Page 86 of Hard to Love

“Why?” I finally ask.

“Why what?”

“This.” I hold my hands out to the elaborate setup and trouble he went through to do this for me.

“Because I wanted to. Because you deserve it. Because no one forgets their prom date.”

And he doesn’t want me to forget him.

Emotions burn in my throat at the unspoken words. The same ones swimming in his eyes as he takes my hand and leads me back to our private dance floor.

And as the night wears on to early morning, we slow dance to Maroon 5’s “Daylight.” We all but cling to each other as the song plays, trying to eek one last memory from the night.

And as we head downstairs, our hands linked and our hearts exhausted, Finn slowly undoes the zipper of my dress, lacing a row of kisses down my spine.

There is nothing hurried this time around. Nothing frantic like usual. It’s soft kisses and tender touches. It’s eye contact and hushed words.

There’s grief and gratitude in our movements.

There’s reverence and the need to remember.

There’s a finality to it.

It’s making love not just having sex.

And when Finn slips into me, when we come together as one, we start the process of saying goodbye.

STEVIE

THE SUN IS BEGINNING TO lighten the gray of the horizon through the sheer curtains in Finn’s bedroom.

He lies tangled in the sheets, his body naked, and his soft snores filling the room.

I debated whether I should wake him up. Whether I would put ourselves through the finality of saying goodbye one more time.

But we already did that last night. In whispers of touch and hushed murmurs. In how we lay on the pillows staring at each other until he finally drifted off to sleep an hour ago, and I got up to pack.

I lean over and press a whisper of a kiss to his cheek. “Goodbye, Finn Sanderson,” I murmur as I move toward the door.

But I look back one more time. It’s too hard not to. And this time I hold my hand over my heart, pat three times, and smile at the man who holds my heart.

Because there’s one more first worth noting as I leave this house: I’m in love with Finn Sanderson.

FINN

I WAKE WITH A START.

The sun is beaming through the windows but the house is absolutely silent. The bed beside me is cold to the touch.

I don’t even call out for her because I already know by how the hint of her perfume still clings in the air.

She’s gone.

Fucking gone.

Women always leave. Remember that.

“Fuck you, Dad,” I mutter, my hands fisting in the comforter and my heart aching in my chest.