I Want It That Way

by Ann Aguirre

  “What do you mean, was?” She dodged my return swat, seeming more cheerful than she had in days. “And sure, definitely. Let’s go home this year.”

  “I was thinking we could take turns driving, swap every two hours. It’ll be a long-ass day, eight hours each, but if we leave at 6:00 a.m. on Wednesday, we should be there by ten—”

  “Which is eight, Mountain Time. Not bad. Can you skip your practicum on Wednesday?”

  “It’s canceled, along with the rest of my classes. I think my professors wanted to get on the road early.”

  Lauren laughed. “Maybe they’re driving to Nebraska, too. I have class at eight, but I’ll ditch. The TA will probably just show a movie, anyway.”

  “It’s a plan. What else do you have going on today?”

  “Not much. I should call my mom and tell her, though. Otherwise, I might show up, say ‘Surprise!’ and the next day, we’ll be eating TV dinners.”

  “It’s a lot of trouble to cook the whole spread for two people. Why don’t you both come to my house?”

  “Your parents won’t mind?”

  I figured I should touch base before extending hospitality somewhere that I didn’t live anymore. “Let me call home first. I’ll check, and then you can tell your mom.”

  My phone was charging in my room, so I went to get it. We didn’t have a landline in the apartment since everyone had a cell, and this way, there were no mystery charges to argue about. My mom probably wouldn’t be working at the grocery store on a Saturday, at least not since her promotion. Sure enough, she picked up on the third ring.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Nadia! I got your email. Are you wearing the scarf I sent you?”

  I grinned. “Not at the moment.”

  “Smart-ass. I meant when you go outside.”

  “Then yes. How are you?”

  “Good. Trying to keep your father from cutting down that pine tree in the backyard. He thinks it’s got some kind of bark disease. I think it’s fine.”

  My dad yelled, “The tree is a menace! Next big storm and it’ll be on the neighbor’s roof.”

  I laughed while they argued. When my mom gave me her full attention again, I asked, “And Rob?”

  “He’s still working with your father. Oh, he’s dating one of your friends now. You used to run around with her when you were little.”

  “Who?” For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine.

  “Avery Jacobs.”

  “Mom, we haven’t been friends since sixth grade.”

  That didn’t faze her at all. Being wrong rarely did. My mom was delightfully, disturbingly cheerful. “Well, she used to be over here all the time, and now she is again.”

  “Good for them, I guess.” Avery turned into kind of a bitch in junior high. For Rob’s sake, I hoped she’d gotten over that. “Anyway, that’s not why I called.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Lauren and I are planning to come home for Thanksgiving. I hope that’s all right?”

  “That’s wonderful! I can’t wait to see you and to tell everyone. Your aunts and uncles will want to come and your cousins. Rob and Avery will be here—”

  “Sounds like a full house. Would it be okay if Lauren and her mom came, too?”

  “Of course! Ask her to bring a salad. With so many people, I usually do potluck. We supply the bird and trimmings, guests bring salads, sides and desserts.”

  “Yum. I can bring wine.”

  “If you want. But I don’t expect you and Lauren to do anything after such a long drive.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell her Thanksgiving at Casa Conrad is a go, and I’ll see you next month.”

  “I’m so excited! Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Mom had already hung up by the time I put the phone down. I went back to the living room to give Lauren the good news.

  She wriggled happily. “You know what this means, right?”

  I nodded. “Road trip!”

  We hadn’t gone anywhere for a while since gas was so expensive. There was no question of buying plane tickets. But with some tightening, we could trim enough from our budgets to afford the trip there and back.

  “This means no booze money for the next month,” Lauren said.

  “Yep.” That was where I planned to cut corners, too. In some matters, she and I were always in sync without even trying. It relieved me that she didn’t seem too panicked at the idea of drying out for a while.

  Then she said, “We could go to a few campus parties. There’s always free beer.”

  “The cheap, shitty kind,” I muttered. The last guy I dated said I was a beer snob. He wasn’t wrong.

  Lauren poked me as I settled onto the couch and picked the perfect pillow to cuddle. “Do you want to be a hipster or do you want to get drunk?”

