Chapter Eleven

chapter eleven

WHEN I WAKE UP SUNDAY, I HAVE A LOT OF TEXTS FROM TAYLOR, asking how I am. Not from anyone else, though. Which is fair. What I deserve. I should fix this, I think. Make sure Harrison finds love, make Miles my friend again, and… apologize to Georgia. But I don’t know how. What do I say? What do I do?

Downstairs, Dad has put presents under the tree and unlit candles in the menorah. It’s Christmas Eve and the first night of Hanukkah tonight.

“Jas, Pri, and Miles are all coming over tonight,” Dad says. He’s making some kind of smoothie with the green tea. It’s very brightly colored. “We’re all going to make those latkes together, but Jas said it’ll be you and me leading—she’ll just make sure we do it right. Won’t that be nice?”

“It’ll be great,” I say, sitting down. I do not want to face Miles today. He’s going to be condescending and for once I’ll deserve it. I hate that. And maybe he and Harrison hooked up last night, and he’ll tell me about it, and thinking about that makes my stomach whir like the green smoothie in the blender.

“I’m not hungry,” I say when Dad puts it down in front of me. “If anything, I’m nauseous.”

Dad reaches out and lays his hand on my forehead. “No fever,” he says. “But we can take some bl—” He stops himself. “We can make an appointment with the doctor.”

I smile and raise an eyebrow. “The doctor?”

“Yes…” Dad sips his own smoothie. “Last night, while you were at the party, Jas and Pri had me over for drinks and they said they were… worried. About you. About me. Me, mostly. They thought maybe I had some anxiety about your mother’s death, which I was taking out on you. Apparently drawing blood when you don’t want it drawn is… abuse. Which I’d never thought about before but soon as they said it, Emmett… I…” He stretches out his hands and takes mine. “I’m so sorry. That wasn’t right.”

“Dad, I never let you take it unless I was all right with it.”

“Still,” he says. “I guess I’ve been… anyway. Priyanka knows a psychologist who specializes in this kind of thing. So I have an appointment with him.”

I smile. “Really?”

“Your mother used to say something—something Priyanka reminded me of last night. She used to say that people were always growing, our brains always taking in new information. And we could either take it in and grow, make ourselves better. Or we could reject it, and close our minds off. I’ve been closing my mind off. All I see is you dying like your mom and it’s made me so afraid that…” He takes a long, slow breath. “Anyway. She’d be pretty annoyed with me. That’s what Pri said, and she was… right. I’m so ashamed, Emmett.” He squeezes my hand.

“Dad, it’s okay. Really. I love you. And I think Mom would be pretty annoyed with both of us.”

“Oh? Have you also been obsessing over your son’s health?”

I laugh. “No. I mean… I don’t know. I think I’ve just been trying to prove how nice I am to the world, and I have been failing, and last night I… said something unkind to someone.”

“Unkind?”

“Kind of cruel.”

“Emmett…” He looks sad. “Why did you say it?”

“I was feeling like I’d screwed things up. And… I don’t know. I was angry at myself.” And I felt like I’d lost Miles, I realize. Like he was going to live a happy life with Harrison and I’d never see him again. And maybe that’s what he always wanted. I think it’s what I wanted, too, until I saw it happening in front of me.

“And I was afraid of… losing someone, I think? Like, someone I didn’t even know I cared that much about, but now he’s probably never going to talk to me again, and… the girl I was cruel to, she thought I was upset about something else. And she said something… not accurate. And sort of rude. But not cruel. Not the way I was. But I unleashed a lot on her. And now I think everyone is mad at me. And they should be.”

Dad nods. “You were afraid of losing someone so you went a little nuts, huh?” He smiles. “Maybe you should make an appointment with this shrink, too.”

“Maybe,” I say. “But I don’t think we’re supposed to see the same psychologist.”

“Well, then he can recommend someone. If you want.”

“It couldn’t hurt,” I say. “I hate what I said yesterday. I want to… like Mom said. I want to be better.”

“Well, your brain is always growing,” Dad says. “That’s what she used to say. Your brain is always growing.”

“Not after twenty-five,” I say.

“Oh, she didn’t mean it scientifically. She just meant, you always have the choice to be better. To learn. To change.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling like maybe I’ve been wrong about a lot of things, for a very long time. It feels like my body is heavy.

“You want some smoothie now?” Dad asks. “It’s not bad, I promise.”

