Funny Story

by Emily Henry

and every time the Daphne Moan sneaks out, Miles’s eyes and mine seek each other out, the quirk of his mouth my own personal lightning rod.

I’m already in my pajamas, so he comes out to meet me in the lot, with a grin and a hug that smells like campfire and feels like a hook in my heart.

Now his smile softens. He touches my chin again. “Nah,” he says. “This is enough.” “I’m not doing anything,” I point out. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Then why do I feel better?”

I can almost see it. I can almost see a life here.

But also, a reawakening of the old hurt. The reminder that my father never found a person he couldn’t love more than he’d ever loved me or Mom, a place he didn’t want to be more than he wanted to be at home.

The fact is, the most memorable parts of my childhood are the ones he missed, his absence exactly what gave them their weight.

I couldn’t feel more exposed if I’d unzipped my skin and poured my innards onto the table.

“She can hold her own,” he says. “So can I,” I argue. He draws back to look into my face. “I know,” he says. “I just don’t want you to have to.”

And no matter how genuinely nice Starfire is, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s a woman who paid someone actual money to recount the plot of Titanic to her as a prophecy, and she is worthy of Dad’s love, when I never have been.

Fuck

Life isn’t a competition, and neither is love, but I’m still the loser.

I focus on the blue-gold sparks shooting off the cake so I won’t crack.

I knew he wouldn’t change. But a part of me kept hoping I had changed enough that he couldn’t hurt me, or that this new iteration of me would be the one worth sticking around for. That I’d fixed whatever’s so broken in me that I can’t be loved.

Fuck

“Just…somewhere I’ve never been.” Somewhere that won’t remind me of Peter or my father or any other time that I wasn’t enough.

I see him laugh but can’t hear it, and I feel robbed of the sound.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” I murmur. His eyes settle softly on me. “I already told you. I didn’t do it to be nice.”

We’re right up against the ledge we’ve been sliding toward all summer, and I’m still trying to talk myself down when he kisses me.

I understand that the breezy, carefree Miles I first met is only his topmost layer, that his nonchalant way of moving through the world is a product of self-control, but beneath that surface, he wants.

his hands skating around to guide my movement until I feel like I can’t breathe, can’t see, like my heart might crack through my ribs if I can’t have more of him.

“You said no one wants you around,” he replies. “What about me?” “What about you?” I say. “Me wanting you doesn’t count?” he asks, brows knitted together.

AHHHHH

“A part of me is just waiting,” I rasp, “for the moment when you see whatever it is that drives people away. And I don’t want that. I don’t want you to stop wanting me around. I think it might break my heart to be someone you don’t like.”

Cut the cameras

It’s easy to be loved by the ones who’ve never seen you fuck up. The ones you’ve never had to apologize to, and who still think all your ‘quirks’ are charming. “It’s easy to be around people who don’t know you. But as soon as someone starts to figure you out—as soon as you can’t be perfect—it’s easier to move on. Find someone new to be the cool, fun, laid-back one with.”

“You make the people you care about feel like…” He pauses. “Like you want all of them. Not just the good parts. And that’s terrifying to someone who’s spent a lifetime avoiding those other pieces of themselves.”

I lift my face, and he brushes his nose back and forth against mine. “You’re worth it, Daphne,” he says, hand soft on my jaw and eyes closed.

I knew being with him like this would be good, and fun, and maybe even funny, but I’m surprised how my chest keeps twinging like my feelings have too much weight, and my rib cage might crack under them.

Like there’s no boundary between us, like he’s in my mind and heart and soul, and I want to keep him there even as I know this moment can’t last.

But right now, he’s entirely mine and I’m his.

Home. I ignore the ping in my heart at that word. It’s just an apartment. It’s never been mine.

Wronged? Sure. Hurt? No. He’s not capable of that anymore.

Their perfection hadn’t drawn me in—it had intimidated me. I spent our whole relationship auditioning, the same way I always feel when I’m with Dad, praying I’m doing enough to make the cut.

I don’t want to be a part of the wrong we. I’d rather be on my own, even if it hurts right now. Someday I’ll be okay, someday.

Something came up. A friend. Something better. Someone better. He’s not admitting who it was.

Caught up. There will always be a Petra. Someone more interesting, someone more fun, someone who needs less, or offers more.

“Good!” he half shouts. “Expect something! You want to put me on a hook? Put me on the hook. I freaked out, Daphne, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

“Honey.” She laughs. “I’m a cynic. And a cynic is a romantic who’s too scared to hope.”

My heart seems to unzip. Miles smiles tentatively, an apology of a smile: Should I be here right now? You should always be here, my heart answers. My nervous system agrees, a feeling like some stovetop-warmed caramel drizzled over me.

The same universe that dispassionately takes things away can bring you things you weren’t imaginative enough to dream up.

Take in the soft musk of books and the hint of pine and something I can’t name but recognize like an old friend.

He gives a surprised laugh. “No, Daphne. That I love you.” Hearing it again feels like swallowing a lit lightbulb. “Oh.”

And I just thought…” His Adam’s apple bobs. “Suddenly it seemed selfish of me. To love you.”

“I won’t hurt you, Daphne.” “You don’t know that,” I whisper. “I know how hard I’ll try,” he says. “Just stay. I love you. I want you. Stay.”

You’re wonderful. You’re the reason for the word wonderful. It really shouldn’t be used for anything else.

I do. I am. Right now. Every muscle in my body is busy loving him, on the sidewalk in front of my new dream house, the first rays of a new morning filtering across the street.