  “Neither.” I hoped she didn’t, either.

  Lucky for my peace of mind, she accepted the veto with good grace. “So what do you want to do tonight?”

  I shrugged. “I’m open, as long as it doesn’t cost a lot.”

  “There go most of our options.”

  In a town the size of Mount Albion, there were college parties of variable quality, two cinemas, numerous bars and one dance club, which was usually a waste of time. But there was no cover. So I said, “We could hit up the Majestic.”

  “Eh.” From her expression, she wasn’t enthused but couldn’t think of anything better.

  The problem was, the Majestic had been a theater back in its glory days, then new owners bought and gutted the place. They kept the baroque charm on the outside and turned the inside into an industrial mess—all exposed pipes and dummy wires—their idea of where “college kids” would party down. The dance floor was decent, the booze was watered down, music tolerable, but since it was an 18+ club, there were a lot of high school seniors. Management made it easy to spot them by the neon-blue wristbands. People with proper ID got a hand stamp.

  “I don’t feel like sitting around tonight. Let’s check it out. If the DJ blows, we can leave early, come home and watch more Storage Wars.” Though I didn’t love the show, Lauren did, so this was a good offer. Left to my own devices, I’d binge on Vikings.

  “You’ve convinced me. I could stand to dance.” I sang “I Hope You Dance,” until she attempted to smother me with a pillow.

  “Don’t quit your day job,” she advised.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. Without teaching, I’ll be forced to rely on the hope that some rich businessman will decide to keep me as a pet.”

  “You should never be allowed to watch Pretty Woman.”

  “It’s a terrible movie,” I agreed.

  “I hates it, my precious.”

  For lunch, I made grilled cheese and salad. Lauren and I watched TV while pretending to study until it was time to get ready to go out. Later, Angus and Max came in, but we were already in the bedroom.

  A knock sounded, then some scratching. “Nadia? Lauren? We miss you. It’s so lonely out here.” That was Max. He thumped against the door for a few seconds, then we heard him shuffling away with noisy, exaggerated grief.

  Lauren laughed. “Is it me or is he better this year?”

  “It’s not you. Maybe give him a shot?” I’d told Max I supported his Lauren-crush, and it seemed unlikely I’d get a better segue to put in a good word.

  “Are you serious? He’s such a man-whore.”

  “Hey, we’d get pissed if someone slut-shamed one of our female friends. We’d argue that it’s totally okay for a woman to hook up for fun. But since Max is a dude, it’s fine to judge?”

  “What—”

  Talking over her attempted interjection, I concluded, “I don’t think Max lies to get girls in bed. They wouldn’t stay friends afterward if he did. Remember how they showed up with food for the party?”

  The one he threw for you. But I couldn’t say that.

  Lauren frowned, looking utterly bewildered. “Do you like Max?”

  “As a friend. I just
think we’re both hard on him. Granted, he was a tool our freshman year, but he’s settled down since then.”

  “Maybe you’re right. He’s been a better roomie than I expected.”

  At that point, I dropped the subject because if I listed all his good points, Lauren would know something was up. Beyond this convo, I couldn’t help him anymore.

  After my shower, I dressed in old jeans, knee boots and a red wrap top. My battered leather jacket completed the outfit, much more my style than the white dress I’d worn out with Ty. Lauren went with a flirty miniskirt, paired with a sparkly T-shirt and open-crochet shrug. She also put on a pair of leggings because otherwise, the way she danced, she’d probably end up flashing a high school kid before the night ended. I did a quick nod at makeup with lipstick and eyeliner, put my hair up in a tousled twist and called it a day. It took her a bit longer, so I ambled to the living room to wait.

  Angus was cooking some kind of rice dish. He turned as I went by. “Going out?”

  “Yeah, we’ll see if the Majestic is any less lame tonight.”

  “Oooh, dancing. If you give me half an hour, I’ll come.” Since he’d been pretty bummed from the whole Josh thing, it was the least we could do.

  And Lauren would probably take that long on her hair, anyway.