He nudges a glass over to me and I take a sip. He’s right. It’s not bad. It’s not especially good. But it’s not bad.

“And when you’re done with that, go wrap your gifts for everyone and put them under the tree. Jasmine gave me a grocery list, so we need to hit the store later.”

“Okay,” I say, smiling.

Upstairs I take out the gifts I have for everyone. For Dad I bought a whole new gardening set—pruners, gloves, straw hat, all in a shade that’s the color of green tea. For Jasmine, I found some new spatulas with little owls painted on them. And for Priyanka, I do the same thing every year—ballet flats. Comfortable ones. Doctors go through them like tissues. But I was especially proud of what I’d done for Miles. From a photo, I painted a ruined castle in Scotland, in the snow, very romantic, and then I found a place that printed it on a fleece blanket, just like the one he steals every time he comes over. I think about not giving it to him, but that would be petty at this point, and besides, it’s a fitting end. The blanket was the only thing he’ll miss in the house, so now he doesn’t have to. Well, and my dad, maybe. I take it out to fold it up, but it looks cheaper than I remembered. Like maybe I’ve never really known what Miles wanted. What anyone wanted. Still… I’ll give it to him. On the shelf the stuffed rabbit and Helena agree. Miles is going to be happy with Harrison, and that’s all I want, right?

I wrap the gifts and bring them downstairs to go under the tree, and after I shower, Dad and I go to the store, where they are dangerously low on potatoes, but we scavenge enough for the latkes as Dad wiggles to the piped-in Christmas music.

As we drive home and I realize Miles and his moms will be over soon, I think about trying to get out of it. I think about Miles, probably smiling and happy. I wonder if he and Harrison kissed last night. I wonder if they did more. I know Harrison’s body enough that I can picture it, can see Miles making him moan, and it makes me feel carsick. If I tell Dad I’m not feeling well, I’ll bet he’ll cancel. I’ll beg him to take my blood, say I have to go to the hospital… except he just had a breakthrough. And I would undo all that.

I swallow. I can deal with it. Miles is happy. It shouldn’t bother me, him and Harrison being together. Harrison gets a boyfriend, like I always wanted. Maybe it’s just that it’s one I didn’t pick out for him. That’s why I feel sick. Just ego. I should be able to swallow that down. At least for tonight. For the holidays.

We spend the rest of the day cleaning and decorating, putting the star on the tree—a beautiful blue glass one that has ropes of thin blue lights that pour down from it and wind around the rest of the tree. We make and hang extravagant garden-grown pink-and-white garlands in the foyer, put candles up. I artfully arrange some spare Christmas baubles and a dreidel on the entry table. Flowers are everywhere. I’ll make the house feel as merry as I don’t. Maybe that’ll cheer me up. And after tonight, I’ll hide myself away for a while, and reemerge when school starts, and people will remember me as the butterfly I am, not the bully who can’t even find a boyfriend for the friend he’s sleeping with.

I turn that last phrase over in my mind, wondering if it sounds ridiculous.

No. It’s accurate.

When Miles and his moms show up, I’m dressed in my holiday best: a glittery blue-and-green sweater and red pants. Dad has a hideous Christmas sweater complete with a three-dimensional Santa beard. But Jasmine and Priyanka are not to be outdone, in matching Christmas pajamas, and Miles, clearly unhappy about it, has on a coordinating sweater. Though it is tamer than Dad’s. Slightly.

“I brought extra candles because I was away for Diwali,” Priyanka says, her arms filled. “The weatherman said it might snow tonight!”

“Really?” I ask.

“Four percent chance,” Miles says. I sigh.

Jasmine and Miles are carrying platters of food and the moment they enter, the house feels so much warmer and alive. It smells like cinnamon and fruit, and Priyanka starts lighting candles and putting them everywhere, so the smell of warm wax mingles. With just a kiss on the cheek for both me and Dad, Jasmine heads to the kitchen, and the smell of warm oil joins the olfactory symphony. It smells like a home. I look over at Miles as he puts some gifts under the tree. I thought he’d be glowing, finally with Harrison, but maybe neither of them had the nerve to proclaim their feelings last night. If I still thought I was any good at this matchmaking I’d probably urge them to do something about that. But not with Miles.

And he won’t look at me. That’s probably about Georgia. I wouldn’t look at me, either.

I sit on the sofa and sigh, not sure what to do. This is going to be a lonely holiday.

Miles starts hunting for the fleece blanket. I throw it at him, and he catches it with a smile, then sits down next to me.

