Page 126 of As You Walk On

“Dance class?” he asks.

“Dance class,” I confirm.

“Fine. But if I break a hip before you head off to school...” He pauses, rubbing my shoulders. “Which reminds me—I know someone who’s interested in writing you a recommendation letter.”

“Da—”

“Not a friend from school or anything!” he preempts. “A business associate. You’ll have to interview. Explain who you really are.”

Who I really am. That’s still a work in progress.

“So, no favors?” I say. “I have to earn this one?”

The amused look in Dad’s eyes is contagious.

“It’s all on you, TJ. If that’s what you decide.”

It’s weird, the way he’s letting me take the point on these big decisions. He only offers suggestions when prompted. Our dinners have been a lot more banter, less plan-oriented since Dad took down the whiteboard a week ago.

“I’ll, uh, let you know,” I reply while tugging at my collar.

“Cool.” Dad smacks my hand away. “Let’s get downstairs. Youknow those two are dragging us to hell and back for taking so long.”

•••

“Those two,” as Dad put it, were most certainly gossiping about us, though they try to play it off the second we’re all in the living room together.

“Damn.” Aleah leans back on the sofa to evaluate me. “Nice drip.”

“Th-thanks,” I stammer.

Tonight, Aleah is...arresting. It’s the only word I can think of. She’s wearing a chic black suit with sleek blue butterfly patterns. Curly hair pinned away from her face. Soft rose undertones along her cheeks. Her heels alone are made for a red-carpet step-and-repeat.

I don’t know why I expected her in a dress, but I love her “F your traditions” power move. Only Aleah could pull it off.

“You’re, uh...” I try.

She rolls her eyes while adjusting my bow tie. “Don’t make this weird.”

I grin.

“Who knew you’d look so fly in red?”

“I did!” Dad boasts.

The glare I send him is ignored as he pecks Mario on the lips. Yes, that’s a Thing again. Turns out mutuals on social media leads to a lot of awkward DMs, flirting via likes, and a traumatizing amount of Dad taking weirdly angled selfies that require my approval before sending. They were all tasteful. No thirst traps. At least the ones I helped with.

Anyway, a few meetups later, they’re a second-chance romance movie waiting to be written.

“While I’m happy for you two,” Aleah comments, making a face that says quite the opposite, “all this unnecessary PDA is truly ruining my vibe.”

“Hater,” Mario says into Dad’s cheek after another kiss.

I’m with Aleah. Vomit is churning in my stomach.

“Sorry we didn’t take as long as you two to figure things out.” Mario smirks.

Aleah and I share a brief look. We’re not publicly using the “friend” title. But things have improved since our talk. We don’t ignore each other in the halls. She was even at the conference finals, cheering on the team.

---