“Probably because you’re taking on your dad’s responsibility, huh?”
“There’s that.”
“I can’t help with that,” I say. “I’m sorry. But I can promise, I’ll never go so far that we can’t always connect. Remember that mind-link we worked so hard to achieve? This is what it’s for, so that no matter how far apart we are in space, we can always find each other.”
He looks at me with a sort of childlike pleading. And my heart sinks remembering what Mitsuha told me. Have I just lied to Jasper? Will some dramatic turn of events mean I have to leave him behind for good?
“You’re not losing me,” I say, swallowing my preemptive guilt. “I worked too hard to get you.”
He laughs but it’s tinged with bitterness.
“There’s someone else out there who I know will stick with you no matter what,” I say, bringing things back to the Aisha situation. “And you were just sort of rude to her.”
“But she’s not staying.”
“Only because she feels like she doesn’t have a place here.”
Jasper’s back rises and falls with a sigh. “That’s her choice.”
“Do you think maybe you’re pushing her away because you’re scared of how much you don’t want her to go?”
He squints and glares at me, pretending he’s annoyed at how damn perceptive I am.
“You don’t have to lose her if you don’t want,” I say, putting a button on my point.
Jasper takes another minute, gripping the edge of the sink, then shakes his head and stands up straight.
“Fine,” he says, relenting.
I put my arms around him—“You won’t regret it”—then plant a kiss on his lips.
“Don’t get too smug just because you’re a graduate now,” he jokes.
I shrug, smiling, and take him by the hand, heading for the door.
Back at the table, Jasper sits, and Aisha glances up, sipping from her soda that arrived while we were in the bathroom.
“So, Aisha,” Jasper says, clearing his throat and sounding a thousand shades of awkward. She places her glass on the table cautiously. “What do you recommend for a Pancake Factory virgin?”
She squints, probably wondering if his gesture of reconciliation is sincere.
“Can’t go wrong with pancakes,” she says. “But the Spanish omelet is pretty nice too.”
He smiles. “Sounds good. And”—under the table, I place a hand on his thigh and squeeze—“and how about an apology?”
“Is that on the menu?” she asks.
“It’s the chef’s special.”
“Well, in that case—”
Jasper leans forward, dropping the bit and reaching across the table. “I’m sorry, Aisha.”
“That apology come with any sides?”
“Just one. A promise. Next time I’ll be there for you like I should have been.”
For a moment she doesn’t respond, but tears well in her eyes. Then she reaches out and takes Jasper’s hand. There’s a lot they still need to talk about, to figure out and overcome, but a crowded Pancake Factory is maybe not the place for a broader discussion, so for now, this gesture will have to do. She squeezes his fingers, and I know they’re going to be okay.