“So… last night,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow. I thought he wanted distance.

“I know,” he says. “Look, maybe I phrased it wrong. You’re, like, my closest friend, Emmett. I just… didn’t want you to keep apologizing. I just need to… figure stuff out. But I’m still your friend. And you… are clearly upset.”

I smile a little. Relieved, slightly, that we’re done fighting, or whatever we were. That I’m forgiven for at least one mistake.

“A little better now.”

He smiles, but it’s a little sad. I know what he’s thinking. It’s what I’m thinking, too.

“But I was pretty awful,” I say. “To Georgia. I know. You don’t have to tell me.”

He shrugs. “I mean, Taylor told me what she’d said, about you having a crush on John, and that wasn’t great, either, but you… responded harshly.”

“I wasn’t nice.”

“No.”

“I’m supposed to be nice.”

He laughs. “Emmett, it’s okay not to be nice.”

“I try to be, though.”

“Well… then go apologize.”

“What?” I say. “Like… physically go to her house?”

“Yeah.”

“What would I even say? Sorry, I was angry that all my matchmaking attempts had failed and I took it out on you?”

“Is that all it was?”

“I mean… I’ve always found her kind of annoying.”

“I’ve always found you kind of annoying, doesn’t mean we’re not friends.”

I glare at him, and he laughs. It feels normal, for a moment, like it did last time he was here, just a few weeks ago, before I decided to become a matchmaker and discovered I was terrible at it.

“I just don’t know if I… she wouldn’t even want to see me.”

“Come on.” He stands up, casting off the blanket, and offers me his hand. “I’ll go with you.”

“Really?” I ask. “Because you like watching me admit I’m wrong?”

“Because I believe you’re better than what you said last night. I don’t care if you’re nice, Emmett. I never have. I care that you’re a good person. And a good person apologizes when they’re in the wrong. So come on.”

He reaches down and pulls me up.

“You’ll even let her see you in that sweater?” I ask.

“That’s how much our friendship means to me,” he says.

I smile. “It means a lot to me, too,” I say softly. I open my mouth to say more, to say I’m happy for him and Harrison, but the words stick, and instead, I turn to the kitchen, where Jasmine is showing Dad how to squeeze the shredded potato.

“This can’t be good for your skin,” he says.

“It’s worth it for your belly, though,” she says, and they laugh together.

“We have to run out for a moment. We’ll be back soon,” I say.

“Be back by sundown to light the candles,” Dad says, eyes focused on the water being squeezed from the potatoes.

“I’ll drive,” Miles says, and we get into his car.

“What do I even say?” I ask.

“You just say you’re sorry,” he says. “The rest will come naturally.”

“Really? I’m not sure I’ve ever apologized for anything.”

“You apologized to me last week.”

“That was different.”

“Why?” he asks, his voice suspicious.

“I don’t know. You always act like I should be apologizing to you, so it felt like giving you what you wanted.”

He laughs. “Well… this is me acting like you should apologize to Georgia, if that helps.”

I nod. “It does, actually.” And it does. Miles might be condescending, acting like he always knows best, but… he sometimes does. He’s someone who, I think, maybe doesn’t see me as perfect because he always sees me as being able to do better. I wonder if that’s how my mom saw the world, too: People’s brains are always growing. They can always do better. Be better. Perfect isn’t something you can be. And nice is… just pretending. Nice is nothing. Good is what’s important. Being good. And we can always be better at that.

“You okay?” Miles asks. I realize we’ve been parked in the candy-cane driveway for a few seconds. I nod and get out, and go ring the bell. The sun is already low on the horizon—I don’t have much time, which I think is a relief.

Miles hangs back, leaning against his car. I can feel him watching, but instead of it being condescending, like a test, I realize that what it is, is supportive. Yes, he’s expecting the best from me—but he also believes in the best from me.

Georgia opens the door. She’s in a green silk romper, like a holiday flight suit. She looks confused, then looks behind me and spots Miles and laughs.

“Great sweater,” she calls.

“Thanks!” he shouts back.

“Georgia,” I say, softer than I mean to. Her eyes flash back to me. She looks… scared. For some reason that’s worse than her looking angry.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” she says.

“I know,” I say. “I’ll be quick. I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. It was cruel. I was feeling annoyed with myself about a bunch of other things, and I took it out on you, and I shouldn’t have. You’re a good friend to John, and I shouldn’t have made fun of that.”

