Page 52 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail

To kill time while I wait for Juliet—and to take my mind off my worries—I begin digging around in the cupboards and drawers for all the things we’ll need. Two aprons, both in well-loved prairie florals, as well as mixing bowls, a spatula, and what I’m pretty sure is a cake pan. It’s glass, but it’s not a pie plate, and I’m not sure what else it could be.

I don’t know. Like I said, I can burn water.

I set it on the counter anyway, even though I’m not sure it’s what we’ll end up using. Juliet’s going to have to educate me about all that. Then I pull out my phone and force myself to make the call I’m thinking about.

I’m going to prove to myself that everything is fine and normal with Felix—that I’m not developing feelings for him again, that we didn’t have amomentthe other night.

Even more than that, I’m going to prove to myself that I’m still able to ride Betsy. That what happened was a fluke. At very least, I want to move in the right direction; making plans should help, right?

Felix answers on the second ring.

“What’s up, Sunshine?” he says, his voice echoing slightly like I’m on speaker. “You miss me?”

“No,” I say, my lips quirking. “I want to set up a motorcycle date so I can knock another item off my list.”

Because aside from my Betsy issues, I’m also a little concerned about this list of mine. I’m learning how to bake a cake today, which I really want to do. I got a pet fish, whom Iabsolutely adore—I snicker as the line fromIt Takes Twoflits through my mind—and yet somehow, despite these accomplishments, I don’t feel…well, accomplished.

Why not? Why don’t I feel like I’m making progress when I clearly am? I want—I just want—something.

It’s the same feeling I had the day of the motorcycle incident, a tangle of confusion creeping over me. I still can’t make heads or tails of that bundle of emotions.

What do I want?

And suddenly, from nowhere at all, a recent memory pops into my head, the words I said to Felix echoing back as though I’m now speaking them to myself:Who do you want at your bedside when you die, anyway? Your bros? Your homies?

Who do I want at my bedside when I die? Not my bros or my homies, obviously. But…my pet fish? My carrot cake?

No. Not them either.

My heart thumps uncomfortably as the answer hits me: My people. I want my people surrounding me. My parents and sisters and brother. My friends. And…

A husband. Children. Grandchildren. Great-grandchildren.

I want it all. I want progress—realprogress. What is life if not progression? In nature, stagnation invites rot and decay. It’s the flowing water that stays clean.

I don’t think humans were meant to be stagnant creatures. We’re so alive, so full of motion; maybe that energy is supposed to propel us forward.

Good.The word whispers into my mind, in a voice very much like my mother’s.This is good.

“India?”

Felix’s concerned voice yanks me out of my thoughts, and I startle.

“Huh?”

“Lost you there for a minute,” he says, and I can picture him tilting his head, his golden hair falling over his forehead. “Is our connection okay? I’m driving.”

“No, that was my bad, sorry.”

“You okay?” he says after a second’s pause.

“Yes,” I say as something surges inside me, something excited, determined. I know what my next big step is going to be. I don’t know how I’ll make it happen, but at least I have the direction. I pace the kitchen and go on, “I’m good. Sorry. Got lost in thought.”

A burst of laughter travels down the line and warms me like sunshine as I continue my ambling pace around the kitchen.

“Glad to hear I’m so boring that you immediately space out when I call,” he says, but I can hear his smile. “So the motorcycle ride?”

“Yep,” I say. “How’s sometime this week, assuming the weather’s good?”

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