CHAPTER 1 — LILY #3
She shrugs, a playful grin slowly creeping back onto her face.
“She’s hardheaded,” Valeria says softly.
“And she’s been stewing in her feelings for way too long.
I don’t know if she’ll want to join, but what’s the harm in asking?
Worst case, she says no, and we pack up the list.” She shrugs again and pretends to dust off her hands.
“Honestly, though? I’m pretty sure Alejandra and Clara will annoy her so much that she’ll cave just to shut them up.
” The thought makes her giggle, and I can’t help but smile.
Clara, Alejandra, and Valeria have spent the last ten years trying to get Isabella and me to talk, but it’s been useless.
I’ve reached out to Isabella a few times, sent texts, and left her voicemails, but she never replies.
The girls even tried to get her to talk to me once when I FaceTimed them, but she walked out of the room.
It’s beyond frustrating, mainly because I want to fix things, but she won’t give me the chance, even though she’s the one who broke my heart.
I’ve never really understood her anger. I made everything easier for her, even when it hurt me.
Before I can say anything, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. I pull it out and glance at the preview. It’s a message from my mom, saying goodnight.
I’m about to open it and reply, but my eyes catch something else—an old group chat with Valeria, Clara, Alejandra, and Isabella.
The chat has been quiet for months, with only the occasional birthday message or holiday greeting breaking the silence—a stark contrast to the lively group chat I have with Valeria, Alejandra, and Clara.
Reviving the old chat feels nerve-wracking and is a sure way to let myself down again. I stare at my phone for what feels like hours, trying to think of all the reasons why I should go for it, why this might actually be a good idea—but I can’t think of a single one.
“I don’t think I can,” I say, looking up at Valeria.
“What’s the worst that can happen? She ignores you? She’s already doing that,” Valeria says.
She’s right, but that doesn’t make this any easier.
I rub my forehead, trying to gather up enough courage to type up the message. I try and I try, but when I can’t, I blow out a raspberry and set my phone down.
“May I?” Valeria asks, reaching for my phone. I nod and watch as she types something up and takes a picture of the list. “There, when you’re ready, just hit send,” she says.
I take the phone back, my thumb hovering over the send button for an eternity.
Just hit send. One little click, you can do one click. I repeat to myself over and over and over.
“Just do it!” Valeria says, and before I lose my nerve completely, I do.
Lily Lily 7:00 p.m.
Hey, guess what Val and I found while unpacking.
Attachment: 1 image
Remember this?
A few minutes pass without a reply, and I’m just sitting there, staring between Valeria and my phone, willing someone—anyone—to reply. The longer the silence drags on, the more convinced I am that I’ve completely messed up and should never ever listen to Valeria again!
My phone buzzes. It’s a private message from Clara.
Clara 7:08 p.m.
Did you mean to send that to THAT thread?
Lily 7:08 p.m.
Yeah, Val said I should send it to see if Isabella wants to finish the list with us.
Clara 7:09 p.m.
That messy girl. Tell her I love her.
Clara replies in the group chat, and soon, everyone’s texts trickle in.
Clara 7:10 p.m.
OMG, no way
Alejandra 7:10 p.m.
I haven’t thought about this in years
Valeria 7:10 p.m.
I told Lily we should complete it even if it’s fall.
Alejandra 7:11 p.m.
that would be so fun! Plus, there’s not much left!
Valeria 7:12 p.m.
Let’s meet up in a couple of days once Lily gets all settled. Maybe at The Owl Coffee at 11 on Thursday. Work for everyone?
Clara 7:12 p.m.
Works for me
Alejandra 7:12 p.m.
Yes!
“See, I told you they’d love the idea,” Valeria says, giving herself a self-satisfied pat on the back.
I shake my head at her and smile. I set my phone down and excitement bubbles within me. But as the initial rush of emotion fades, sadness settles in as I realize Isabella didn’t reply, and to think I let myself believe she would.
