Page 88 of The Last Dance

‘I can’t quit thinking about him, Claire.’

She grins. ‘Is that a good thing?’

‘Yeah.’ I nod, unable to force the smile from my face. ‘I think it is.’

‘This.’ She nods, pointing at the clothing on the bed.

‘What about it?’ I stare down at the outfit, my hands on my hips as I wonder what has gotten into her. ‘You don’t expect me to wear this, do you?’

Since Noah had to sleep all day and work tonight she insisted I come over, so we could get ready together to go out to the movies and then dessert at a place I love with Ben and Noah meeting us there. I swear there aresomerestaurants in the Portland area that I’m not in love with.

I was already suspicious because we haven’t gotten ready together for anything since we went to prom our senior year of high school. Getting ready for the movies seemed a tad ridiculous.

‘I can’t wear this.’ I’m staring down at her Halloween costume from four years ago. She was Madonna. She rocked an early Madonna like no one’s business. There’s no way I can wear this. People will think I’ve lost my mind.

‘I’ll stand out like a sore thumb. Plus, what’s the point? We’re going to be sitting in a dark theater.’

‘Actually…’ she says as she pulls a bright blue spandex suit from her closet ‘… we’re not going to the movies. We’re going to eighties night. Surprise!’ She throws her free hand in the air as she laughs.

‘Are you serious?’ I laugh, glancing back at the costume that now makes way more sense. A hot pink tulle ruffle skirt, black capri leggings, a tank top, and a shoulder-revealing sweater. Even the chunky jewelry, hair bow, and black fingerless gloves are there. All so I will look completely ridiculous, blending in with the rest of the room, dancing away all the things I’m worried about for a single night.

Eighties night is a dance party held at the Crystal, opened to the public. You pay the cover charge and you can dance the night away to eighties classics. They even play the music videos on giant screens all around the room that MTV started their station to air. People dress up. There’s a bar. It’s tons of fun. I haven’t been since I was in my early twenties. I kind of thought we’d grown out of it.

‘You are seriously the best at finding ways to make this day amazing every year.’ I wrap my arms around her neck. ‘Thank you.’

‘Oh-h…’ Ben walks in. ‘What’s this? A special little surprise for me? Are you guys gonna make out?’ He pulls his phone from his pocket to photograph Claire and I hugging.

‘You’re such a perv,’ I say, turning towards him and bursting out in a laugh. ‘Whatis that?’ I point to his face.

He strokes a thick mustache he’s now sporting that I can only hope is fake.

‘You like?’ he asks with a creepy smile.

‘Honestly? I didn’t even realize Dr Phil was popular in the eighties.’

It looks awful. Like something cocooning on his upper lip. I can’t believe Claire isn’t grossed out by it. It’s a little less eighties and a little too much seventies porn star.

‘Dr Phil?’he yells out in a laugh, turning to look at himself in the full-length mirror hanging on their bedroom wall. He pulls a tiny comb from his back pocket and combs through it, which makes me laugh even harder. ‘Man, I’m Tom Selleck. You know,Magnum P.I.?’

I shrug my shoulders. ‘Don’t know it.’

I do know it, actually. My mom used to watch reruns when I was a kid. But having him think I don’t is way more fun.

He looks the part, dressed in a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt and jeans that are far too tight to be worn in public by any self-respecting grown man. Which I’m not sure Ben is anyway, but still.

‘You definitely have his hair.’ I compliment the only thing that’s actually his, his mop of dark wavy hair, with a grin. ‘I’m just thankful you belong to Claire. Who seems to be going as…’ I stare down at the spandex suit. ‘Um… David Bowie?’

She pops her head out of their en-suite bathroom with a glare. ‘Aerobic Barbie. How’d you get David Bowie from that?’

‘I dunno…’ I shrug. ‘I thought he liked spandex?’

Now don’t kill me, but I’ve never been a David Bowie fan. My heart belongs to Billy.

‘I’ll have you know,’ Ben interrupts, finally turning from the mirror and slipping the ridiculous tiny comb back into his pocket, ‘Claire is into the mustache. I might grow one myself.’

‘It doesn’t remind you of your grandfather?’ I ask her with a grimace.

Claire’s grandpa had a thick dark mustache the entire time I knew him. It was always there, like he was born with it. I’m sure back in his prime a mustache was the thing to do, but I just can’t get on board. There’s nothing wrong with them if you’re into that. I can’t seem to not giggle.

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