Page 21 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

“There’s a reason that happened. Heathcliff is a dick.”

“This is more of your ‘I hate bad boys’ shtick, isn’t it? I was sixteen. What do you want from me? I said I lost it and paid the fine, so it wasn’t really stealing, thank you very much.”

He shakes his head sadly. “What shocking behavior. I am shocked.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Now you’re abusing me. A fine hostess you are. Are you even going to offer me a glass of wine?”

“Would you like a glass of wine, Ali?”

“I’d prefer a beer if you have it,” he says, cool as can be. “And I believe I asked you not to call me that.”

“It’s good to want things. I love that for you. Keep it up.”

He grunts.

There just so happens to be a couple of bottles of Blue Moon in the back of the fridge, cunningly hidden behind a bag of out-of-date salad mix. I twist the cap off one and hand it over.

“Thank you.” He heads toward the mess on my dining table. “What’s all this?”

“The makings of my list. Things I want to do before...you know.”

His frown returns with a vengeance. “Have you told anyone else about that? Your friends and family?”

“I decided not to.”

He waits patiently, but I have no more to say on the subject. “As ridiculous as it is, I know it’s still weighing on your mind,” he says finally. “You shouldn’t have to deal with it alone.”

“I’m not. You’re here now. Hooray!”

He narrows his eyes on me. Like he’s not entirely certain I am joking. Messing with this man just might be my new favorite thing.

“So I made a Hollywood star cry,” I say. “That’s something that happened.”

“Please.” He snorts. “Daria’s an actress with a film to promote. Her marketing team must be loving this.”

I am not convinced. Given I just got cheated on, the idea I might have inadvertently hurt someone in a similar manner is not nice. Though nothing happened between him and me.

“Lilah,” he says in a gentler tone. “Daria and I aren’t together. Any moment now, there’ll be exclusive photos of her being comforted by her costar.”

“If you say so.”

He takes a seat at the table, setting his ankle on the opposite knee, making himself comfortable. “You were about to tell me why you haven’t talked to anyone else about this Witchy Wanda situation.”

“Good Witch Willow,” I correct, taking the seat across from him. “The thing is, I’ve decided to embrace toxic positivity. This whole dying-next-week thing doesn’t make me want to vomit at all. Everything is fine.”

His grunt is full of disbelief.

“I mean, think about it, Ali.”

“You really do need to stop calling me that,” he mumbles.

“What would even be the point in freaking out? We all die sometime. It’s an irrefutable fact of life,” I say, doing my best to convince us both. “What does it matter if my time is up sooner rather than later?”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Good vibes only.”

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