“Which one? What do you mean?”
“There might be a way to stay,” he tells me. “But I can’t. I’ll never be able to stay.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’d be killing them, Rhiannon. When you take over someone’s life, they’re gone forever.”
No. He can’t be saying this. He can’t be saying it’s possible and impossible at the same time.
I can’t deal with it. I can’t. I have to stand up. I can’t be sitting on the floor in the middle of a tree house having this conversation with him.
Once I’m up, I start to boil over. “You can’t do this!” I’m telling him. “You can’t swoop in, bring me here, give me all this—and then say it can’t work. That’s cruel, A. Cruel.”
“I know,” he says. “That’s why this is a first date. That’s why this is the first time we’ve ever met.”
Not fair. This is not pretend. This is life.
“How can you say that?” I ask. “How can you erase everything else?”
He stands up and comes over to me. Even though I’m mad, even though I don’t understand what he’s doing, he wraps his arms around me. It’s not what I want, and I try to tell him I don’t want it. But then I feel the shelter of his closeness and I want it, and I stop trying to pull away.
“He’s a good guy,” A whispers in my ear. “He might even be a great guy. And today’s the day you first met. Today’s your first date. He’s going to remember being in the bookstore. He’s going to remember the first time he saw you, and how he was drawn to you, not just because you’re beautiful, but because he could see your strength. He could see how much you want to be a part of the world. He’ll remember talking with you, how easy it was, how engaging. He’ll remember not wanting it to end, and asking you if you wanted to do something else. He’ll remember your asking him his favorite place, and he’ll remember thinking about here, and wanting to show it to you. The grocery store, the stories in the aisles, the first time you saw his room—that will all be there, and I won’t have to change a single thing. His pulse is my heartbeat. The pulse is the same. I know he will understand you. You have the same kind of heart.”
No. This is not what I want. Can’t he see what I want?
“But what about you?” I ask, my voice stained by my sadness. I can’t keep it away from him.
“You’ll find the things in him that you find in me,” he answers. “Without the complications.”
He says it like it’s easy.
It’s not easy.
“I can’t just switch like that,” I tell him.
His arms draw me closer. “I know. He’ll have to prove it to you. Every day, he’ll have to prove he’s worthy of you. And if he doesn’t, that’s it. But I think he will.”
A’s giving up. Whether or not I want him to, he’s giving up.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“Because I have to go, Rhiannon. For real this time. I have to go far away. There are things I need to find out. And I can’t keep stepping into your life. You need something more than that.”
I know this makes sense. But I don’t want to make sense. I don’t want anything to make sense.
“So this is goodbye?” I ask him.
“It’s goodbye to some things,” he says. “And hello to others.”
This is where I turn.
This is where I stop being held and decide to hold.
This is where I loosen myself from his arms, but only to unfold my own arms and welcome him there.
I am not saying yes, but I am agreeing that there’s no point in me saying no.
I hold him with everything I have. I hold him with so much that he will have to remember it. He will have to remember me, wherever he is.
“I love you,” he says. “Like I’ve never loved anyone before.”
“You always say that. But don’t you realize it’s the same for me? I’ve never loved anyone like this, either.”
“But you will. You will again.”
This is where it stops. This is where it begins.
Every moment. Every day.
This is where it stops. This is where it begins.
I haven’t been looking at the clock, but now I look at the clock.
It’s almost midnight.
Where it stops. Where it begins.
“I want to fall asleep next to you,” he whispers to me.
This is my last wish.
I nod. I’m afraid to open my mouth. I am afraid I will not be able to say what he wants me to say.
We leave the trays in the tree house. It doesn’t matter, if this is what he’s going to remember anyway. Climbing down the ladder. Running back to the house. Heading to his room.
We will remember this together. All three of us.
I want to stop time. I know I cannot stop time.
Holding hands. Then, inside the room, stopping to take off our shoes. Nothing else, just shoes. I crawl into the bed. He turns off the lights.
Only the glow of the clock. He gets into the bed next to me, lying on his back. I curl into him. Touch his cheek. Turn his head.
Kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.
“I want you to remember that tomorrow,” I say when we come up for air.
“I’ll remember everything,” he tells me.
“So will I,” I promise.
One more kiss. One last kiss. Then I close my eyes. I steady my breathing. I wait.
If I could hold on to him, I would.
Lord, if I could hold on to him, I would.
I do not sleep. I wish I could sleep. But I cannot sleep.
Instead, I lie there, eyes closed, safe in the dark.
I feel him reach over and touch my heart.
I hear him say goodbye.
I feel him close his eyes. I feel him fall.
I open my eyes. I turn.
I look for the moment. I want to see the change.
But instead I find a beautiful someone, beautifully asleep. Left behind by another beautiful someone, now also asleep in some other house, in some other bed.
I want to wake him. I want to ask him if he’s still there.
But I don’t wake him, because I don’t want Alexander to ask me why I’m crying.
It isn’t until I’m turned back to the wall, until I’ve decided to will myself to sleep, that I feel the sticky note on my shirt.