Page 124 of The Boyfriend Goal

Everly’s next, and a sadness crosses her eyes, but a steadiness too. A certainty. “I want to live my best life, especially for those who can’t.”

My heart clutches, and I flash back to what she said when we went grocery shopping. Had a friend. I drape an arm around her. While I’d never try to replace anyone, I hope I can be one of her friends in the present and into the future.

She hands it to me. “Your turn.”

I take the red megaphone then look to the stars, thinking of my aunt and the list she gave me. I wasn’t sure what it meant for a while. Was it a connection to her? Was it a pathway through grief? Was it rules to live by? I’m not sure I’ll ever know, and I need to be okay with that. To navigate the world without her guidance, but with her love as a compass. Maybe that’s what the list was all about.

I have a lot of dreams right now, but there’s one dream I’ve had my whole entire life. I give it to the ocean with my voice. “I want to be happy.”

It feels like it might be coming true. But not because I put it out there. Because I’ve been doing the work.

39

DANCE LESSONS

Josie

Dance practice might be the perfect time for me to ask Wes the next thing—would you want to try long-distance?

If I can’t get a job in time—and really, the clock is ticking—would you want to try to stay together? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to ask him if I can stay here and freeload while I look for work. That’s not happening.

“Are we really doing this?” Wes asks, groaning on the couch the next night, slouching deeper into it. He returned home late last night from his road trip, but barely has a break since he has a game tomorrow evening. “I could play video games instead. That’s kind of like dancing.”

I laugh as I grab his hand, trying to tug him up. “Video games are not anything like dancing. How is it that you don’t like dancing?”

“I’m bad at it.”

I scoff. “Doubtful. You’re an athlete.”

“Yeah, and hockey is not ice dancing.”

“It’s not creating a charcuterie board either, and you still do that in your free time,” I tease.

“Seriously. Dancing is like the opposite of hockey.”

“You’re an athlete. You know how to move your body.”

“In bed and on the ice,” he says, then pulls me onto his lap. “Speaking of the first one…maybe dancing is a euphemism for sex. See? We’ve already crossed it off ten million times.”

He’s picking up my fine art of exaggeration, but he’s wrong here. I reach for the chain around his neck and fiddle with it. “You got sex from the list. The first one. And number eight is dance in the park. Pretty sure my aunt didn’t want me to bang a dude in the park.”

“I dunno. She sounds like she was pretty cool.”

“She was. You tossed me over your shoulder and carried me into the improv theater. Don’t make me do that to you now.”

Begrudgingly, he lets me pull him up from the couch. I pat his firm chest, eager to move onto our practice. “But you know how you said I got you then? Well, I’ve got you now. I studied all the little foot drawings on a how-to-dance page.”

“You did?” he asks, brow furrowed, then he shakes his head. “What am I saying? Of course you did. That’s so on brand.”

I head to his record player, put on a Frank Sinatra tune, then turn around. With a resigned sigh, Wes strides over to me. “I’m only doing this because it’s you,” he says.

“Good enough reason for me,” I say, especially since it gives me the confidence that now might be the right time.

He loops his arms around my neck and as the old standard plays, we practice to dance in the park. “Soon, we’ll cross off three more things,” he says as he brings me closer. His tone is wistful. Maybe this is the time to bring it up.

“We will,” I say, then offer hopefully, “but maybe we can start a new list.” Like when we’re apart? Something that’ll help keep us together.

“Yeah, maybe.”

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