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I’m still tearing up, but this time from joy and gratitude. “That sounds amazing, Mom. I can’t wait. Thank you so much for understanding. And for being you.”
I dive into the lettuce patch for a hug, making Mom laugh even as she cradles me close and gives me a tight squeeze.
“And thank you for being you,” she whispers. “I couldn’t ask for a better daughter, Ruby Roo. You are my greatest treasure and highest accomplishment. And you always will be. I can’t wait to see where your fire takes you.”
I stay for dinner, and a slice of pie.
Cherry.
My favorite.
It’s delicious, especially since it’s just pie.
It’s not my future.
It isn’t my career.
It is simply a dessert I love to share with my mother.
By the time I leave, I’m a happily blubbering mess, but lighter than I’ve felt in years. Since I put aside my paint brushes to earn a business degree instead of an art degree, in fact.
There is no small black raincloud over my head, no lurking dread.
There are only hope and optimism and the sense that everything I want and need is waiting in the wings, ready to rush onstage and assist me. All I have to do is ask, to reach out my arms and invite happiness in.
I can do that now.
The list showed me. I can handle fear and dread and rising to new challenges.
But most importantly of all, I can handle being happy.
I’ve wasted so much time secretly feeling like I didn’t deserve joy—not joy in life or joy in creation. That false belief was buried deep in my subconscious, but it’s been excavated now. Before, a part of me thought happiness was only for daughters who gladly followed in their parents’ footsteps and best friends who didn’t keep living when their dearest girl was gone.
But Claire would want me to live a bright, big life.
My parents want me to hitch my wagon to the shiniest star. They all believe I’m worthy of joy and goodness and now, finally, I do too.
A few days ago, I thought testing my limits might be about sex.
But it’s about so much more than sex.
It’s about intimacy. Being alive. Celebrating every second. And saying it—
I want it all.
I want my best life.
I want the life my friend imagined for me.
And the life I now believe I deserve.
And there’s only one person I want to share this good news with.
I drag my little rolling suitcase into my old room, take the world’s fastest shower in my childhood bathroom, put on a red sundress that makes me feel beautifully, passionately alive, and go on the hunt for Jesse.
Thankfully, I have a pretty good idea where to find him . . .
It’s time for number seven.
28
JESSE
I’m locking up the garage for the last time—ever—when my name floats toward me like a balloon whisking its way to the sky.
“Jesse.”
Ruby. I turn, heart stuttering as I shove my keys in my pocket and try not to run down the empty sidewalk to her.
Because that bright, happy red dress says it all.
Or at least, I hope it does.
“You’re wearing your favorite color. Cherry red,” I say, drinking in the sight of the woman I love.
A grin spreads, slow and beautiful, across her face.
With confidence in her stance and strength in her eyes, she holds up a sheet of paper. It’s one I know well. One I kept with me for two long years.
One that belongs to her now.
She walks like she’s still owning the hell out of that list, and that’s all I ever wanted for her.
She fingers the hem of her dress. “Red is my favorite color. And you’re my favorite person.”
My throat goes tight with emotion. “Ditto.”
Her dark eyes soften. “Good . . . because I came here to finish the list. There’s one last item, and I want to check it off all by myself.”
I nod, shoulders tensing, hoping against hope that she intends to finish it the way I want her to. “So, you got my note?”
Her brow creases. “You left a note?”
“I did, in your mailbox.” I want to speed up time but want to savor this moment too. This moment when she’s maybe almost mine.
She blinks. “I haven’t been home yet.”
Huh. Interesting. Maybe even better. “Do you want me to tell you what I wrote?”
She shakes her head. “Actually, no, I don’t. I want to say what I came here to say. The hard thing.”
Uh oh. The hard thing. I have no idea what that means, but it doesn’t sound good.
But maybe I’m wrong.
I want to be wrong, especially since this moment feels so right.
I step closer to her, the air between us crackling, the energy buzzing. It can’t just be my heart racing away from me. She has to feel it too.
I hope.
I have so much hope it could power me through the rest of the year.
