Za doesn’t soften. “You’re not a victim in this, Jabari.”
“I know,” I say immediately. “I’m not pretending to be. I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not sorry either,” she adds, her tone sharpening. “Sorry would be stopping. Or telling me. Or even considering my feelings before you both decided this was worth it.”
“That’s not fair,” I start, but even as I say it I know it is.
“You didn’t consider me,” she presses. “Neither of you did.”
“I wanted to tell you,” I insist. “I swear I did. We talked about it. We?—”
“But you didn’t.”
The words land clean and final, I don’t argue that.
“Do you think she would’ve chosen me?” Za asks suddenly.
The question shifts the air again. I stare at her.
“I don’t think she wanted to choose at all,” I say carefully.
“That’s not what I asked.”
I run a hand over my face. “I think she loves you differently.”
Za absorbs that slowly. “That’s not comforting.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
She looks past me toward the streetlights.
“Are you happy at least?” she asks after a moment.
The question catches me off guard. Because she wasn’t asking about my emotional state, not entirely. She wants to know if after all this, if everything me and Frankie’s been through and everything we risk, if it was worth it.
“Yes,” I admit. “And no.”
She nods like that makes sense.
“Same.”
There’s something fragile in that shared understanding.
“I’m gonna go now.” She turns and starts walking up the path toward the gate.
“Let me drive you home,” I call after her.
“I’m good,” she says without turning around. “I like to walk and think.”
She pauses at the gate. Then she turns back to me.
“About Frankie,” she says.
I brace myself.
“Even though she loves you, she’s not going to just snap out of this and accept you. She’s stubborn like that. And she probably thinks she made a mistake by not choosing.”
My chest tightens.
