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“Are you really? Sorry? Because two weeks ago you were in my bed. I really thought this was something. I opened up to you.”

I rack my brain, trying to think about what he means, but realize it’s not the time for well, actuallys.

“I ask you to be my girlfriend and you respond days later with a middle of the night That’s not what this was text. With five exclamation points. Five. You know what you are, Norah?”

A bitch? A cunt? I’m ready for whatever word he throws at me because he won’t be wrong. I handled his feelings poorly.

“You’re cruel, Norah. That’s what you are. You used me. For my body. And that sounds ridiculous coming out of my mouth but you did. You really hurt me.”

“Rob, I’m so sorry. You’re right. About all of it. You’re right.”

“Yeah,” Rob says a little louder. “I am right. Who the fuck are you?”

In my hyperfocus on Rob, I hadn’t seen Henry approach, his blue eyes narrow and steely.

“I’m her boyfriend. And you need to walk away.”

I touch Henry’s arm. “I can handle this,” I say quietly. “Please just go back to the group. I’ll be there in a minute.

“Boyfriend?” Rob exclaims with a warped laugh that feels savage. “That’s rich. That is fucking rich. She’s not capable, you know. Can’t get close to anyone. Can’t let them in. It’s not in her DNA. Good fucking luck, man. I’m sure you’ll see what I mean in about two weeks.” Without another look at me, Rob pats Henry on the shoulder firmly and disappears into the sea of people.

“Are you okay?” Henry asks, low to my ear, his breath hot.

I’m not okay. I am definitely not okay. Because I was finally ready to say it. To tell Henry that I love him. To use the real word, not a Band-Aid word. But in that exact moment, Rob appeared as some kind of twisted divine intervention. He was right, though. Everything that Rob said about me was true.

I’m not capable.

I don’t want to think of this as a sign, but as soon as the thought enters my mind, it won’t leave.

“I can’t do this,” I say, and the next thing I know, cold wind smacks my chest, my arms, my thighs. I’m gasping for air but my lungs can’t take it.

Henry chases me outside, his long legs and practical footwear allowing him to catch up with me almost instantly.

“Norah, come back inside. It’s freezing.”

“I can’t do this,” I repeat.

Henry reaches for me. “That’s fine. Let’s go home.”

“No.”

Henry’s hand drops immediately. He looks at me, his brows tented with concern. I’m shaking. Henry slips off his blazer and holds it up for me. When I don’t take it, he quickly drapes it over my shoulders, then steps back to his position a few feet away from me.

“I don’t know why I can’t tell you I’m in love with you.” I stare down at the concrete under my boots. “I don’t know why I can’t say that word to you. Don’t you think that means something?” I finally look up at him.

Henry gazes at me, his blue eyes laser-focused. “No. I don’t.” He says it with so much conviction I almost believe him.

I slip my arms inside the jacket. It’s warm and a little sweaty from all the dancing, but the smell of him instantly makes my brain swirl with questions, confusion.

“I think you’re looking for an excuse to push me away,” Henry says, filling the silence I’ve left. “I don’t care that you haven’t said it. I know how you feel.”

“Well, maybe I don’t.”

“Don’t know how you feel?” he asks.

“Don’t love you,” I answer. The lie burns in my throat, but as soon as I’ve said it, I immediately feel relief. Because Rob was right about me. Maybe this dutiful-girlfriend shit isn’t in my DNA. I was nothing but miserable all night.

“Norah, what is happening?” Henry rubs the back of his neck, as he often does when he’s trying to make sense of something. “Are you serious right now?”