“Nope. You brought this all the way out here, you clearly want to play it. Come on.”
“No.”
“Izzy.”
“Fine,” she says, throwing up her hands in annoyed surrender.
After a quick search of the back of the TV, I give Izzy the bad news. “I think this system is too old. This TV doesn’t have the little yellow, red, white little plug-in things.”
Her face falls. “Oh, shoot. I didn’t even consider how dated it is now. That’s fine. Like I said, I’d rather just read on my phone anyway. Or we could watch something. Oh! I think your dad said he moved the old TV from in here up to his room. Maybe you could—”
“No,” I say, not waiting for her to finish her thought. I won’t be going into my dad’s room. Based on the way her face morphs into one of hurt, she must notice that the tension in the room has gone from awkward and chilly to downright freezing. Fuck. I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.
“The one in the basement,” I offer instead. “I’m pretty sure it’s still the one from when we were in high school.”
“Okay,” Izzy replies, the skepticism still clear in her eyes. “I’ve got the guitars; you bring the console.”
Fortunately, we set up the game without any more issues, and after a minute of re-learning how to play, we start up a game, challenging each other to see who the better guitar player is when the guitar in question has colorful buttons.
Izzy wins three in a row and is laughing so hard by the end of the fourth that I manage to come from behind to claim the victory.
It’s really fucking fun. Izzy is such a calm, centering presence, but at the same time, she’s hilarious and turns even the dullest things into something entertaining.
“What would your fans say if they saw you losing to a random woman with no musical ability?” Izzy teases as she leans back into the old couch that’s taken up the bulk of our basement since I was young. “Do you think they’d take away all your awards?”
“They’d correctly assume you have musical talents,” I say with a smile. “You’d probably have multiple agents calling before the day is out.” Izzy may not have been obsessed with music like I was growing up, but she can play a couple of different instruments, and she can sing. I’ve met enough great vocalists to know she’d have to put in a lot of work to ever make it in the music industry, but she’s far better than the average person—or at least she was.
My fingers move along the neck of the plastic guitar as a new chord progression flows through my head, the one I know is the foundation of the chorus I’ve been needing.
“Go,” Iz says, nodding at my fingers as they dance over the nonexistent guitar strings. “We can move upstairs so you can write.”
I shake my head. “No. Just let me go grab my stuff. You stay here and play. I think it’ll help me.”
“Fine.” Izzy sighs dramatically. “But you remember the sacrifices I made when you’re being forced to interact with myextended family in a few weeks. I expect you to really sell your obsession with me.”
“I think I’ll manage.”
“By manage, you’d better mean you’ll convince a room full of my closest family and friends that you can’t live without me.”
“Clearly,” I say as I make my way up the unfinished stairs to grab my guitar and notebook.
Unfortunately, the more time I spend with Izzy, the clearer it becomes that I won't need to convince anyone—they'll all see how I feel about her.
Chapter twenty-six
Izzy
“Tellmeagainwhywe couldn’t just buy bridesmaid dresses online?” I ask as I turn slowly, internally cursing the three mirrors and the image they send back to me. This is about the fifteenth dress we’ve tried on, and it feels like they’re getting smaller as it goes. Or maybe I’m expanding?
I’m taller than most men, and while it was fun to be supermodel height when I was a teenager and fit from constantly playing sports, now that my metabolism has started to slow down, I’m just…bigger than everyone else. Even my two sisters, who seem to have inherited a different metabolism than I did, or they just have more self-control when it comes to sugar, aren’t as large as I am.
Not that I’m willing to give up my sweets addiction to lose the extra weight I’m carrying. I’m also aware that I’m not supposed to care that I’ve gained fifteen pounds since college. I’m supposed to be happy that my body is healthy and allows me to do what I want.
And I am. But I also am caught in a constant battle of wanting to be healthier, to lose weight, and to be the woman who owns who she is now.
Turns out, it’s just one more place I’m not as successful as I should be.
Not looking as fit as everyone else is also an inconvenience when I’m about to be in my little sister’s wedding party…a group that consists of more than one athlete who has been paid a lot of money toprofessionallymodel for companies.
