He nods slowly, and without another word, we turn back.
Riding quietly, the silence stretches between us, heavy with everything left unspoken. Because I know the truth. I’m playing with fire. And Dylan’s the flame that lit my whole damned soul on fire. One that might burn everything to the ground.
Izzy sits across from me, chopsticks in one hand, wine in the other. I poke at my noodles, eyeing the bold artwork in her kitchen. A blurred naked photo of a woman, sprawled on a table, holding a glass of wine with her toes. Same untamed curls. Same smirk. Definitely Izzy.
“Can I ask you something?” I blurt before I lose my nerve.
“Shoot,” she says, leaning back with a lazy grin.
“Do you ever wonder… is this it? Is this the rest of my life?” I mumble while eating a spring roll. “Like something’s missing. Or I took a wrong turn and got stuck.”
Izzy gives me a look. “You’ve been through a lot. I’m sure it’s normal to question things. Hell, I still don’t know what I want from life. Some days, I throw out my socks and underwear just so I don’t have to do more laundry.” She grins. “Because it’s easier to ditch the hard stuff than figure out what to do with it, you know?”
That makes me chuckle. “I should try that. I keep telling Lily that sorting socks is fun, but she won’t buy it.” My smile starts to fade. “Seriously, Izzy, my life’s a mess, and ‘normal’ sometimes sounds boring, maybe even wrong. But when it gets quiet at night, my insides are screaming for something. More peace. Less pain. Something I can’t even name.”
Izzy sips her drink. “You know what I say? Screw happiness.”
I blink at her. “Come again?”
“Happiness is overrated. It’s like trying to hold sand. Impossible to keep it all there. So why chase something that won’t last? Passion, fear, surprises, the unknown—that's real. That's life. You need a ‘Fucket List.’”
“A what?”
“A Fucket List,” she says, smiling. “It’s the opposite of a bucket list. Instead of listing goals, you dump everything you need to stop giving a shit about into a bucket and say, ‘Fuck it.’ And happiness should go straight in that bucket—I mean, Fucket.”
I laugh, the tension in my chest easing. “I love it! Can I throw in my perfectionism? My people-pleasing? Jacob’s hideous Christmas sweater?”
“Hell yes!” Izzy grabs a napkin and starts scribbling. “Here, start dumping.”
One by one, I write my frustrations onto napkins and toss them into an empty takeout container. By the time we’re done, my stomach hurts from laughing. Everyone needs an Izzy in their lives.
I lean out of my chair, grab her face, and plant a sloppy kiss. “I. LOVE. You. Izzy.”
She giggles and waves her hand at me. “I know, I know. What would you do without me?”
I flop back down with a sigh. “Still nothing.”
Her smile disappears. “Nothing?” she asks, brows furrowed.
“Remember when you kissed me at our first sleepover?” I grin, sipping wine. “I was hoping I'd realize I was into girls so I could marry you and never date another shitty man again. Too bad, I still feel nothing.”
Izzy smiles. “Oh my God, I remember that night. You were high as hell, fell into my rose bush, and started singingI Will Survivewhile I pulled thorns out of your cute ass!”
We lose it, full belly laughs, tears in our eyes.
“But let’s get one thing straight.” Izzy pauses dramatically, flipping her blonde hair. “If I kissed you—likereallykissed you—you’d forget all about my brother…andyour jinxed name.” She wraps her arms around me in a bear hug so tight, she nearly crushes the spring rolls out of me.
“I might ask you to prove that,” I tease, grabbing my leftovers andFucketcontainer.
“I fuggen love you, Jinx!” Izzy calls out as I head for the door.
“Thanks for the wine and life talks,” I say, putting on my jacket. “Gotta go. Don’t want to miss the girls’ bedtime.”
Outside, digging for my keys in my purse, my fingers touch something crinkly. My forgotten fortune cookie. Let me guess—Great things are coming.
Sure, maybe when I’m eighty-nine.
I crack it open anyway.Seize the day. You won’t get it back.Groundbreaking. Truly. We can’t go back in time?
