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“What?” I ask. “How was that? Did you meet him?”

He looks immediately uncomfortable, like he maybe regrets bringing it up. His eyes are fixed back on the road.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I add gently, hoping never to cause that uncertainty in his icy eyes again.

“No, I want to. I want you to know.” He looks more sure than he sounds. “We sent a couple emails back and forth. His name is Edgar. He’s a mechanical engineer. I actually flew to Indiana to see him back in March.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “We were supposed to meet at this coffee shop. He never showed. Three hours later, he sent one last message saying he was sorry, then stopped responding to me. Just like that.”

Henry glances over at me, eyebrows tented, his face twisted into a sad little smile. My entire chest cracks open for him. In this moment, I can see the little boy who, in kindergarten when he was asked where his dad was, replied, “I don’t have one! I was made by science!” Fully confident in the family he had.

“Want me to find his address and we can go egg his house?”

He lets out a sad little chuckle. “Nah. It’s not worth the energy.”

We sit in silence for a minute, or maybe ten. I can’t take my eyes off him. I think about Henry, sitting alone at that coffee shop, in a strange city, full of hope and curiosity. I wonder what he ordered to drink. Did he get a blueberry muffin too? He used to love those whenever we’d walk to Brew, Laketon’s local coffee shop, after school. He would split apart the muffin horizontally, giving me the sugar-coated top that he deemed “too sweet and crunchy” for his liking, settling for the soft base of the muffin instead. I never knew if that was really how he felt or if he was just indulging my sweet tooth.

I wonder who he called when he realized he’d been stood up. Or did he carry this burden, this pain, this disappointment on his own? For some reason, the hazy look on his face makes me think it’s the latter.

Henry clears his throat finally, and as if he was reading my thoughts, he says, “I never told my mom that he and I were in contact. Or about Indiana. So…”

“I won’t,” I promise.

“I know,” he says quietly. “You’re the only person I’ve told.”

He’s been sitting in this alone for the better part of a year. It feels big, him telling me this. Like I’m someone he trusts to hold it with him.

Suddenly, I don’t care about the rules I’ve imposed on us. We can worry about that when we get to the lodge. I reach for him. His fingers weave between mine, as if drawn together by some magnetic force. He’s holding on to me like this intertwined mess of bones and skin is the only thing keeping him afloat. He draws us up to his lips, placing a long kiss on the back of my hand.

“Well, that got heavy fast, huh?” Henry says with a slight smile.

“I don’t mind,” I assure him.

I want to stop the car, climb into our own private bubble, and hear all of his most intimate thoughts from the last nine years. Every time he cried, the things that hurt the most, what he did to celebrate the wins. Whatever he’ll give me. But he’s done for now. I can see it on his face, the vulnerability too overwhelming to continue.

“So, what’s your take on Chicago versus New York pizza?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Honestly? Do you really want the answer to this? Because you can walk down the street with a slice in New York. You can’t dismiss the convenience of that. Plus, it cooks so much faster. You don’t have to pre-order at a restaurant before you’re even seated like you do back home.”

“Traitor,” Henry says, but he still hasn’t let go of my hand, resting it on his thigh like it’s his now.

* * *

We pull into Great Blue Lodge and I feel complete. We knew so much about each other, so deeply, for so long, and then everything shattered to pieces in an instant. But now he’s here, and he’s real, and my heart is very nearly bursting. I’m confident that we’re doing the right thing, hitting pause until we get our moms engaged, but a part of me is vibrating with the need to kiss him once more.

As if he’s inside my brain, and I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case, he parks the car, kills the engine, and unbuckles his seat belt. He reaches across to unbuckle mine as well.

“Norah,” he says tenderly, like my name is a precious gift on his tongue. He looks at me with the same nervous intensity as he did in that bed, before he touched the most sensitive part of me.

I’ve been in love with you my whole life.

It rings in my ears, the memory, the understanding of myself.

“Norah,” he says again, like he’s working up to something. Like he’s trying to be brave.

Is it really possible that he feels the same way?

I’m hanging on the air of his exhale, immune to everything except his cool blue eyes, long lashes fluttering.

He sucks in a sharp breath, breaking my gaze, his whole body going rigid. I look around, and there is a barrage of women surrounding the parked car. Mom, Hannah, Kristine. And a blonde woman I’ve never seen before, who’s wearing a tan beanie and an oversized knit sweater. She’s absolutely fucking gorgeous.