Page 100 of Don't Tell Me How It Ends
The audience responds to a cue I’ve missed, some raising plastic cups of prosecco, while those with two free hands break into applause. I’d join them, if not for the look on Ro’s face when he spots me. His smile newly hesitant, but no less spectacular than ever.
Even from this distance, my body heats in his presence. I fight my way between bodies to get to him, ignoring how faces twist in judgment and question as I pass. I can’t wait another moment to tell Ro the only thing that’s ever mattered.
I’m only halfway through the room, when the crowd before me parts, and the only person I owe an explanation to emerges.
“Hi,” I say, aware that we have a curious audience but unwilling to retreat from him. Not again. “I called you.”
Ro takes a tentative step closer. “I didn’t see it. My hands were full.”
My gaze shifts to his paint-smeared fingers, open at his side, palming the air the same way they had that night under the streetlamp. I’ve cherished that memory as something nearly perfect, but looking back I see it differently now. I see how terrified I’d been to reach out for him then, and how much we almost lost because of it.
“I have something for you,” I say, and his eyes drop to the paper dangling from my hand. His face ignites when he sees the questionnaire, and though he doesn’t speak, I’m grounded by the steady support of his smile.
“This was always the deal, right?” I say with a shrug, laying the page bare along with my heart. It still feels impossible, but I do it anyway. “You show me yours. I show you mine.”
I force a shaky step in his direction, swallowing past the worry playing at the back of my throat, ignoring the fear teasing the base of my neck. Ro doesn’t have to bridge the gap between us—I don’t deserve for him to make this easy on me—but because he’s Ro, he does.
He takes my hand, and when he squeezes, I pray his fingers paint mine. I want him to leave his mark.
The crowd around us thinned some once it became clear the artist wouldn’t be sticking around for a Q&A, but Ro still leads me to a sculpture courtyard I hadn’t noticed on my way in.
Even in this world that Ro’s built for himself—visually stunning and bathed in the glow of the setting sun—it’s Ro, himself, that commands my gaze.
“That piece in there,” I say, pointing back the way we came. “It’s beautiful.”
Ro joins me where I stand. “It’s for you,” he says, but when he sees the confusion on my face, he continues, “Well, the baby.”
He studies my reaction with such gentleness that I can hardly remember why I’d ever been running from him, when now, all I want in the world is to go to him. But for all Ro’s given me, there’s something I still owe him. It’s my turn.
I look to my questionnaire.
“You were only half right about that day in the city,” I say, unsure where to begin. “Since I don’t think it was technically a date. At least I wasn’t sure at the time. Maybe that’s why I didn’t ruin it.”
I only realize I’m bending the page back and forth when a corner rips off in my hand.
“For me, our best night was at that pizza place. Which is oddbecause I distinctly remember humiliating myself. But I also remember how you never looked away. Because for some reason, none of my stuff scares you. But you were right—it scares me. Being called out on my bullshit, the fact that you never let me hide…it scares me. I kinda hate it.” I smile now. “But I don’t hate the way you do it.”
Ro would probably let me leave it there, but he deserves so much more.
I don’t want to say this next part. I don’t want to remind Ro of our worst day, but if we’re really going to do this, I have to. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
“Kai,” he says, trying to spare me. “I’m not even worried about all that.”
But even if I want him—and I do—I still don’t want him to save me.
“How? How do you keep believing in me when I give you nothing to hold on to?”
“Because whether you like it or not, I get you. I know you. And you may be scared of this, but I’m not scared of you.”
“You should be with someone so much better than me,” I say, not caring how it makes me look. His kindness is a gift I’ve never had to ask for. One I may never deserve. “You should be with someonegood.”
“Kaia, I could stand here and tell you every good thing about you, and I will, but I also need you to know that what I feel for you isn’t something you gotta earn by being ‘good.’ I want every part of you. Every version of you. I wantthisversion of you.” And we’re so close now that I feel the warmth of his breath on my lips as they part for him slightly. “But only if you can stop trying to break up with me before we even go out.”
My own laughter catches me off guard, and I know that’s exactly the reason he said it.
“You know I can’t stand you, right?” But when I say it, finally, I fill the empty space Ro’s been saving for me all along, and the weight of his hand in mine grounds me.
Ro studies our interlaced fingers like they’re a puzzle, solved. Our amusement is snuffed out by the warmth of our touch as he guides our hands to rest at my back. My body arches into his, and I couldn’t run now even if I wanted to. But where was I ever really going?
