“Come on, Mia. Do you think any of us knows what’s going to happen in the future? Do you think I saw you walking into my shop and back in my life?”
“You know what I mean. You’re asking me to walk willingly into a completely dark room. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do that. I’m sorry to disappoint you again.”
Ross stepped nearer, brushing the length of her arm and taking her hand in his. “I don’t believe that. I’ve never seen you back away from a challenge, and you may be walking into a dark room, but you won’t be walking through it alone. I’ll be there with you. I’ll hold your hand.”
Mia’s eyes sprung with tears, and she pushed her face into his chest. “I wish you hated me again. Life was so much easier back when you hated me.” She cried hot tears into his shirt.
He held her, soothing her weeping form with his hands. “I told you, I never hated you. And I’m never going to, because…I love you.” Ross originally considered that his declaration of love would have been the most difficult thing to tell her, but with it being out, he discovered it was the easiest three words he’d ever said. Whatever effect he thought this would have on her was wrong. If anything, she blubbered harder. All he wanted was to fix the situation, but he didn’t have the first clue how to accomplish this.
He dropped his head and spoke into her ear. “I will always do whatever I can to help you because all I want is for you to be happy. And I don’t care if it’s becoming a photographer or a social media person or working in politics. The important thing is you know what you want. I’m offering you the time to figure it out, without pressure or expectations. I will take one of those rooms in my house and build you a darkroom if that’s what you want.”
“And if I still fail?”
“Then, you fail. You’ll survive. Trust me, I’ve done it a hundred times in my life. I love you because of your strength and tenacity. If you fail, you’ll pick yourself up and move on to the next thing after spending a few moments with me, your safety net, and expert failure.”
“I should already have this figured out,” she explained between tears.
“First of all, that’s not remotely true. Anyone who believes all twenty-six-year-olds should have everything in life figured out is a clown.”
“You just called me a clown,” she hiccupped between a sob before swiping her hand across a runny nose.
“Secondly. Who cares? Who exactly is keeping tabs on everyone? There’s not a secret accomplishment board at our old high school. What is life, but a series of constant adjustments? Our high school selves are not allowed to dictate what the rest of our life should look like.”
“You don’t understand. All the time, energy, and money that’s been invested, all those times I didn’t go home to see my mom. It would all be a waste. I’d have done it all for nothing.”
“I don’t see it that way. Everything you’ve done has led you here. That doesn’t have to be a bad thing, and it’s definitely not a waste.”
She released a humorless laugh. “But I was already here. I went backward. I’m most likely to succeed at being a huge joke.”
“I don’t meanherein the literal sense. I mean, who you are as a person. And you’re intelligent and funny and insightful—”
“And, according to you, also a clown.”
He gave a slight chuckle as his hands continued running soothing lines along her spine. “It would make me feel better to know, even you, can have your moments. But, regardless, I love who you are right now, and your experiences shaped you into this person. How could that be a waste?”
As she continued to cry and recline against him, she didn’t say anything for a few moments. Perhaps his words were having an effect for once. His hand took hold of her jawline, damp from tears, and tilted her face to his. Behind her glasses, her eyes closed. Saturated, dark lashes came to rest on her cheeks. “I’m not a pretty crier,” she said.
“What the hell is a pretty crier?”
“You know, someone who can look pretty while crying. I always look like a wet, snotty mess.”
“I don’t care,” Ross replied. “I’ll take you, snotty mess and all.” He captured her mouth with his, pouring all his love, hope, and dreams into this single kiss, his last good argument remaining. Mia leaned into him, returning his kiss with a desperate press of her own as if this romantic act could tether them together forever.
But she broke it off, taking in a ragged breath. “Ross, I can’t. I can’t do it.”
A surge of frustration flooded through his veins. He rubbed a hand across his face. “Mia—”
“You don’t understand—”
“You’re right, I don’t. I’ve never understood. And I don’t care what you say. You’re never going to convince me that continuing down this same path, the same one you’re already miserable in, is going to make you look successful. Who the hell are you trying to impress? People at our ten-year reunion? No one gives a shit!”
“No, that’s not it at all. It’s for me. I have to do something meaningful, something that matters in my life.”
His jaw shifted into a locked position. “I’m getting a little tired of the implication that being with me somehow means you’re giving up a life of purpose, and nothing matters.”
Her expression dropped. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what, Mia? What exactly am I supposed to be hearing? Because it sure sounds like the life I’m living is okay for someone like me, but heaven forbid if you should ever have to lower yourself. Getting down in the mud is fun for a fling. But as for something more serious? Let’s get real. It wasn’t even an option, was it?”
