Free The Life List by Lori Nelson Spielman Page A

puzzle!” She plops her purple Dolce & Gabbana tote on the table and snatches the puzzle out from under me. “I finally realize why your mother gave you a fucking deadline. Have you done a goddamn thing since that comedy act last week? When she told you to go after your dreams, I don’t think she meant napping in the park.” She points to my suit. “You’ve haven’t even told Andrew yet!”
    She tosses my newspaper aside and pulls the laptop from my satchel. “Today we’re going to find your old friend.”
    “I can’t just contact Carrie out of the blue. I need to figure out a plan first.” I push the computer away and rub my temples. “I’m telling you, this list will ruin my life.”
    Megan studies me with a furrowed brow. “You’re a strangebird, Brett. I’ve got a feeling those goals might actually make you happy. It’s Andrew’s life you’re afraid of ruining, not yours.”
    I’m taken aback by her candor and insight. “Maybe. But either way, I’m screwed. I’ll lose my boyfriend, and I still won’t be able to knock off these goals by next September.”
    Ignoring my little rant, she slides back her chair. “I need caffeine. You get on Facebook while I get my fix.”
    While Megan stands in line at the counter, I log on to Facebook. But instead of searching for Carrie, my fingers type BRAD MIDAR into the search bar. It’s a cinch to spot him, even in the one-square-inch profile picture. Staring at his photo, I catch myself smiling. It occurs to me to send him a friend request, but he might think that’s crossing a professional line—as if text messages and hugs don’t. And then I think of my own boundaries. What would Andrew think if he knew I was searching out a friendship with the attorney I’ve kept secret from him?
    I grip two fistfuls of my hair. What’s wrong with me?
    “Did you find her?” Megan says, coming up behind me with a macchiato and a scone. I slap shut the laptop. “Not yet.”
    I wait until Megan is on the other side of the table before I open the computer again, this time typing CARRIE NEWSOME in the search bar.
    With her chair scooted next to mine, we wade through several pages, and then I spot her. Sporting a Wisconsin sweatshirt, she’s remarkably unchanged. Still athletic looking, still wearing glasses, still smiling. Guilt takes hold of me. How could I have been so cruel?
    “That’s her?” Megan asks. “No wonder you wanted to lose her. Don’t they sell tweezers in Wisconsin?”
    “Stop it, Megan.” I stare at her photo through a teary haze. “I loved this girl.”
    Growing up, Carrie and her parents lived two blocks away from us on Arthur Street. We were opposites, she the spunky tomboy, me the skinny girlie-girl. One afternoon when I was five years old, she sauntered past my house toting a black-and-white ball. When she saw me, a girl about her age, she recruited me to play soccer with her. I suggested we play House instead, but she wouldn’t hear of it. So we walked to the park and climbed the monkey bars and swung and giggled the rest of the afternoon. From that day on, we were inseparable—until years later, when I abandoned her.
    “I have no right to expect a friendship from this woman. And what’s worse, I’m only doing it now because I have to.”
    “Really?” She tugs her arm. “Because I’d say she has no right to expect a friendship from you.”
    I shake my head. Megan would never understand that a person who looks like Carrie just might be out of our league.
    “Jesus, Brett, what’s the big fucking deal?” In an instant, she’s hijacked the cursor and clicked ADD FRIEND .
    I gasp. “I can’t believe you did that!”
    “Way to go, chica!” She raises her coffee cup, but I don’t lift mine. At any moment now, Carrie Newsome will receive a cruel reminder of the once loved friend who betrayed her. I feel sick, but Megan’s already moving on. She rubs her hands together.
    “Okay, we’re on a roll now. Let’s go to the pet store