Page 117 of Kissing is the Easy Part

Ah, an inside joke.

We’re going to be okay.

“Can we hang out?” I ask.

He’s silent for a second.

Just when I think there’s hope, he says, “Not yet.”

Chapter Forty

Sean

I’m coping well.

At least, until Flora called and told me she got into NYU.

Despite being happy for her, there’s this sense of loss because everything’s pointless now. We used to talk about a future together before it came crashing down. In the end, it doesn’t matter where she goes to school. She’ll go to Central Park and MoMA with some other guy, and I’ll have no one to build a robotic cheetah for anymore.

After I hang up, I meet up with Josie. She offers to take me to a loud concert to numb my brain. I slide into the passenger seat of her car, and the radio is playing “I Wanna Be Yours” by Arctic Monkeys.

She switches it off.

“I’ve been thinking about what I did wrong,” I say.

“What’s the conclusion?”

“She changed a lot for me, but I couldn’t do the same for her. There were things I was willing to do, but I had to draw the line somewhere. Flora was like, she could give up anything for me.”

She gives me a noncommittal nod, signaling she heard rather than agreed. “And it’s your fault you can’t change for her?”

“Maybe? She wanted a break, not a breakup, but I couldn’t do that either.”

“Of course you couldn’t agree to that. You’d just be waiting, overanalyzing, and torturing yourself. That uncertainty would eat you alive.”

“You know me so well.”

“Dude, Iliterallygrew up with you.” Josie adjusts her grip on the wheel as she merges into the next lane. “Flora was changing foryou, not herself. She was trying to fit into your world, adopting your values because she felt she should, not because she actually agreed. That kind of shift doesn’t last. In the end, you simply weren’t right for each other. It’s like a band with a great lyricist and a genius songwriter, but the sound just doesn’t click, so you separate on good terms. It’s not anyone’s fault.”

“I wish it was that easy.”

“Ask yourself: If you could do it all over again, what would you change?”

Our moments together, each one more precious than the last, unfold as the fading sunlight spills like liquid gold across the dashboard. What could I have done to save us?

There are things that go against my core values that I wouldn’t change. I’d still prioritize school, challenge her to do the same, and choose safety over spontaneity. I’d still hold my ground when it matters, even if it pushes her away, because I’d rather lose her than let her regret something I could’ve prevented.

But just because there’s nothing drastic or fundamental to rewrite doesn’t mean I did everything perfectly. Now that Josie’s question hangs there with no background music, the truth becomes abundantly clear: There’s no singular moment to undo, but I could’ve moved through it differently.

I could’ve listened more, been more curious, and given her the chance to speak instead of jumping in with a solution before she could finish a thought. There were moments when the words hovered on her lips, and I was secretly relieved when she swallowed them.

I wouldn’t have stopped being me. But I could’ve made her feel more accepted for being her.

“I did what I thought was right, but I could’ve been . . .kinder. Sometimes I knew I was winning by talking her into a corner, not by changing her mind. Maybe—deep down—I liked that she listened to me. Like if she followed my lead, she’d be okay. And that’s not partnership. That’s—”

“Arrogance,” Josie supplies.

“Yeah,” I say. “The kind that hides under good intentions.”