November 9: A Novel

It’s quiet after we drop Glenn and Amber off for at least a solid mile. She’s been staring out the window the entire drive and I wish she would look at me. I know what I put her through last year hurt her more than I can probably imagine, and I hope she realizes that I’m going to make it right. If it takes me the rest of my life, I’ll make it right. I reach over and grab her hand.

“I need to apologize,” I say to her. “I shouldn’t have said those things—”

She shakes her head, silently interrupting me. “Don’t take it back. I thought it was admirable that you were honest with Theodore. Most men would be too chicken to say anything and would just steal the girl behind their friend’s back.”

She has no idea what I even feel bad about.

“I wasn’t apologizing for that. I’m apologizing because I should have never said I was in love with you out loud like that, when the words weren’t spoken directly to you. You deserve more than a secondhand I love you.”

She regards me silently, but then she looks out her window again. I look back at the road, and then steal another glance in her direction. I can see her cheek lift in a smile as she squeezes my hand. “Maybe if the explaining and groveling go well tonight, you can give the I love you another shot before you cook me breakfast tomorrow.”

I smile, because I know without a doubt the groveling and breakfast will be a piece of cake.

It’s the explaining that I’m dreading. We still have at least a fifteen-minute drive, so I decide to go ahead and get started.

“I moved out right after Christmas last year. Ian and I let Jordyn and Oliver have the house.”

I can feel the tensing of her hand in mine just at the mention of Jordyn’s name. I hate that. I hate that I put that there and I hate that it’s always going to be in the back of her head, for the rest of our lives. Because whether she wants it or not, Jordyn is Oliver’s mother and Oliver is like a son to me. They’ll always be in my life, no matter what.

“Would you believe me if I told you things are great with us? With me and Jordyn?”

She gives me a sidelong glance. “Great in what way?”

I pull my hand from hers and grip the steering wheel so that I can squeeze the tension from my jaw with my other hand.

“I want you to hear me out before you speak up, okay? Because I might say some things you don’t want to hear, but I need you to hear them.”

She nods softly, so I inhale an encouraging breath. “Two years ago . . . when I made love to you . . . I gave everything to you. Heart and soul. But then that night when you made the choice to go an entire year without seeing me again, I couldn’t understand what had happened. I didn’t understand how I could have felt what I felt, when you felt nothing. And it fucking hurt, Fallon. You left and I was pissed and I can’t even tell you how hard those next few months were. I wasn’t just grieving Kyle’s death, I was grieving the loss of you.”

I stare straight ahead because I don’t want to see what my words are doing to her. “When Oliver was born, it was the first time I felt happy since the moment you showed up unannounced at my front door. And it was the first time Jordyn smiled since Kyle died. So for the next few months, we spent every minute together with Oliver. Because he was the only bright spot in either of our lives. And when two people both love someone as much as we love him, it creates this bond that I can’t even explain. Over the next few months, she and Oliver became the things that filled the massive voids that you and Kyle had left in my heart. And I guess in a way, I filled that void that Kyle had left in her heart. When things progressed between us, I don’t even know if either of us gave it a prior thought before it happened. But it happened, and no one was there to tell me that I might regret it one day.

“I mean . . . there was even a part of me that believed you would be happy for me when we met up the following November. Because I thought maybe that’s what you wanted, was for me to move on and stop holding on to what you viewed as this fictionalized relationship we created when we were eighteen.

“But then when I showed up that day . . . the last thing I expected was for you to be hurt like that. And the second you figured out that I had been seeing Jordyn, I could see in your eyes how much you really did love me and it was one of the worst moments of my life, Fallon. One of the worst fucking moments, and I can still feel the wounds your tears left in my chest every time I breathe.”

I grip the steering wheel and blow out a steady breath. “As soon as Jordyn got home that night, she could see the heartache on my face. And she knew she wasn’t the girl who put it there. And surprisingly, she wasn’t that upset by it. We talked about it for probably two hours straight. About how I felt about you and about how she felt about Kyle and how we knew we were hurting ourselves by maintaining a relationship that would never equal what we’d both had with other people in the past. So we ended it. That day. I moved my stuff out of her room that night and back into mine until I was able to find a new place.”

I dare a look in her direction, but she’s still staring out the window. I can see her swipe a tear from her eye, and I’m hoping I didn’t make her mad. “I’m not at all putting any of the blame on you, Fallon. Okay? I only brought up that year you walked away because I need you to know that it was always you who had my heart. And I would have never let anyone else borrow it if I knew there was a chance in hell you’d ever want it back.”

I can see her shoulders shaking, and I hate that I’m making her cry. I hate it. I don’t want her to be sad. She looks at me with eyes spilling over with tears. “What about Oliver?” she asks. “You don’t get to live with him anymore?” She swipes at another tear. “I feel awful, Ben. I feel like I took you away from your little boy.”

She covers her face with her hands and breaks out into sobs and I can’t take another second of it. I pull the car over to the side of the road and turn the hazards on. I unbuckle my seat belt and reach across the seat and pull her to me. “Baby, no,” I whisper. “Please don’t cry about that. Me and Oliver . . . we’re perfect. I see him whenever I want, almost every single day. I don’t have to live with his mom to love him the same.”

