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“You don’t know that for sure. What if a year from now, you’re waiting tables, and the album comes out, and it’s a huge deal, and your songs aren’t on it, and it makes you miserable, and every time you look at me, you know I’m the reason.”

“I won’t be—”

“Really? Because even the idea of that happening makes me miserable. I hate that it comes down to such a rudimentary decision, but that’s what it is—your dream or mine.”

He opens his mouth as if to argue but shakes his head.

“So then we do long distance.” His thumbs attempt to wipe my tears, but they fall too fast.

“No. We will just be drawing out the inevitable, and I think that’s almost worse. You’re the one who said it. My program lasts two whole years. We’ll barely see each other. I won’t be able to watch movies and text you like I did when you were on tour. I can’t spend the next two years wondering what you’re doing or who you are with, sneaking onto Instagram when I’m supposed to be studying, hoping for a glimpse of your life. I can’t afford to be a wreck whenever I see a picture of you with someone else, and I am an entire ocean away.”

He doesn’t say anything, so I continue.

“These past few weeks have been the best of my life,” I tell him. “They have healed me in ways I can’t even begin to explain to you. But I want to keep them this way. Good and pure. I want to look back on this perfect, magical December you’ve given me and smile every time I think about it. I want to know that when we walked away from this, it was for the right reasons, to give both of us a shot at the things we always wanted.”

He drops his hands to the side. “What are you saying?”

I take a deep breath. “I am saying that I get on my flight tomorrow night, and you call up Edwin and tell him you want the job. You kiss me goodbye, and I wish you all the best—and when I say it, I mean it with every cell in my body. But then, that’s it. We don’t talk or text or make this any harder than it needs to be. Instead, we leave this perfect—with you loving me and me loving you, because I love you, Mackenzie, I do.”

He reaches for me again, and this time, I let him take me into his arms. I cry against his chest as he strokes my hair, and when I finally try to pull away, his arms tighten, and I stay there, holding on to the last of my perfect moments.

“This doesn’t feel right,” he says when we finally part.

I close my eyes, worried that if I look at him right now, I will break. “I know, but it’s what I need.”

He cups my chin in his hands and wipes the still-falling tears with his thumbs, waiting until I open my eyes again and look at him.

“You’re wrong about us,” he says. “We are meant to be together. Maybe not now, but I don’t believe this is the end.”

I wrap my arms around him, not quite ready to let this all be over. Squeezing my eyes shut, I search for any last remaining magic beans, any semblance of the girl who could toss all logic aside and believe in magic and that life would simply work itself out.

But I find nothing.

• • •

The next day, we say our goodbyes in the living room. He offers to see me off at the airport, but I argue the logistics are too complicated. The truth is, I want to remember him here, with his hair a little rumpled, that errant lock of hair falling across his forehead and that sleepy, content look he has right before he falls asleep.

“One text.” He breathes the words into my neck as I cling to the final moments of our very last hug. “Just let me know you’re there and you’re safe.”

“Okay,” I reply, but a part of me wants him to ask for more.

Two texts. Maybe a phone call, or maybe we forget this stupid idea altogether. Maybe we try. See how it goes. Fight for this.

But he doesn’t say anything more.

His lips brush my temple, and I feel a tear slide down my cheek that isn’t my own. I close my eyes and let it absorb into my skin, another tiny piece of him I get to keep.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I am so incredibly proud of you.”

His words bury deep into me, finding the tiny crevices of my heart where I know they will stay for a very long time. “I love you, too. One day, a song is going to come on, and I’ll know immediately whose words I’m hearing.”

And it just might kill me.

We hold each other until my phone begins to buzz and I know my Uber is waiting downstairs.

“Goodbye.” I kiss him one last time. I bend down, pick up my bag, and use all of my willpower not to turn back as I descend the stairs. But when I reach the bottom and pull open the door, I pause for a moment just before I step out onto the sidewalk.

I’m listening for footsteps behind me.