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“Why don’t you like Diego?” I ask.

Her shoulders stiffen. “Diego’s fine.”

I raise an eyebrow. “That was not convincing.”

Eloise runs a hand through her curls so that they bounce and sway in the breeze. Her teeth press into her bottom lip, and I feel a lurch in my chest as a wild image appears in my mind: stopping her right here on this street. Cupping my hand around her slender neck. Brushing my lips softly against hers.

“I do like him,” she says quietly, and I’m jolted back to reality. We turn the corner onto 82nd Street, passing a brownstone with a huge Pride flag in the window. She goes back to practicing the speech, ending that conversation. “And seeing her with Diego, I know she’s finally found her soulmate. Rachel, thanks for punching Brad Schifrin in the nuts for me back in elementary school.”

“Hey, that wasn’t in the speech,” I say as she shoots me a grin. “Maybe no nut punching in front of this particular audience?”

“It’s such a good story though,” she says, laughing.

“You want to scandalize the abuelas?”

“Oh fine. Rachel and Diego, I wish you two all the happiness in the world. Congratulations.” She mimes raising a glass. “And then I raise my glass.”

She gives a little curtsy, and I applaud. “Perfecto,” I say.

We enter the lobby of the nondescript building on 82nd and Broadway, nestled between a stationary store and a CVS, and take the elevator to the fifth floor. I lead Eloise down a hall to a door with a sign that reads World Baile Dance Studio.

Eloise stops short. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“What?” I ask innocently.

“You expect me to dance?” she hisses.

“There is going to be dancing at the wedding.”

“Yes, and my butt is going to be firmly planted in a chair.”

“Come on,” I say, taking her elbow gently and opening the door. “This will be fun, I promise.”

She grumbles, and shoots me dagger-eyes, and drags her feet. But! She comes with me. She steps inside the room. And I see no sign of an impending panic attack. I wish she could see the progress she’s made over the course of the summer. She’s nervous, yes, but she’s doing it. She’s not running away. She’s not hyperventilating. She slips her hand into mine and squeezes hard. I think this is more to punish me, rather than for emotional support. And that, too, is progress.

“El!”

Eloise whirls around as Rachel descends on us, throwing her arms around both our necks and squeezing us together in a hug.

“Oof,” Eloise says. “What are you doing here?”

Rachel releases us, beaming. “Isn’t this fun? Agustín had the idea and of course I was like, Diego we HAVE to go with them.”

Diego is close behind Rachel, and he greets us warmly. “Great idea, dude,” he says to me.

“All right everyone, let’s get this class started,” a woman wearing tight black pants and low heels says, clapping her hands.

She puts us in pairs, Eloise and I facing each other, next to Diego and Rachel. There are only two other couples here for this class—a gay duo and an elderly man and woman.

“So we’re going to start with a very basic salsa,” the dance teacher says. “Men, put your left foot forward, ladies, right foot back.”

As she explains the basic steps and we start to move, Eloise immediately uses the wrong foot and steps on me.

“Sorry!” she squeaks.

“You’re fine,” I reassure her.

“We pause on four and eight,” the teacher says. Eloise’s eyes are glued to the ground. “And … one, two, three, pause … and now the other way, five, six, seven. Good. Now remember it goes quick quick slow … and quick quick slow.”