Chapter 7 #2
Izzy’s anger at me has faded from an icy cold anger to a somewhat cool indifference. She’s being cordial enough, but I can tell she’s constructed some tall walls to keep us away from anything too personal.
And I’m okay with that.
I can stick to talking about golf and our golf partners. For now.
Even those superficial conversations remind me why Izzy and I were best friends for so long.
She has the best sense of humor but also such a kind heart.
Her mind works differently than mine, often approaching things from the people-perspective first, and she’s so smart that every conversation feels like the best possible use of my time—even when it’s about two random finance bros.
“Do you think they know they sound like complete douche canoes?” Izzy asks as we walk down the fairway together on hole two.
I glance at our loudmouthed companions. They’re dressed basically the same as everyone else with their golf shorts and polos.
And, much like Izzy, they’re in bright colors.
But somehow, Izzy’s pink looks fun and just a tad whimsical while Keith’s bright orange pants and Marty’s lemon-yellow shirt scream “trying too hard.”
“They seem like the kind of people who have been told that a time or two before,” I reply, wiping at the sweat starting to pool on my face. Who thought doing this during the afternoon in the summer was a good idea?
Izzy nods, readjusting her pink cap on her forehead. “I’m sure Jaclyn thought it would be nice to pair me with them since I’m a member here, but it just makes me glad they can’t get in.”
“True. Oh! Iz,” I say.
“—Isabel.”
I nod and remind myself yet again to call her Izzy. “I think we should turn it into a game.”
“Not a drinking game,” Izzy says with a soft moan, her hand going to her stomach. Though, I’m encouraged by the fact she didn’t shut the game idea down immediately.
“Definitely not,” I agree. “We’ll play for bragging rights.”
“Okay,” she says, a competitive gleam in her eye that I remember so distinctly from our childhood.
We spent a lot of time together, so we ended up playing a lot of random games to kill the time.
We’d give people backstories, or we’d play bingo with their common phrases or stories. That kind of thing.
I consider our options.
“I think Marty will mention crypto again before Keith says we’re only winning because you’ve played the course before.”
Izzy laughs, and fuck if it doesn’t go straight to the core of my very being. I miss this in my life. I miss her.
I may want her forgiveness, but I’m finding out very quickly that I need her friendship.
“I haven’t played this game in forever,” Izzy says as we place our bags down and grab our clubs for our approach shots. “But you’re on. Keith says it after every hole, so I feel pretty confident it’s coming in the next five minutes.”
“Yeah, but Marty wasn’t done trying to get me to invest in some new crypto he’s a part of, so I think he’ll restart his pitch as soon as we’re all together on the green.”
Izzy hits a beautiful chip, landing it just past the pin with enough backward spin to bring it within inches from the hole.
“No fair,” I say, shaking my head. I set up, noticing the way Izzy is watching me intently, just like she has every time.
I’m not sure if she’s just a very polite golfer or if she’s trying to analyze something about me.
She hasn’t offered any critique or helpful advice.
Just nods and says “Nice shot” or “Not too bad.”
Izzy shrugs. “It’s not my fault I’m such an exceptional golfer. You know, it’s probably because I’ve played this course so many times before.”
I narrow my eyes. “You know, I really haven’t been risky enough with my portfolio. Do you think Marty has any tips?”
She laughs. “Don’t you dare. I’m supposed to be golfing well. Yours would just be cheating.”
“Another close one,” Keith says as our two groups converge on the green. “It must be nice playing on a course you’re so familiar with.”
Izzy nods magnanimously before turning around and sending me a huge, victorious grin.
We continue our game for the remainder of the holes, the stakes becoming progressively more ridiculous as Keith’s frustration with his game reaches new heights and Marty’s alcohol consumption increases.
By the end of the nine holes, I’m exhausted from the walk, and slightly worried Keith is going to start throwing his driver. I’m also completely enchanted with Izzy. She hasn’t changed a bit, and at the same time, it’s like she’s a completely new person. It’s a little trippy, but in the best way.
I know I haven’t broken down any barriers with her, but it at least feels like she’s not actively pushing me away.
We putt in on hole seven, nine holes after seventeen apparently, and shake hands with the two men.
“When is that girl with the golf cart going to be here to pick us up?” Marty says, his face bright red from what I can only assume is some combination of the sun and the vodka shooters he got from the bar when we passed by between holes eighteen and one.
“You know,” Izzy says, her gaze flicking over the two men we just spent the last two hours with, “I think I’m going to walk back. We just have to make our way through eight and nine. Won’t be too terrible.”
I join Izzy for the walk, not sad at all to be leaving the two men behind. The fifteen minutes it takes is mostly full of silence, but it’s not as tense as it was when we first started. I might even be bold enough to say I’m making progress.
“Thanks for today,” I say when we reach the clubhouse. “It’s a cool event, and I’m sure it’s a good cause. They’re lucky to have you in their corner.”
Izzy shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment, and I know it’s my cue to leave before she starts overthinking the time we just spent together.
“Well, I’m going to head out,” I say, sending a thumb over my shoulder.
Izzy nods. “Bye.”