Page 44 of The Boyfriend Goal

“Speaking of no regrets, let’s talk about the list,” I say, as my stomach dips thinking about item number two. Maybe I’ve been avoiding it. No, there is no maybe about it. I’ve definitely been avoiding the second item Aunt Greta left for me. Because it’s about overcoming a fear.

Once we grab our lattes and seats, we shift gears to the list of the Top Ten Things I Never Regretted. “Question,” I begin, with a hopeful smile. “Do you think it’s possible I could get a pass on number two?”

Maeve stares me down sternly. “Josie.”

Fable clucks her tongue. “Pretty sure that’s a violation of the rules of Bucket Lists from Relatives.”

I groan. “It’s just…so not me.”

Maeve pats my hand. “I know. But you didn’t think number one was either. And Greta knew you well.”

She’s too right. I set my face on the table and groan some more, like a wounded beast. “Why do bucket lists have rules?”

It’s asked of the universe.

Of course they don’t have rules. I know that. But when the person who loved you most gives you one, you probably shouldn’t skip a turn.

“And I thought the first one was hard,” I mutter.

Maeve smirks.

Fable’s eyes twinkle. “Well, wasn’t it?”

I roll my eyes. “Very, very hard.”

I sigh, lift my face, then brainstorm a plan for number two.

That afternoon, I take off to see Christian, Liv, the twins, and my mom, who’s here in town now, helping out.

My brother and his wife are in another room in their palace of a house, napping. Mom spends the whole time parked on the living room couch, holding the babies and talking about the babies—what they eat, what they weigh, what they’ll need, and how they’ve slept. I get it. They’re her first grandkids. I’m not really bothered that she hasn’t asked about my job—which is the reason I’m here in San Francisco.

She shifts gears, asking if I want something to eat. “We ordered pad thai with chicken for lunch. There are plenty of leftovers,” she says, then catches herself. “Except…you’re still vegetarian?”

Like it’s the same as my pony phase. My Sweet Valley High phase. “I still am,” I say.

“They have some carrots,” she offers.

I shake my head. “I’m good, Mom.”

A few minutes later, she finally says, “How is the library?” It’s asked with clear interest, so I tell her the full truth.

“I love it already,” I say. “I just do.”

“Tell me everything,” she says, and I give her the highlights, including Raccoon, which delights her.

“I’m so happy, Jay. And you know Greta would be happy too.”

She would. She truly would. Sometimes I feel like Greta’s all mine, but my mom lost a sister too, far too early. Then, since she knows it exists even though she hasn’t seen the list, I draw a quiet breath and say, “I started it. The list Greta gave me.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh. You did?”

“Yes, I finally did,” I say.

“That’s wonderful.” She pauses, swallows, perhaps collecting her emotions too, then says, “Does it make you feel closer to her?”

Well, the one-night stand made me feel closer to my roomie. But I don’t tell her that. I just nod. “It does.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

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