“Love it.”
The color is beautiful, and it’ll look great on her. But she won’t leave that up to chance. She’ll have me try it on in a little bit, along with all the other clothes she’s purchased, and she and I will decide yea or nay on each item together. Winnie and I look so much alike, and with how small the age gap is between us, we could easily pass as twins. I’m the perfect mannequin to model all her clothes for her.
“And here we have the coordinating barely there bottoms!” She holds up the bathing suit, and I yank it out of her hands.
“Winnie! Mom will kill you.” I peek one eye at her through the thigh cutout, and she loses it to a fit of laughter before stealing it back from me.
“Mom won’t see it. By the time I’m wearing this, I’ll be traipsing along the beach on Ibiza, sun-kissed and holding hands with the hottest Spanish guy you’ve ever seen. His accent will be thick, and so will his—” She winks and points down. I can’t help but laugh.
“So you’re really going to do it?” I ask, handing her another box to open.
She slides my car key along the tape. “I already bought my ticket.” She pulls out a pair of strappy sandals. I’ll try those on for her as well; our shoe size is yet another thing we share. “Four weeks from now.”
“Four weeks, Winnie?” I can hear how I sound: like Mom.
Then she sets down the shoes and looks up at me. Her green eyes catch mine and hold. I fight back a shiver. “What is it?”
Winnie is the human embodiment of Bob Marley’s song “Three Little Birds.” She’s carefree to a fault. It drives me insane that she’s never anxious or worried. Late to a meeting? Apologize and move on. Worked up over a guy? Eh, it wasn’t that serious anyway.
She’s usually unflappable. Inhuman, really. But not right now. She’s looking at me with sincerity I don’t recognize, sadness that tugs at my chest. Her dark brows are knit together, her lips pressed into a thin line. I worry she’s about to tell me something horrible. I hold my breath, waiting until she clears her throat and looks away. She stares out the window, and I watch the slow transformation take over. I see her tuck away her emotions and dissolve her worry with a lighthearted chuckle.
She turns back and reaches for another box. “You have to see this one dress. You’ll die. It’s totally perfect for the club scene there.”
She’s already tearing into the next package as if the last few seconds never happened. I reach my hand out to still her, taking hold of her slender wrist.
“Winnie?” I say her name gently.
“No, Isabel,” she snaps, sharp and stern, flinging my hand off in a rare fit of annoyance.
I jolt at her tone. It’s so unlike her that I’m too scared to push it, and she doesn’t let the awkwardness linger. She sets aside her tray table and makes room for me up near her pillows.
“You know what?” she says, her voice infused with excitement again. “We can worry about opening the rest of the stuff later. I was working on my list before you got here!”
Wanting to play along and make her happy, I kick off my shoes and climb onto her bed. I’m careful not to yank cords or dislodge anything that’s been placed by one of her nurses or doctors as I cuddle in next to her. In this place, she doesn’t smell like Winnie. She smells faintly of the hospital’s cloying cleaning products and unfamiliar laundry detergent. I’ve brought her shampoo and bodywash, but it’s not cutting it. We’ve spritzed this whole damn room with her perfume, enough that we almost gagged on the smell, but it didn’t last.
Winnie reaches for the purple notebook she keeps on her bedside table, the one she was writing in when I first arrived. The list is on a page that’s been dog-eared and flipped to a million times, though this is the first time she’s letting me see it. I’ve heard about her all-important summer bucket list, but she’s kept it under lock and key. I think she’s only revealing it now as a way to make amends for snapping at me.
A dozen or so things are listed in Winnie’s messy handwriting. A few jump out at me right away.
“A tattoo?”
She laughs and covers the list with her hand. “I’m not going to let you see it if you’re going to be judgy about every single thing.”
I sit back and let my shoulders relax, carefully adjusting my tone so it’s easy breezy when I reply. “No, no, I’m not. Where are you going to put it?”
She holds up her arm and points to the crook of her elbow. “Here or somewhere on my torso. I haven’t decided yet.”
“And what’s the design going to be?”
She shrugs. “Who knows? Who cares?”
This issucha Winnie response.
“Okay, what else?”
She moves her hand and holds the notebook between us so I can see it better. “Obviously I had to put all the standard things. Skinny-dipping, go to a crazy dance party, wild sex…”
“Obviously,” I tease. “ ‘Fall in love’?” I ask, pointing to where she’s written the sweet sentiment.