I brush my hands through her hair and kiss the side of her head. “It’s good. Things are great, Fallon. The only thing not going right in my life is the fact that you aren’t a part of it every single day.”

She pulls away from my shoulder and sniffs. “That’s the only thing not right in my life, Ben. Everything else is perfect. I have two of the best friends in the world. I love school. I love my job. I have one and a half great parents.” She says the last sentence with a laugh. “But the only thing that makes me sad—the biggest thing—is that I think about you every second of every day and I don’t know how to get over you.”

“Don’t,” I beg her. “Please don’t get over me.”

She shrugs with a half-hearted smile. “I can’t. I tried, but I think I’d have to go to AA or something. You’re just a part of my chemical makeup now, I think.”

I laugh, relieved that she’s . . . that she simply exists. And that we were lucky enough to exist in the same lifetime, in the same area of the world, in the same state. And that, after all these years, I surprisingly wouldn’t change a single thing about what ultimately brought us together.

“Ben?” she says. “You look like you’re about to be sick again.”

I laugh and shake my head. “I’m not. I just really need to tell you I love you, but I feel like I should warn you before I do that.”

“Okay,” she says. “Warn me about what?”

“That by agreeing to love me back, you’re taking on a huge responsibility. Because Oliver is going to be a part of my life forever. And I’m not talking like an uncle and a nephew, but like he’s mine. Birthday parties and baseball games and—”

She puts her hand over my mouth to shut me up. “Loving someone doesn’t just include that person, Ben. Loving someone means accepting all the things and people that person loves, too. And I will. I do. I promise.”

I really don’t deserve her. But I pull her to me and slide her between myself and the steering wheel. I pull her mouth to mine and I say, “I love you, Fallon. More than poetry, more than words, more than music, more than your boobs. Both of them. Do you have any idea how much that amounts to?”

She laughs and cries at the same time, and I press my lips to hers, wanting to remember this kiss more than any other kiss I’ve given her. Even though it only lasts two seconds, because she pulls back and says, “I love you, too. And I think that was a stellar explanation. One that doesn’t even need much groveling, so I’d like to go back to your apartment now and make love to you.”

I kiss her quick, and then push her back to her side of the car while I prepare to pull back out onto the highway. She puts her seat belt on and says, “But I still expect breakfast tomorrow.”

• • •

“So technically, we’ve only spent about twenty-eight total hours together since we met,” she says.

We’re in my bed. She’s draped across me, running her fingers up my chest. As soon as we got back to the apartment, I made love to her. Twice. And if she doesn’t stop touching me like this, it’s about to happen a third time.

“That’s more than enough time to know if you love someone,” I say.

We’ve been counting how much total time we’ve actually spent together over the course of four years. I honestly thought it would amount to more than that, because it sure does feel like it, but she was right when she said it wouldn’t even equal two total days.

“Look at it this way,” I say, breaking it down even more. “If we would have had a traditional relationship, we would have gone out on a few dates, maybe one or two a week, lasting a few hours each. That’s an average of only twelve hours in the first month. Say you have a couple of overnight dates in the second month. Couples could easily be well into their third month of dating by the time they spend twenty-eight total hours together. And three months is the quintessential month for ‘I love yous.’ So technically, we’re right on track.”

She bites her lip to stop her grin. “I like your logic. You know how much I dislike insta-love.”

“Oh, it was still insta-love,” I tell her. “But ours is legit.”

She lifts up onto her elbow, staring down at me. “When did you know? Like which second did you know for sure you were in love with me?”

I don’t even hesitate. “Remember when we were kissing on the beach and I sat up and told you I wanted to get a tattoo?”

She smiles. “It was so random, how could I forget?”

“That’s why I got the tattoo. Because I knew in that moment that I had fallen in love with a girl for the first time. Like real love. Selfless love. And my mother told me once that I would know the second I found selfless love, and that I should do something to remember that moment because it doesn’t happen for everyone. So . . . yeah.”

She picks up my wrist and looks down at my tattoo. She traces it with her index finger. “You got this because of me?” she asks, glancing back up at me. “But what does it mean? Why did you choose the word poetic? And a music staff?”

I glance down at my tattoo and wonder if I should really go into detail with her about why I picked it. But that moment would darken this one, and I don’t want that. “Personal reasons,” I say, forcing a smile. “And I’ll tell you about them one day, but right now I kind of want you to kiss me again.”

It doesn’t take ten seconds before I have her on her back and I’m buried deep inside her. I make love to her slowly this time—not in a wild rush like we did twice before. I kiss her, from her mouth to her breasts and back up again, softy pressing my lips against every inch of skin that I have the privilege of touching.

And this time when we finish, we don’t talk afterward. We both close our eyes, and I know that when I wake up next to her tomorrow morning, I’m going to make it my mission to forgive myself for all the times I withheld the truth from her in the past.

After I make her breakfast.