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I should feel self-conscious or nervous or weird. It’s my first kiss, after all, but I don’t. It feels, instead, like I’m walking up to a moment that’s been waiting on me all my life. Since we were both born on the same day in different cities.
“I think you held back some stuff when you taught me how to play.”
He shakes his head, a rueful tilt at the corner of his mouth. “I never held anything back from you, Tru.”
“What do you want?” “You know what I want.”
“Mona’s trying to hook you up with Barry.” “And?” I ask, watching to see if his impassive expression tells me more than he has. “Don’t.”
I’m not overly religious, and I’m not sure what I believe about other lives, other worlds, and other dimensions. I do know if soul mates are real, Kimba is mine.
“Would you forget about your French toast for a minute and listen to me?” “But it’s stuffed French toast.”
“I want strings.” “Y-you do?” “I want strings.” He links our fingers, strokes his thumb across my palm. “Ropes, if necessary. I want anything that keeps you with me and me with you and tells everyone else don’t even think about it.”
“Is that what you want to do?” I ask, my voice solemn, my heart cracking. “Walk away from me?”
My voice breaks, my pain in accord with hers. “I’m only half without you. You have to give me this chance.”
“I was hoping you’d consider,” he repeats, “marrying me again.”
Get it? Because they got married for the first time when they were 6 years old 😭😭😭😭🥹
It’s the kind of contentment only found when you stand still. When you stop running long enough to run into yourself—to collide with your future and release the past.
