5. Izzy
5
IZZY
I’ve been working nonstop for more than a decade. I was a literal teenager when I started my YouTube channel. After I graduated from high school and focused on social media full time, I would film a handful of videos each week—more, if inspiration struck—so that I’d have drafts ready to post every couple of days.
Initially, after the Lux incident, I continued posting like normal. After the third week, though, it became obvious that I needed to step away. I’d also stopped filming videos in bulk to have on hand since I was feeling so low.
My camera sits like a heavy brick weight in my tote bag, taunting me to pull it out and film as I stroll down Main Street.
It’s a beautiful, warm day. The sun is bright and the air is salty from the ocean. Wonton walks ahead of me, a bounce to his step. He’s clearly happy to be out and about after being holed up for the past few days. I’ve only been out to stock up on veggies, since Derrick is apparently allergic to the color green.
Until now, I didn’t realize what a tourist town Parkerville becomes in the spring and summer months. Far more people mill around than I’ve ever seen here before. Even on the day Via opened her studio. They stroll leisurely down the sidewalks, checking out one pop-up shop after another that are set up like a flea market. I wander over to one, eyeing the silver jewelry.
“Sit,” I tell Wonton.
Dutifully, he obeys, his tongue hanging halfway out of his mouth while he smiles up at me.
“He’s cute,” the woman at the booth says. “Maltese?”
“He is.”
“Do you mind if I pet him?”
Holding a bracelet made with sea glass beads, I smile at her. “Go for it. He loves the attention.”
She doesn’t have to be told twice. Without another word, she rounds her table and drops to her knees to give Wonton scratches.
“Do you make these?” I ask, holding another bracelet up to the light.
She tilts her head back and inspects the jewelry with a fond look on her face. “Yeah. I do it in my spare time. If I don’t keep my hands busy, I feel like I’m going crazy.”
With a small laugh, I clutch the bracelet and move down her booth to the selection of necklaces. “I know how that is.”
Having so little to do for the past few months has made me all but certifiably insane. The good news is that I’m finally putting a dent in the giant to-be-read list I started several years ago .
But it’s difficult, this place I’m in. Because I don’t quite know who I am if I’m not filming. It sounds pathetic, even in my own mind, but it’s really all I know, and I’ve always loved it.
Though this time away from filming has spurred questions in my mind about the future. About what comes next. Because even if I hadn’t been canceled on the internet, I can’t vlog and post fashion and travel videos forever.
I end up purchasing the bracelet and a few rings before I continue on my way. There’s a coffee shop on Main Street that I’ve always loved working in, so I head there. Only I don’t have anything to work on.
Scooping Wonton under my arm, I go in to order.
The woman behind the register smiles in greeting. “Izzy, it’s been a while. Your usual?”
This is the thing I’ve come to love about Parkerville—everyone knows everyone and everything. Sure, nosy people can be a pain, but so far, I’ve found that most of the townsfolk here are genuinely caring, and that’s something special.
“That would be great,” I say. “And whatever Via’s usual is, too. It’s good to see you, Cindy.”
She clicks a few keys on the register, then looks up at me, brows lifted. “Any pastries today? I know how much you love our oatmeal cookies. They should be out of the oven in about five minutes.”
I slam a hand over my heart. “You’re speaking my love language. One, please—actually,” I correct, “make it two.”
I have no idea whether Derrick likes oatmeal cookies. Most people seem to find them bland, but I’m their chief advocate. Now oatmeal raisin cookies? That’s a different story. Those belong solely in the trash.
Still, despite not knowing his cookie preference, I want to bring him one. To share a treat I love with him like he did when he took me for a slushie.
I tap my card to pay and add a few dollar bills to the tip jar.
“Thank you, dear.” Cindy passes me the receipt.
With Wonton still curled under my arm, I step off to the side. While I wait, I scan the coffee shop. It’s quiet this morning.
Inside, it’s a mix of reclaimed wood from a variety of buildings in the area and new bright-blue subway tiles that serve to bring the ocean across the street closer.
The mix of the old and new is comforting, charming.
In LA, everything is shiny and sterile. Modern and minimalist. There’s such little personality there. Not in the places, nor in most of the people.
