Little Do We Know(83)

It looked like he was about to lean in to kiss me, but I didn’t give him a chance. I put both hands on his shoulders and pushed him as hard as I could. “What about your girlfriend, Aaron? Have you apologized to her?”

He combed his fingers through his hair. It was quiet for a long time.

“Look,” he finally said. “You once asked me if I loved her, and I was honest with you. I do. I’ve loved her for a long time. But we’re not like this.” He gestured back and forth in the empty space between us. “I don’t think about her all the time, the way I think about you. I don’t want her the way I want you. I didn’t care that things were kind of lukewarm between Beth and me, but now that I understand how this is supposed to feel, I can’t pretend it doesn’t matter. It matters. A lot. And now I can’t go backward. I can’t settle for less than this.”

Emory and Luke. That’s what I wanted. That’s what I deserved. It was a high bar, and I didn’t want to settle either.

My phone chirped. I pulled it from my pocket and checked the screen.

Mom: We’re ready to go. Where are you?

“I have to go.” I pushed past him, moving for the door.

“Can I call you later?”

I didn’t even turn around. “I don’t know,” I said as I reached for the door handle.

Nothing mattered to me but getting home so I could see if Emory was there. And if she was, I wouldn’t even text her first; I’d just sprint across the grass and slap my hand against the side of her house until she opened her window and let me in so we could talk. Aaron’s apologies didn’t matter. All I cared about was getting to her. And after I did—if she understood and accepted my apology—I’d never let her go again.



Dad tried to talk to me on the way home, but I told him I wasn’t ready. He apologized at least four times. He told me how impressive I was during all the interviews. Repeatedly. Until Mom finally rested her hand on his shoulder, silently telling him to give it a rest.

After he pulled into the garage and cut the engine, I went straight to my room without saying another word. My whole body was heavy and my mind was spent, but I couldn’t go to sleep until I saw Emory.

I watched at the window. At midnight, her mom and D-bag finally came home. But Emory never did.

I typed at least ten messages to her, but I never sent them. I forced myself not to. But somewhere around 1:00 a.m., I finally caved and sent one to Luke.

Hannah: Is she okay?

“Please reply,” I begged as I pressed SEND. “Please.”

A few minutes later, my phone chirped.

Luke: She’s here.

Hannah: She knows everything?

Luke: Yeah.

Hannah: And she’s okay?

Luke: She will be.

I thought back to how stupid I’d been in the car on the way home from LA. I sat there in silence for over an hour, beating myself up for what had happened, when I should have been using that time to strategize with Luke. How could I have been so selfish when Emory needed us?

Hannah: There are so many things I need to say to you, but I’ll save them for later. For now please tell Emory I love her.

Hannah: And that I’m so sorry.

Hannah: I let her down and I’ll never forgive myself for what happened that day.

Hannah: And I know she hates me for telling you what happened, but I’m not sorry about that part. I’m glad I did.

There was a long pause, but then those three dots appeared on the screen and I could tell he was typing.

Luke: Now you sound like her best friend.





The next morning, I woke up surprised to find myself in Luke’s clothes and in his bed. The sun was peeking through the opening in his curtain. I could tell it was early.

I turned over on the pillow. He was still sleeping, so I dozed a little longer, too. When I opened my eyes again, he was starting to stir. He blinked, and when he saw me, he gave me a sleepy smile.

“Good morning.” He ran his thumb along my cheek.

“I’ve been waiting forever to hear you say that.”

“This isn’t quite what we had in mind, is it?”

“Not so much.”

He kissed me, and I didn’t want it to end, because I knew that when it did I’d have to get out of his bed and go back to a world I didn’t want to face.

“My mom knows you’re here. I told her last night. I didn’t tell her why, or what happened, but she knows you need to be here. And she understands. But I think you should talk to her.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I wasn’t ready for this. Not yet.

“Think about it, please.” He kissed me softly, and then whispered, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

When he got up, I could see he was still wearing his clothes from the night before. He climbed out of the sheets, crossed the room, and opened his desk drawer. He pulled out a bright blue envelope and handed it to me.

“I wrote this the night I got hurt. I keep trying to give it to you, but…I can never seem to find the right time.” He climbed back in bed and slid his arm under my neck, while I worked the flap on the envelope.

I opened it and read it to myself. I smiled at the line, I love the way you play with your hair when you’re nervous and I melted when I read and the way you look at me like I’m the most important person in the room. I laughed a little at his P.S. Sorry. I know that’s a bit long for Day 280. Feel free to paraphrase.