We push into the tattoo shop, and Sam quickly locks the door behind us before approaching his fridge and pulling out four carefully prepared hoagies.
“Where did you buy these?” Ari asks, looking over the Saran Wrap packaging suspiciously.
“I didn’t say I bought them, I picked them up from Mabel.” Sam smiles, a deep but semi-guilty grin. It’s kind of adorable how close he is with his mom. I mentally add that to the list of reasons why hurting him, which I know is inevitable, is going to be even harder than I could imagine.
“Your mom is the best. I might have to start dating Max just so I can get the food hookup,” Ari says as Howie’s face turns three shades of green.
Poor Howie. I nudge him with my foot and shake my head to let him know she’s full of shit. I want to throttle her. She has a perfect guy right in front of her and she doesn’t even see it. Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to determine if mine is really into me or if he’s just with me because I have the ultimate cheat code etched on my skin. I’m going to have a very stern conversation with her the minute we are alone.
“Anyway, what do you want to do when we’re done here?” Sam asks, his mouth half full of his Italian sub.
“I thought the idea was to mingle? Out there.” I point at the hoard of people on the other side of the large glass windows.
“I mean, yeah, it is. But there’s also a bunch of house parties, the shops run specials, I wasn’t sure what the plan was.” Sam takes another bite of his sandwich and chews thoughtfully.
“I usually like to walk around, people watch a little. And then typically I go to the hockey party. But we can do whatever. Shopping isn’t great due to the lines,” Ari explains.
“I’m good with anything,” I say. Howie nods in agreement, but I don’t miss the meaningful look he shoots in my direction.
Ten minutes later, we clean up from our meal and head back out into the crowd. We make it a short ten steps before Sam’s parents and sisters stop us to chat. Then, we follow Howie and Ariella over to talk with Tony. In no time, an hour has passed with light conversation and several barbs about our matching costumes. The sun dips below the horizon, and with each second, my existential dread thickens like a swarm of bees in my belly just waiting to consume me.
Howie suggests we walk to the end of the square. I know where he’s headed, but Ariella and Sam don’t seem to pick up on it. It isn’t until we are approaching the small brick building that sits on the outer edge of the square that Sam realizes where we are going. There’s an unmistakable purple neon sign glowing with the wordtarot, and it flashes at the same inconsistent pace as the first time I saw it.
“No, no, no, no. We’re not—you’re not actually doing this, are you? The last time you ended up in the emergency room. I’m not going to stand by and watch it happen again,” Sam says, stopping and turning to face me. His face looks determined in the dim glow of the streetlamps.
“Sam, I . . . I have to.” He barely listens to my reply. Instead, he looks at Howie and Ariella and quickly tells them to wait there as he pulls me away and around to the side of the building. Over my shoulder, I share a look with Ariella, begging her with my eyes to wait where she is. She nods, a sullen look plastered on her face.
“Sorry, I just need to talk to you. Alone,” Sam says, meaningfully.
“I know, but you have to understand, I have to do this.” I wrap my hands around my belly, the cool air nipping at my skin through the paper-thin fabric of my shirt.
“Why?” Sam takes a step back and crosses his arms.
“Because it’s not me, it’s too vulnerable. Everyone can see too much of my thoughts and feelings. I can’t be this person anymore.” My voice cracks at the explanation and tears threaten to leak from my eyes. I look up at the stars that are beginning to pattern the night sky. I wish I didn’t have to do this.
“That’s bullshit. You act like you’ve changed so much as a result of this thing, but really, you haven’t shared any more with me than you’ve wanted to. There’s still so much I don’t know, so I guess I just don’t understand why you believe that this thing has really made that big of a difference.” Sam wilts, I can see his frustration. It’s time to fess up.
“Sam, you’re wrong. I know you think that I haven’t shared a lot, but I have opened up more to you than I’ve ever opened up to anyone. In the past, I never went on more than three dates with someone because I didn’t want anyone to see the real me. I’ve never told anyone about my parents or how they treat me. I’ve never let anyone get close to my friends. You don’t see it because to you, I-I look normal right now, but this is not me. This is the version of me that has no choice but to tell you things because you can see it, every day you can see it,” I explain.
“I don’t believe you. I’m sorry, but this is just an excuse. You’re running away because you’re scared and nothing more. We wenton dates, you told me things before I ever even knew about the tattoo.” Sam reaches out to pull me into a hug, but I stop him by putting a hand on his chest and pushing him gently away.
“Sam, I told you that I want to fall in love with you, and I meant it. You are everything I’ve ever wanted,everythingI’ve dreamed of having . . . But if I don’t do this, if I keep this curse, I will never know if what we have is real. I’ll never know if you’re really this wonderful, or if you’re just able to do and say the right things all the time because you have my personal guidebook painted across my arm.”
“I haven’t, I would never use it like that,” Sam denies, shaking his head.
“You have. If you’re honest with yourself, you have used it time and time again. To see what I like in bed, to see if I’m okay or comfortable. I’ve watched you do it, and the reality is that I can’t even blame you. I’d probably do the same. But wouldn’t it bother you to be with me and never know if it was the real me or the version that Irina created of me? Wouldn’t you question if I was telling you things because I genuinely wanted to instead of feeling like I had to?” The wind picks up around us, blowing leaves around our feet and causing me to shiver.
“No, I honestly wouldn’t. I know the real you, Olivia Bowman. I know you better than I know myself. I’m in love with you.” His voice is threaded with anger as he crosses and uncrosses his arms and starts to pace the alley we are standing in.
“You’re not in love with the real me. You’re in love with a version of me who’s open, exposed, and frankly, too vulnerable. Ask anyone who knows me well, this is not me. I care for you, and I hate that I’m hurting you, but it wouldn’t be fair to keep this curse and live out our lives together never knowing if what we had was real. I won’t keep you just because I want to when it isn’t fair to you. I care for you too much to make you live a lie.”
I can see the resignation as it blooms on his face. He isn’t going to keep fighting me on it. He can’t win this, and I can tell he knows it. But that doesn’t make it any easier. Sam steps forward and pulls me into a hug, I sink into him, letting the cedar-cinnamon scent of him waft into me like a soothing balm. I nuzzle into his chest for a few minutes, willing myself not to cry, reminding myself this is my decision, before he pulls back and presses a soft kiss to my forehead.
“If this isn’t the real you, then tell me who you are? Tell me what is true . . . Because from where I’m standing, I can’t imagine everything we’ve shared being a lie.” Sam’s voice cracks.
“It wasn’t a lie—”
“If it wasn’t a lie,” Sam interrupts, “then what’s the big deal? So you try to please your mother, you put yourself in a little box to make her happy. That doesn’t mean that this version of yourself isn’t real. I’d argue this is the more accurate version, the Olive I know who’s strong and smart and funny and beautiful. Just choose her, choose the version of yourself that belongs with me. For fuck’s sake, Olive . . . pick me!” he shouts, tears streaming down his face in a mirror image to my own.
