CHAPTER 1 — LILY #2
I struggle to my feet, untangling the pretzel I’ve made of myself and my legs on the floor, and walk over to her.
“Thank you for everything,” I say before giving her a peck on the cheek. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
She beams at me and pulls me in for a quick hug before I walk her to the door.
“Shout if you need anything, okay?” she says, her hand lingering on my arm with a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
“I’m so glad you’re back home, Lily bug,” she adds.
The crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes deepen as she smiles.
It’s a look filled with warmth and so much love that it makes my heart feel three times its size.
With one last hug, she steps out into the cool night, her footsteps gradually fading into the quiet as she makes her way to the main house.
I click the door shut behind me, and just like that, it’s just me and the quiet of my new place. I look around at the half-open boxes scattered across the living room and the still unassembled bookshelf waiting patiently on the floor.
With a dramatic roll of my eyes and a resigned sigh, I head to my bedroom, grabbing my phone from the kitchen counter.
I hate moving.
A quick few taps on my phone and my favorite true crime podcast kicks in.
“Hi weirdos, I’m—” echoes in my room, but I let it fade into the background as I survey the mess around me.
There are unlabeled boxes everywhere, my mattress is still rolled up in the corner, and my bed frame is scattered across the floor.
I roll up my sleeves, ready to tackle the chaos before me, but the doorbell rings. I shuffle to the door, half-expecting it to be my mom dropping by to grab something she forgot. But when I open it, there’s Valeria, grinning from ear to ear.
“I hope it’s okay. I showed up unannounced,” she says almost shyly. “I just couldn’t wait to see you!”
“Oh my God, of course, it’s okay!” I pull her into a hug as tight as the one with my mom.
When I finally let go, a wave of warmth washes over me as I take her in.
Her hair is shorter than the last time I saw her.
Her usual long, messy blond curls are now styled into a cute pixie cut that frames her face and highlights her smile beautifully.
“Wow, you cut your hair! It looks great.”
“Thank you!” she says as her fingers fidget with the ends of her hair. “I did it this morning. I was nervous at first, but I love how easy it’ll be to style now.”
I step aside to let her in and guide her further into the house.
“Let’s go to my room,” I say, gesturing for her to follow me. “If I don’t get this bed frame sorted, I’ll be sleeping on the floor tonight, and I don’t think my back can handle that.” I laugh.
“Uh oh, I won’t be much help with that, but I’ll give it a shot.”
“Noted,” I say as Valeria and I walk to my room.
“Here she is,” I say with a sigh, pointing at the pile of metal that used to be my bed frame.
Valeria kneels and tries to fit a few pieces together, but after a few futile attempts and awkward twisting and turning, she sits back on her heels, shaking her head.
“This is going nowhere fast.”
I chuckle.
“You should call Clara tomorrow. She’ll have this up in no time,” Valeria says.
Defeated, I lean against the wall and cross my arms. “Looks like I’ll be on the floor after all. Let’s have some wine. I don’t want to look at the mess in this room right now.”
Valeria stands and follows me. As soon as we’re in the kitchen, she notices the boxes my mom brought earlier.
“Are those your keepsakes from high school?” she asks, her voice a little higher than usual. That’s how I know she’s excited. Valeria is usually the more reserved one in our group.
“Yeah, my mom brought them over earlier. I’d honestly forgotten I had them,” I laugh.
“Let’s open them,” she says, walking faster towards them.
“You’re on!” I say. At this point, I’ll do anything to distract myself from the mess waiting in my room.
I walk towards my purse, pull out a bottle of wine—because priorities—and grab a couple of mugs from one of the unpacked boxes my mom left open in the kitchen.
I tuck the three small boxes under my arm and guide us into the living room.
With no furniture until tomorrow, it looks like tonight is shaping up to be a classic wine-on-the-floor night for us.
As I scan the boxes, one catches my eye—worn at the corners, labeled “Keepsakes” in a faded, barely legible marker.
I pause as a mix of curiosity and hesitation creeps in.
I haven’t touched these boxes in years, not since I stashed them in my mom’s attic after graduation. I can’t even remember what’s in them.
“Let’s do this one first,” I say to Valeria, who is looking increasingly excited.
