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She clicks around on her phone with her manicured nails, painted gold and black for the holiday, before turning her phone around to show me.
It’s her notes app, and she’s pulled up one titled: Ways to Get Lucy Out of Her Comfort Zone.
I look up from her screen. “I’m not in a comfort zone,” I say, defensively.
“Yes, you are.”
“You totally are,” Ryan pops in. I’d almost forgotten he was here.
I narrow my eyes at them both. “No, I’m not. I’ve just got a routine that works for me, and it’s easy.”
“That’s literally the definition of a comfort zone,” she says, giving me a sarcastic glare, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “I didn’t just make a list; I did some research too.”
She did research? I feel bad now. She clearly took this seriously, putting a lot of effort into making a plan for my life, and it was mostly just a tipsy, offhand thing I said.
It did feel like it was a good idea at the time—letting someone else make my decisions for me. Heaven knows I’m not doing myself any favors. What better person to do it than Morgan? Morgan, who takes way more chances than I do. Case in point: she’s marrying my brother, and even though I’ve told her how many times I caught him playing with his boogers as a kid, she still wants to go through with it.
There may have been a time in the beginning of their relationship when I was trying to subtly sabotage it. Or maybe not so subtly. The high road has been a bumpy ride, to say the least.
Morgan has also been places. She’s seen parts of the world I’ve never seen. She even moved to Vegas for a couple of years, just to try it out. Sure, she moved back, but that’s more than I’ve ever done.
I was born here in Aspen Lake, at the very same hospital I now work at. I grew up here, went to college not far from here, have returned to live here, and will probably die here. All by myself. Alone.
“What’s on this list?”
“That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” she says.
I fold my arms. “If I’m agreeing to this, I need to know what I’m getting into.”
“It’s not that bad,” she says. “Stuff like try a different food or try out a new hobby.”
“That doesn’t seem so bad,” I say. “So just things like that?”
“Yes,” Morgan says. “And a couple of things like go smmibbing.”
She turns her head away on that last word, her voice so quiet I didn’t make out what she said.
“Go what?” I ask, feeling the beginnings of anxiety worm its way through my stomach.
She says it again, this time even quieter.
Ryan huffs out a breath. “She said, ‘Go swimming’.”
Morgan gives him a small glare, to which he replies with a shrug.
“Swim?” I ask, sounding like she’s just burned me with a hot poker. The chatter in the living room quiets for a second before starting up again.
“Luce,” she says, putting her hand on my arm. “It’s time. You even said so yourself.”
There have been a few times recently that I’ve mentioned getting back into the pool. But it was off-the-cuff. Like maybe I should get back into the water sometime. I didn’t mean it. Not really.
For my entire high school career, I ate, slept, and breathed swimming. So much that I gave up a lot of what would have been considered a normal teenage experience. I missed dances because of meets. I couldn’t stay out too late because of early-morning practices. But I didn’t care. I loved it.
And then ... it all went away. And I haven’t been back in a pool since. At least not a recreational pool. I definitely haven’t swum laps, only wading and floating like most people do in water.
“I don’t know,” I say. It’s not like I told myself I’d never swim again. I just... haven’t.
“Morgan’s right. It’s time to get back on the horse,” Ryan says.