  “No problem. I’m driving, though.” I’d promised we could leave early if it sucked, but if Angus was having a blast, he might not want to take off.

  “Am I invited?” Max asked.

  “Do you seriously want to hit up the Majestic?” I raised a brow.

  The answer shone in his dark eyes: Duh. Lauren will be there. It was weird that I was the only one who saw it. His answer came across indifferent. “Better than sitting home.”

  We ate Angus’s mushroom pilaf, then he got ready, which involved a quick shower, cologne, a new outfit and some major wailing about his hair. It was more like an hour, but nobody was complaining. Finally, we piled into my car and I drove us to the club. The parking lot didn’t promise much excitement, but maybe it was better inside.

  When I stepped in, I saw it hadn’t changed much, the same flashing lights and iron pipes overhead, black dance floor, sparsely populated at the moment. However, the DJ was playing Beyoncé, a good start. Max went to get a drink while Lauren, Angus and I hit the floor. None of us could resist doing a slightly campy version of “Single Ladies.” When that song ended, the DJ went straight to KE$HA; though I didn’t like her music that much, I couldn’t argue that it was catchy and danceable.

  In addition to being the best bad dancer ever, Angus could move well when he was being serious—to the point that people loved watching him. Generally speaking, somebody always was. I hadn’t been kidding at the party when Josh accused me of wanting to kiss him and I answered, Who doesn’t? Have you seen him? Angus had dramatic good looks that made folks turn their heads: shining blond hair, vivid green eyes, tanned skin, fit body. His sweetness only made him a bigger catch once you got to know him.

  For once, the Majestic was on point, musically. By now, usually they’d be playing hair metal or some old, outdated power ballads that drove everyone under forty off the floor. It was beyond me how people danced to that, though my mom said you didn’t; you just flung your hair around a lot and screamed. I didn’t like picturing my mom in the club scene, but there was no denying she’d spoken with a certain authority.

  I danced through five songs, until I was actually sweaty. If I kept this up, I could sleep through my Sunday workout. I left Lauren rocking out with Angus and went to beg the bartender for some water. Since he was young and cute, a little flirting had him slipping me a bottle, on the house. Even better, since I’d only wanted ice water from the tap.

  Max was propped up against the bar, watching Lauren. I sighed at him.

  “You’re not even trying. Get out there.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re a great dancer.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Hardly. I can do the white-boy shuffle. And just look at Angus.”

  It was impressive, no joke. Since he was so tall and slim, the sorts of things he could do with hips and arms and legs should not work, should not be so amazingly graceful. Just then, he was spinning, completely throwing himself into the song. I’d seen a clip of Tom Hiddleston dancing once, and while he was impressive, Angus was better.

  “You realize he’s not your rival, right?”

  “I know.”

  “First slow dance, you get out there and ask her. Promise?”

  Max knocked back his shot. “Fine. I can probably manage that.”

  I chugged my water as another good song came on. So I grabbed his hand. “Don’t be self-conscious. I’m going to teach you some moves. Nothing fancy.”

  He watched me for a few seconds then shook his head. “My pelvis only moves that way under one circumstance. This isn’t it.”

  “Okay, maybe that’s not for you. How about this?” I showed him a one-two back-and-forth step that was a little better than the can’t dance shuffle he’d mentioned.

  Wearing a martyred expression, he tried until he could execute it, but it was obvious he’d never love dancing like Angus, Lauren and I did.

  A few minutes later, Lauren danced up, studying his moves. “Excuse me, but who’s the better dancer? Shouldn’t I be teaching him?”

  I decided to tease. “Technically, Angus is the best.”

  Max didn’t seem to mind the idea of private lessons. “He’s too busy.”

  Suppressing the urge to hug him, I said, “You’re definitely above my pay grade, LB. Feel free to take over.”

  At that, Max shot me a look that was a strange mix of terror and delight, but I didn’t save him. By this point, Angus was dancing with a cute guy. He looked young, but I didn’t spot the blue wristband. So he’s probably in college, at least. It might be just what he needed, to hook up with someone else. Maybe if he evened the score, he’d feel like forgiving Josh. Or maybe he’d realize it was time to fish or cut line. Either way, Angus needed some movement in his life.

