25. Izzy
Izzy
“Izzy, sweetheart, it’s Bridget and June. Open up. We brought soup.”
I choke as I wake up, passed out on the couch in a puddle of my own drool. I think it’s day three or four since catching the plague. I’ve been unconscious for most of it, thanks to my friend NyQuil, which is the only way to humanely survive a cold.
I haven’t showered. I probably—okay, definitely—smell.
I pull my hair back into a ponytail as if it’s really going to matter. There’s trash and dirty dishes everywhere.
“Coming.” It comes out like a croak.
As soon as I open the door, Bridget swoops in. “Oh my goodness! Darling, you look terrible.”
Someone’s rigged up a ramp, so June rolls right in, and before I can close the door, a line of my friends pours in too.
Sloane lifts up her aviator sunglasses—still effortlessly cool even in December—and places them on top of her head. “This is an intervention.”
“What?” I hate the concern on everyone’s faces. “I’m fine,” I croak again. My voice sounds like Robert Goulet on that Christmas special my grandmother made me watch every year.
“You’re sick, but it’s nothing we can’t fix,” Bridget says. “Girls, come in, come in.”
Everyone’s armed with containers of Clorox bleach wipes and gloves. Annie is holding a small bouquet of dahlias. My absolute favorite, and a miracle find at this time of year. I wonder where she even got them.
Bridget leans over and opens the window. “Gotta let the germs out. It’s a trick my mother taught me,” she says matter-of-factly. “The house needs to breathe.”
Zoe shrugs. “Sorry. I was afraid of what they’d do if I didn’t agree to let them help. Peer pressure won.”
“Oh, come on. Didn’t you watch the afterschool specials?”
I don’t know where all this humor is coming from. Maybe I’m still high from the cold medicine.
Annie grasps my shoulders. “Listen, the girls are going to get the house cleaned, and I’m getting you ready.”
I yawn and plaster a hand over my mouth, speaking around it. I’m grossing myself out. “Ready for what?”
“To rejoin the land of the living.” Annie has a dumb hat on her head. This one is a floral-printed trucker hat with a wide black brim and “Unlikeable Heroine” stitched in Kelly green across the front.
“My job is to get you looking like a person again.”
“Ugh.” I frown.
“Pouting doesn’t work,” she says. “Come on. You forget who I grew up with?”
A small ache radiates in my chest. Right. That’s why I’ve been hiding away in my house. Fighting off the plague and heartbreak at the same time should be illegal.
I try wiping off the stain on Jack’s sweatshirt. It’s either chicken noodle soup or just salt stains from my tears. “I broke up with Jack,” I confess, glancing around at everyone.
They all stare at me, then nod, concern laced in their eyes.
“We’re not here to judge,” Sloane says. “Only to help. You’d do the same for us.”
“My brothers are all asshats sometimes. Just ask Sloane.” Before I can get confirmation, Annie grips me by my shoulders and steers me down the hallway to my bedroom. “You’re going to take a shower, and we’re going out.”
I whirl around. “I’m absolutely not going out.”
“Yes, we are.”
“I still feel like death.”
“But you have a really sexy voice when you’re sick. Can’t let it go to waste.”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
“Let’s find something to wear.”
When she opens my closet, I’m faced with the red dress from the gala, the fuzzy white sweater I wore on Thanksgiving, and Jack’s stupid jersey. Everything reminds me of him.
My face must drop, or maybe I just do my best Casper impression. Either way, Annie grabs my hand. “Okay, look, I’ll pick out an outfit for you.” Annie gently pushes me toward the bathroom. “This is where you’re on your own. Take a nice, steamy shower. You’ll feel better.”
June and Bridget cackle from the living room as I turn on the shower before ABBA blares over my speakers. My house is suddenly filled with a chorus to “Fernando” as I scrub off the drool caked on my face. My head still feels fuzzy, and I desperately need a coffee.
There’s not a chance in hell I’m going out. Not a chance, I think, scrubbing my skin raw. I’m okay here. I’m okay by myself.
I always have been.
Once I’m done, I dry off, get changed into the outfit Annie laid out for me on the bed—a pink swan sweater, a tan corduroy skirt, and white knitted tights. Feels a little too sweet for the rage and sadness simmering in my body; still, I go with it. I don’t have it in me to fight today.
There’s a soft knock at my door. “It’s Sarah.
” She pushes into my bedroom with Olive passed out on her shoulder.
She closes the door behind her quietly. “Listen. You don’t have to say anything right now, but you can’t stay stuck, okay?
You wouldn’t let any of the ladies in this house just give up.
You need us right now, and we’re here because that’s what good friends do. ”
I wipe at my eyes, peering up at the ceiling with a frustrated groan. “I’m fine.”
She laughs, and then I laugh, too, because it’s such a ridiculous lie. I’m anything but fine. I was wearing Jack’s sweatshirt because I couldn’t take it off. Felt too final. That’s how not fine I am.
“Eyes or lips,” she says softly. “Put on some lipstick or mascara. You’ll feel a bit more human.”
I peek over at Olive, her daughter’s pudgy cheeks rosy, so peaceful and cozy.
Another painful twinge hits my heart. I don’t remember ever having that. No shoulders to cry on, no hugs when I was sad. My grandparents always seemed wrapped up in my mom’s life to worry much about me.
I remember on my sixth birthday, I was so upset my mom didn’t buy me a cake that I climbed up to the top of the refrigerator to grab a cookbook.
Told her we still had time to make one. She told me to get down, that I’d hurt myself.
