"Shoot," I say, then take a sip of my chocolate shake.
Ah, soothing.
"Remember how you felt about Jason Stark?" she says.
"Oh God, I loved him," I say. "I swear he was the one."
I bite into my own Checkerburger with Cheese. Delightful.
"Yeah..." she says. "That feeling. Could you tell me what that was like again?"
"Oh, wow," I say. "It's kind of like an overwhelming knowledge that he's the one. Funny, I don't feel it when I think of Jason Stark now. He's history. Now I feel it with Damien. But so much more."
Isabella just looks at me.
"Yeah, go on," she says.
"It's kind of like a melting thing," I say as I spill some ketchup and pickle onto the makeshift tray I fashioned from the wrapper. "I dissolve. I seriously become somebody else. Knees weak. Kind of like I lose control. And while it's sexual definitely, there's another component. It's like... I don't know how to put this into words... it's like we're one. God, that sounds stupid. But that's how it feels."
"Oh."
"Oh? Why? What's up?"
"I don't know," says Isabella. "I just... you know me. I'm not one to fall in love."
"Wrong. Two words... Mark Mullaney."
"That wasn't love. I was fifteen and he was the captain of the football team! Not to mention a senior. Seniors carry at lot of cachet when you're a sophomore! But no. That was unrequited lust because I couldn't get him to cheat on his perfectly blonde girlfriend. I could get every footballer to cheat except for him. All because of... what was that bitch's name again?"
"Caitlin."
"Caitlin, right. Fucking whore. Bet she's fat now. With herpes."
How come Caitlin from all those years ago sticks in my head but I can't remember the third pool girl's name from last week?
Shit, it's gone again.
"So what's up, Iz?" I say. "Is somebody I know in love with a big black girl with a beast of a cock?"
Isabella starts to say something, then stops.
"No", she says. "That's just some fun. I'm beginning to wonder about myself. I... I'm not... normal."
"No shit," I say with a mouthful of my last delicious bite of Checkerburger with Cheese. God, I wish I had ordered two.
"Jasmine isn't normal either. I love that about her."
"Hadn't noticed."
Isabella just looks at me and laughs.
"Look, Iz," I say, "I'm beginning to think none of us are normal. With all the stuff we've been doing lately, I don't know how to define normal anymore."
Isabella takes her burger wrap, scrunches it up, and puts it in the bag. She sips her shake, gets out, throws it in the nearest trash can, gets back in, and starts the car.
I'm still working on my fries.
"I've done a lot of sexual shit," says Isabella as she backs us up out of our space and heads toward the parking lot exit. "But I don't think I've ever felt that thing you just described. I'm twenty-three next month and I'd really like to try that."
"Iz, falling in love is not something you try," I say. "It's beyond your control. It just happens."
"Yeah, I know. I fucking hate things that are beyond my control."
Isabella takes the MacArthur, then turns right on Alton and left onto South Pointe. She pulls into the parking lot of a just-finished luxury building. A sign says Colton Development - Contractors Only - Hardhats Required. But she just breezes by it and parks.
"Why are we here?" I say.
"There's somebody I want you to meet," says Isabella. "I set it up before but cancelled it when we had a fight. I texted him this morning and he agreed to meet us."
"What the fuck, Iz? What's this about?"
"It's about showing you a couple of apartments. It'll be fun."
"Apartments? What the fuck are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about your mother! I've taken the liberty of setting you up with someone who can probably get you a place today. Did you hear me? To. Day."
I squeal. The excitement of maybe finding a place of my own... oooh, a place of my own!... takes over.
"Really?" I say. "You did that for me?"
"Of course I did," she says. "You're fucking welcome. Now let's go."
We get out. We walk toward the building. Brand spanking new. Lots of glass. The sign on the outside says Colton Development.
But shit, I don't want to live here. It's nice and all, but it's got no personality. Plus it will be full of old rich people.
"Is this Greg Colton's company?" I say.
"You know him?" says Isabella.
"Steve interviewed him for MiamiImproper.com about a year ago. He's like the Donald Trump of Miami Beach real estate."
"He's much more than that," says Isabella, making a wide motion with her two index fingers.