“What?” I ask.
“They’re out of town all month.”
I look at the house. “Burglars. Only answer.”
Nodding at my security team for the night, we climb into my rented SUV, and I reach across the console to wrap Izzy’s hand in mine.
We chat during the ride to the restaurant, Izzy’s happiness permeating every layer of my skin. I keep hold of her hand as wenavigate the stairs leading up to the restaurant, pretending it’s for her safety. When we finally sit at our table, the feeling doesn’t stop, even when Izzy pretends to gag when I order their most expensive bottle of champagne.
“To Izzy and her badass business skills,” I say, when the drinks are finally poured.
“To overpriced bubbles shared with friends,” she adds.
We clink.
She takes a sip, then another. Her smile widens as the walls she tried to put up a few days ago fall.
By the time we finish our food, we’re both a little giggly, halfway through a conversation about what songs make us cry.
“Okay,” she says, tipping her glass toward me. “What’s yours?”
“Easy,” I say. “‘Fast Car’ by Tracy Chapman.”
She makes a sound in the back of her throat. “Yes. All the feels.”
“Reminds me of wanting to leave this town so bad I could barely breathe.”
Her expression flickers, and I instantly regret saying it.
She sets down her glass. “Jax...can I ask you something?”
I nod.
“Did you ever think of me once you left? Because I don’t think I could’ve ever made the decision to stop talking to you. Shit, even once you did leave, it took me six months to finally take the hint.”
“Of course I did.” I run my fingers through my hair, trying to figure out how to explain this to her. “It crushed my soul to leave you behind, but I knew I had to do it. But I never forgot about you. I never stopped caring what you would think of me. The number of times I had conversations in my head with you to help me decide what to do is, frankly, a little bit concerning for my mental health.”
She doesn’t smile, and I would give anything to get back to the place we were just minutes ago—even if I know we need to have this conversation.
Izzy shakes her head. “That’s easy for you to say now. But as far as I can tell, you forgot about me the minute you walked away from this town.”
I swallow. Then I roll up my sleeve.
“You want proof? Look at this.”
She leans in, squinting at the inside of my elbow. “How does your Chinese symbol that probably says ‘dumb American’ prove anything?”
I laugh. “It’s not a Chinese symbol. That’s just what I tell people because telling them the truth is too complicated. It’s an I and a J. Hooked together in the shape of a friendship symbol.”
Her eyes trace the lines. They widen as she sees it. The traditional quasi-infinity symbol with long tails is altered just slightly, the left side looping into an I while the right side is slightly compressed to make a J.
“And…I’m the…I?”
“I never forgot about you, Iz. I am so sorry I left you the way I did. I have no excuse for it except that I was young and dumb and knew that if I told you or if I called you back, you’d convince me to come home. But you were important to me. And in my dumb, twenty-year-old brain, this was the only way to keep you close without coming back.”
She’s quiet.
“I didn’t want you to give up your dreams,” she finally whispers. “I may have tried to convince you to stay and finish high school, but then I would’ve helped you. I would’ve been your biggest fan.”
