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Picture-Perfect Boyfriend

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Becky Dean

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“I love the way she laughs when she squishes a tide-pod, especially that one time it burst, and she couldn’t stop apologizing. I love her clinical obsession with every shade of pink and how incredible she looks in it. I love the glow of her skin in the morning, as if the sun recognizes her as equal. I love how her smile is too big for her face, how her cheeks flush pink when I compliment her, and how her pupils grow in her eyes when we speak. I love the sound of her voice, silvery and sunny, especially when she shares stories of her childhood or asks me about mine. I love her ambitions, her passions, her dedication, and devotion to her craft.” I steal in a breath when beads of tears appear at her waterline. “I love everything she fails to love about herself.”

“And then she kissed him. Because she realized life was too short for purgatory. And he was being completely honest with her. Love wasn’t always like the movies. There were many paths it took and not all of them were straightforward. Some were murky and dark with shadows and some had obstacles and secrets to be unearthed before people could find their way to each other. But whatever the path, it only required a person to carry three things to navigate it: a sense of humor, hope, and above all else forgiveness.”

“What’s on your mind?” “You.” I sigh a smile. “Who’s on your mind?” “Always you.” Now I chuckle. “Where’s your mind?” “Wherever you are.” “When is your mind?” I pull back, knowing there isn’t an ans— A smirk. “Never not thinking about you.” Ah, shit. I narrow my eyes. “Why is your mind?” He thinks for a second, holding my gaze. “If the why equals Nyla, then yes. Why is my mind.”