“It’s so sad,” I say, returning to George. “Don’t you wish that we could curl up in there and debate what to put in the center of the labyrinth?”
“A secret garden,” he says.
“A fountain,” I insist.
An argument as old as our friendship.
“It is sad,” George says. “But I don’t want to go back.”
“No?”
George crosses the room to me. “But I promise I’ll treasure the memories, the arguments, and the dares. Every race, every game of Marco Polo. All the trees we climbed. All the mistakes we made.”
George raises his hand, tucking a strand of hair behind myear. I feel caught between worlds, here in this library, remembering.
“I will treasure them, too,” I pledge. “All the nights we watched the stars. The dive bars. The piggyback rides. Every meal we ate together.”
“The messes I cleaned up.”
“Every morning when your voice was the first thing I heard,” I say.
“They are the best moments of my life,” George says.
And there could be so many more.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Nate,” he says. “I didn’t know how, and I didn’t want you to hate me. But I promise I would have.”
“I know.”
I knowyou.
George has spent years keeping his feelings inside that wooden chest. He’s still learning how to let them out. We both are.
“I was surprised and hurt,” I tell him. “I was scared, too. There was no room to see things from your perspective.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “You can’t imagine how sorry I am.”
“I think I can. I know I’ve hurt you, and I can’t stand myself for it. Your letters…They broke my heart, George.” I blink back tears. “You’ve always been the most important person in my life, but I never let myself imagine that you could be more than a friend. Every time I found myself wondering if it could be more, I’d push it away, telling myself it didn’t mean anything. When you moved out of our apartment, I didn’t let myself considerwhy it felt like you’d ripped out a piece of my heart and taken it with you. At least you’ve been honest with yourself. I was too stubborn to see what you could mean to me.” My best friend. My lover. My soulmate.
“Frankie,” he says, taking my hand. “I adore how stubborn you are.”
I laugh. “That’s absurd. You are absurd. And I’m so in love with you.”
His lips are on mine before I finish saying the sentence. Another laugh bubbles up my throat. George is kissing me, and I’m kissing him. This, I think, is what’s at the center of the labyrinth. George and me, kissing each other for as long as possible.
I pull back, meeting those deep blue eyes.
“I love you, Frankie. My love for you is fundamental to who I am. It’s deep in my bones. A sonnet written in the marrow.”
“Absurd,” I say, my smile as wide as it’s ever been.
“Frankie.” My name rasps from his lips.
“George.”
He swallows his name with a greedy kiss. Then he hoists me off the floor and walks us over to the couch. He sits down, taking me with him, so that I’m straddling his lap. I rope my arms around his neck.
He flashes me a grin before stealing another kiss. “I can’t believe I get to do that.”