With a deep breath, I gently lift the lid off the box. The smell of old paper wafts up alongside faint traces of my mom’s perfume. Inside, I find fragments of my senior year of high school.
“Look at this,” I say, pulling out a yearbook filled with scribbled messages with a few ticket stubs tucked away between the pages.
I pull one out, my fingers tracing the edge of a stub from a concert where my friends and I danced like fools, lost in the music and each other’s company.
As we continue to sift through the box, I find a collection of notes rubber-banded together, notes exchanged in class between Valeria, Alejandra, Clara, and—
“Oh wow, is that . . . Isabella’s handwriting?” Valeria asks, and my stomach drops.
I grab the bulk of Isabella’s notes and stare at them, each loop and swirl of ink like a ghost from the past. One of our friendship bracelets holds them together, its vibrant colors now faded.
A wave of sadness hits me as I realize that even after all these years, echoes of my friendship with Isabella are still carefully preserved, each folded note a reminder of the person who had once meant everything to me.
“Yeah,” I say softly, feeling the ache in my chest coil around and solidify, making it hard for me to breathe. I take a big gulp of my wine, hoping it will ease the tension.
As I set the notes aside, Valeria notices something at the bottom of the box. She pulls out a folded piece of paper, its edges slightly yellowed with age.
She hands it to me, and I carefully unfold it as the paper crackles in protest. At the top of the page, in my teenage handwriting, are the words: “Summer Bucket List.”
I can’t help but smile. Excitedly, I turn the paper over and show it to Valeria.
“Do you remember this?” I ask, holding the paper a little too close to her face.
Valeria scoots back, and together, we scan the page.
Immediately, that summer comes alive in my mind.
Each completed item is a snapshot—the night we spent in an abandoned barn by the woods, making up ridiculous stories until Alejandra got too scared of the dark and made us go home.
The night we snuck into the community pool after one too many rounds of Drink or Dare.
As we read through the list, we notice that some items were left unfinished.
1 Sunrise hike to our secret spot
2 Nighttime swim under the stars
3 Cabin weekend getaway
A wistful smile tugs at my lips, but it quickly fades as my eyes land on the last unchecked item.
4 Go to Isabella’s art show.
Regret settles in my chest as I think about that night.
I had gone to Isabella’s show, but instead of going inside to talk with her proud parents and teachers, like I should have, I stayed outside in the cold.
When it started to rain, I leaned fully into my sad girl moment, standing there as the droplets soaked through my coat, watching the girl I loved through the big gym windows.
She looked at the door several times, probably wondering if I’d show.
The guilt got heavier each time, and I felt like I was sinking into the pavement.
I know I should’ve gone inside. I should’ve been there, like I said I would, to support her and tell her how amazing I thought she was.
But I couldn’t do it, not with how betrayed I felt.
So I stayed outside, letting the moment slip away. I’ve regretted it ever since.
“I can’t believe we never finished it,” Valeria says, oblivious to the storm brewing in my mind.
“Yeah, well . . . Isabella and I had our falling out, so I think we all just forgot about it.”
Valeria’s expression softens. “Yeah, I guess so,” she says, her tone thoughtful.
“We all kind of let it slip, didn’t we?” she pauses.
“But . . . I remember how much we cared about finishing it. Maybe it just wasn’t the right time back then.
” She glances up at me with a mischievous shimmer in her deep brown eyes. “You know, we could finish it now!”
I blink, surprised and a little confused by her suggestion.
“Finish the list?” I repeat, and the words feel foreign on my tongue.
“Yeah, why not?” Valeria nudges me with her elbow, grinning. “We may not be those carefree kids anymore, but who says we can’t relive a little of it? I’m sure everyone would be up for it.”
For a moment, the idea doesn’t seem so wild. But then my eyes drift back to the last item—Isabella’s art show—and just like that, my optimism drains. That one feels impossible.
“I don’t know, Val,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
Valeria’s smile wavers, her brows knitting together as she follows my gaze.
“Isabella,” she murmurs, and suddenly the mood shifts.
“I don’t think we can do the list without her,” I admit. “And she still refuses to talk to me, so . . . I don’t think we should do it. Not without her. It wouldn’t feel right.”