“I know,” she says. “But I’m happy.”
“If you had to splurge on something, what would it be?” Jenny asks, leaning closer to her mic.
Isabella’s laughter falters, the light dimming in her eyes as she considers the question. It wasn’t meant to be so piercing, but now that Jenny’s asked, we hold silence while Isabella thinks.
“I don’t know,” she finally says.
“Come on,” I urge gently. “What do you love doing?”
“I love reading,” she says. “But that doesn’t cost much.”
Jenny’s voice is warm and encouraging. “Imagine you had to spend ten times the money you spend now on reading. What would you do?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’d buy more books.”
“You’d have to buy a lot more books to spend ten times the money!” I say, noticing Isabella nervously twirling a strand of hair. “Maybe build yourself a nice home library? Swap out your favorite books for beautiful, special editions?”
Isabella’s nose wrinkles. “That sounds… expensive.”
“But your money’s growing faster than you can spend it.” I hear the edge in my own voice and hope it sounds curious.
“You’re right. Okay. Maybe a home library.”
My muscles relax, and I release the breath I’ve been holding. “I love it! Tell us more about your dream library! What would it take to make it a reality?”
“Well,” Isabella’s gaze darts around the room she’s in, “we need a spare room for my in-laws?—”
“Who cares about the in-laws?” I interrupt, pretending to laugh. “We’re dreaming here, remember?”
But Isabella isn’t smiling, and my fists are clenched. I think of Kael. The paint under his fingernails. The way he looked in the back of that truck, like joy was worth chasing. He knows how to dream.
“I, uh …I don’t know,” Isabella stammers.
“You made it!” I encourage her while glancing at my own spreadsheet. “You’ve got more money than you know what to do with. Sacrificed so much to get here. You know you won’toverspend. That’s not who you are. We’re just having fun. How could you make a dream library happen?”
Even as I’m saying it, I can hear I’m pushing too hard. I look up from my personal numbers to see Jenny’s eyes wide in alarm.
Isabella is crying. Not sobbing, but tears are streaming down her face, reflecting in the ring light. She pats her cheeks with a trembling hand.
“Sorry, Isabella,” Jenny says quickly, shooting me a sharp glance.
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling guilty, unsure what I did besides push too hard.
“No, no. I’m… surprised by my reaction,” she says.
“What makes this so uncomfortable?” Jenny asks.
Isabella takes a shaky breath. “I… I don’t think about stuff like this.”
“Don’t you like dreaming?” I ask, my voice softer.
Isabella’s eyes narrow, and she swats the air. “I’venever thought about it like that.”
“Don’t you want to live the life you imagined after reaching your number?” I press, thumb digging into the edge of my laptop.
“I don’t think like that,” Isabella whispers.
Neither do I, I realize. “But don’t you want to be… happy?” My question hangs in the air.
