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“Goddamn. My memory never does you justice.”
“Not with practice,” he assures me. “It’s just you.”
It should scare me, how seen that makes me feel. I remind myself that some bits of the past will bleed in, but it’s okay. It’s now.
“Exactly like that,” he pants against my cheek. “I’ll take it all.”
my man eli i will love you forever
I’ve felt so adrift, before and now—sometimes I think I’ve been adrift always—but he’s keeping me right here.
His name rides out on a plea and I don’t even know what I’m begging for—his body or his heart, to be held on to again and forever this time,
“Do we need Nick Miller tonight?” he whispers finally. I let out a relieved breath. “No pillow person necessary. He was a terrible chaperone.” Eli grins, one that leaves as tenderly as it came. “Then come here.” He opens his arms and I don’t hesitate; right now I don’t have to. I scoot over, sighing when he pulls me close, humming against his throat when he kisses my temple, his mouth lingering there in a firm press. And exactly like that, I fall asleep.
Laughing, I reach for his hand under the guise of leading him through the crowd. Our fingers tangle, his thumb brushing against my wrist.
“You’re the best best woman, Georgia,” he says with a tenderness that takes the shape of adoration.
“Fuck, the way I’ve wanted you,” he breathes against my mouth. “I don’t know how anyone can look at me and not see it.”
“There she is,” he says, giving me a lengthy once-over.
And then he wraps his arms around my waist, resting his cheek against my stomach; his exhale takes the shape of relief. It’s quietly intimate, so familiar, and for a second I can’t breathe. I’m preemptively jealous of the Georgia who gets this now.
“I’m better since I started therapy, but that fear of not having stability is hard to shake.”
“You’re always taking care of other people. Who’s taking care of you?”
Eli stares at me, then grins. “I forgot how bad you are under this specific kind of pressure.”
“I was going to say I’ll be back in a second. You’re not doing this alone.” “I can,” I insist. “You’re not,” he insists back, and my heart squeezes. He pushes at my hip. “Go. I’ll be right there.”
“The things you care about most are what you talk about least.”
“You were shown that you weren’t allowed to need things that inconvenienced people, and you learned to make yourself smaller. But why can everyone else be messy and you can’t?” I look at the blurred shape of her, blinking as a tear rolls down my cheek. “Because then I’m alone.”
know you’re scared. I mean, fuck if that’s not the human experience,” she says quietly. “But you deserve to let yourself feel whatever you need to. You can be messy. A disaster, if you need to. The people who love you will accept every single piece of it, I promise you.”
“Because I care about you.” It’s such a weak version of my actual feelings, only enough to release the barest pressure in my chest. “Because I wanted you to have a second chance so you can stop trying so hard to prove yourself. Because you’re good enough, even after you fall short.”
“Don’t think I’m taking this moment for granted, Georgia, or any moment you’ve given me this week.”
I don’t hear the door open. Barely hear the measured footsteps that stop just behind me. But my body recognizes the person it loves most, so when I’m pulled against a solid chest, I know it’s Eli. “Take a breath,” he murmurs into my hair.
sounding pained. When I look up at him, I see it in his eyes. “Why are you crying?” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.” “It does,” he says. “It’s not the time.” “It is the time, because you’re feeling it right now. Why are you crying?”
If I leave, maybe that space will go away completely.”
“I’m not asking you to change your lives, I’m just saying I don’t know where I fit, and that’s hard. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want us to drift away without knowing it until we’re too far to get back,” I say, my voice breaking. “Growing up, I didn’t have the true-friends thing, or the close-family thing, and then you came along and turned into both for me. And I’m sorry, I know it’s so much to take, but I need you all. I don’t want you to forget me if I move to Seattle and I don’t want to miss you the way I have for the past nine months, and I’m scared I’m the only one who feels that
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“It doesn’t have to be perfect, Georgia. Just true.”
“It matters,” he says, his voice breaking, “because I’m in love with you.”
“I’m in love with you.” That easy, like he’s said it a hundred times before. It takes me a second to realize this is the first. But it’s now, not then. I get out a strangled, “Again?” He’s not smiling, but his mouth is soft, his eyes are soft, this word is soft: “Still.”
“When I say I’m still in love with you,” he says quietly, “I mean today and yesterday and this entire week. I mean at Nick and Miriam’s wedding and I mean for the past five years.” If possible, he gets even quieter, but now he’s closer so I get every word. “When I say I’m still in love with you, I mean the first time I saw you and right now. I mean every second in between.”
“That’s why it matters. Because I’m so in love with you that I feel like I can’t breathe. I think it every time I look at you, every time you let me in or you laugh or you look at me like I mean something to you. I know it’s fucking messy, and I know you hate that, but it’s also true.”
“I needed you too much back then, and I still need you.”
“I want you any way I can have you. I want you every way I can have you.
You don’t need to send me anything to make me miss you, Georgia. I already do.
Because you let me in this week when you didn’t have to.
Relatedly, because you’re brave through your fear and you don’t even realize it.
Because I’m the first person you look at when you think something’s funny.
Because you were so excited to see me when I got to BY yesterday that you ran too fast down the driveway and ate shit.
Because you let me carry you inside. Gonna think about your breath on my neck all summer.
Again, because you were so excited to see me. Fuck, I am so in love with
Because I came to bed at 3 last night and you were asleep, but you turned toward me and let me hold you. Feels like it’s been weeks since we’ve hugged.
Because you smiled at me. You looked happy for a second. I can’t dig myself out of this anxiety, Peach. The only thing that makes it go away is work. But it’s the thing that makes it worse, too. Why can’t I tell you that?
Because you let me call you Peach when no one else is allowed to.
Because trying to parallel park makes you so mad, and then you get even madder when I take over and do it fast.
Because you lean on me whenever we’re on the subway instead of holding on to the rail. You never lean on me otherwise. You wonder why I don’t mind long subway rides—it’s that.
I love him because he finds beautiful moments even in the hardest of times. Because of his determination and dedication to the things and people he loves. Because he really is an annoyingly talented parallel parker. Because he’s pushing through his anxiety with the same commitment he gives everything. Because of his terrible coffee and his quiet mouth and that crease he gets between his brows when something annoys or perplexes him. Because of his unshakable belief in airport snacks and his sweet little puzzle addiction. Because he assigns nicknames to the people he wants to keep. Because he’s
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“Hey, Peach. Happy birthday.”
“Georgia,” he murmurs, and he says my name with so much care that it makes me cry harder. He tries again, a quiet “Peach.” He says it the way anyone else would say love or home. “What’s wrong?” “I’m in love with you,” I choke out.
“I hated the way my anxiety made me feel and act, hated that working harder was the one thing that made it better while making it worse, hated feeling like if I released my foot from the pedal, I’d crash and everything I was working toward would go away.
But I want a life that makes me happy. I want something that’s going to feel right, not just give me financial stability.
“I can be anywhere, Georgia,” he murmurs, running a hand up and down my back. “I’d like to be with you. Here, if you’ll have me.”
