I scanned back over all my Cooper memories. Cooper making me a tiny snowman. Cooper trying to teach me to drive stick shift. Cooper sleeping out in the backyard in a tent just because I wanted to. The two of us—over and over, my whole life long. Climbing up on the roof. Conking out on my bedroom floor. Sending each other new favorite songs.
“You’ve always known I loved you,” Cooper said then, like he’d already won. “And you’ve always loved me back anyway.”
I stared at him in astonishment.
Then he gave me a little wry smile, like he knew this terminology was wrong but he didn’t care. “It’s just algebraic topography,” he said with a shrug. “Can’t argue with math.”
I thought about the duet we’d just sung at the reception—how I’d loved that song since I first heard it. Something about the harmonies, and the shape of the notes, and the twists and turns, and the way it made me feel… the way everything about it came together justnever got old.
Maybe Cooper was like that song.
I could’ve tried a hundred more counterarguments. I could’ve explained that wanting a thing doesn’t mean you can handle it. I could’ve quoted statistics and dire predictions. I could’ve insisted that humans are always our own worst enemies.
Not to mention: If we messed up this friendship, we’d never get another one this good as long as we lived.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t argue.
What can I say? I didn’t want to.
I didn’t argue when Cooper kissed me again. And I didn’t arguewhen he took my hand to lead me back to our cabin. And I didn’t argue when he threw all the pillows across the room and declared, “No walls allowed.”
The only time I argued, in fact, was after he’d kissed me down onto the bed, when he reached back with one hand to grab his T-shirt by the collar and start working it off over his head, and I stopped him and told him we would definitely not be doing anything that might pop his stitches.
“I don’t care about my stitches,” Cooper said.
“I do.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re definitely not.”
“The doc said I should stay off my feet.”
“That is not what he meant.”
“Are you saying we’re going to finally tear down this ridiculous wall—and then we’re just going to cuddle?”
I nodded.
“I feel like if I try hard enough, I can talk you into it,” Cooper said.
“Knock yourself out, buddy,” I said.
Nothing wrong with trying.
And that’s how our friendship ended—and how theeverything elseit would turn into began. Except even then I had a feeling like there had never been two sides to us at all—like maybe the way we loved each other was an emotional Möbius strip. And we’d been endless all along.
Maybe I was wrong, and maybe I’d regret it.
Maybe I really was cursed.
But there was only one way to find out.
Because if anyone on earth could break a love curse for me, it was Cooper.
And maybe if you’re going to take the biggest chance of your life—it should be with someone you already know by heart.
