Twice in a Blue Moon

by Christina Lauren

“What do you want me to say, Tate? What should I say? That I’m trying to figure my shit out? That I’m trying to give you some distance? That I’m losing my mind being near you? All of it, okay? Fucking all of that is true. Being near you like this is completely wrecking me, and—what am I supposed to say?” I take a step back, finally breaking, too. My voice echoes off the trucks all around us. “What do you want me to say? I’m happy you’re single? I’m relieved you didn’t break my heart for fun? How much do you want me to debase myself here? You hurt me! You never tried to find me, not in all those years. But here I am, following you into the goddamn parking lot, trying to find my way back to you!”

There’s never been another sensation like this, and it’s impossible to not feel that, somewhere deep in that ancient part of my brain that stores up these perfect experiences and brings them forward when I get even a little whiff of them again. See? It says. This is what you’ve been waiting for.

For the first time in my life I get it: home isn’t always a space; it can be a person.