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Evan’s still out, curled toward me, one hand fisted loosely in the sheet between us. I watch him for a while, wondering if he always sleeps in or if it’s just because he’s two hours ahead of his normal timezone.

The past two days have been the best time I’ve had in a long time. I feel the most myself around Evan. All I thought about last night was how every time we’re together, and I share more and more with him, I’m only met with acceptance and understanding. I wonder if this is what unconditional love feels like. Not that he loves me. He couldn’t. No one in my life ever has, and there’s no way I could possibly be lucky enough that the one person I’m falling for could ever feel the same way back. Things just don’t work like that for me.

But it makes me question a lot of what I’ve believed to be true, even if right now this has nowhere to go beyond what we’re currently doing.

I think about getting up for coffee, but the second I shift, his fingers tighten reflexively in the sheet between us. So I go still again instead, watching the rise and fall of his chest.

Twenty minutes pass like that. Maybe longer. I lose track somewhere around the point where a car alarm goes off outside and he doesn’t even stir, just frowns slightly in his sleep before settling again, and I find myself smiling at that.

Coffee can wait. This can’t.

He finally stirs for real when a sliver of sun cuts across his face through the blinds, scrunching his nose before his eyes blink open, slow and unfocused.

“Morning,” he says groggily when he sees I’m awake.

“Morning, baby.” I let the word fall casually. “How’d you sleep?”

“Incredible once again.” He stretches and burrows back into the pillow like he’s not ready to get up, and I’m right there with him. I want to stay in bed as long as possible with him. “I think I’m going to have a really hard time sleeping alone after waking up in your arms two mornings in a row.”

“Guess we’ll have to make those Seattle plans soon then.”

“Guess so.”

“I hate that we have to leave today,” I admit.

“We’ve got time before we have to go.” He shifts closer, tucking himself against my side. “My parents don’t care when I show up. I told them I’d text them when I leave Chicago.”

“They know you’re here?” I ask.

“Yeah, of course.”

“What do they think you’re doing in Chicago?”

“Exactly what we’re doing. I told them I’d met someone a few Thanksgivings ago who’s from Bloomington and I wanted to go visit him.”

My heart rate doubles in record time because this is news to me.

“You told them about me?” I balk.

“Yeah.”

“What did you tell them?” I need him to clarify. I can’t believe he told his family about me. Holy shit.

“That I like you, that you make me feel seen and cared for, and that you’re a sweetheart.” He shrugs against the pillow in a casual way, seemingly unaware he’s undoing me right now because he didn’t turn me into a secret to hide.

I can’t imagine ever telling my mom about him and having it met with support. She’d never want to hear it if I said, “there’s a guy I really, really like and he makes me feel like myself, and, for the first time, that being myself is okay. No, not okay, but good.” She’d find a polite way to change the subject or tell me she’s praying for me. She wouldn’t even ask his name.

The two versions of that conversation live in my head—his mom asking questions, and mine careful and closed off. The gap between them is so wide, and I don’t think there’s a way to ever bring my mom closer to where I want her to be.

I know this. I’ve known this.

Evan was right when he said fuck her. Fuck her for it. Fuck all of it.

I don’t say any of that out loud. I just lie next to him, trying to tamp down the anger so I don’t let it consume me, not while he’s still lying in front of me. He’s what I want to focus on, not my family.

God, it’s so hard to even think about letting him out of my sight today when he’s the only good thing in my life.

Instead of getting lost in my head, I reach for him. My hand settles on his hip, and I trace my thumb over it. It’s not about wanting him, not the way it usually is when my hands end up on him. It’s to ground myself, to remind myself that he’s still here. That I haven’t lost him yet.