The whole time, I just remember being so mad I couldn’t read.
I slipped once I reached the counter, fell, and whacked my head on a cabinet knob. I needed three stitches.
I never had a birthday cake. But I remember the nurse gave me extra stickers to cheer me up.
Somewhere between that shitty birthday and now, I thought I’d learned the most important lesson of my life—I have me. I never let myself down. And until a few days ago, I never broke my own heart.
But having myself and shutting everyone out because I’m afraid to get hurt are very different things.
My mom isn’t here today. My friends are. And my fake-maybe-real-but-definitely-not-now boyfriend’s grandmother and her best friend are too.
An hour later, Ethan drops us off by the club in Boston near Comm Ave.
Sarah and Olive stayed in Merritt Point with Bridget and June, who decided to go grocery shopping for me.
Bridget did make me the most delicious soup.
At some point, I’ll have to pay them back, and I don’t even know how I’ll do that.
Annie is excited enough for me and her both. Which is great because I’d rather be back in bed. She bounces from foot to foot in a pair of metallic magenta cowboy boots, flirting with the burly bouncer.
“You ever call that cop you met at MGH?” I ask.
She grins. “Nah, I just wanted his number in case he leaked shit about my brother.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“My lab partner’s boyfriend won’t shut up about this band. Had to check them out. Thanks for coming tonight.”
I nod politely, looking around the dark, packed club as we step inside. This was never my scene, and honestly, I feel ancient right now. It’s loud and dark, and I’d rather be in bed.
Jack tried to call me, but I switched off my phone. Maybe that’s not fair, but it feels all too real, and some part of me is just hanging on to the thread that it could have been real.
We order drinks, and I’m half listening to Sloane tell some story about her students when the lead singer of the band we’ve been listening to, a shorter woman with a shock of lime green hair twirls in front of the microphone.
“You know them. You love them. And you’ve been patiently waiting for them all night. Let’s welcome The Modern Atlantic to the stage!”
The lights shift from white to a dark blue as the crowd erupts. Band members slowly file out, until the bassist appears last with a familiar, easy swagger. He’s adjusting his strap, head down, and when he finally looks up—
“Brooks?” Sloane nearly chokes on her drink.
Annie’s hand tightens around her glass. She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look at the stage. Just stares straight ahead as if refusing to acknowledge him will make him disappear.
“Annie? You okay?” I ask.
“Fine.” She stands so abruptly her chair screeches against the sticky wood floor. “Gonna get us shots.”
But Annie doesn’t come back until the set’s over.
A few hours later, the third band is wrapping up their set, it’s late, and we’re drunk.
Very drunk.
Which makes Ethan’s arrival all the more welcome.
He tugs his baseball cap over his brow, weaving through the crowded club straight for Sloane. She leans forward in her seat, stretches her arms out, and collapses against him with a big, silly grin.
“I like you.” She nuzzles her face against his neck.
Even with his hat, I don’t miss the small uptick at the corner of his mouth. Brooks appears behind him, still in all black.
“Couldn’t believe it when I saw you, Sun.” He clears his throat, shifting his weight. “Secret’s out, I guess.”
Ethan claps him on the back. “Secret? Bud, you’re about to blow up. Set was great.” Then he turns toward the rest of us at the table. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” Annie keeps her gaze on the floor, but Brook’s attention is locked entirely on her.
I check my phone again before I can read too much into it. Everyone’s got their own mess tonight.
That’s when I see Jack walk in, just as Brooks says goodbye and slips out into the crowd.
“Oh, shit.” Sloane winces. “I didn’t tell him where we were. I swear.”
Ethan rubs his face. “He wouldn’t stop calling. Sorry, Izzy.”
Our eyes meet, and everything kind of fades away.
He looks about as good as I feel. And I hate that it hasn’t been long enough for me to not be so utterly destroyed.
He’s wearing a hoodie and his glasses. As soon as he spots me with everyone else, his whole face softens, like he’s relieved I’m alive.
I just want the floor to eat me up and help me disappear. Mature, I know.
Annie loops her arm around my waist. “I’ll protect you.”
“It’s fine.”
It is. We can be adults about this.
She pulls me closer. “Us Murphys are trouble.”
“I warned her,” Sloane says, nearly screeching when Ethan scoops her up and tosses her over his shoulder. “Oh, I love when you do this!”
We all giggle, even Jack. “Eww, keep us out of your foreplay.”
We head outside, trying to pile everyone into Ethan’s truck, but Annie refuses.
She unbuckles and climbs over me, shaking her head. “Nope. Can’t do it. I’ll puke.”
Jack reaches out and gently holds his sister upright. She rests her forehead against his shoulder.
“I’ll drive Annie home tomorrow. She can crash with me tonight,” Jack tells Ethan, then he knocks against the back seat window. I slowly roll it down.
I hate how good he looks in glasses. Have I mentioned that before? It’s unfair. But not as much as I really want his arms around my body, his lips on my forehead, and to listen to his deep chuckle as I rest against his chest.
I fit perfectly there. Or did.
“Everyone buckled okay?” he asks, his eyes pinned to me.
I grip the edge of the seat. I can’t bring myself to look at him anymore. He doesn’t lean in through the window, doesn’t brush his fingers over my coat, or fix my hair, or do anything that would cross a line.
It’s just Jack.
And me.
And enough space between us that I can feel myself drowning in it.
I roll up my window, and the truck pulls away. I press my forehead against the cold glass as the Boston skyline blurs past.