I want to get old with you. I know I can’t have any of that if I
don’t give myself permission. There are so many people with
nothing and they’re still so grateful. I had everything and I
wasn’t grateful at all. You were right when you said that I felt
like I had to punish myself for something, and that I couldn’t
just let myself be happy.”
“I didn’t say it quite like that. Not about you…”
“No. But you said it for me. So that I would listen.”
“Maybe I did say it for you, but I didn’t want to hurt
you. I wanted you to see that you could find a way to be happy
if you allowed yourself to. I want to believe that.”
“It’s not so much allowing myself, as it is stopping all
the other stuff. Not believing in the doubts and the fear
because it’s just empty. There’s nothing in it. I don’t know
why I was doing that. I’m just so, so sorry.”
Steph’s hand shoots out and takes hold of mine. She
grips it tight. I grip right back. I slide towards her and she
slides over too. We sit there, shoulder to shoulder, staring at
the playground. At the swings. The slide. The glider. The
monkey bars.
“Thank you,” I say, angling my face toward her.
“Thank you for being here. For coming back. For taking a
chance. For fighting for me. For caring about me. For being
amazing. For having the courage to be you. For all of it.”
Steph kisses me softly, lingering, like there’s no hurry
and we’re not in public. A whole body bliss sweeps through
me.
She takes my hand again, wraps our fingers tighter, and
holds on.
Epilogue