Page 67 of My Unfinished Heart

“Like…normal and…lovely.”

The words make me think about my childhood. What he knows about it. What he’s heard from Connor, or even from my mother herself. It’s not what I want to be thinking about right now, but here I am anyway, reminded of all the articles and books I’ve read about kids like me and wondering how the hell I could ever come across as normal or lovely, but glad for both our sakes I’m pulling it off.

“Not what I expected, but exactly what I hoped,” he says. “And I also hope it’s gonna be harder to forget about me this time.” He gives me a smirk as he pulls on his black pajama pants.

I can’t smirk back. I can’t even manage a smile. This is killing me.

Getting up, I struggle into my shorts and shirt. I find my phone and wallet before stepping into my shoes.

He waits by the door while I limp through the room, looking to see if anything fell under the bed—if I’m leaving something behind besides my heart, bleeding and bruised and raw.

The shine of the sun on the blankets is unforgivable.

So I shut it down. I shut down my thoughts and my stupid heart. I let Tristan walk through the door, and I follow him to the elevator. On the way down, we don’t talk because I’ve decided I had the right idea years ago. There’s no good way to say goodbye. It hurts exactly as much as predicted.

When the car pulls up in front of his house, we stare at each other for a long time before either one of us speaks. He starts. “I guess…I’ll see you later?”

I stop myself from asking for an exact date and time. “You know where to find me,” I say instead.

This is no comfort to him, it’s easy to tell. He nods and opens the door.

No, I think. Not like this.

Before he can get out, I’m pulling him back in. I take his face in my hands and kiss him because it might be the last time. When his arms wrap me up, I catch the scent of the two of us together. I inhale as much of him as I physically can before letting his lips slip away from mine.

“Wait.” I reach around my neck to take off my necklace. I’ve only had it for a few years, but I never take it off. I bought it at Pike Place Market one day when I was walking around Seattle. The story that went with the charm felt ironic at the time, but less so today. I put it on Tristan, fumbling with the clasp beneath his hair because my fingers aren’t working right.

It looks perfect on him. The charm hanging from the back silk cord nestles directly between his collarbones. He touches it and gives me a weak smile. “Does it mean something?”

Unsure if he means the gesture, or the triple infinity symbol on the necklace, I take the easy way out. “It’s a Gordian knot. Supposedly, it was a knot no one could figure out how to untie until some guy came along and cut it. It represents a seemingly impossible problem.”

“Is that why you wear it? You have a thing for impossible problems?”

“What do you think?” I ask.

“I hope not. Thank you,” he says.

“I want that back.”

“I promise. Try not to forget me this time,” he says.

“I won’t. Don’t forget me either.”

“Right. Don’t worry.” The way he says it, like he almost wishes he could, makes me question the wisdom of what we did last night. Before I have too much time to think about it, he gently kisses the cut on my cheek. Then he presses one final kiss to my mouth.

And then he gets out of the car, and he’s gone.

Long story short, it turns out I’m not stalker material.

How do I know?

Because I let him get away.

TWELVE

Monster

My kneecap is broken.