November 9: A Novel(65)
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.”