I try to focus on seeing the girls. But the silence from Isabella lingers in the back of my mind, making my heart ache a little more. Her silence is like an annoying itch I can’t scratch. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. After all, I’ve spent the last ten years being ignored by her.
Saying that our relationship messed me up would be an understatement—I haven’t been able to maintain a long-term—or even a short-term—relationship since.
Even when I meet someone I really like, I always feel like I’m not enough, like I’ll never measure up, and that they’ll end up leaving me anyway, so why get close?
Every time something starts to feel right, I’m just waiting for it to fall apart.
It’s like I’m stuck in this loop, expecting things to go wrong before they even have a chance to go right.
I know better than to wish for Isabella to show up because I know she won’t, but the thought of not seeing her makes me sad.
“Well, love, I should probably head out. Brooke will be home soon, and if I’m not there, she might actually kill me,” Valeria says with a tight smile.
“How are things with you and Brooke?” I ask.
Valeria doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Her eyes are fixed on her fingers as she spins the ring around her thumb. “They’re . . . not great, but we’re working on it. Sometimes, it feels like we’re just hanging on by a thread.”
Valeria and Brooke have been together for four years, and it’s been a complete mess the entire time.
Brooke is incredibly controlling, and Valeria follows whatever she says.
Alejandra, Clara, and I have had endless conversations with her about how Brooke’s behavior is terribly toxic, but Valeria doesn’t see it.
Or she does a great job of ignoring it. I want to bring up how weird it is that she needs to be home to greet Brooke, but I know better than to bring it up right now.
So instead, I reach for her arm and squeeze it tightly.
“I’m sorry, Val.”
“It is what it is,” she replies, straightening her posture and giving me a tiny smile.
“Let me walk you out,” I say, closing the box and setting it aside. I struggle to get myself off the floor, grunting as I stand up and stretch. My muscles protest, and I feel each bone in my body settle back in place. I guess this is late twenties for you.
“I’ll see you in a couple of days!” Valeria shouts back as she walks out the door and down the front steps.
“Text me when you’re home,” I yell back as I watch her get into her car.
When her car is out of sight, I close the door and lean back against it. My eyes drift to the dark window across from me. The quiet outside feels almost eerie after being so used to the constant hum of the city, but it’s a welcome change. I’d forgotten what true stillness sounds like.
My eyes glance at the remaining boxes scattered around the living room, but the thought of tackling them tonight feels exhausting. Tomorrow, I tell myself. Right now, a hot shower and some sleep are the only things I have the energy for.
I stroll down the hallway to the bathroom and turn the shower on, watching as steam fills the room and fogs up the mirror.
I step inside the shower and let the warm water cascade over my skin, soothing away the tension in my body.
As I wash away the long day, my thoughts keep drifting back to the list, my friends, and—unsurprisingly—to Isabella.
Isabella. The name alone sends a jolt through me. It’s strange how memories of her can resurface so easily. The Isabella-shaped hole in my life hasn’t fully healed, and being back in Stanwood is like poking at a half-closed wound. She had been my best friend, my confidante, my everything.
I try to shake off thoughts of her as I step out of the shower—there’s no use in obsessing over the past. Still, my mind won’t let go of the idea of seeing her again, of trying to repair our friendship.
I tried for years, and now I’ve just given up, but if she agrees to do the list, I can try again.
I slip into some mismatched pajamas and unroll my mattress. I crawl into it, not waiting for it to expand fully, letting it settle beneath me. My back will definitely feel this tomorrow.
My phone buzzes beside me—there’s a new message in the group chat. My heart freezes, and I shoot up, hope surging before I can stop it. For a second, I think it’s Isabella. My fingers hover over the screen, anticipation building in my chest, but when I open the message, it’s not her.
Alejandra 9:55 p.m.
Can’t wait to see you all!
The wave of disappointment hits hard, and I sink back into my mattress, trying to push down the ache that lingers in the back of my mind.
Of course, it wasn’t her.