This Is Falling(84)

“Your pictures…of you and Josh,” Nate says, and I nod slowly to confirm. He pulls them from my hands, flipping through them slowly, pausing for long seconds while he looks at each one, until he’s seen them all at least twice. Then he piles them into a neat stack, but keeps them grasped firmly in his hand. “I don’t know, Rowe. I think you should hang on to these.”

“I don’t want to anymore,” I say, and my conviction stuns me. I reach to take them back, but Nate leans away from me, pulling my photos to his chest and then moving them behind his back. “Nate, I know what I’m doing. Please?”

“Rowe, I…” he starts, but then he looks down, pulling the photos in front of him, looking at the corners poking through his closed fist while he shakes his head. When he looks back into my eyes, there’s an unmistakable sadness there.

“Nate, you’re not making me do this. I hope that’s not what you think. It’s something…something I’ve been trying to do…for months. For years! This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I promise,” I say, reaching forward again. But Nate only holds them tighter, his eyes flicking between his fist and my eyes, until eventually he stands and pushes the photos into his back pocket, and reaches down for my hand to lift me to him.

“Tomorrow,” he says, pulling my chin up gently with his thumb, and then reaching around to sweep my hair behind my ear with his other hand. He leans in and brushes my lips lightly with his, sliding both of his hands up until they cup my face. “If you still want to throw them in the fire tomorrow, I’ll build you one, just for that. But just do me a favor…wait until tomorrow. Just to be sure?”

My eyes are closed, and our lips are still breaths apart, but I can tell this is important to him, so I nod slowly; I feel his body release and exhale when I give in. Maybe he’s right, and maybe I should be sure. But I don’t think my mind will change, and feeling so certain—feels good enough for tonight.





Nate





I can’t do this anymore. No matter how this plays out, Rowe is going to hate me at the end. Not because any of this is really my fault. She’ll hate me for lying, but I think she’ll forgive me for it eventually. The long hate—the kind that’s going to last—will be the misplaced kind. The kind she needs to place on someone because her heart is broken. And me not telling her—me putting this off—is just dragging things out. It’s selfish, because I don’t want her to hate me yet. I love her too much. But if Rowe needs to hate me to get through life, I’m willing to be that person for her.

She whispers in her sleep. I watch her lips move every time we sleep together, like they’re telling the universe secrets. Tonight, I can’t help but feel like they’re trying to tell me something, like they’re begging for me to be a man.

I got out of bed hours ago, and I’ve just been sitting here, in this chair by the window, torturing myself with her beauty. I’ve counted every freckle on her arms, memorized her eyelashes and the way they cast perfect shadows along her pink cheeks. I’ve watched her lips for so long that I anticipate when they’re going to open to breathe. I won’t sleep any more tonight. I can’t, because as soon as she wakes up, I’m going to tell her, and then I won’t have any more time with her, like this.

Every time she pulls the blanket in close, or rolls to her other side, I hold my breath. And finally, the thing I’ve been dreading happens, and she stretches out her arm and feels that I’m not there next to her. Her eyes struggle to open at first, and I hold my breath, the voice in my head wishing—begging them to close again. But they don’t. And in minutes, this will all be over.

“Hey,” she whispers, her lips giving way to a yawn. “Are you okay?”

“Uh huh,” I whisper back, unable to push my lips into a smile. I’m sad. I’m so unbelievably sad, and I can’t fake it any more.

“You’re not…I can tell. What’s wrong?” Her voice is so f*cking sweet while her fingers rub the sleepiness from her eyes.

I can’t get my voice to work at first, and all I can do is stare at her, which only makes her more suspicious. “Nate? Tell me…are you sick?”

“No, baby. I’m not sick,” I say, my chest crumbling around my heart. Everything inside me hurts right now. “I’m okay. It’s fine…” I almost try to convince myself to play this off, to abandon my plan. But that wouldn’t do me any good. Everything would still be waiting for me in the morning. I understand Rowe’s parents, and I know her dad had the best intentions with everything. But I hate them for putting me in this position.

“Tell me,” she says, her voice a little louder now, and I can tell she’s fully awake. “You’re kind of scaring me.”

She sits up, the blankets pooled around her, and the only light in the room is that from the half-moon reflecting off the clouds outside our window. “I love you,” I start, just needing that to be said, needing that to be the first thing she hears.

“I love you too.” She says it back quickly, and I can tell she’s full of worry now.

“Rowe, I know something. Something that…God, I wish I didn’t know. And I’m not supposed to tell you. But I have to tell you. Because, if this were the other way around, you’d tell me, and I’d want you to.” I’m talking in circles, and I’m sure none of this is making sense to her. But I can almost see her eyes working the puzzle out, the tears already forming in the corners.