“I know,” I say.
He stands and tugs me up with him. “So you want to go dancing at your dad’s wedding?”
“I do. Will you go with me?”
He grins. “I ever tell you about my philosophy of saying yes to everything?”
CHAPTER 60
The Future
WHEN WE GET to the reception, the lights are dim except for a giant disco ball spinning silver light. The band is playing, and most everyone is dancing. Dad and Shirley are in the center of the floor. I think they’re doing the （slow, boring, English） waltz, but it’s hard to tell because they’re pretty terrible dancers. What they lack in skill, though, they make up for in happiness.
I look around for Danica and find her eating cake and talking to someone on the phone. I wonder if it’s Martin. I hope it is.
The song winds down, and I pull X along with me so I can ask the band to play an Argentine tango. Lucky for me, they know how.
At first, I’m self-conscious. I notice the way everyone notices us. I notice them studying our dance moves. After a while, I don’t notice anything but X.
Eight months from now, X will be playing guitar at home in Lake Elizabeth. He’ll feel a pain in his chest. Afterward, doctors will determine that he had a bad valve in his heart and that he’d had it since birth.
By then, we’ll have written an entire album together.
We’ll have danced for hours and hours.
We’ll have made love.
He’ll have taught me how to play guitar and to love music as much as he does.
He’ll have told me that he loves me every single day.
Some days I’ll know that I’ll be okay. Some days I won’t know that at all.
One thing I’ll know for sure: love can last forever.
Now, he spins me around. My arm travels down the length of his. Our fingertips brush and it feels like I’m going to slip away from him.
But I don’t.
At the last second I curl my fingers and our hands catch.
And then I do the thing you’re supposed to do when you find love.
I hold on.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A few disclaimers before I begin: I’m sorry to say there’s no such thing as Taco Night in Los Angeles. There very definitely should be, but, alas. As is my right as a writer of fiction, I also took some liberties with the structure of ballroom dance competitions. Also, Barrington, New York, is not a real place. Neither is La Brea Dance. Surf City Waffle does not exist, but it’s based （loosely） on my favorite waffle place in all of Los Angeles, called Met Her at a Bar. It’s delicious and you should go there. If you do, say hi to Vinny and Mindy and tell them that Nicola sent you.
I wrote this book during one of the hardest times in my life. My mom was very sick. For more than a year and a half, we weren’t sure if she would make it. My father-in-law was told he had a terminal illness. He died a year later. If you’ve ever cared for a seriously ill or grieving loved one, you know what this is. You know how illness and death remakes the world. At the very least, it introduces you to a shadow world, one made of endless doctor’s visits and of 3:00 a.m. phone calls followed by lonely 3:05 a.m. drives to the hospital. You know what it is to hold someone in your arms and make promises you don’t know if you can keep. And promises you absolutely know you cannot.
Throughout this process—this remaking of my world—I wrote. Writing has always saved me, and I thought it would again. Most of what I wrote during this time was not good. In particular, I wrote a book （the never-to-be-published precursor to this one） that was just okay. I rewrote it for a while, but it was not meant to be. I wrote a lot of other things that were also not meant to be. It turns out I couldn’t write my way through this period—I could only live my way through it. Finally, two and half years after the publication of my previous book, I started on the one you’re holding in your hands. I’ve never fought harder for a book, and I’m very proud of it.
And now for the part that always makes me cry as I write it:
Thanks to every nurse, doctor, security guard, janitor, parking lot attendant, receptionist, every everybody who helps take care of the sick and dying. Thanks for being kind to a lost and grieving daughter and daughter-in-law.
Thanks to my teams at Alloy Entertainment and Random House Children’s books: John Adamo, Shameiza Ally, Josh Bank, Matt Bloomgarden, Emily Bruce, Ken Crossland, Elysa Dutton, Colleen Fellingham, Felicia Frazier, Gina Girolamo, Becky Green, Romy Golan, Judith Haut, Beverly Horowitz, Alison Impey, Christina Jeffries, Kimberly Langus, Wendy Loggia, Barbara Marcus, Les Morgenstern, Amy Myer, Alison Romig, Mark Santella, Tamar Schwartz, Tim Terhune, Adrienne Waintraub and publicist extraordinaire Jillian Vandall. Thanks also to Judy Bass and my indefatigable agent, Jodi Reamer. You guys are rock stars, and nothing happens without you.