“Okay, enough about the book,” Meesha says, tossing the dress onto the bed beside me. Her brown eyes suddenly turn serious. “Real talk. What’s actually going on with you two?”
“What do you mean?”
“Jas.” Jessa sets the laptop aside. “You’ve been pretty quiet about this whole thing. One minute you’re single, the next you’re pregnant and now you’re going on dates with Antonio. We’re your best friends. Talk to us.”
I sink onto the bed. “We’re having a baby together, but we’ve never actually defined... us. I like him a lot.
“He likes you a lot, too,” adds Meesha.
“He’s trying to do the right thing.”
“Jasmine,” Jessa interrupts, “the way that man looks at you? Trust me, he’s not doing the right thing.”
“She’s right,” Meesha agrees. “At Sunday dinner last week, you went to the bathroom, and he sat there smiling at your empty chair like a lovesick puppy. The guys teased him about it mercilessly.”
“Really?” Despite myself, I feel hope blooming in my chest.
“Really,” Meesha confirms. She takes my hand. “I get that trust is hard. But maybe tonight is about letting yourself find out what this could be. Not what it has to be because of the baby, but what it could be because you both want it.”
This is what I’d been missing during my writing marathon. Connection, support and the grounding presence of people who know me.
“Thank you,” I say. “For showing up today. For always showing up.”
“Please. Like we’d let our friend get lost in her fictional world.” Meesha stands, pulling me up with her. “Now, let’s finish getting you ready.”
Twenty minutes later, my hair falls in soft waves, my skin glows with just enough makeup to look effortless, and I’m standing in front of my mirror in the white maxi dress with the delicate gold necklace at my throat.
“He’s going to lose his mind,” Meesha declares, adjusting the necklace so it sits perfectly.
“And this chapter?” Jessa holds up my laptop. “Brilliant. Can’t wait to see what happens next. Both in the book and in real life.”
“Text us the second you get home,” Meesha orders.
“I will,” I promise.
After they leave, I find myself smiling at my reflection. Maybe this could work. Maybe I could let myself have this.
When Antonio arrives, he’s holding a single white rose. “You look beautiful,” he says.
“You look suspicious. Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
He drives us to the waterfront, where a crowd has gathered in the park overlooking the bay. A stage is set up at the far end, musicians testing their equipment, fairy lights strung between the trees.
“What is this?”
“Summer concert series.” He takes my hand and leads me toward the crowd. “Jazz tonight. I thought you might like it.”
I don’t know how he knew. I’ve never told him about my love for jazz, about the way the music makes me feel both melancholy and hopeful at the same time. But he knew anyway because he pays attention.
The music starts as the sun sets over the bay. We find a spot near the back where there’s room to move, and Antonio pulls me close.
“Dance with me.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Everyone dances. You just haven’t found the right partner.”
