“I get it,” he continues. “I understand feeling stuck. Fucking frozen, like whichever step you take next will be the one that hurls you off the cliff. You think I knew it was the right decision to come back here? Working at the fucking garage and watching my dad fade away a day at a time? That shit kills me, Kaia. I’ll never know what my life would have been like if I’d decided to stay gone. But making the half-assed decision to come home is the only reason I met you.”
I take a shaky step back. If he wanted to, Ro could close the space between us in an instant. He could force his way in, he could stop me.
But his voice is sad and he doesn’t come any closer when he says, “If you’re so broken, Kai, then why does it feel like you’re putting me back together?”
And I understand why Ro didn’t cross the physical line between us—he didn’t need to touch me to reach me.
I need space to think—to breathe—but each step I take farther from Ro is like sloughing through quicksand.
“I wish you’d let yourself try.” He’s practically pleading. “I wish you’d let yourself choose. A job, a life. At least figure out how to choose yourself.”
He pauses for so long that when I reach Mom’s car, I turn to see if he’s gone. He’s not. He’s there—real and solid and unwavering as ever. He digs his wallet out of his back pocket and walks to me, holding out a folded paper. My shaky hands reach for it instinctively.
“Or choose me,” he says. “I wish you’d choose me.”
His voice is smaller than I’ve ever heard it. So I hold his words gently, in case they’re the last I ever hear him say.
But he’s right that I’m a coward, because I still can’t meet his eyes when I say, “I don’t wanna do this.”
Yet I know he’s looking right at me when he tells me, “I know.”
My insides are screaming out for Ro, as I drive away. I can’t tear my eyes from his reflection in the rearview, and he doesn’t turn his back on me as I go either. Not once.
And it’s the quiet realization that he never has that chokes me until I’m barely breathing.
—
My hands tremble violently as I pull onto the nearest side street, unfolding Ro’s note that’s so worn, it’s nearly torn along its creases. When his narrow scrawl comes into focus, my hand is at my lips. Covering a gasp as my heart thunders in my chest. Because this isn’t just a note. It’s everything.
Describe your perfect date:We already had it. Being in the city with Kaia was perfect. Bringing her into my world made it new again. But it wasn’t the show. It’s never just the big stuff with her. It’s the nothing moments in between. The way she mouths the words on highway signs. Knowing she’s always going to burn her mouth on that first bite, because she’s too impatient to let a slice cool down. The way her hand twitches when she wants to reach out for mine, even if she won’t let herself.
I want a partner who _____:tells you what she thinks, even when it’s not what you want to hear. Someone who isn’t trying to be what other people want or expect. She’s unapologetically herself. I want a partner who will call me on my shit. Someone who sings along to old-school music, orders pepperoni on her pizza only to pick it off, spills her guts when she’s tipsy. Someone who can have a good time anywhere, even stuck in two hours of traffic. Someone who considers murder documentaries educational programming. A fiercely loyal daughter, sister, and friend. And someone who pretends to like nasty-ass oysters just to make me look bad.
I don’t want a partner who _____:isn’t kaia harper
31
I’d given Ro access tomy softest spots, trusting him not to poke too hard, but it feels like he’d been collecting my faults like ammunition. And last night, he unloaded on me.
I’d thought he might be able to know me without holding it against me. I’d let myself want that. But when I wake the next morning, eyes swollen and head throbbing with the emotional hangover of our purge, I’m so angry with myself for wanting anything at all.
—
“And then you just left?” Zo says, once she’s home and settled with her new favorite accessory—that fucking bell.
I hadn’t planned to tell her and Mom about my fight with Ro so soon, but when Zola walked in, still wearing her hospital socks and bracelet, everything that happened yesterday washed over me. I opened my mouth to say hello, but a scream sob escaped in its place.
Her first bed rest demand is that I let her dissect every detail, since I, as she puts it, am “not to be trusted.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, handing Zola a bowl of Ben & Jerry’sbefore sinking into the recliner with my own. “Should I have stayed for round two?”
Mom kisses the top of my head as she joins us in the living room. A night spent at the hospital on a leather-clad pile of rocks has accentuated the bags under her eyes and every usually subtle line on her face. She’s exhausted, as further evidenced by the second or third cup of coffee she carries.
All this time you had me convinced your dad was the bad guy.Ro’s words continue to hit their mark, as Mom lifts Zola’s leg with her free hand, nestling into her spot at the foot of the couch like she’s done since we were kids. Because she’s been right here with us every day.
Dad’s the one who left, and everything left broken in this house is nothing more than a ripple of his selfishness. Heisthe bad guy, and Ro’s anger doesn’t change what I know is real.
“Kai, he said he wanted you tochoosehim. He wasn’t trying to go another round. He was trying to get you to hear him.”
