I felt hope.
WHICH BROUGHT ME to where I was: at a bar, realizing there was no way I was going to kiss this jerk, no matter how bad I wanted to cross something off a list.
“So,” he said, flashing a gleaming white grin as he handed me back my paper (and, may I add, there is such a thing as too much whitening), “what kind of kiss?”
His friend Frank filled him in: “Mouth tongue optional.”
“Never mind,” I said, “I’ll just-“
Before I could finish, his mouth was on mine, his tongue thrust between my lips. It wasn’t awful. My first attempts with Grant Smith back in high school were certainly a whole lot sloppier. But I’d experienced significantly more zing with Grant. This kiss, frankly, left me feeling as if I might as well be paralyzed from the waist down.
As he pulled away, he said a glib, “You’re welcome.”
Oh, please. I wish he’d said it while he was kissing me, because then I could have thrown up in his mouth.
“Unfortunately,” I said, feigning regret, “the list specifically states that I have to do this kissing-you know, be the kisser, not the kissee. I’m afraid this doesn’t qualify. But hey-“ I winked at the guys at the table before turning to go- “I appreciate the effort.”
On my way, I nearly bumped into a busboy. Hmm. He appeared to be about seventeen years old and was conveniently just my height. “Mind indulging me?” I asked. I took hold of his collar to pull him closer and-pausing for a few seconds to give him a chance to run for the hills if he wanted-planted a kiss on his mouth. No tongue, but plenty warm and moist, and-yes!-there was that zing I was talking about.
Then, over the sound of the guys at the table having quite a guffaw about the whole thing, I grabbed Susan. “Let’s get out of here,” I said. After all, I still had plenty more things I needed to cross off the list. And as my grandma used to say, there’s no rest for the wicked.
Chapter 2
20 Things to Do by My 25th Birthday
1. Lose 100 pounds
2. Kiss a stranger
3. Change someone’ s life
4. Wear sexy shoes
5. Run a 5K
6. Dare to go braless
7. Make Buddy Fitch pay
8. Be the hottest girl at Oasis
9. Get on TV
10. Ride in a helicopter
11. Pitch an idea at work
12. Try boogie boarding
13. Eat ice cream in public
14. Go on a blind date
15. Take Mom and Grandma to see Wayne Newton
16. Get a massage
17. Throw away my bathroom scale
18. Watch a sunrise
19. Show my brother how grateful I am for him
20. Make a big donation to charity
“Skydiving is at the top of my list,” Susan said, taking a bite of her ice-cream cone.
“You have a list?”
“Not anything written. But sure, there are things I want to do before I die.”
“Well, I for one can’t imagine anything worse than skydiving-hurtling through the air, no control over how fast you’re falling or where you might land. Why people find that fun is beyond me.”
We sat at an outdoor cafe; taking a break from work, slurping on double-scoop ice- cream cones. The offices of Los Angeles Rideshare-where Susan is client services director and supervises a staff of twenty and I work as a writer and am more, say, in the worker bee category-are located in one of the older downtown business districts. Ornate buildings line the narrow streets, making it seem unusually old for Los Angeles. On this particular afternoon, with the sun blazing warm on our shoulders, we watched pouring rain across the street where a Visa commercial was being filmed. Huge machines sprayed water on faux New York taxis. Tourists stood at the periphery in tank tops and shorts, holding pens and paper for autographs in case that guy grinning at the camera was a real celebrity.
As much as I was riding high from the success of kissing the busboy, I knew there was much more to do.
The list sat on the table between us so Susan could help me establish the rules-the dos and don’ts, as it were, for completing it. For example, we decided that I didn’t have to do the tasks in order. Also, I had to obey, as Susan put it, ‘the spirit of the law’ -a result of my saying that to do #8, Be the hottest girl at Oasis, I could merely walk into the bar and set myself on fire.
“So what’s your plan to get this done on time?” Susan asked as she used a napkin to dab at ice cream that had spilled onto her blouse. She looked amazing as always, wearing a simple silk pantsuit, no makeup except for red lipstick, and her black hair knotted into an effortless updo. It was the sort of look that made me regard my flowered skirt and blouse from the Everything $15 Store a little less charitably than I had when the cashier had been ringing it up.
“My plan?” My brow furrowed. “I figured I’d wing it.”
“I don’t know, June. Some of these seem time-consuming. Like this one: Change someone’s life. That’s hardly the sort of thing you can handle on your lunch break.”
“Oh, don’t worry-I did that already. In fact, do you have a pen? I’ll cross it off.” I sounded so gloomy that Susan looked at me perplexed until I elaborated. “Marissa was alive. Now she’s dead. That’s quite a change, don’t you think?”
“Ugh. How long do you intend to beat yourself up over this?”
“Until this list is done, that’s how long.”
“All the more reason to take it seriously.”
“I sure hope I finish.”
I didn’t need to say anything more than that. Susan and I have been best friends since we met as students at UC Santa Barbara-she’s been around long enough to know that it won’t be easy for me. She’s seen it all. The vacations I planned but never got around to booking. The half-completed master’s degree in marketing I thought would jump- start my career. For that matter, the poncho I recently tried to crochet that took so long, ponchos went back out of
