“Thank you,” I said.
He seemed confused, and then he wasn’t; he couldn’t be. He had seen me through what he needed to. He had been there for the impossible unfolding of it all, he had held the walls up when everything inside them was falling and breaking and crashing.I don’t know what I would have done without youis such an overused phrase.
There was so much I didn’t know. How long this hovering reality would last, whether I had anything to offer the world outside this home anymore. How I could possibly be with someone who didn’t know—or maybe worse, who did. But I knew our time, Tae’s and mine, was up. I was heartbroken, but I was also certain. What we had in common was my illness. And I could feel us bothresenting that simple and constraining truth. I had fallen in love with the man who was there when my heart stopped. Now it was beating again, however cautiously, and we were reminders to each other of the worst of it. We always would be.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you, too.”
When I did eventually get a new piece of paper—six months later—it felt like a promise. Like someone on the other end was seeing me, was seeing all of this, and still not counting me out. Every time after, I knew when I saw a name, when I saw that mark in days, weeks, months—that I would have that time, that it was now promised to me. I’d be alive. I’d get to live it.
I have a deal with the universe. I take my time in increments, and I get to stay here. For the time written, I get to keep my heart.
But now—
Now, I do not know anymore. A blank piece of paper should mean forever, right? But what if it just means I do not get to know? What if it now means anything could happen at any time? How do I reckon with an unknown that dangerous?
Chapter Twenty-Five
I have put this off for as long as possible but it’s now nearly March and tonight, Hugo, Jake, and I are having dinner. Hugo is bringing a date—a girl named Claudia he started seeing a few weeks ago. Natalie ended sometime in the fall.
We’re going to the Hotel Bel-Air, one of Hugo’s favorite places in LA. I’ve already told Jake not to fight Hugo on the check—it’s his thing; he won’t relent. And I’ve explained to Hugo over the phone to try and just tone it down a little. Be cool.
“He’s a nice guy,” I tell Hugo. “And he’s excited to meet you. Just be normal.”
The truth is Hugo and I haven’t seen a ton of each other since our brunch at Toast over five months ago. We’ve let our weekend ritual slide, and he’s been out of town a lot. Jake and I have spent the night together at my place the last five consecutive Saturdays, so on Sundays we go to the farmers markettogether, now. They are always sold out of the sunflowers by the time we arrive.
I miss Hugo, though. I wonder if our friendship was predicated on us both being some degree of single. I know the caveat to men and women not being able to be friends is if one of them is in a relationship, but for us, I think it worked the opposite way. When we were alone we could fill in the other pieces. Now that Jake takes up so much of my life, where does Hugo fit into it?
The Hotel Bel-Air is tucked away in the hills of Los Angeles; it’s an airy, stunning getaway for the rich and famous—or those with the private cell phone number of Denise, the manager. The restaurant is run by Wolfgang Puck, and it’s excellent, too—situated in an open courtyard toward the back of the hotel—private booths to the side, the most beautiful bar, and white walls wrapped in ivy. It’s a secluded, elite paradise that oddly isn’t very celebrity populated. Unlike the Beverly Hills Hotel, there are never any paparazzi here.
Jake is wearing a blue cashmere sweater and dark jeans. He feels like a cloud when I tuck myself against him. I have black jeans and a sleeveless turtleneck on. I’m wearing a pair of strappy black heels that once again I know I’ll have to take off by the end of the night.
Jake and I get there first, before Hugo and Claudia. He puts his arm around me. I lean my head into him.
“Are you nervous?” I ask his shoulder.
“Why?” he says. “Should I be?”
I tilt my head up to him. “No,” I say. “I mean, I just would understand if you were.”
“Because Hugo is so intimidating?”
“No, because he’s important to me.”
Jake lifts my chin up to his lips. He kisses me once. “Then I’m not nervous, I’m happy.”
Hugo rounds the corner a moment later. He’s alone, and jogging. He’s wearing a black-and-blue-striped button-down, a black belt, and black pants. As soon as I see him, I realize how much I’ve missed his energy.
“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I’m late.”
He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. And shakes Jake’s hand.
“Hey, man, hi. It’s so nice to meet you.”
Jake smiles; it feels genuine. “So nice to meet you, too. I was beginning to think you might not exist.”
“I barely do these days,” Hugo says. “I don’t think I’ve spent three consecutive nights in LA in two months.”
