My Boyfriends' Dogs by Dandi Daley Mackall

her and felt those tears trying to leak out again. “Hey,” I said, shoving us apart and trying to joke us both out of it. “I’m not going away forever, you know. I’ll be back Sunday.”
    But the thought that raced through my head, and probably through Amber’s, too, was—what would I be like when I came back on Sunday? What would Bailey Daley be like after crossing this line?
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    â€œMeet me in St. Louie, Louie!” Went and I belted out together as we left the city limits of Millet and turned onto the Interstate. Neither of us knew the real words to the song, so we sang whatever lyrics we felt like. We rolled down the windows so everybody in the state would know how happy we were.
    Adam sat on my lap and stuck his head out the window. Went’s dad had made us take the dog to his ex-wife’s for the weekend. He said she needed a real taste of what it was like to raise a family. I didn’t mind at all. “Doesn’t your dad like Adam? ” I asked when we’d run out of St. Louis songs.
    â€œDad hates Adam. The dog may be housebroken at your house, but not ours.”
    â€œYou’re kidding. Adam hasn’t blown it at home for ages.” I got eye to eye with the little guy. “Adam, you’d better behave at Went’s, you hear?”
    â€œYou got that right. Dad’s threatening to dump Adam at the animal shelter.”
    â€œHe can’t be serious!” I hugged Adam closer.
    â€œHe’s serious. You don’t know my dad.”
    â€œDon’t you worry, Adam,” I told him. “I won’t let it happen.”
    Went put his arm around my shoulder. “Come here, you.”
    I undid my seat belt and slid to the middle, where somebody had conveniently installed a middle seat belt. From there, it was easy to lean my head on Went’s shoulder. The day was perfect, sunny but not too hot, blue sky with artful wisps of white floating through. Went kissed the top of my head. “I love you, Bailey Daley.” It was the first time he’d said it. I’d known it was true. I knew how he felt. But he’d never said the words.
    My throat closed. Those tears sprouted in my eyes again. But this time, there wasn’t a bit of sadness in them. Only sheer, perfect joy. “I love you, too, Went Smith.”
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    We pulled into Went’s mother’s apartment complex around noon. The grounds reminded me of a Club Med vacation commercial—kidney-shaped swimming pools, couples hanging out poolside, guys shooting hoops. And the whole thing was walking distance from Six Flags. You could see the top of the roller coasters from the parking lot.
    â€œThis is nice,” I observed. I’d pictured a run-down, semi-scary apartment in downtown St. Louis or a dingy building with crackheads passed out in the stairwells. I guess I was as bad and judgmental as I’d accused Mom of being.
    â€œWait till you see the apartment.” Went snapped on Adam’s leash, then led me by the hand up a flight of stairs—totally free of crackheads—to a big wooden door with “203” on it. The name above the doorbell was Waslynski, not Smith.
    â€œAre you sure you’ve got the right apartment?” I tapped the gold nameplate.
    â€œMom went back to her maiden name.” He glanced both ways and then reached behind a bush and came up with a key. “Remind me to put it back when we leave.”
    He unlocked the door and returned the key. Then he turned to me with his best Went-smile, the one that took up his whole face and moved down his gorgeous tanned neck. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”
    My heart sped up as I followed him into the apartment. Went and I hadn’t gotten this far in our talks about the weekend. Most of our planning had been taken up with the details of getting us there. The logistics and the timing of when we were going to do what—that, we hadn’t