I don’t want to go back. I don’t want Tony to go back, either.
“Do you know why I came here instead of Boston?” I ask.
Tony stares at the wall behind me. “I think so, but I want to hear it from you.”
“Okay.” I look down at my hands. “It was because I wanted to see what it was like to just be me. You know? Not half of me-and-you. We’d been together for so long, I’d forgotten.”
Tony blinks. His eyes are definitely wet. “I never wanted that. To see what it was like without you.”
“You were always you, though.” This is so hard to explain, but it seems so important that I try. So essential that he understands this. “You never seemed like you lost yourself. Even back home, in high school, everyone always saw you as just Toni. You knew who you were. You have this confidence about yourself that I’ve always been jealous of. I needed to figure out who I was, too.”
Tony dabs at his eye. “So, what did you figure out?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. Tears dribble down my chin. “I’ve still got a long way to go. I just think it’s important that I keep doing it.”
Tony nods slowly. “Okay.”
“I love you,” I say. For the last time.
Tony leans back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “I love you, too.”
I sit down. Tony squeezes my fingers. I bring Tony’s hand up to my face and kiss it.
I’ll miss this. So much.
“Did I tell you about when Chris came to visit me for the football game?” Tony asks.
“A little.”
“We talked about you.”
“Yeah?”
“I told him I loved you, and I didn’t want you to ever be with anyone but me.”
I smile. “Yeah?”
“I said I didn’t know if loving someone and not wanting them to be with anyone else was enough of a reason to stay together, when I was too obsessed with my own issues to even be honest with you. Or to listen to you the way I should.”
“That sounds very...mature, actually.”
“Chris called me an idiot.”
“Yeah, well. I’m not saying he’s wrong.”
Tony smiles. “He also said I’d never find anyone else like you.”
“That’s not true at all.”
“You think? I’m pretty sure it is, actually. You’ve always been way too good for me.”
“Tony. Be serious.”
“I am serious.”
I look down at our intertwined fingers.
It isn’t like that night at the fountain. That night I felt as though I was sinking into an abyss. This time it feels like, even if I’m drowning right now, I’ll still be alive tomorrow. Part of me is going away, but there are other parts that will keep going.
“So this is it,” I say.
Tony squeezes my hand. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“Are you saying it’s up to me?”
“I think I am, yeah. I think I trust you with this decision more than I trust myself.”
I smile, but I’m not happy.
I reach in my pocket and pull out the top hat charm I’ve been carrying since Thanksgiving. I look at it for the last time. It’s been worn down over the months. It’s not shiny anymore.
“I still love this,” I say. I smile and slide it into Tony’s palm.
“Then keep it.” Tony puts it back in mine and folds my hand closed. The metal is warm against my skin.
We sit there for another hour, not talking. At midnight, Tony stands up, leans over, and kisses me silently on the forehead.
We don’t say goodbye.
After
AUGUST
SUMMER BEFORE SOPHOMORE YEAR OF COLLEGE
8 MONTHS APART
TONY
She’s not going to know it’s me.
The phone rings once, twice, three times. She doesn’t pick up.
Of course not. She wouldn’t recognize this number.
This isn’t going to work. It was a stupid idea.
The phone clicks.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Maybe I should hang up. What if she hangs up once she hears it’s me?
“Hi?” she says.
It’s her. It’s Gretchen. I haven’t heard her voice since—oh, God.
She sounds just the same. She sounds happy. She sounds beautiful. You wouldn’t think you could hear beautiful over the phone, but you can.
“Hi,” I say. It comes out as a squeak.
“Stacey?” she says. “Is that you?”
Who the hell is Stacey?
“Who the hell is Stacey?” Crap. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
Gretchen sucks in a breath. Oh, hell. Calling her was the worst idea I’ve ever had.
“Tony?” Her voice is low. Almost a whisper. “Is it—hi. Is it you?”
“It’s me.” I swallow. “Do you—should I hang up? It’s okay. I’m sorry. I should’ve texted first. I—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry!” She laughs. God, I’ve missed her laugh. The sound always makes me think of that first night at Homecoming. Her blue-painted toes dancing over the polished wooden floor. “It’s so amazing to hear your voice. I’ve—I mean. I missed you. That’s okay to say, right?”