The Boyfriend Goal (Love and Hockey Book 1)

Josie

This isn’t ominous at all. My mom hardly ever pulls me aside. But she has this mom look on her face, like she wants to tell me something Very Important.

Tension winds through me as she leads me into the guest room where she’s been staying, then shuts the door. The sound of it clicking freaks me out. Yes, she said she had a gift, but I can’t escape this queasy feeling. “What is it, Mom? Are you sick? Is something going on?” All I can think is that she’s next. I’ve lost someone I love already, and I don’t want to go through that again.

She frowns sympathetically. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not sick. I’m great, and I have something for you. It’s from…” She draws a breath—a fortifying one it seems. “My sister.”

My pulse stops. I can barely breathe. “W-what do you mean?” I stammer out.

“When my sister wrote you the list, she gave something to me too. Before…” my mom says in careful bites, like this is hard for her. “That’s why I kept asking you from time to time if you had started the list. Because she wanted you to have something when you finished it. I don’t know if you’ve finished it but I have a feeling that you have.” She pauses, like she can read list-finishing in my eyes. I’m not sure she can, or if she just figured two years was about right for me to make it through. “Am I right?”

I’ve finished nine items of the top ten. I still have number ten. But ten isn’t something you finish. Ten is an everyday kind of thing. So I feel like I’m being honest to Greta’s memory when I say, “Yes.”

Also I want what my mother has badly.

She spins around, heads to her suitcase, and takes a letter from the inside pouch. She carries it in both hands like it’s precious—something excavated from an archaeological dig that she must handle with great care. I stare at it. I can’t look anywhere but at a simple cream envelope and then the letters on the front. The most familiar handwriting ever spells my name.

I want to snatch it, but I take it carefully and hold it tight to my chest. “Thank you.”

The letter whispers to me the whole time I’m at Frieda’s house. It taunts me, saying I’m here. But I focus on meeting Wesley’s dad for the first time and Frieda for the third time. Even though we’ve of course already met, Wesley re-introduces me to her saying, “Like I said, this is my girlfriend.” And Frieda is cordial to me for the first time ever. Wesley’s father is friendly enough too, but I love Wesley’s sister immediately. She welcomes me with open arms, and so does her girlfriend and their dog. But I think about the letter my mom gave me the whole time. I don’t dare open it until I’m home and safe. Hours later, after we’ve driven back from Sonoma and pulled into the garage, I’m desperate to rip it open. I told Wes about it on the drive up and told him, too, that I was going to wait.

We go inside, take off our shoes, and head straight to the living room. I fish the letter out of my bag, and it’s like I’ve slipped out of time, like I’m floating above my body as I stare at the envelope one more time.

It’s not often that you get a letter from the next life.

“Do you want me to leave so you can read it alone?” he asks, his tone gentle.

I shake my head. “I want you to stay.”

He squeezes my hand then lets go.This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

I close my eyes, breathing in the quiet stillness on Christmas night. When I open them, I slide my finger under the flap and read.

My darling Josie,

By now, you’ve finished the list. Knowing you, you’ve probably researched it thoroughly. Done your homework. Studied every single item. Am I right, baby? Or am I right?

Of course I’m right because I know you, and I hope after taking on this top ten list you know yourself a little better—the person I’ve been so lucky to know for your whole life. A woman who’s funny, kind, bold, bright, caring. And maybe now, a little more daring.

You might be wondering why I left this list for you. Was it a way for us to stay connected once I’m gone? Is it a way for you to honor my memory?

Please.

It’s none of those things.

I gave this to you because I’ve lived exactly the life I wanted. So much of that is because of the one thing I did that’s at the top of my own list of no regrets—spending so much time with you.

You made me so very happy in this life, and, I’m sure, I’ll carry that joy with me into the next one.

With so much love in all our lives,

Greta

I don’t know how long I cry. But it’s long enough to go through a whole box of tissues, to turn my face red and splotchy, to soak through Wes’s shirt with my salty tears as he holds me and strokes my hair.

But they’re happy tears. Or maybe they’re the happiest. The kind that only come once you’ve made it through the sad moments and come out on the other side.