  So do I.

  With my roomies paired off, it was hard not to think of Ty, hard not to imagine him sitting on the red couch, probably wrapped up in the chenille throw. Sam would be in bed by now, after five or six stories. Most days, I kept my feelings boxed up, and I didn’t let an impossible love ruin the rest of my life. Right then, it was tough.

  The ache tightened my throat as a guy circled toward me on the dance floor. He was tall, and he danced pretty well. He jerked his head toward the bar, the silent equivalent to Buy you a drink? Shaking my head, I kept dancing, and he turned away.

  Since I loved Ty, I refused to use someone else as a substitute. Once I accepted it was impossible and put him behind me, things would be different. I just needed some time. Right?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A week and a half later, my cell phone rang. I was almost home and I started to leave it until I parked, but when I noticed Ty’s picture, I picked up. “Hey, how are you?”

  “Not great. I have to go back to work.”

  “But you just picked Sam up.”

  “I know. But if I don’t fix this mess, I could lose my job. If they don’t break ground tomorrow on-site, as scheduled, Bill will have my ass. My parents are busy tonight, and I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency, but can you—”

  “Sure, I’ll watch Sam. I’m pulling in now. I’ll be at your door in two minutes.” I parked in my usual spot, grabbed my backpack from the floor beside me and raced to his apartment. Ty had the door open by the time I knocked, so obviously freaked that I fought the urge to hug him.

  “I appreciate this so much. He hasn’t had dinner and—”

  “Relax, Ty. We’ve got this, right, buddy?”

  “My name is Sam!” Then he low-fived me. “It’s okay, Dad.”

  Ty paused at the door, studying the two of us, as I took my jacket off and hung it on the coatrack in the corner. Then a half smile stole across his face as I knelt to hu
g Sam and whisper a fresh dinosaur joke in his ear. He giggled and waved as his dad slipped out.

  “So what’s your favorite thing to eat?” I asked, peering in the cupboard.

  “Chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, pizza, hot dogs and orange Jell-O.”

  “I’m not making all of that. We’d get sick.”

  “Mac and cheese with hot dogs in it,” he tried.

  Folding my arms, I offered my best let’s negotiate look. Possibly, I was overestimating Sam’s ability to read subtext. “I could be persuaded, if you eat some vegetables.”

  A tiny frown pinched his brows together, so cute. “But they taste like evil.”

  “And how would you know what evil tastes like?” It was all I could do not to laugh, which would ruin the serious tone of our discussion.

  “Because I ate vegetables before.” That was such a reasonable and ironclad argument that I couldn’t shake it.

  Still, I’d be a terrible babysitter if I agreed he could live on mac and cheese with hot dog pieces. “Well, that’s the deal, take it or leave it.”

  “Will you put extra cheese in the macaroni?” Sam was being cagey.

  I grinned at him. “Obviously. Two slices of American, extra gooey when it melts.”

  “Okay.” He shook hands with me to seal the agreement.

  Poking through the cabinets didn’t reveal many vegetables. I found a can of corn, peas and carrots, some frozen mixed veggies and half a pack of broccoli. So I lined it all up and showed Sam his choices.

  “Which one of these do you like best?”

  “Broccoli,” he said with the saddest face ever.

  I gathered from his look that all veggies were some level of evil, and broccoli was just the least demonic in the gospel according to Sam. “That’s a very mature choice.”

  He nodded like he totally knew what mature meant. Maybe he did. From what I’d seen, Ty didn’t skimp on vocabulary in their conversations.

  “Dad puts cheese on it.”

  I was hearing an awful lot about pasteurized dairy products. “So basically you’d eat a stick if someone put cheese on it.”

  “Dunno. Maybe.”

  So cute.

  As Sam watched, I put away the losing veggies and got out a pot big enough to make Kraft blue box. I filled the pot with water, salted it and set it on the stove then located the hot dogs and sliced them up. His eyes widened when I put them in a skillet.