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At last, fortified by your strength and vulnerability, the next chapter to Eden’s story—a new beginning—finally seems possible.
She doesn’t even say anything; she just steps forward, right into me, her head tucking perfectly under my chin as it always did.
But then I’m around her and I remember almost immediately that for all her darkness, she can be just as bright, too.
“Well, fuck, Josh.” She throws her hands up. “This is just classic us all over again, isn’t it?” Classic us. I hate that I love the way that sounds.
I realize the wild rattling of my heart isn’t because it’s shattering. It’s because this is the best, the strongest, my heart has felt in months.
Because it wouldn’t be someone like Josh—there’s no one like Josh—it would be Josh.
the whole steamy-secret-Joshua-Miller-yumminess-passion thing?”
Yumyumgood i dont know where thats from but i just remembered that now so eh. 🤷🏼♀️🌼🫶😊
Now they’re standing over me, and Mom has her hand over her mouth, shaking her head. Dad is looking at me like there’s something seriously wrong with me, as if I’m horribly disfigured or something.
“I think you love the person you knew back then, the person you believe I can become again one day. But that’s not the same as loving me the way I am now.”
I know it’s late… but can I call? My phone immediately vibrates in my hand.
She spent so much of our relationship hiding her emotions because this is how she feels things—deeply, completely. That and this: she really has always cared.
“We’re leaving, but you two enjoy this totally unromantic sunset. Later, roomie.”
whatever the question, whatever she wants, my answer is always going to be yes.
“My favorite person in the world is a little edgy and weird, herself.”
“So, then… we’re doing this for real this time?”
“I know how hard that was for you to say.” I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t.”
“Okay, it is pretty good. For chocolate peanut butter.”
“You’re starting to spiral again,” he says. “Like before.”
“Well, now you’re being mean,” he whispers, leaning close to me. “To yourself.”
A break. I can’t remember ever saying anything so fucking stupid in my entire life.
CeCe. How strange it is to see her name there.
I didn’t realize I’d been needing this news so urgently until it came.
And now I wonder if this is how she must feel all the time. If it is, I think maybe I can kind of understand now. Why feeling good, forgetting about the bad, would be enough to risk so much, just to hold on to it for a little longer.
I look at my wrist, at my own personal dandelion, little seeds floating off toward the palm of my hand. Wishes, hopes. Mine.
“Dad, wait,” I say. “I’m proud of you too, you know that, right?”
I’d thought to at least tell her that. I miss you, I should’ve said, not just as my girlfriend, but as my friend too—my best friend.
But she’s not ready. That’s okay.
“A dandelion?” My heart starts racing. Because. Dandelions. That was our thing. “It’s beautiful.”
Like, maybe I can get back some of who I used to be—the good parts I thought were lost forever.
“If I need anything,” she finishes for me, “I’ll call you.”
My fingers hover over the letters unsure of what words I can, or should, say. So instead, I send a heart. Just one. Purple. Amanda sends one back immediately, then Gen. I look at our three hearts for a moment and remember, whatever happens, we did this for us.
I get there early, and while I wait for her, I think about that day in the grass with the dandelions. I was watching her for a few minutes before I ever walked over, sitting there all quiet and intense. It was like she was the only thing in color to me, everything else in my life felt so gray. I don’t know how I convinced myself to go sit down next to her. She was unlike anyone I’d ever known, and I was so intimidated by her—but I liked her. I wanted to know her, wanted her to know me. It was that simple. I was sure. She was worth whatever risk came with trying. Then and now.
I look around and see that dandelions have sprouted up all around the perimeter of the fountain, just over the past few days of sunny weather, just for us, it seems.
“I hope you’re making wishes when you do that.” He turns his head to look at me, already smiling. “I was,” he says. “Don’t worry.” He takes my hand from his shoulder and brings my wrist to his mouth to kiss my tattoo. Then he leads me around to the front of the bench, where I take a seat next to him. “Well, just one wish, actually,” he adds. “Do you think it’ll come true?” I ask. “It did. You appeared.”
You made me believe another chapter for Eden was not only possible but needed. For that, I will be forever grateful.
and for letting me borrow our little hand-squeeze-Morse-code thing. You inspire me at every turn.