She tilts her head, and her expression softens. “Awww, Emmett… look, I was rude, too. That crack about you having a crush on John wasn’t cool. I was just… I don’t know. In that moment, I felt like he’d gone away again? Like he was going to go live in Paris and I’d never see him again.” She shakes her head. “It’s so stupid. I started sitting with you because I thought it was, like, the same, right? Like John was in Paris and Taylor had a new boyfriend and here we were, lonely. Why couldn’t we be new best friends?”

“What?” I ask.

“Stupid, I know.”

“No…,” I say. “Kind of sweet, actually. Though I wish you’d told me that was the plan.”

She laughs. “Ugh, no, I would have sounded so pathetic. Let’s be friends because our friends are busy. No. So I just did what I always do, which is act like we were already friends. Except I could feel you being like ‘What is this girl doing here?’ so I kept trying to show you how cool I was—mainly by talking about John. It was awful. I could feel it every day, at the table, just John coming out of my mouth over and over, which just made me miss him more.… I’ve been a lot. I don’t blame you for saying what you said. The fact that you went all semester and let me sit at your table… that was really nice.”

“No,” I say. “Nice would have actually been making you feel welcome instead of making you feel like the most interesting thing about you was John.”

She leans against the doorframe. “Actually, one thing all this taught me—John being away, you, John and Andre’s kiss last night with the cups falling everywhere…”

“Ridiculous, right? Like a living romance novel.”

“Completely absurd,” she agrees, without hesitation. “Almost as bad as Taylor and West. Maybe it’s a family thing.”

I laugh. “Maybe.”

“Anyway, it made me realize that you were kind of right. I need to live my own life. So this morning, for a Christmas present, I asked my parents if I could take a gap year. No matter where I get in. And I can, like… go to Europe, and travel, and meet hot people, and just… experience stuff. For myself. I realized I’ve never wanted to do something so badly. They said yes. Is that too wild?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I think it’s genius. I think you’ll have so much fun. And probably bring home some hot significant other to show off.”

“Nah.” She shakes her head quickly. “I’m with you. No serious romance until your brain is done developing at… twenty-five, right?”

I hear footsteps behind me, Miles getting closer to remind me we have to head home. The sky is dark pink. “Right,” I say, then shrug. “But I don’t think that’s right anymore, actually.”

“No?” She looks genuinely surprised. “You’ve been saying that as long as I’ve known you.”

“Yeah.” I look down at my feet. “Apparently my mom… she used to say that the brain was never done growing. I mean, biologically, sure, it’s developed at twenty-five, but we can always grow. And so it doesn’t matter when you meet someone—what matters is that you can grow together. Like flowers that are planted next to each other, and they wrap around each other as they grow.”

Georgia laughs. “Emmett? A romantic?”

“What?” I say.

“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard from anyone, Emmett. I’m just shocked it came from you.” She smiles. “Happy shocked, though. Well, happy for you. I still want to slut it up around Europe.”

I laugh. “Then I want that for you.”

“And I’m going to send you so many photos,” she says. “Because you’re my friend… right?”

“Absolutely,” I say, and I mean it. She reaches forward and she hugs me, and I hug her back and think about these months of missed opportunities, how we could have really been friends, if only I’d been open to it. Open to growing.

“Sorry, Georgia,” Miles says. “We promised our folks we’d be back by sunset.”

“Yeah, my parents will want to eat soon, too,” she says. “I’m glad you came by, though. Thanks.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Merry Christmas.”

“You too!” she says, going back into her house. “And happy Hanukkah.”

She closes the door and I walk back to the car with Miles, wiping my eyes. I’m not crying, of course, that would be silly. It’s just that the candy canes are glaring.

“You mean all that, that you said?” Miles asks, starting the car. “About growing together?”

“Oh no, did you hear that?” I feel myself blushing. “All right, make as much fun as you want. I deserve it.”

He laughs. “Did you mean it, though?”

“Yes.”

He nods and keeps driving in silence. “So you want a boyfriend now?”

“I don’t know,” I say. That’s a lie. “Yes. But they have to be right. They have to be someone who… I can feel their loss when I’m not around them. So that even if it all turns out terrible, even if we break up, it was worth it, because not having been with them would have been worse.”

“That sounds like perfection to me,” Miles says, and I immediately think of him and who he must mean—Harrison.

“I should apologize to Harrison, too,” I say.

“Harrison?” Miles asks.

