Wilder’s fingers tighten around mine. “There’s something else.”
I stop walking, my spine ramrod straight. “What?”
He stops walking, too, and faces me, keeping my hand tucked warmly in his.
“I got accepted to NYU,” he reveals.
NYU? When did he apply? What did he apply for?
Why—once again—didn’t he tell me?
Asif he can read my mind, he says, “I didn’t think I’d get in, and I didn’t tell you when I did because I’m not leaving you.”
I should be furious. I should break up with him. Or give him a piece of my mind. But Wilder got into NYU.
That’s not just amazing; it’s a dream of his that’s coming to life.
“When did you find out?”
Wilder exhales. “Fucking Cash. He went through my mail.”
I don’t know whether to scream or cry. Cash always knows everything first.
“You really need to get him out of your house,” I try to make a joke. But the words come out with more seriousness than I intend. “Or at the very least, out of your room.”
“I’m not going,” Wilder reinforces.
“Why not?” I ask him.
“I already told you,” he answers. “I’m not leaving you. I won’t do a long-distance relationship.”
“It’s not that far away,” I say. “I could take a train and be in the city by the end of the day.”
“That’s too far, Ingrid. I need to be close to you.”
My head is heavy and my throat is stinging. “The acceptance rate is so low. You got in. You have to go.”
“This conversation is going nowhere, Blondie.”
He won’t leave without me.
Which means the choice isn’t really his anymore.
But I’m not sure what that would look like for me—or for him. Would he stay in the dorms? Rent an apartment? Get a job?
How is he going to pay for this?
Instead of asking those questions and filling his mind with doubt, I take a sobering breath.
“If you move to New York,” I tell him, “I’ll go with you.”
Wilder scratches the back of his neck. “You have another year left at the community college. I’ll reapply next year.”
I let his hand go and reach to trace his jaw with my fingers. “What would you do there? Study? Major in?”
He nods slowly. “Film.”
A slow smile spreads across my face. “Really?”
