of how much I'll probably want to scream at him tomorrow. I can only imagine he's thinking much of the same. And yet the air between us is perfectly still, uninterrupted by any of our thoughts. So often lately, our nights and weekends are full of tension. A tension that is only relieved by saying goodbye or good night. After the initial rush of people leaving the parking lot, it becomes a lot easier to see where we are and where we parked. There it is, Ryan says, not bothering to point for further edification. I turn my head to follow his gaze. There it is, our small black Honda, right in Lot C. I smile at him. It's not a kind smile. He smiles back. His isn't kind either. Eleven and a half years ago. It was the middle of my sophomore year of college. My freshman year had been a lonely one. UCLA was not as inviting as I thought it might be when I applied. It was hard for me to meet people. I went home a lot on weekends to see my family. Well, really, I went home to see my younger sister, Rachel. My mom and my little brother Charlie were secondary. Rachel was the person I told everything to. Rachel was the one I missed when I ate alone in the dining hall, and I ate alone in the dining hall more than I cared to admit. At the age of 19, I was much shyer than I'd been at 17, graduating from high school toward the top of my class. My hand cramping from signing so many yearbooks. My mom kept asking me all through my freshman year of college if I wanted to transfer. She kept saying that it was okay to look someplace else, but I didn't want to. I liked my classes. I just haven't found my stride yet. I said to her every time she asked, but I will. I'll find it. Sample complete. Are you ready to continue?