The Sunday List of Dreams
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Connie Nixon is no stranger to making lists. In fact, she has rewritten the list of her deepest desires no fewer than forty-eight times. And each Sunday, for as long as she can remember, she’s tinkered with it. But actually doing something about her desires is a different story—until the night she comes across a box belonging to her estranged daughter…and makes a stunning discovery. It turns out that her seemingly straitlaced Jessica is part owner of one of the most successful sex toy shops in America.
Shocked by her daughter’s secret life, Connie tucks her list in her back pocket and does something utterly impulsive: she hops on a plane to New York City to track down Jessica—and winds up on the wildest adventure of her life. Because with her daughter’s help, Connie’s about to let her own inner bombshell see the light of day.
Now, for the first time ever, things are flying off Connie’s list. Like reconnecting with her daughter. And getting tipsy before noon. And the most startlingly extraordinary desire of all: falling in love.
spot. Another white family relative will push her over the edge. And, oh, yeah, we couldn’t hold the reception here by the lake because we’d have to get married in a foreign country, what with the same-sex issue and all, which is a very perfect reason for moving to Canada, if you ask me.” They joke, but both women know they could live together in a second and that, no matter what Connie decides to do with this lively middle section of her life, they’ll always make time for the Wind Drift, these
remarkable gift of love. It can happen in a public waiting room when a stranger asks another woman to hold her baby—her beautiful baby—when she needs to go to the bathroom. It can happen when you see a woman on a street corner and two guys are hassling her and you open your car door and she gets in without hesitation. It can happen when you see a woman at the grocery store crying because she is a dollar short and you pay her bill and carry her groceries to the car with her kids and then slip her
promoted. And then the years stumbled over themselves. They stumbled into what Connie would eventually tell her granddaughter was a “quiet pause of personal and physical reflection” and then laugh and say honestly that she had yet to discover a piece of herself, a buried third arm, her own natural and glorious yearning for sexual pleasure and release that every woman deserves. Connie, the smart, sassy, attractive divorced woman from Cyprus, Indiana, who should have known better, who could have
and even the damn way he talked made her want to stand next to him and pant. Had this ever happened before? Had she ever before let herself feel this way? Could she jump over the vicious looks of her daughter and just have a day with a handsome man who made her feel rich, attractive—and almost beautiful, sweet and fine? The answer came following a very long conversation, while she and Michael leaned against boxes in the storage room and Jessica and Justin, a seemingly perfect anal and
She has her AARP card and is wondering, as she occasionally runs into the back room to look at the notes she made during her crash course in the use and care of sex toys, if she is supposed to be having this much fun. “Quick, hey, Meredith, what did you say again about batteries and plug-in vibrators and the differences in sensation?” she asks as she races into the back room while a woman waits by the counter. Meredith tells her and wants to jump up and scream. She’s created a monster. Connie