Begin Again(103)

Their defense of me means a lot, but their updates mean much more. Only with people in my immediate circle have I been able to see the effect of my words. Understanding the full reach of them fills me to the brim, like the happiness of it could tip over my heart.

One of the callers is more candid than the others. “I’ve always been too scared to call in or even email,” she says. “But I-I’ve seen her help friends of mine. And I listen to her on every Friday broadcast. I’m usually a total cynic, so—she’s basically the whole reason I believe in love again.”

There’s a pause so long that I hear my mom’s warning about dead air in my ears. But the air isn’t dead. It’s impossibly full. I understand that when Milo finally finds his voice again.

“Yeah,” he says. “For what it’s worth—me too.”

The words knock the wind out of me. No, not just the words, but the sincerity of them. I know Milo’s voice too well to doubt it.

“So is she coming back or what?” the caller asks.

“God, I hope so,” says Milo. “Can you imagine if I were the one giving advice on this show? Campus would be up in flames by the end of the week.”

There’s a brief pause where the caller laughs and Milo waits them out, clearly assuming she has more to say. When she doesn’t, he speaks up again, his voice low but clear.

“I mean it, though. We’re all better off with her around. I’m glad everyone else seems to agree.” Milo takes in a heavy breath. “Alright, that’s enough calls for a lifetime, go bother someone else. And have a good day, I guess. Or as good of a day as we can have with the looming threat of chili dogs over our heads.”

The podcast recording of the show ends and I still haven’t moved a single muscle, Milo’s words pressed into me like ink on a page.

For what it’s worth—me too.

I stand up from the bench, the phone nearly falling out of my shaking hands. Milo wouldn’t say something like that without meaning it; he never does. He wanted me to hear it. He wanted me to know.

My feet are carrying me to the intersection dividing campus from the main road before I even know where I’m going or what I’m going to do. I’ve spent too much of my life overthinking things, but this—this is somehow both the easiest and scariest thing I will ever do.

The outside of Bagelopolis is quiet, the inside just the same. Cozy and fragrant and inviting. I expect Milo to be in the back, but there he is, standing at the register for once, his brow furrowed over an inventory slip. His blue apron is pulled taut across his body and his flannel sleeves are rolled up, exposing the lean muscle of his forearms. His hair is a mess of dark curls, overgrown and moving in tandem with every minute shake of his head, and his cheeks are flushed from the post-lunch rush.

I’ve always known that he’s beautiful. But it’s when he looks up and sees me standing there that my heart presses against my chest, because he is so much more than that. He is the steady pulse of something known, something understood—not a person to build your world around, but a person to build one with.

“Hey, you,” says Milo, his eyes lighting up. He jerks a thumb toward the back. “I’m about to go on break. Want some tea, or—oh.”

I make it to the register, sucking in a breath to buoy myself. Then I grab the coffee cup he keeps at the register, the one I know from experience will be full of piping-hot Eternal Darkness. I close my eyes, abandon my last shred of self-preservation, and chug.

I nearly sputter it right back out when I reach the dregs.

Milo’s expression oscillates between quizzical and concerned. “Why do I feel like I just watched a crime against nature?”

“How,” I wheeze.

Milo pries the coffee cup from my hands. “More like why?”

I clear my throat, regretting coffee beans for ever being born. “I needed liquid courage,” I manage to choke out. “I have something to tell you.”

“Uh . . .”

Sean comes up from behind and pats Milo on the shoulder. “Go take your break before she starts swinging from the light fixtures.”

Milo leads the way to the back exit, checking over his shoulder like he’s worried the caffeine exposure might combust me. And maybe it will. I can feel my heart beating like there are ten of them all over my body, a heat coursing through my veins that might just turn into an inferno. He holds the door open for me and we blink our way into the bright sunshine of the back parking lot.

I take a deep breath. I did not plan to do this in front of a loaded dumpster. I didn’t plan to do this at all. But if I’ve learned anything this semester, it’s that sometimes you have to chuck the plans out the window.

“Here is the thing,” I say.

Milo watches me so intently that if there’s a world beyond his gaze, I can’t see it. I should be afraid, maybe. But it’s hard to be afraid of anything, looking into those eyes and knowing that I have nothing to lose; that the feelings we have for each other are strong enough that they can take any form. Whether we walk away from this friends or step into something else entirely, we still have each other for life.

So I let the words pour out of me—words I’ve said plenty of times before, but words that have an entirely new meaning now that I’m saying them to him.

“I love you.”