To me, the things that have been around for a while hold the real appeal.
Yeah, my conscience taunts me, like Derrick .
“Your order’s ready, Izzy.”
I startle, my heart lurching. The way she’s watching me, head tilted in concern, tells me Cindy’s already said that more than once.
“Sorry,” I rush out, scurrying to the counter. “Thank you.”
I put the cookies in my tote and precariously balance both cups until I get outside, where I set them on a table and put Wonton down. He wags his tail and turns in a circle, his sweet little face full of so much excitement.
“We’re going to see Auntie Via, just like I promised.” While I get the cups situated again, I take a moment to appreciate the flowers growing along the outside of the building.
Wonton gives an annoyed yip, telling me to get my ass going .
Via’s store is about another mile down the long stretch of road along the coastline.
By the time we make it there, I’m sweating, and the ice in her drink is melting. Oh well.
“Hey.” She brightens when she sees me and steps around the front desk to throw her arms around me.
I’ve heard horror stories from my friends about how fucked up sibling relationships can be, but despite our age difference, we’ve always been close. Via’s my best friend.
“For you.” I pass her the iced coffee, then let Wonton off his leash to run around.
“Thanks.” She takes a hearty sip, her eyes dancing as she surveys me. “I can’t believe you’re staying with Reid’s dad.”
I shrug. “What choice do I have if I’m going to stay in town?”
“You could come back and stay with me.” She bumps my shoulder.
“In your little fuck pad? I think not. I’m not dumb enough to turn down a good clean bed for your couch. There’s no telling what it’s endured.”
Laughing, she squats to pet Wonton, who’s stopped in front of her. “I guess I get it.”
“I can’t believe you’re still in your honeymoon phase.”
The words come out a little sharper than I mean for them to. I really am happy for my sister. Even so, I can’t help but wish I could find love like that, too. I’ve yet to find the kind of guy who’s ready to settle down and live out a fairy tale with me.
“I think when you meet the right person, it’s always like that. We disagree and fight at times. But we love each other too much to stay mad for long.”
My sister has stars in her eyes every time she talks about Reid. I wouldn’t be surprised one bit if he’s planning a proposal soon. He’s just as head over heels for her.
“I promise I’m okay at Derrick’s,” I say when her expression morphs back into one of concern. “You don’t need to worry about me, promise.”
I might not be in the best headspace, but I am okay. That has to count for something.
“As long as you’re sure.” She presses her lips together, studying me like she’s looking for a sign that I’m not.
“We’re doing okay. He works a lot, so I barely see him.”
Though when he’s home, I’m usually trying to shove something green down his throat. He turned his nose up at the green smoothie I had for breakfast this morning and that was before I could offer to make one for him.
“So, what’s your plan while you’re here?”
Shrugging, I wander over to the section of her store where she keeps a wide selection of pottery for painting. “Right now, I’m taking a break and seeing where life takes me.”
“Are you going to vlog?”
I’m studying a pig with wings when the question registers, and my body involuntarily stiffens. I set it back down beside a unicorn horn. I’m sure both trinkets are popular with the kids. “I might, but I’m not going to force myself.”
As I say it, I swear the camera in my tote bag gets ten pounds heavier.
“And today, I’m going to paint one of these, then take a walk through town.” I look back over my shoulder at my sister, hating the worry swimming in her eyes.
I’m fine . Maybe not good , but I am okay. That has to count for something.
“All right.” She crosses her arms over her chest, still wearing that concerned expression. “Why don’t we go get lunch? I can close down the store and?—”
“You don’t need to do that.”
Her face falls. Dammit.
Quickly, I say, “But I’d love to have lunch with you. Only if you want to, though. I don’t want my presence in town to negatively impact your business.”
“It couldn’t possibly. We’ll go after you finish your project. Pick a piece.” She flicks her fingers at the wall of pottery and heads back to the front.
I end up choosing a plate. Yeah, it’s a boring choice, but I’ve gotten it into my head that I want to make a collection of dinnerware full of pieces painted by me or by someone I love. An eclectic mix of pure happiness.
I pick out my colors, then squirt dollops of each onto the palette. I might not be an artist like my sister, but I still love the creative break.
