Page 117 of Go Luck Yourself
I cup my hands over my mouth and whoop up at Iris and Siobhán as they screech the chorus, and I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much, this deeply.
Iris grabs my arm and hauls me to my feet. “I know you know this one!”
So I join in, arm in arm, and Finn catcalls us, and for a moment, I feel like I’m watching myself from far away. The noise of the pub fades to a droning hum and everything slows way down, like moving through molasses.
I don’t know where to start with fixing my internal mess. Or if I’ll ever be able to fix it. But I do know that I’m overthinking likeall of it,and if I want things to be different, I can’t sit around waiting for them to change.
So I lean close to Iris and whisper-shout into her ear, “I started writing again.”
Breath sucked in to belt the final lines, she whips her head at me so fast her braids smack my face.
“Oh my god!” She jostles my shoulder. “I loved your stories!”
“Remember what you did for them once?” This delirious wish is a hundred wants crashing together, forcing me to keep going. “You drew my characters?”
Iris’s grin widens, her eyes a little unfocused, and I wonder how much of this conversation will stick.
“Of course!” She giggles. “Oh my god. I was, what, fourteen? They were probably awful.”
“They were awesome and I loved them.” The music swells, deafening, so I lean closer, heart faltering. “Do you think you’d do that again? If I wrote a book. Do you think you could draw things for it?”
She cocks her head.
“I mean—I haven’t even started writing anything book-like yet,” I stammer. “It was a… just a thought. I loved your art. Still love it. And I think—I don’t know. It could be cool to collaborate on something like that? I know book illustration is a whole separate thing from book writing and it would probably never amount to anything, but I—”
Iris throws her arms around my neck. “Yes! Of course. Fuck yes. That sounds like fun.”
I squeeze her back. “We could both use some fun, I think.”
Iris leans away to bookend my cheeks with her hands. Her whiskey-loopy gaze focuses on mine, drifts away, refocuses, and she laughs. “There are more of you than I remember. But the real you isriiiiiight—” She boops my nose. “Here.”
“We should have had this conversation when you were sober.”
Her eyes get round. “Ohno.Ohnooh no. If”—she hiccups—“if I don’t remember this tomorrow, ask me again. Better yet—wait.”
She shrugs me off to dig out her phone, taps away on her screen, and a second later, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
PEEP, MINI CANDY CANE, AND THE BEST CLAUS
IRIS
future iris this is past iris
draw for kris
it is his dreeeeeeeeam
a book a book a book
Her face is totally blissed-out. “I will probably be confused by that text tomorrow. But you can remind me and tell me there are no take-backs for drunk promises.”
“Um. There should definitely be take-backs for drunk promises.”
Iris shoves her finger against my lips. “Ah-ah. Shush, you. No take-backs. We’re gonna—” Another hiccup. “We’re gonna write abooktogether, my friend. You will write the book. I will draw the book. OH MY GOD!” She smacks her hands on my face again, her expression collapsing into pleading adoration. “Youlikemy art?”
Wow. She is skillfully barreling from drunk to shitfaced.
“I really do, Iris,” I say, and her round eyes get teary.
