Page 147 of The Boyfriend Goal

Wes

February 4

Dear Wesley,

I feel terrible doing this but my boss asked me to lead a seminar the day you were going to come visit. She needs me to fill in because the other librarian is sick. Flu season is the worst, but I’m sturdy, and I haven’t so much as had a sniffle.

I’m sorry! I hate long-distance. I miss you. But I passed a record shop the other day, and I popped in and asked them what someone who likes Ben Rogers, the Good Neighbors Band, and The Last Shadow Puppets would like, and well, surprise! The record shop in Hayes Valley should have dropped it off for you. It’s a consolation prize.

Josie

Josie,

I’m listening to this new Mini Mansions right now. I can’t stop thinking of you. But that’s every day.

Wes

February 14

Dear Wesley,

Six dozen pink roses! For the number of weeks left till I return to San Francisco! They’re perfect.

Love, Josie

Josie,

So are the chocolates you sent from Elodie’s. I had one. I’m savoring them.

P.S. It was great talking to you last night. I’m glad you’re loving it there.

Wes

February 15

Dear Wesley,

I do love it. I really do. But I love you too. And I wish I could see you. I had a hard day today.

Your Josie

53

THE BRIGHT SPOT

Wesley

It’s six in the evening, and we’ve beaten Philly in an afternoon game on their turf when I finish reading her letter. I’m heading out of the home team’s arena to the Sea Dogs bus, but I’ve got five minutes before we go, so I duck down a quiet hall and dial her number, since she clearly needs to talk, and I want to be there.

“Why did you have a bad day?” I ask when she answers.

“Because everything went wrong,” she says, frustration in her tone, but not like she’s mad at the world. More like she’s upset she couldn’t fix everything. “The screen froze during my class, which wasn’t the worst thing because I knew the material, but it was still challenging—I don’t love improv, as you know. But I handled it. Then later, I was trying to help a patron digitize some home movies and the computer ate one of his movies and he yelled at me.”

I growl at that asshat in Boston. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know. It was just a computer glitch, but he was angry and wanted to lash out. He’d been telling me he was getting a divorce and wanted to copy over these old movies before his wife took them. I figured he was going through something.”

“It’s no excuse to be mean,” I say. “If I were there, I’d give him a piece of my mind.”

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