When I’m settled on a stool, Wonton skedaddles over to lie at my feet.
I spend the next two hours meticulously painting little flowers around the edge of the plate. Layering the paint so that it will show up once it’s fired in the kiln takes forever, but it’s relaxing. Cleansing. And when I’m finished, I’m impressed with what I’ve created. For a first attempt, it’s damn good.
“Please tell me you’re almost done.” Via wanders over to my side, wrapping her cardigan around her body. It might be hot outside, but it’s downright frigid in here. “I’m starving. Do you hear my stomach?”
She points at her belly, and, as if on cue, it rumbles.
“I’m done.” I angle back from the table. “What do you think? ”
Leaning in, she studies it with a soft smile. “It’s beautiful, Izzy.”
“I’m going to do a whole set—plates and bowls. Maybe even cups.”
“That’ll be cute.” She cautiously picks up the plate and sets it on a table with the other items that need to be fired. “I’d be more enthusiastic if I wasn’t so hungry.”
“All right, all right.” I stand, then head for the sink in the corner to wash my hands. “Let me get some food in you before you get hangry.”
“It might be too late,” she warns, hanging a sign that says Closed for lunch on the door.
We walk down the street, then cross over onto the pier, where the restaurants and shops are only open in the warm months. Via chooses a restaurant I haven’t been to yet, and we’re quickly seated at a table outside that overlooks the water.
The people at the table next to us get their food as we’re perusing the menus, the scents floating in the air making my stomach rumble like my sister’s. I guess I was so focused on painting that I didn’t notice how my hunger was setting in.
“What’s good here?”
Via peers at me over the top of her menu, brow arched. “It’s fresh seafood, therefore everything.”
“Good point.” I study the menu, struggling to make a decision because every choice sounds incredible.
When our server arrives to take our order, I’m forced to choose, so I go with the fish sandwich with sweet potato fries and a side salad.
Once the server leaves, I look out over the railing to the water beyond. With the ocean breeze stirring my hair, causing it to tickle my shoulders, I close my eyes and inhale the salty scent, allowing it to center me.
I don’t go to the beaches around LA. Too loud. Too busy. Too… everything.
But here? It’s perfect. Calm and crisp. Filled with families. Kids laughing, dogs barking. It’s simple in the best way. Even the tourists are different here. Moving more slowly, enjoying the moment.
“I’ve missed you,” Via says, bringing my attention back her way. “It really is nice to have you here.”
“Thanks.” I pull an elastic off my wrist and twist my hair into a knot. I miss a few strands when I secure it, so some still blow around my face.
“I know I struggle to understand your job and your life, but you can talk to me about anything.”
My sister watches me, lips pressed together, half her face hidden behind oversized sunglasses. Even so, I can sense her sincerity.
I have tried to explain what I do, but she doesn’t get it. I can’t fault her for it, either. Unless a person has lived it, it’s difficult for them to see what I do as real and meaningful. Social media isn’t real life, that’s what most believe, and to an extent, that’s true. But it is my life. So logging off and refusing to let the comments bother me isn’t as simple as it sounds. If only it were, my life would be far easier.
Rather than tell her that, I take a sip of my water. Then I plaster on a smile, and respond with “I know.”
She frowns at my half-hearted response, but she doesn’t ask more, and I leave it at that. I don’t want to keep rehashing my problems with someone who doesn’t understand.
Conversation, thankfully, moves away from me. Instead, we talk about her shop and Reid and her rocky relationship with our parents. They’ve always been hard on her in a way they aren’t with me, but I didn’t truly understand the depths of that until a few years ago. As the youngest child—and because, frankly, I was less inclined to care about their wishes since I did what I wanted anyway—I had it easier.
“You should come to book club this week,” Via says as the server appears with our food. She gives her a grateful smile, and then it’s just the two of us again.
I unravel my napkin and pull out my silverware. “You mean the book club where you never read said book and instead gossip nonstop?”
She grins, her eyes twinkling. “That’s the one. Though we do actually read the books now that we’ve all given up the pretense of enjoying anything other than romance.”
“So, does that mean I should read the book before coming?”
She shakes her head. “Nah, we still don’t really talk about the books. Just bring a snack or drinks.”
