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I see the indecision in his eyes, but the next thing I know, his hands are on my waist. Not wrapped around me. Maintaining a healthy amount of distance between us. I place my hands on his shoulders, too scared to try to wrap them around his neck to bring us closer. I feel like we’re back in that photo from my bat mitzvah. His thumbs gently stroke my waist for just a moment before stilling, almost like he hadn’t meant to do it, but through the thin cotton of my shirt, I feel everything.

We sway with the music, my eyes on his face the entire time. He looks down at his feet, never meeting my gaze. But he’s still here. He’s still dancing with you, I tell myself, trying to hold on to a small shred of hope. But as soon as the song fades out, he drops his hands back down to his sides. I can’t help but let out a sigh. I guess I should have expected this. He still hasn’t said a word since we got up to the roof. I step off the blanket and lead him to the third one. The final one. My last-ditch effort. I reach into my jeans, pulling out a thin tube, warm from my pocket. I slide the gold wand across my lips, coating them in a shiny gloss.

We reach the final blanket, adorned only with an empty bottle of Cherry Coke, another acquisition from the bodega. When I got home, I started drinking it while making the homecoming banner, but then quickly realized it was barely ten a.m., and the looming sugar crash was not sustainable given the day I had ahead of me. I opted to pour the rest down the kitchen sink.

“Will you sit down?” I ask.

He hesitates, but sits, and it’s only once he’s cross-legged on the picnic blanket that he seems to notice the bottle. I see it register across his face, but I can’t read beyond that. I sit down across from him, legs folded. I watch as his eyes glide over my lips.

“In therapy, I’ve been talking a lot about Dad, obviously. And it’s brought up a lot of memories. Like how sometimes Dad would call you my bashert. It’s Yiddish. I never knew what it meant, but it came back to me all the same. Bashert is destiny. Or soulmate. I don’t know if I believe in that kind of stuff, but I believe in you, Hen. In us. Because there’s always been an us.”

I take a deep breath, knowing that this is the part I have to get right. “Henry Cole, I love you. I’ve been in love with you my whole life. I’m sorry it took me so long to say it. I’m sorry I pushed you away. You were right about everything. I have issues with trust, with abandonment, but I’m working on it. I want to be better. I want to make this work. I want to try.”

Henry’s face is stoic. I can see him taking in what I’m saying, but he’s giving me absolutely no hint as to what he’s thinking. So I keep going.

“Because if I tear away all the parts of me that are scared, that are stupid, that are broken, and I’m really honest with myself, this is it for me. You’re it for me, Henry. You always have been.”

I lean forward, placing my hands on that empty bottle of Cherry Coke between us.

“That night, at Julia Schmidt’s party, I had a plan to kiss you. I had been practicing in my room for days. Not the kissing part. But how much force to spin the bottle so I could make it land exactly where I wanted. I thought it was the perfect ploy to find out if you felt the same way I did. If you didn’t, it was just part of the game. But if you did, I was certain I’d be able to tell. But then you opted not to play. The watermelon lip gloss was for you, Henry. It should have been you. Everything should have been you. So that’s what I came here to say. What I needed you to know. Falling in love with you made me want to be better. And I’m so fucking in love with you, Hen. So.” I fiddle with the bottle in my hands, laying it on its side.

He stretches out his legs on the blanket, leaning back on his arms behind him. I swear he looks almost smug as he raises an eyebrow in challenge.

This is what I prepared for. I’d been practicing again, just like I did when we were kids. For this moment. My grand romantic gesture. My declaration. But that was on the floor of my Airbnb, and the wind on this rooftop is threatening to ruin all of my prep work. I can tell my hands are shaking. Everything comes down to this, huh? Which is ridiculous because we’re fucking adults. Would he really let this bottle decide the fate of our relationship? Is this some kind of sick joke? Is he trying to hurt me the way I so clearly hurt him?

As soon as I twist the bottle, I grimace, afraid to look. But before it even passes him twice, before it starts to slow, Henry leans forward, reaching out with one hand, snatching the bottle up.

I hold his eyes, oceanic and opaque, for a moment too long. I’ve lost him. I just know it. I stand up, blinking back tears. “You can tell Nick I’ll be back to clean all this up later, I…I have to go.” I head for the stairs, feeling like I can’t get enough air in my lungs on this rooftop.

But that’s when I hear his voice, so low I almost miss it. “I don’t want to play Spin the Bottle.”

“Yeah, I got that,” I say, my back still to him. I can’t bring myself to face him like this, my eyes burning hot with the tears I’m desperately trying to keep in.

“I want to play Truth or Dare.”

“What?” I ask, slowly turning around, not believing that those words just left Henry’s mouth.

“I want to play Truth or Dare,” he repeats.

I make my way back to the picnic blanket and slowly sit down. Henry has placed the bottle off to the side, his face still giving me nothing.

“Pick,” he orders once I’m seated.

I’ve just laid out every truth I have for him. There’s nothing left inside me in this moment.

“Fine.” It comes out weary, my voice shaking. “Dare.”

Something soft breaks in Henry’s eyes. “I dare you to kiss me.” It’s a challenge, an opening, a lifeline. “Seems like that was an almost moment you were missing here. So kiss me, Norah. Please.” A slow smile spreads across his face.

I burst into tears immediately at the sight of it. “That was mean, Hen,” I laugh, wiping my face with the heel of my hand.

“What? I’ve been miserable the last few months. I can’t have a moment of fun? I knew if you came here and you actually told me you loved me, I was a goner. If you finally said it, there was no way I was letting you leave here as anything other than mine.”

Getting a grip on my tears, I lean forward on the blanket, crawling toward him. Henry scoops me up, drawing me into his lap. I let myself sink into his touch, the feeling of his hands on my thighs electric.

“Say it again.”

“I love you,” I tell him, this time close to his face, and I feel his body relax.