He smiles tightly, looking conflicted by my admission. “You start. Say whatever you want, and we’ll work through it.”
I take a deep breath, feeling nervous and safe all at once. “When I picture your perfect partner, I don’t picture a workaholic. I don’t picture a basket case who can’t open a social media app without coming close to a mental breakdown. I still feel like a villain half the time, Will, especially now, with theForbespiece, and I just… I wantbetterfor you than me.”
He presses his lips to my forehead—a gesture I’ve come to realize is meant to soothehim,primarily. “You say workaholic, I say driven. You call yourself a basket case, but I’d call you self-aware of your boundaries. And besides, the reason you’re my perfect fit is because you’re imperfect. I happen to love your imperfections.”
“And any other time, I’d be selfish enough to let you,” I whisper. “Because I want you that much. But this time, I bit off more than I could chew. I thought I could have it all, but I’m not that kind of girl. People don’t root for me; they pray for my downfall. I’m goingto be spending the rest of the year working my ass off to make sure Revenant doesn’t tank for good. It isn’tfairto you, to ask you to stand by me through that.”
“Fuckfair,” Will says, his face heating. “Fuckfair, Josephine. I don’t need fair, I don’twantfair. I’ve never evenheardof a relationship that’s entirely fair. Together, we make it whole.Together,we add up to one hundred percent. I can meet you more than halfway. I’ll meet you at the seventy percent, eighty percent, ninety percent mark on your worst days if I have to, because I know you’re giving me everything you can. And besides—you know what isn’t fuckingfair? It’s notfairthat people in Wisconsin and Florida and Oregon are acting like they know a single fucking thing about you.”
I shake my head, voice weak. “Even Camila couldn’t make it all work. She needed a change, wanted something different for herself, for her marriage, but I don’t have that option because Imadethis business. I don’t get to walk away from it like everyone else does.”
Will comes back to me, puts his hands on me again. “Remember when I asked you what would happen if this all stopped? And you said you’d fall apart?”
I nod.
“You haven’t fallen apart. You’re in a tough spot, but you’re whole.”
“For now,” I counter.
“So do something about itnow,” he replies. “Don’t keep going one hundred miles per hour when you burned out a long time ago. It won’twork.”
“But I don’t know where else to put my self-worth,” I say, very slowly. It’s a heartbreaking, vulnerable admission, but Will loves me enough to hear it. “When Revenant succeeds, I feel good about myself. When Revenant fails, I feel like afailure.”
His eyes shine. “I know thatyouknow how unhealthy that is, sweetheart.”
“I know. Believe me, I know,” I say with a sob. “But I’ve alwaysbeen like this! I’ve always stacked myself up against standards that are at least partly out of my control. Beauty standards, social media statistics, B Corp scores.”
“The only person who has the power to change that,” Will says, “is you.”
His body slots between my legs. I rest my head on his shoulder, staring at my mint-green sewing machine on top of a stack of books I wish I had time to read.
After half a minute, Will asks, “Have you ever seen a therapist?”
I shake my head. “I’ve thought about it. Never scheduled anything.”
“Do it, for me,” he says.
“I will. I promise.”
He steps away from me and settles against the opposite counter, hands slipping into the pockets of his trousers. He watches me thoughtfully, head tilted just so.
“I’m going to give you some space to sort this out. I’m not going anywhere,” he clarifies when my face floods with alarm. “But even I can admit you need to figure this out on your own. I want to be there for you, Josie, I really do, but I’m not sure you know what you want yet. What your path forward looks like in a world where you stay whole.”
“I want you,” I say. “I love you.”
His eyes darken. “I love you, too.”
He comes back to me and kisses me tenderly, coaxing my head up, narrowing my world to only him. Will’s lips taste like sugar, mine like salty tears. He slides his mouth against mine, soft but bruising. We kiss for seconds, minutes, years.
He is, without a doubt, the most important thing to me. In only three months, that’s what he became. What could Will mean to me after six months, a year? How much paler will the importance of anything else be in comparison to him?
“Do what you have to do, Josephine,” Will whispers against my lips. “Be honest with yourself. And rest easy knowing whatever solution you come up with, I’m going to love you through it.”
Without another word, Will grabs his computer, his backpack, a raspberry muffin that means a lot more to me than a nine p.m. breakfast—
And he leaves.
He takes my permission to breathe with him when he goes.
