The confession feels heavy and thick on my shoulders. I thought I’d feel better by putting it all out there, but Kate’s silence is fizzling that hope like a poorly tended campfire.
“How do you know?” she asks, keeping her eyes pinned on my chest.
“What? How do I—”
“How do you know you’re in love with me, Malcolm? How can you be so sure?” She moves her eyes up to mine, still hugging herself. Her strong posture falters in the silence that follows.
“Well…” I pause. “Clearly, I prefer being by myself.” I gesture to the empty field around us. Kate lets out a small laugh that mixes with the wind whistling around us. “I can think better and work through my issues better when I’m alone. It’s peaceful. And other things aren’t. I just, ugh…I get tired of everything, ya know?”
“I know you do.” Kate suppresses a smile as she bites her lip.
“But I never get tired of you,” I confess.
Kate’s breath hitches, and her arms fall to her sides.
“I never get tired of you, Kate. I’d rather be with you every moment, of every day, all the time, than have a moment alone to myself. That’s how I know I’m in love with you.”
She’s silent again.
At this point, I could really use a lightning strike to the head to get me out of this. Why isn’t she saying anything? Maybe I can just leave, walk right back up those steps and back inside. The blaring noise and perspiring adolescents might actually be more fun than this.
“Look, I—”
“How— Ugh,” she cuts me off, pinching the bridge of her nose and taking a deep breath. “How do you not remember our kiss?”
“Kiss?” Vague memories of kissing Kate have been piecing themselves together in my brain, but I wasn’t sure if it was real or a dream. I’ve had too many dreams like that to know what’s real and what isn’t anymore. “We kissed?”
“Yes!” she yells so loudly it echoes across the field. “At camp!”
The feel of her curls tangled around my fingers and her lips pressing into mine rush through me. The memories are broken and scattered in my head, blending with different moments. I was concussed—of course I don’t remember kissing her. I don’t remember calling Stevensweetie pieeither,but apparently, I did.
“Kate, I had a concussion.” I press a palm into my forehead, rubbing the ache growing there. She lets out a trembling sigh and runs her hands through her hair. “Look, I don’t know if me telling you all of this is freaking you out, but I had to, okay?”
“I don’t know, Malcolm…” Her words linger in a whisper so quiet it’s almost swallowed by the wind rustling past her.
“What don’t you know?” I grip the back of my neck and exhale.She does know.She feels the same way, but she’s scared as hell to follow through. I get it. I don’t want to lose her either. Kate would rather risk a little with some stranger on an app than risk everything with me. Our lives are so intertwined. Extracting her from mine would cause me physical pain. And I have a feeling losing me from hers might be worse for her.
“Kate, what scares you?” I break the silence, asking her the same question she asked me at camp.
“I don’t know,” she snips, offense plastering red on her cheeks. “I just want to understand.”
“What else is there to understand?”
“How this can be happening!” She yells it like a statement to her universe, voice cracking slightly. “How someone like you”—she waves a hand in my direction—“can love someone like me!” Pressing her hands to her chest, she looks up at the sky, and Ican see the edge of her jaw tremble. When she finally looks back at me, tears are streaming down her face.
“Hey…” I take a step closer as she turns her face away and wipes at her tears. It kills me to see her like this—not believing the good things about herself or that she’s worth loving. The tears slow, and she takes a slow breath, still not looking at me. “Kate, look at me.”
“Why?” her voice cracks as she slowly turns to face me.
“May I?” I hold out my hand, and she takes it. I squeeze, and her shoulders relax, like the small touch relieves the tension that was there. I tug her close to me and wipe her wet cheek with my thumb. “Kate, I’m sorry.”
“For loving me?” A weak laugh flows out of her, and I tug her closer, a reassurance that that is far from what I’m saying.
“Never for that.” I cup her face in my hands and level my gaze with hers. “I’m sorry that people in your life have made you believe you’re hard to love. I really am.” She sniffles but doesn’t look away. “But you have to know…you are not. You, Katherine Stanley, might be the weirdest and most outspoken person in the world, but you arenothard to love.”
“Are you—”
“Ask if I’m sure, I dare you. I have never been so sure of anything in my life.”