“I don’t know,” I hedge, forking a bite of my salad.
“If you’re going to stay for a while, you might as well incorporate yourself into the core of our town. Book club is the best way to do that.”
My chest tightens with apprehension, but I take a deep breath and will the sensation to dissipate. “Fine, I’ll come. Send me the information.”
With a victorious smile, she types the details into her phone. My cell dings a moment later.
“Now you have no excuse.”
I unlock the device and scan the text she sent: The address, along with a list of foods not to bring—staunchly vetoed by Glenda. Good ole Glenda. I’ve missed that crazy lady.
On instinct, I open Instagram and take a photo of my meal for my story—excluding the salad I already dug into. Before I post the image, though, I hesitate. It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, and despite my newfound haters, I do try to upload photos and stories periodically so the people who follow me and actually care know I’m still around. So with a deep breath, I post it to my story—making sure not to tag my location or the restaurant.
Then, before the messages can roll in, I put my phone away.
“Do you have to pay Derrick rent or anything?”
“Huh?” I say stupidly. The question catches me off guard. I haven’t even considered it. Shit. I should have offered . “No. I mean, he didn’t mention anything about it.”
“He’s a nice guy,” she continues. “He probably doesn’t want you to anyway. I was just curious.”
Suddenly anxious and frustrated with myself, I nibble on the end of a fry and change the subject. I’ll come back to it later. When I’m alone. “How are things with him and the whole you and Reid situation? Still awkward?”
Via twists her lips. “It’s fine, I suppose. But I’ll probably always feel a little awkward about it.”
She gives me a pointed look. The same one she always gives me when she wants to silently remind me that I’m partly at fault in the situation. But how was I supposed to know that Derrick was the father of the guy she’d hooked up with?
After lunch, Via heads back to her store, and I continue on wandering through town. I stop off at the bookshop where Via’s friend Ella works and pick up a stack of romance novels. For decades, Ella’s grandpa owned and ran the store. When she took over, her grandfather was adamant that they not sell romance, so she hid her inventory in a closet and made secret sales. After the older man passed away, Ella transformed the store, and now every shelf is bursting with romantic literature.
When I get back to my rental car, I pull out the collapsible water bowl I carry with me and let Wonton drink. Then I strap him in his carrier and buckle him in.
Already, it’s after three, so it’s time to head back to Derrick’s house and start dinner.
Is Derrick a fan of salmon? I hope so.
When I pull in, Derrick’s truck is in the driveway, which is surprising. The guy works all the time, from what I hear. I ease my car in beside his, already thinking about how I’ll get all my things into the house without making more than a trip or two. I step out of the car, but before I can grab even a single bag, I freeze.
Derrick is mowing the yard.
Shirtless.
He’s pushing the lawnmower toward me, oblivious to my presence. A pair of big headphones sits over his ears, and his lips move along with the music he’s listening to. His chest is bare, skin glistening with a sheen of sweat.
All the air leaves my lungs.
I’m not oblivious to Derrick’s good looks. I’m human, after all. But the sight of him sweaty and half naked like this has me squeezing my thighs together.
It’s been an embarrassingly long time since I last had sex.
That’s got to be why I’m reacting like this.
Right?
I quickly avert my gaze, then whip around to get Wonton from his carrier before he catches me drooling over him. Without bothering with my books or other goodies, I take Wonton inside.
I’ve come back out and loaded my arms with my purchases, and I’ve almost made it back to the front door, when he shuts the lawnmower off and yanks his headphones off.
“Hey,” he says, that deep timbre only encouraging whatever is going on between my legs. “I was thinking we could order pizza for dinner. How does that sound?”
“Uh…” I swallow, searching for words. “I-I was going to make salmon.”
He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Pizza. There’s a magnet on the fridge with the name and website. Look up their menu and see what you like, and I’ll order when I’m done.”
Under normal circumstances, I would argue with him, remind him that salmon is the healthier choice and tell him he can forget about his pizza. But his shirtless state has rendered me mute.
So I simply nod and scurry inside like a little mouse. One who peeks out the window, watching the way the muscles in his torso and arms flex when he restarts the mower.
I squish my eyes closed.
There’s no doubt about it—I have a date with my vibrator tonight.