This isn’t an epiphany. I’ve known this since my parents sent me to a therapist in high school to try to root out mybehavioral issues. But seeing the words typed out by my own fingers hits different.
I scroll to my sister’s name on my phone.
Me: Was I a bratty kid?
Lucia: Obviously.
Me: I’m serious.
Lucia: Anchor me into this conversation. What are we doing? Where are we coming from?
I get to my feet and pace around my office. My brain is spinning too quickly to sit still any longer.
Me: I don’t have a five-year plan.
Lucia: Are we supposed to have one? Who is checking?
Me: Audrey just told me “we’ll see” and I could hear it in Mom’s voice. And I just had a moment when my past and my present kind of collided.
Lucia: What does that have to do with a five-year plan?
“I don’t know,” I say, groaning.But they feel linked.
Me: Forget it.
Lucia: No, you weren’t a brat. Mom and Dad were hard. I remember all six hugs they gave me, and I’m not sure Dad ever told me he loved me. But no one is without issues, Gianna. I’m sure we both have shit that a few good night kisses could’ve fixed, but we are who we are. And I’m proud of us both. We’re doing the best we can.
I hold my phone to my chest and stare out the window.We’re doing the best we can.
Are we?Lucia has curated an intentional life that she loves. She’s doing the best she can—the best anyone can.But am I?
Me: I’m proud of you, too.
Lucia:
Am I doing the best I can?
I noticed Drake’s pause when I told him about my house and fulfilled life. He didn’t look convinced, but being the gentleman that he is, he didn’t call me out on it. But the momentary pause was noted.
As I stare out the window, I note the sun is out, but the rays don’t quite touch the ground. The park is empty. Everything below is still. It’s like it’s all waiting for something.More sun? Rain? Snow? A thunderstorm?The world is clinging to the bleakness until something comes to bring it back to life.
Hmm …
My life has been shaken up recently, and it’s felt a little sunnier.
A smile touches my lips as his name comes to mind. He’s felt like warm sunshine and powerful thunderstorms all in one. Never did I imagine that I’d be going on dates with a guy like him andtalking. Staying up late at night texting about everything and nothing. Plotting outfits to drive him out of his mind because he thinks it’s cute to frustrate me sexually.
I open the coat closet and check out my reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of one of the doors.
A black skirt with a texture that makes you want to touch it in a length almost too short for the office. A white tank that hugs every inch of my torso and the wicked curve fading into my hip. My hair looks intentionally messy—like I just rolled out of bed like this. A pair of heels makes my legs look impossibly long. But thepièce de résistance?
A red lip that will undoubtedly draw Drake’s attention right where I want it.To my mouth.
I told you that I play to win.
Movement catches my attention, and I glance over to see Drake walking through the doorway. He stops mid-stride as his attention lands on me and his eyeballs nearly pop out of his head.
“Holy fuck,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