“Yes, all my misguided matchmaking… I think I made it so much more complicated and painful for him than it needed to be.”

Miles chuckles, low. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

“Ah,” I say. So they did hook up. Good for them. I wish I felt happier, but instead, I just feel like stone. Maybe this is how Georgia felt seeing John and Andre kiss.

“Ah?” Miles asks.

“I’m happy for him. And congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Miles says, and my body feels even heavier. “I thought you’d be angry.”

“Angry?” I say. “You think that little of me?”

“Well, no,” Miles says quickly. “But you have your plans and then I swept in and…”

“He’s happy. You’re happy. You’ll be a cute couple.”

Miles slams on the brakes in front of my house. “What?” he asks, almost yells.

I get out of the car, suddenly craving fresh air.

“Emmett,” he calls as I walk to the house. “I did not hook up with Harrison.”

I turn around. “It’s all right. I know he’s the one you were talking about. The one you suddenly felt something for.”

He laughs, shaking his head as he comes around the car. “I do not believe you.”

“Well, then what did you mean I don’t need to worry about it, and you swept in?”

“I set him up. Well, barely. I just told him to ask Robert out. That’s what I was trying to do last night at the party, but then you dragged Robert away.”

“So you two could be together!” I realize I’m shouting, and my hands are flying upward, and I bring them back down. “But… you thought I’d be mad you successfully matched him?”

“Maybe?” Miles laughs. “Sorry. You thought I had a crush on Harrison?”

“Yes. And I was going to set him up with Robert next, but when I saw you were interested, I thought… well… he couldn’t do better than you. No one could.”

He smiles so large it might light the sky again. “Why did you think I had a crush on Harrison?”

“You were always there to defend him, make him feel better—after I messed up with Clarke, and then with Andre.”

“So were you.”

“Well, yes, I suppose… I was being a friend.”

“So was I.” He smiles.

“So it wasn’t Harrison?” I ask. A deep relief sweeps through my body and my legs shake, though I’m not sure why.

“You really have no idea, do you?”

“What?”

“Who my crush is on.”

I shake my head. “Some straight guy? Someone you haven’t told?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“You didn’t want to tell me, which I understand, it’s your business, but I don’t know why you’d think I’d know.”

“Because—”

“Unless you’re asking me to make it happen now, which I cannot see, because as we are now very sure of, I am no good at this, Miles. I am staying out of the love game and—”

“It’s you, Emmett.”

For a moment, the world is silent. All I can hear is his breath, and all I can see is his face, which moves from teasing, his smile shaking, to surprised and then suddenly terrified. The confession burst out of him against his will; he was just trying to mock me, but he did it with the truth, I realize. And then I realize another truth.

I lean forward and kiss him.

He wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer, and I put my arms around his neck as our mouths open, his breath warm on my lips. And then he stops and pulls away.

“Wait,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“No… no. Don’t apologize. I wanted that. I want… you, Emmett. You were biting into a peach one day at lunch, and you were saying nice things to Georgia even though it killed you, and making fun of me, and then the next second Taylor said something about her work, and doubting herself, and you, like, snapped to attention, immediately making her feel better about herself, and all I wanted to do in that moment—since that moment—is kiss you. You’re infuriating, and I don’t think you like me very much sometimes, but when you care about people—Taylor, Harrison, even Georgia—you really care about them. So of course it was you who I first wanted to kiss. I want you. I think some part of me has always wanted you. But… I want you as a boyfriend. I want to, like you said, try growing together. I don’t want to be just a—”

I grab his hand, and I weave my fingers through it. “I do like you. I like you very much. I think that’s why I was so rude to Georgia, because I saw you and Harrison and thought… I’ve liked you, Miles. I had a crush on you for most of ninth grade.… Sorry if I… don’t always show it.” I put my other hand on his neck, spreading my hand up to stroke his jaw. I haven’t always been great to him. But maybe it’s because I never quite understood. He always sees the best in me, just like I always see the best for people… even if I might have the wrong idea of what that is. “I want it, too. We’ll grow together,” I promise him.

He leans forward and kisses me again, and impossibly, it starts to snow, thick flurries of it falling down around us.

I’m blessed, but I’m not perfect. And I’m definitely not always nice. But I try to be good. That’s what I tell Harrison by way of an apology. But I’m glad he and Robert are going out now. They had a Hanukkah date and exchanged presents—they had each already gotten something for the other, both from the NPR store. They deserve each other, and I don’t think Harrison can do better, because Robert is the best for him. They send me a photo of them in the park, doing volunteer litter cleanup. Leaves are spiraling around them as they laugh, caught in a huge wind.

