“It’s not because you lied. I get that. Even if you wanted to tell me the truth”—which, looking back, I really don’t think that he did—“you thought it would result in the erasure of your existence. And it’s not like I had any intention of telling you. So maybe you’re right. Maybe I was just as manipulative—”
This time, he does interrupt me.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Maybe I was, though. I liked the Alex I was getting to know. He seemed—youseemed—so different than you were before. I liked it. I wanted you to be different, so I encouraged you to be different. I thought I could change you by sheer force of will.”
“Iwasdifferent. It wasn’t all your doing. I don’t want to be the same guy I was.”
“That’s well and good, but you can’t just change your personality on a whim.”
“Who says I can’t? Why not?”
“Because it’s been four months. What about in four years? Forty? How am I to know that you won’t revert back to the way you were? That you won’t treat me the way you treated Ingrid?”
“You aren’t Ingrid. What we have isn’t the same—”
“I don’t even know what we have, Alex.”
“You said it yourself—you liked the Alex you were getting to know. Well, here he is. I’ve changed, Joey. Iamdifferent.”
“Youactdifferent. That doesn’t mean youaredifferent. It’s not the same thing.”
“How is it not? What is a person if not the sum of their actions?” Suddenly, he shakes his head, then backtracks. “No, you’re right. There’s more to it. There’s intent. And I’m telling you: My intentions with you are honest. Ilove you, Joey. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I need to put it out there one more time now that we’re not in the heat of the moment. I love you. And that love has changed me.
“You asked about forty years from now. I don’t know who I’ll be then. Hopefully, I’ll be better than I am now. It’s impossible to know. But I am never more honest than I am when I’m telling you, Joey Vasquez, that I am in love with you. Now, four months from now, four years, forty years. I don’t see that changing.
“I was fifty-eight when I died. Over twenty years had passed since your death. And when I got a second chance to go back and fix my life, you were the first thing I thought of. The only thing. Findingyou. Lovingyou. I loved you then, and I love you now. And Ihavechanged, just like you have. But one thing is constant—I would love every single version of you.
“I know from experience, with zero doubt, that I willalwaysbe in love with you. Until the day I die, and even after that, I would change the fabric of time and space for even the chance that you could love me back. But I know it’s a big ask, because you’re right. Every single bad thing you’ve ever said about me is one hundred percent true. But if there’s even a tiny possibility that you could… be happy with me, I ambeggingyou. Give me a chance.
“It’s always been you for me, Joey. It took me an embarrassingly long time to see it—but once I saw it, it couldn’t be unseen. I may not know who I’ll be in forty years, but I do know that I already lived over half that time without you—and it did nothing to diminish my love for you. If you’ll let me, I will love you until the day I die. Please let me. Please—”
Meow.
Ruthie’s chirp interrupts Alex’s speech. I glance down and see that she’sfinallycome out from under the bed and is staring up at Alex with wide eyes.
I can’t decide if I’ve been saved by the bell or if I want to shove the bell back under the bed and demand that Alex continue.
Meow.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m elated to see Ruthie out and about. But also, Alex was confessing his love to me, again, and even though I’m torn on how to respond, even though I’m leaning toward tearfully telling him that we still can’t be together despite the fact that Iwantto, a love confession is a love confession, and it deserves to happen free of interruption.
“You were saying?” I prompt him.
Alex stares at the ball of fluff at my feet as if looking at a ghost. I wait for the inevitable judgment.You havetwocats in your dorm room?I imagine he’ll exclaim, his confession forgotten.
Instead, once he finally seems to pull himself together, he breathlessly asks, “Is that Ruthie?”
“It is,” I say slowly, confused. “How do you know that? You never met Ruthie.”
He chuckles, but the sound is a short staccato, shock still written all over his face.
“Oh, I know Ruthie. I used to have several deep,permanentscars from Ruthie.”
Not while I knew him, he didn’t—
Oh.
