Page 67 of Every November

“I like teenage delinquent Marcus. I bet he was hot in a very bad boy troubled way.”

We both laugh, and the heaviness lifts. It’s proof that even the hardest parts of my life can exist alongside laughter if I’m with the right person.

“I didn’t know what it was like to have someone truly be there for me. Now that I do, it feels impossible to keep accepting the scraps they give me. Especially from my own family.”

“You deserve more, especially from them.”

“Yeah,” I murmur.

“Whatever happens this year, you can call me. Doesn’t matter what time it is. I mean that.”

“Thank you.” I squeeze his hand. “Now, what about you? Did you have a rebellious phase?”

“Barely. It’s honestly a little embarrassing compared to yours.” He laughs, already shaking his head at himself. “The wildest thing I ever did was dye my hair blue in tenth grade without asking my parents first. That was basically it. That was my whole rebellion era.”

“That’s it? Blue hair?”

"That’s it. And even that wasn’t rebellion, because my mom just laughed and said it looked cool and she’d help me fix it, and my dad took my photo. I never had anything to sneak around, because if I’d just asked, they probably would’ve said yes half the time anyway.”

“So different.”

He glances over at me. “I used to think it was kind of boring, honestly, growing up without any real drama. Everyone else had these big blowup stories, and mine was just mild disappointment about a few bad grades, and that was basically the extent of my teenage trauma.”

“I’d take boring over what I’ve got, any day.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” He squeezes my hand again, apologetic. “I just mean, I never had to fight for anything at home. Which I know now isn’t normal. I used to think everyone’s family was basically like mine, minor stuff aside. It took me a long time to realize how lucky that actually was.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky.”

“Yeah,” he hums in agreement before we both fall quiet. Once again, it’s comfortable, as we drive toward Bloomington hand in hand as the exits start counting down our arrival faster than I want them to. Twenty miles, then ten, then I’m pulling off the exit.

I already know this is going to be the most painful goodbye yet and I’m proven right when I pull up to his parents’ house all too soon. I don’t let go of his hand. Instead, I tighten my grip on him.

“Marcus—”

My chest is tight. It feels like I’m about to lose him. “I know, baby, I know. But I don’t want you to go.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to go, either.”

Evan’s eyes are sad, and my heart feels like it’s going to crack wide open. “Thank you for all of this. I only wish it was longer.”

“Can I kiss you here?”

“You better,” he says with what’s trying to be a playful edge, but I can sense the sadness in him. It mimics my own emotions.

I pull him toward me across the center console, my hand fisting in his jacket on top of my hoodie I told him to keep. He comes willingly, his forehead pressing against mine. His breath is warm against my mouth, and I can feel him shaking. Or maybe that’s me.

Evan’s mouth lands on mine right there in front of his house where anyone could see. His hand comes up to cup the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, and I kiss him back like I’m trying to keep him here through sheer force of will. He’s brave. Braver than I’ve ever been.

When he pulls back, his blue eyes are wet. “We’ll figure it out. We always do. And you promised.”

I nod, but I don’t know how much longer I can continue to live like this—this cycle of getting everything I want for one, two, three days at a time, only to hand it back and drive home to an apartment that already feels emptier just thinking about it. Sooner or later, the longing and missing will suffocate me.

It’s not that I don't believe he means it when he says we’ll figure it out. I do. I believe every word out of his mouth, but believing him doesn’t make our reality any less complicated. I don’t know how people do this. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this.

Maybe this time will be different.

I want so badly to believe that. I’m just not sure wanting something is ever enough to make it true. It never has been before.