Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
But the pause stretches longer than I’d planned.
Because I didn’t expect my own thesis to hit me like a thunderbolt to the center of my chest. I have lived my entire adult life like it’s a romance novel. I’ve embraced adventure and ambition; I’ve been open to love. I enjoy sex, I support the women in my life, I actively think of ways to make the world around me a better place. I am surrounded by family and close friends. But my own significance is primarily as the sidekick bestie, the devoted daughter, the one-night stand they’ll never forget. The real meat of my story—the romance plot, including love and happiness—is one gaping hole. I’m tired of first dates, and I suddenly feel so weary I could lie down right here at the podium. I am aware, in a jarring gust, that I have lost my joy.
I stare out at the sea of faces pointed at me, their eyes wide and attentive, and I want to admit the worst bit: I’ve never made it past the first act of my own story. I don’t know what it feels like to be consistently significant. How can I tell these fresh babyadults to go out there with optimism because everything will be okay? The world seems intent on beating us down, and I don’t remember the last time I was genuinely happy. Everything I’m telling them—every single hopeful word of this speech—feels like a lie.
Somehow I manage to put the glowing Fizzy mask on and tell these kids that the best thing they can do for their future is to pick the right community. I tell them that if they approach their future with the optimism of the world’s boyfriend, Ted Lasso, things will turn out okay. I tell them that if they put in the work, if they allow that there will be blind curves and ups and downs, if they allow themselves to be vulnerable and loved and honest with the people who mean something to them, things really will turn out okay.
And when I step away from the podium and take my seat beside River, he presses something into my palm. “You nailed it.”
I stare down at the crisp twenty-dollar bill and then discreetly hand it back to him. Plastering a big grin on my face, aware that we’re still facing an audience of thousands, I say, “But what if it’s all bullshit?”
one FIZZY
Approximately one year later
If you aren’t deep in a daydream about the hot bartender, then you have no good excuse for not reacting to what I just said.”
I blink up across the table at my best friend, Jess, and realize I’ve been essentially hypnotizing myself by stirring the olive in my martini around and around and around.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I spaced out. Tell me again.”
“No.” She lifts her wineglass primly. “Now you must guess.”
“Guess what you have planned for your trip to Costa Rica?”
She nods, taking a sip.
I stare flatly at her. She and her husband, the aforementioned River Peña, seem to be connected constantly by a vibrating, sexy laser beam. The answer here is very obvious. “Sex on every flat surface of the hotel room.”
“A given.”
“Running with wildcats?”
Jess stills with her glass partway to her lips. “It’s interesting that you would go there as your second guess. No.”
“A tree house picnic?”
She is immediately repulsed. “Eating with spiders? Hard pass.”
“Surfing on the backs of turtles?”
“Deeply unethical.”
Guiltily, I wince over at her. Even my Jess-Fizzy banter well has run dry. “Okay. I got nothing.”
She studies me for a beat before saying, “Sloths. We’re going to a sloth sanctuary.”
I let out a gasp of jealousy and drum up some real energy to effuse over how amazing this trip will be, but Jess just reaches across the bar table and rests her hand over mine, quieting me. “Fizzy.”
I look down at my half-finished martini to avoid her concerned maternal gaze. Jess’s Mom Face has a way of immediately making me feel the need to handwrite an apology, no matter what I’ve just been caught doing.
“Jessica,” I mumble in response.
“What’s happening right now?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, knowing exactly what she means.
“The whole vibe.” She holds up her wineglass with her free hand. “I ordered wine from Choda Vineyards and you didn’t make a joke about short, chubby grapes.”
I grimace. I didn’t even catch it. “I admit that was a wasted opportunity.”
“The bartender has been staring at you since we got here and you haven’t AirDropped him your contact info.”
I shrug. “He has lines shaved into his eyebrow.”
As these words leave my lips, our eyes meet in shock. Jess’s voice is a dramatic whisper: “Are you actually being…?”
“Picky?” I finish in a gasp.
Her smile softens the worry lingering in her eyes. “There she is.” With one final squeeze to my fingers, she releases my hand, leaning back. “Rough day?”