Page 107 of Forbidden to Fall

“I think it’s probably for the best,” I said.

He nodded. “I’ll think on it tonight.”

“Me too.”

We stared at each other as I envisioned a night staring at my ceiling while James stared at his. I was already regretting this plan. I might not be able to kiss James and access my critical thinking skills at the same time, but how much distance was necessary? “Maybe we could think about it together?”

“Like, at your apartment?” he suggested.

I lifted a shoulder. “They say two heads are better than one.”

The corner of James’s mouth lifted in wry amusement. “We’re already bad at this. I don’t know that I’d get much thinking done in the same room as you.”

I sighed. “Yeah. Probably not. So, we think about it apart.”

He nodded, his chest still rising and falling more rapidly than usual.

“We go home tonight,” I said, coaching myself. “We regroup. Then we talk when we’ve come up with a plan.”

He nodded again.

“At least I’ll be motivated, right?” I said, trying to find the silver lining.

The five-minute walk to our cars felt like five hours, with two feet of space between us and only eye contact. And when we said goodnight, we just had to look at each other and wave, praying we’d come up with a solution to an impossible problem.

Alone.

If only it had just been one night.

That was the problem with applying your mind to a tangled dilemma like ours. It had no solution. I kept hoping it’d peep out from a dusty corner of my brain as I tossed and turned, but it was eerily silent.

James had made no headway, either, when I saw him at the festival Thursday. All it took was a subtle grimace to let me know.

It seemed the festival was only getting more crowded as the weekend approached, though, so we kept busy all day and then, true to our word, parted ways that evening like two kids condemned to sit in separate corners and think about what we’d done wrong.

That was the thing, though—what was wrong about it? James was a good man. His mom had told me so. Archer had told me so.

More importantly, I knew it.

So, my Thursday night turned into less of a brainstorming-solutions night and more of a shaking-my-fist-at-an-unjust-world night.

Equally unproductive for the problem at hand.

Friday, we had a break in business for the parade in the morning. Despite wanting to watch with James, I went in search of my family.

Mia was wearing Moana pajamas, sitting on Ryan’s lap in a camp chair, while Lily sat beside them, her hand on her rounding belly.

They hadn’t caught sight of me yet, and I slowed to observe them for a few seconds.

Mia had a powdered donut in hand—most of the powder was on her face—but she turned to “offer” it to her dad, smashing it unceremoniously into his closed mouth. A trickle of powder dropped onto his Polo shirt, and Mia giggled.

Ryan and Lily shared a look, then laughed as Ryan opened his mouth to receive the offering.

My heart twisted.

Because I loved my brother.

Because I was jealous of what he had.