Taylor and West spend the holiday together, and with Andre and John. Taylor says John’s okay to hang out with, though I would have made a much better brother-in-law. Georgia is already planning her year abroad—Berlin first, then London, then Paris, and finally Barcelona, three months in each. She asked me to go over her resume so she can apply to work at queer community centers as she travels. Clarke and HottestMonth have been getting loads of likes on their couple’s content. They’ve even got a sponsorship: Discernment, a couples counseling app. Watching their sponsored videos makes me laugh so hard green tea comes out of my nose.

As for me and Miles… well, I would have wanted to keep it from our parents for a while, but unfortunately they were watching us from the window for our first kiss, something we found out when we stopped and realized that it wasn’t just snowing, but that Priyanka and Jasmine were outside, applauding. That was my immediate worry—that now it’s extra messy, because if we break up, it’ll be like losing family. But Miles just pointed out what I’d told him—all queer relationships can be messy because all queer people are a kind of family—Family, according to his moms. You just have to agree to remember to love each other, even if you don’t end up together. So that was our first promise—even if we don’t keep growing together as a couple, even if we break up in one day or twenty years, we still stay in each other’s lives. That way we never have to lose each other.

The next promise was to my dad, who was very worried that I was kissing someone, even if he did admit I couldn’t have chosen better than Miles. But still…

“Sex, Emmett. Kissing leads to sex!”

This was as we opened our presents under the tree that night. He pulled me aside to whisper it loudly enough that Priyanka, Jasmine, and, more horrifyingly, Miles could hear it. I blushed so hard it choked me, and I couldn’t respond.

“Henry, we can hear you,” Pri said, trying on her new shoes. “And Emmett knows to use condoms. You’ve drilled it into him for years. He has the HPV vaccine. So does Miles. Did you want him to be chaste the rest of his life?”

“Well…,” Dad said, looking sheepish. “I worry is all.”

“Sure,” Priyanka said, walking over. “But maybe those worries aren’t to share with Emmett. They’re to share with Dr. Leigh.”

He took a deep breath. “Yes, all right. Just…” He looked at me, eyes wide. “Use a condom.”

“I will, Dad,” I said, my mouth finally working again.

Miles came over after that, his new fleece blanket wrapped around him like a cape, and threw it over our heads, so it was a tent for a moment, and kissed me again. I like kissing him.

“Condoms, huh?” he asked. “Moving kind of fast. Making assumptions.”

“Well, as you know, I’m excellent at spotting chemistry,” I said.

He smirked, and it occurred to me that just a few hours ago, I would have found that smirk condescending, but then I saw it for what it was—teasing. Loving. Finding me endlessly amusing. I kissed him again.

“We didn’t mean you should use the condoms right now,” Priyanka said loudly, making us both blush this time, and immediately uncover ourselves from the blanket and move to opposite sides of the sofa. Our parents laughed very loudly at that.

And when we started telling people, everyone else was apparently not at all surprised at our newfound coupledom. Taylor even mentioned something about a betting pool, but when I asked what she meant, she said she was joking. I’m not sure if she was. But it all falls very easily into place. Taylor and West, Harrison and Robert, me and Miles. He’s still insufferably condescending sometimes, but I know he just thinks I can be better. And I can.

Also he claims that sometimes I’m also insufferably condescending.

I don’t see it, personally.

I’m still terrified of loss. Sometimes, I think about us breaking up, or about him dying suddenly. I talk to my psychologist about it, and she tells me that it’s normal to worry. What’s important is not dwelling on those worries. After all, she says, what if we don’t break up, what if we live to be a hundred together? Would I give that up just because we might break up?

The answer comes back like the music of a string quartet—no. An entire orchestra: never.

So maybe the relationship isn’t perfect. That’s all right, nothing is. Maybe we hope it’ll be something, and it turns out to be something else, maybe we find areas we have to work on, and maybe our friends joke about us teasing each other. None of that matters. What matters is how happy we are now, growing together. Something I’m constantly reminded of when leaves, flowers, and once a stray bag of shredded paper that wasn’t well tied, all seem to fall on us at any moment.

But I don’t mind it when he picks the petals out of my hair or off my shoulder. I don’t mind it that my outfits are covered in something.

I like it, in fact. I like the mess.