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“Wow. That is like… really intense.”

I blow out a laugh, because he’s not wrong.

“But you still love her,” he says.

“I’m not sure I’d know how to stop.”

He gives me this solemn nod, as though he gets that on a deep level, and for a while we just gaze out at the sky. Silently understanding each other.

Before spring break ended, I sat down with my mom and Christopher, explained everything I’d been dealing with at school, and when my mom asked about therapy, I told her I’d already made an appointment.

Then I said, I’d really like you to come for family weekend next year. I didn’t tell you about it this year because I was worried about the money, but if it’s possible… that would be pretty great.

My mom held a hand to her heart. I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep anything from us, she said. If it’s this important, we’ll figure it out.

Figuring it out seems to be a common theme in my life lately, and I think I’m beginning to embrace it.

“I guess I’m still learning how to be a whole person,” I say to Skyler now, the sun dipping beneath the trees. “And that I can share all of that with people I trust without being this extra responsibility they never wanted.”

Skyler shakes his head firmly, his hair remaining perfectly coiffed. “Nah. No way. If she really loves you—and it sounds like she does—then I’m guessing she loves you through all the shit you have going on.”

It’s not dissimilar to what Audrey said, and I’m finally starting to believe it. I think there might be a value in letting someone know all of you and realizing they won’t let one single thing define you.

Because maybe I can have both. She can hold my baggage for a while, and I can hold hers. We can have these separate lives that beautifully intersect, and our time apart doesn’t need to be any lesser because of it.

It’s not dependence or reliance. It’s the steady feeling I have when I’m with her. The safety and comfort, but also the thrill of continuing to learn about each other. The backbone that is our history and all our starry-eyed plans for the future.

As the sun sets over Staten Island, I’m filled with one solid, reassuring conviction:

We’re not meant to end this way.

Dear Neil,

Once, you confessed your feelings when you had no idea how I’d react, and I never told you I thought it was the bravest thing. I’m trying to be brave too.

This isn’t a love confession, but a still-in-love confession.

And I’ve fallen for you three times.

The first time was a silly crush, a passing infatuation that faded the way most teenage crushes do: with embarrassment and I can’t believe I ever.

The second time, over the wildest 24 hours of my life. A perfect, unforgettable whirlwind.

The third time, a slow burn in two different states on the opposite coast. Odd, because Seattle is in my blood the same way it’s in yours. But I think that just means we get to take it with us wherever we go. We’re lucky that way.

And that third one isn’t over—I’m still in the middle of it.

Sometimes I wonder about the what-ifs. What if we hadn’t teamed up that day, if you hadn’t found me when I overheard that plan to take us both out. If you hadn’t had my name, and if I hadn’t opened up my yearbook on the Ferris wheel. If we hadn’t met up for that last clue. Would I have sulked through your graduation speech? Given you an awkward hug and wished you luck in the fall?

Slightly soul-crushing to imagine. You know I’m an optimist at heart—a romantic—so of course I’d like to believe that we’d have found our way to each other no matter what.

And I do. Believe it.

Because any kind of universe that brought us together in such a cosmically monumental way didn’t do it by accident. Not a fucking chance.

If we were a romance novel… Do you know how many times I’ve tried to finish that sentence? Too many. And I don’t think I’ve been doing it right. I’ve been too focused on what happens in the book itself, when lately, I’ve wondered more about what happens after it ends. We can guess. We can speculate. The author might drop some hints as they’re tying things up with the neatest of bows.

But I’m not sure we’re supposed to know.