I push away from the balcony railing, practically sprinting back into the room to tear through my suitcase until I find a pair of denim shorts and a red peplum top with thin straps that tie at the shoulders. I’ve never worn it. It was one of those things I bought on impulse thinking how cute I’d look in it but then never had the confidence to wear it out of my closet.
I take them to the bathroom to change. As I look at myself in the mirror, my exposed shoulders freckled and my hair air dried in natural waves, I know what’s missing.
Before we leave the room, I swipe on a thick coat of red lipstick.
33
SADIE
I step into the gondola,enclosed and dim, and sit down on the leather seat. Milo sits next to me, his arm instinctively wrapping behind my shoulders. It reminds me of how he pulled my chair out at my parents’ house—movements that are lived-in and stitched into every nerve, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
I don’t tense up this time, though. I lean in.
The door shuts with a soft click.
I swear I can feel him notice my weight as I relax into his familiarity, his body exhaling against mine.
The Ferris wheel moves smoothly until it stops to let someone else on. This continues for a few minutes, and we remain quiet as we take in a little more of the view with each movement.
We’re almost to the top when Milo turns to me, his focus not on the Atlantic Ocean, which seems to go on for infinity, or the coastline where the moon highlights the foamy water gently lapping up on the beach. His eyes are heavy on my skin, and my pulse begins to beat against my wrists and echo in my ears.
“Sadie?” His voice is tender, almost pleading.
I swallow and turn, discovering his eyes are misty and his usual grin has fallen into what seems like a shadow of sadness onhis face. This is not a version of Milo I know—his confidence stripped down to something raw and unfamiliar.
I feel his pain course through my veins, my eyes beginning to wade in my own hot tears. It’s too much and I look away.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Please look at me.”
I do slowly and reluctantly, but I don’t know when this happened—when being near him again started to feel less like a choice and more like gravity.
“I know you got my note.”
I nod.The note.His apology. My unspoken forgiveness that had been waiting—unsettled and untested.
“And you’ve given me grace through asking me to be part ofthe list,” he adds, reaching for my hands.
I nod again, his thumbs rubbing a whisper of circles over my thin skin, both spark and comfort radiating through me at the simple touch.
“And I want to believe, maybe foolishly believe?—”
“I forgive you.” I release the words between us.
“I don’t deserve it.” His voice cracks as tears spill.
I put my finger up to his full lips and shake my head. Then I wipe away his tears softly. “I forgive you,” I repeat before I turn my body slightly and tuck myself into his side, laying my head on his chest, waiting until I hear his heartbeat begin to slow back to its steady rhythm.
After another quiet spin around the wheel, he whispers into my hair, “Thank you.”
Something in this moment—with the lights glowing outside the gondola, the warmth of Milo against me, and the gentle rotation of the world as it slides by the windows—feels like letting go—of silence, of what has been, of who I’ve allowed myself to become.
While it’d be so much easier to blame the world for moving too fast or being too broken or hurting me, I recognize my part in the life I’ve kept looking right, even when it hasn’t felt right.
The ride slows and our gondola halts at the bottom. I pullmyself away from Milo, but he keeps his hand around my waist as he guides me out gently, the heat of his hand never leaving my side.
“Well, what’s next?” he asks me with a gentleness in his eyes and tone. “ItisSaturday night.”
I put my left hand over his right hand on my waist, pulling his arm over me until I entwine our fingers and then pull him along. “Let’s go find something!”
