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I’m afraid of the unpredictability of existing. I’m afraid of not being able to control the direction of my life. I’m afraid that no matter how much I plan, I won’t be able to avoid hurtful and sad things. But above all…” I take a deep breath and laugh softly, because what I’m about to say is ridiculous, even if it’s true. Even if it’s me. “Mostly, I’m afraid of attempting something and not being perfect at it.

I do want to be like Lukas, I tell myself later that night, in bed. Somehow, it’s a good thought to settle on. It feels less messy than wanting to be with Lukas.

“Do you guys have a Swedes’ club? With your secret language?” “You mean, Swedish?”

“You know,” he says against my lips, “I wanted to be righteously angry at you. I told myself I wouldn’t be with you until you were ready to be honest.” I don’t ask about what. It would be supremely dishonest. “But I’m just so fucking happy to see you, Scarlett. I can’t be mad at you, when every time I think about you I am reminded that you exist.”

All I need is the most basic, shittiest inward dive. The bar is so low, it’s underground with the turnips.

What if—it doesn’t work. What if—I mess up again. What if—I’m being given a chance, and I squander it. What if I’m not good enough.

“Do I have to read your list?” I ask, eyeing the still-folded sheet. “Can we just…skip that part?” His eyebrows knit. “No.” “No, I don’t have to read it—?” “No, you cannot skip it.” “Says who?” “The rules.” I tilt my head. “Who made the rules?” “Me.” Tilt it more. “I think you’re okay with that, Scarlett,” he says. Tilt it more. “Hard for me to buy that you don’t like me taking charge, given what I just read.” His words are calm, but my cheeks glow. He’s right.

The second thing is that I’ve read your list. And there is not a single thing you want that I don’t want more.

I savor it, the quiet pleasure of someone wanting to confide in me.

Labels have to be earned, and my pockets always seem too empty to pay up.

“What about you? Would you be jealous if he were to sleep with other people?” “Not really. Lukas and I have history. We love each other. Honestly, even if we break up, I suspect that we’ll find each other in the future. We’re kind of meant to be.” Where do these people get their bottomless reservoirs of confidence? From a pot at the end of a rainbow?

“Nothing works with my schedule. I should have booked some help sooner.” Like back in the womb.

I wonder whether he’s considered handsome in Sweden, or just your run-of-the-mill ordinary guy. Is it a favorable exchange rate—a Stockholm three translating to a US ten?

• I could tell when you didn't know I existed, and I could tell when you became aware of me.

I can be brave. I can be anything for noodles.

Water's a cruel mistress.