Page 22 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

“Good vibes only,” he repeats in that accent, sounding not the least bit convinced. “Great.”

“I have a plan. I’m going to spend the next week working through items on my wish list. The idea is to enjoy myself so much that the threat of an early demise hanging over me won’t even matter.”

“What’s a wish list?”

“I am so glad you asked. It’s like a bucket list, but better,” I explain. “No negative death connotations. Nothing to do with domestic cleaning supplies either. It’s all happiness and sparkles from start to finish.”

“Right.”

“The thing is, I ran the numbers. You’ll be delighted to hear that I now believe the situation could go either way. I may or may not die next Sunday. But whatever happens, I’ve taken the next week off work, and I’m going to have fun.”

“All right,” he says, as if he’s considering giving me his grudging approval. As if I even need it. This one has some alpha tendencies. “What’s on the list? Skydiving and bungee jumping and so on?”

“No. None of those things. Yikes.” I take a sip of wine. “I do not feel the need to test gravity. There’s a delicate balance between experiences that make you feel alive and ones that actually increase your chances of an early death. I intend to stick with the first.”

“What have you got, then?” Now he’s on his feet again. He takes a cookie off the plate on the kitchen island and takes a bite. After he’s finished his mouthful he says, “These are great.”

“My mom made them. She can bake like nobody’s business.”

Head cocked and beer in hand, he starts reading the papers on the table. Guess I took too long to answer his question. There’s a lot of paperwork to see. Mom printed off numerous articles about best bucket-list ideas and top things to do before turning thirty, along with several versions of my list. Lots of ideas were added before later being discarded.

“‘Drive along the coast in a convertible,’” he reads aloud.

“I will of course be wearing a scarf that will dramatically fly away on a gust of wind. Just like Grace Kelly inTo Catch a Thief. My gran used to love that film. And I mean, where would we be without metaphors regarding the fragility of life and the importance of living in the moment?”

The frown he gives me is lukewarm at best. Like he disapproves of the idea but doesn’t see any actual harm in it. “‘Eat at a Michelin star restaurant.’ Any in particular?”

“I imagine it will largely depend on what I can get into on such short notice.”

He looks up. “You crossed out ‘Cut own bangs and dye hair blue’?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I just don’t know how it would look. If I do die and they decide to have an open casket, it could be a disaster.”

He says nothing for a time. Just stares at me.

“If you’re going to be judgmental, you can leave,” I say, legs crossed and glass of wine in hand.

“Sorry. ‘Axe throwing’ has a question mark next to it?”

“I’m not sure about that one. I can be a little clumsy.”

He picks up a pen and crosses the idea out. Fair enough. “‘Stay up all night with someone special until the sun rises. Go skinny-dipping. Wear a ball gown to the opera. Attend a polo match. Designer shopping spree.’”

“I’m open to re-creating any scene fromPretty Woman. It’s one of my mom’s favorites. The women in my family have great taste in films.”

“What’s yours?”

“What’s my what?”

“Your favorite movie,” he says. “You’ve told me your gran’s and mom’s. But you haven’t told me yours.”

“The Shape of Water.It’s so romantic but weird too, you know?”

“I don’t like your chances of finding a fish man to woo in the next week.”

“Me neither.”

He just nods. “The rest of these all seem reasonably doable, however.”

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