There was a pause before she spoke again, her words coming out like a reminder she needed me to hear. “Life’s really too short, you know. To not love someone. To not let them love you back. People throw around ‘life’s too short’ like it’s just a phrase, but they forget what it really means. So, go all in, okay? On everything.”

“I will,” I promised.

“Good. Now go dance about it, or something.”

I laughed and hung up. Turned toward the chaos and beauty that was now my little studio. Tiffany was now attempting to clean my dance shoes with a lint roller. Jamal tried to moonwalk in socks, arms flailing. Blake was watching me like I was both a hurricane and the shelter from it. I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind.

He leaned back into me without question, without hesitation.

“Mom’s coming next weekend,” I said quietly.

“Ooh,” Tiffany chimed. “You want me to help plan a wardrobe? Something chill but also, like…mildly impressive?”

“Tiff,” I laughed. “She’s not here to rate my outfits.”

“Still,” Blake said, kissing the side of my head. “Maybe wear the pink skirt. The one that makes me lose all sense of time.”

Tiffany gagged audibly. “You two are disgusting.”

“Oh, please,” Jamal said, scoffing as he gave her a side-eye. “You’d cry if nobody flirted with you at least once a day.”

Tiffany looked over at him, eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, leaning back on the velvet couch like he was reclining on a throne. “Don’t act like you don’t live for the attention and the compliments.”

“I live for honesty,” she shot back, flipping her hair with a scoff. “And people happen to tell me I’m hot because, well, I am hot, Jamal. It’s not the same.”

Blake sighed. “Here we go.”

Jamal took a slow bite of a cold fry, chewed, and then said, “So…you’re saying you don’t miss it when I don’t compliment you?”

Tiffany blinked, clearly thrown off by the question. “What?”

“You said people tell you you’re hot. I’m just wondering if you notice when I don’t say anything.”

The room went quiet for half a second too long.

Tiffany crossed her arms, feigning boredom. “If I were keeping track, which I’m not, I’d say you’re slacking.”

“Noted,” Jamal replied quickly. “I’ll file a formal apology later. In triplicate.”

“With footnotes,” she demanded.

He grinned. “Naturally.”

Blake leaned in close, his voice low as he murmured in my ear, “Are they flirting or just fighting with better vocabulary?”

I smiled, watching her pretend not to smile back at Jamal. “Yes.”