Yes, she is an ounce of brat, a cup of self-centered, and a dash of obnoxious, but her heart is as good as gold and if you ever need anything, she’s there for you. She’ll give you the shirt off her back. Both of her parents are child psychologists.

Sometimes, I used to want to know my dad, but if he’s a terrible person, then I’d rather not know him at all.

“You want to get out of here? Play Monopoly?”

Izzy loves board games. Me, I can live without them.

“Okay, cool. Let’s grab some grub first.”

* * *

“Ha, yo ass is going straight to jail. Do not collect your two hundred bucks.”

I roll my eyes and move the little doggy piece to the jail space on the board. As I clutch my glass, I take slow sips of the bitter wine. I don’t drink often, and when I do I make sure I’m in a safe environment.

Izzy sits cross-legged in front of the brown table as she fist-pumps like a cheerleader at a football game. She loves to talk a lot of crap, and we’re both a little tipsy from drinking Gunner’s wine. Izzy said the wine is expensive, and it’s the same stuff her dad buys for her mom on their anniversary. I told her we’re stealing, and she told me to live a little, and we’re borrowing it—she’ll replace it before he comes back on Monday.

Another crime I committed besides stealing from my boss: I sleep in his bed because Izzy takes up so much space. And I got tired of waking up to a foot in my back or her face snuggled on my chest.

Days like this remind me of college. She’d come over to my and my ex’s apartment, and we would play board games. My ex only allowed me to have one friend, and I never met any of his friends because he thought I would sleep with them. I made a big mistake telling him about my mom being a prostitute. Every time he got angry, he would throw it in my face. What life has taught me is not to tell people your weaknesses because they’ll use them against you. I’m so glad Izzy helped me get out of that situation.

Izzy grabs the dice, blows on them, and rolls them on the board. She rolls a six and moves her little iron piece to Tennessee Avenue.

“You owe me fifteen bucks,” I say, holding out my hand, and she slaps the colorful money in my hand.

“Take your money and shove it up your asshole,” she jokes.