Slow Dance

by Rainbow Rowell

If Shiloh had learned anything about herself, it was that she couldn’t hold on to people.

“The brain makes note of novelty. Broken patterns. The more we do the same things, the more they blend together.”

What was the point of being alive if you couldn’t hold on to the details?

“Things still change, Shiloh, whether or not you participate in the rituals of transition.”

“You think that makes us strangers?” “No,” Shiloh said. “But also, yes? Like—cells get replaced in the human body every seven years. So that’s two full iterations since 1992. You don’t have any cells left that remember me.” “I’m pretty sure my cells remember you, Shiloh.”

Then he kissed her like he’d been thinking about it all night—like maybe he’d been thinking about it for fifteen years.

Shiloh closed her eyes. She could ride this feeling past anything. Past pitfalls and shipwrecks.

Cary drove for a second, and then he slapped the steering wheel. “Also? I have a girlfriend!” “I was wondering when you were going to remember . . .” “Screw you, Mikey.”

There was nowhere for them to go with each other. The minute they started, they’d be at the finish line.

They were the best two days of his life. Holed up in Shiloh’s dorm room, between boot camp and whatever came next.

“Shiloh . . .” Cary said. She looked up at him. He was holding the toy cup like it was actually full of coffee. He seemed nervous. “It occurs to me that I wasn’t really considering where you might be in life. When I . . .” She waited. “. . . asked you to dance.”

Shiloh’s brain was busy during that first kiss. (Her brain was always busy.) She was choreographing her fall. Calculating the softest landing.

“You didn’t have to do all this, Shiloh.” “I boiled water, Cary. Relax.” Cary looked relaxed. He looked happy. The cake had been a good decision. Even if the sink was full of dishes. Shiloh sat back in her chair and ate her cake, letting herself watch him.

“You never told me that.” He lifted up his hands. “I showed up at your door with my seabag and fell at your feet.” “You didn’t fall anywhere, Cary.” Cary still looked annoyed, but now he looked fierce about it. He leaned toward her, over his knees. “We spent two days in bed, Shiloh—I was head over heels. I would have done anything for you.” Shiloh’s mouth opened. This was all news to her.

This wasn’t a problem Shiloh could solve at thirty-three. At nineteen, she didn’t have a chance. She’d never had a chance.

Cary kissed her through it. Long, sad kisses, with his hand cupped around the back of her head. These were kisses without hopes or ambitions. They were apologies. Eulogies. Shiloh’s tears slid into the corner of her mouth. Cary licked them.

Shiloh took a bite of toast. She loved toast. She was happy for an excuse to eat it in the middle of the night.

She’d just never gathered enough data to come to a firm conclusion about her sexuality. Ryan knew that Shiloh barely had any sexuality left.

The kids didn’t get dessert on weeknights, so she let them eat as much as they wanted at dinner. Watching her kids eat was one of the happiest parts of Shiloh’s day.

Their voices buzzed for a minute. Then Mikey gave him another bear hug. Shiloh liked watching them hug. It was like watching Gus eat.

“Well . . .” He looked thoughtful. “He did send you his G.I. Joe glamour shot. That’s got to mean something.”

Cary should know that Shiloh could never be normal about him. He was always going to be her favorite. She was always going to want his attention.

He’d have to take himself away from her completely again if he didn’t want that. He was going to have to hide himself somewhere less accessible than the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Shiloh had brought her husband to the reunion—some kid from the suburbs who was handsome enough to be on TV. (Probably not movies, but definitely TV.) Cary wanted to gouge the guy’s eyes out. Sincerely. He had no good thoughts. All bad urges. He wanted to scream at Shiloh. He wanted to shove her husband into a wall. He wanted to ask her how she could just stand there, alive and not in love with him.

He was halfway across the ballroom before he realized what he was doing. He was going to end up on his knees, crawling to her.

Cary, you sent me a fanny pack with a Naval destroyer on it. * * * I’ll be crushed if you don’t wear it, Shiloh. * * * Too late, Junie has already claimed it. She’s carrying scented markers and naked Disney princesses in it. * * * The intended usage. * * *

“You can keep me,” Cary said. She pulled the last branch away from his right arm. She looked up at his face. Cary dropped to one knee.

WHAT

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. “I thought you hadn’t planned this!” “I hadn’t planned to do it now.”

“I can’t give you the past,” Cary said. He squeezed her hands. “But we could have a future.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea . . .” she said again. “Do you have a better one?” Her shoulders slumped. “No.” He rubbed her hands. “Let me see the ring,” she said. Desultorily.

“Cary,” she said, chastising him, “I always want that. I’m obviously in love with you.” “Obviously?” She nodded her head. His eyes were wide again. “Shiloh . . . will you marry me?” “Yes,” she whispered. “Asterisk.” Cary whispered, too: “Let the record show you think this is a bad idea.” “Let the record show I’m terrified of losing you completely.”

“She said yes,” Cary confirmed. “Because she’s crazy about you.” Mikey grinned again. “And always has been.” Cary smiled. It felt like the first real smile he’d allowed himself tonight. “I think that might be true.” Mikey jumped off the couch to hug him.

Shiloh was a light in the distance. She was an ache he’d been feeling since he was thirteen. An itch. She was a finger hooked into every torn seam, tugging—and Cary was made of torn seams. Just a poorly stitched human being. He’d only known how to want Shiloh, never how to have her.

“It won’t be easy with anyone—it may as well be ‘not easy’ with someone you love.”

“I love Cary.” “You always have, Shiloh.”

“I want to remember this day,” she whispered. “But I also want to have so many good days that this one gets lost in the plethora. Cary, I want to make you so happy that all your happy memories run together. I want the rest of your life to be a bright gold streak.”