I get it. I really do. He’s trying to be an adult, to talk about his feelings and explain why this isn’t going to work. I don’t know if I can handle another rejection, but I owe it to him to listen after everything I’ve put him through.
“Okay, I’ll come.” I slip on shoes and step outside, folding my arms across my chest to hide the fact I’m wearing ratty pajamas and look like I haven’t showered in two days. (I haven’t.)
We silently walk inside the upper portion of the house, but instead of turning left into his apartment, we walk up two additional flights of stairs to the top of our triple-decker. When I’m out of breath and about to tell him this is getting ridiculous, he opens a small door and leads me into a finished attic space. It’s dark and smells kind of musty, and I think the room is totally empty, but as my eyes adjust, I can see the middle of the floor is actually taken up by…two beanbags?
“Um?” I ask.
“Um,” Harrison says, clearing his throat. “This is silly, but…I thought we could talk. And start over. Start fresh, like we did the first week of college.”
My mouth goes completely dry, and I realize…this might not end entirely poorly.
My eyes finally adjust enough to actually see the beanbags. “Are those—” I gasp. “Are those the actual beanbags from Hall Hall?” Harrison nods. “How did you…? How?!”
A dimple appears. “Did you know Rose goes to the same college we did?”
My eyes widen. “You enlisted Rose for a beanbag heist?”
“We’re going to return them in the morning. It’s not stealing.”
“And you’re telling me Hall Hall still has the same beanbags?”
He cringes. “I’ll admit this idea seemed better before I saw the beanbags. I remember them being a little more plush. And a little more clean.”
I gape at him.
He points to a stack of linens on a small side table. “But I have two blankets we can cover them with.”
There’s a squeak as he looks at the table, and now that my eyes have adjusted, I see a travel-size crate.
“And did you…did you bring Raya?” I ask.
He nods. “I know how much you like her. And I needed the extra support.”
I try to swallow, but it gets caught in my throat. “I do. I like her a lot. I might even love her, actually.”
A dimple appears. “You and me both.” He gestures to the beanbags as if he’s a waiter gesturing toward a table at a fine dining establishment. “Can we sit down and talk?”
I nod, silently gliding across the floor. I accept the blanket he hands me and cover the beanbag. When I sit down, I sink so much I can feel the floor.
Harrison sits down and clears his throat, but instead of breaking into a speech like I expect, he shifts and pulls a pieceof paper out of his back pocket. “I have something to show you.”
I reach out my hand, but he doesn’t give it to me. Instead, he unfolds the paper, clears his throat again, and starts reading.
“Dictionary of Emma. Volume one.” He looks up, and we make eye contact, mine narrowing, his crinkling. The corner of his mouth ticks up. “When Em tucks her hair behind her right ear, that means she’s feeling bashful.” I stop breathing. “When Em blinks rapidly, that means she’s jealous. When Em pulls her lips to the side and tilts her head, that means she’s thinking about me.”
I let out a wet laugh. “Rather full of yourself, I see.”
A dimple forms. “When Em lets out a quiet, breathy laugh, that means she’s laughing around other people. When Em lets out a loud, yelping laugh, that means she’s laughing with me.” He looks up with a sneaky grin. “Or Jo, but that felt less romantic to include.” The laugh I let out is unmistakably yelping, which makes Harrison chuckle.
His face grows more serious as he scans the next one. “When Emma’s breathing slows and her eyes widen and her brows furrow and her lips part, that means she has something to tell me, but she’s not going to tell me.”
“Delete that entry,” I whisper.
Harrison exhales a light laugh. “I don’t think that’s how dictionaries work.”
“You won’t need it anymore. I promise.”
He studies me, his brown eyes molten in the darkness. Harrison knows me as well as I know him. He always has. And the fact that he always knew I was keeping secrets but never pressed me on them is, to put it lightly, heartbreaking.
