CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Kate
It’s brushing your cat’s fur until he (audibly) complains and leaves you. It’s avoiding your friends and your sister so they don’t tell you “I told you so.”
It’s like this. Standing in your tiny kitchen with flour on your cheek, dough under your nails, and tears on your apron because you gave someone a piece of yourself and now you don’t know how to ask for it back.
I stare at the cooling rack in front of me. Chocolate chip, as always. His favorite. And now my favorite, for all the wrong reasons.
From the living room, I hear the soft hum of the television. Mom must’ve fallen asleep with it on. I wipe my hands on a dish towel and head over to turn it off, but I stop cold at the voice of the announcer.
“Michael Lee returns.”
My heart stutters.
I look at the screen. Footage of him flickers to life—fast cuts of him on the court, weaving through defenders, sinking impossible shots, that familiar sharp glint in his eye. It’s all there. The brilliance. The control. The way he belongs in that world.
“After the press interview that re-captured the public’s heart,” the reporter says, “Michael Lee is officially back on the court.”
I step closer, arms folded tightly across my chest. “To celebrate, the Philippine Basketball Association is holding a comeback game next week.”
The montage plays: Michael in motion, arms raised in victory, sweat on his brow, joy on his face. Not the man I knew in the classroom, the one who sat on tiny chairs and helped make popsicle puppets with little kids.
This is that Michael. The one the country worships. The captain and the legend.
And he’s so good. Like—really, really good. I never watched much basketball before, but now I can’t look away. I feel… proud of him.
This is who he is. This is who he was always meant to be.
And I’m just the small-town girl who borrowed a few months of his heart.
How dramatic, Kate.
I can’t ask him to stay. I never could. Not when the whole country’s holding its breath to welcome him home. I blink fast and press my palms into my eyes. No tears. Not now.
A soft knock on the backyard door makes me jump. I turn around and see Michael waving his hand.
Great.
I open the door and he enters, wearing gym clothes.
“You shouldn’t watch that,” he says, pointing to his face on the television.
“Funny,” I say. “Four months ago, you would’ve said something like, ‘I look good, don’t I?’”
“Yeah, well four months ago, I didn’t like you yet.
” He settles his bag on the floor. It’s like he went straight here before he went to his own house.
“But now I like you way too much to show off. That guy,” he says, pointing to the screen, “is a phony.” He laughs.
“That guy never knew how to just be. He didn’t know how to lose. Or sit still.”
I watch him, something tight in my chest unwinding.
“I didn’t really start learning any of that,” he continues, “until I met you.”
“I didn’t mean to change you,” I say softly.
“You didn’t change me,” he says. “You gave me space to see who I already was.”
I smile softly. “So what are you doing here?” I take off my apron and hang it on the rack. He approaches me and takes a cookie off the table.
“I could smell these from a mile away.” He smiles, but it falters immediately. He adds, “And I wanted to tell you that I’m leaving tomorrow. Back to the city.”
My heart sinks to my stomach, down to my legs, and I feel myself wobble internally. “Oh,” I say. “Of course.”
“Just… don’t tell anyone. They’ll throw this big going away party, and I don’t want to feel like I’m not coming back here.”
I just nod, unsure of what to say. I try to smile, but I’m sure it looks lopsided.
“Coach wants me back for the Comeback training,” Michael continues, “then the pre-SEA Games training camp.” He gives a small shrug. “At first I thought I didn't want it, but a part of me still knows I should do it, you know?”
I manage a smile. “You belong there.”
His eyes search mine. “I belong here too.”
“No,” I say, gently. “You were always just visiting.”
Michael shakes his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this smaller than it is. Or make you smaller than you are.”
I look away. It would be easier if he’d messed up. If he’d forgotten a date or missed a call or slowly faded out. But no. He’s been here. Present. Kind. Honest. He's made me laugh. Made me feel seen. Gave me strength. Gave me courage. Showed me that even softness is courage.
And now he’s doing what he was always meant to do.
And I’m still someone stuck in the life someone decided for me.
And even if I took a step toward my dream, it still wouldn’t be as grand as his life.
I don’t know how to love someone who lives in lights.
I don’t know how to be someone he doesn’t have to shrink for.
“I don’t know how to be with someone who has a big life,” I admit, voice small. “I don’t think I was built for it.”
His expression softens. “Katie… You’ve made me better than anyone ever has.”
“You say I make you better,” I continue, “but maybe you only liked me because this place slowed you down. Because you were lost, and I was… convenient.”
His brow furrows. “You think I just needed a distraction?”
“No,” I say. “I think you needed a safe place to land while you were figuring things out. And I was that for a while. But you’re not lost anymore. And I—I don’t want to be the reason you ever feel stuck again.”
“I don’t feel stuck,” he says. “I feel anchored.”
“But you still have to go,” I whisper.
He’s silent for a moment. Then nods. “Yeah. I do.”
I swallow hard. “Then let’s not make this harder than it already is.”
He reaches for my hand. “Kate. Please. We don’t have to end it just because I’m leaving. We can call, text, visit. People do long distance all the time. We can make our own rules. It doesn’t have to look like anything but us.”
I want to believe him. But I know myself. I know the way I retreat into silence. How I stop replying to messages when I feel overwhelmed. How I convince myself I’m not worth the effort. And Michael Lee deserves someone who doesn’t doubt herself every time the lights get too bright.
“I just don’t want to be the thing that dims your light,” I say.
“You never have been,” he says, holding my gaze. “You were the reason I remembered I had any light left at all.”
A tear slips out, traitorous and fast. I wipe it away with the back of my hand.
He looks at me, as if going through his own spiraling.
“I’m proud of you,” I add. “You’re not just the guy on the court. You’re the man who kneels down to tie shoelaces and reads stories and asks me if I’ve eaten lunch. And I realized that I want both versions of you. But only one of them felt… mine.”
“Both guys are yours, Kate.”
“I don’t want to hold you back,” I say.
He shakes his head, fast. “I…” he starts. “I don’t know how to exist without you anymore.”
“We’ll still talk,” I say, tears falling but I’m smiling. I look like the Joker. “You can still text me when you burn toast or if you skipped your protein lunch and opted for pizza.”
He grins, eyes glassy, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he says, “And you can text me when your cookies sell out or one of the kids tells you you’re their favorite.”
We both smile with our eyes watering. There’s a long silence before he says, “You’ll text me when you go on a date with that balding single dad?”
I let out a watery laugh. “He’s not balding.”
Michael raises a brow. “Kate, he wears a baseball cap indoors.”
I smile, even as my chest aches. “Fine. I’ll text you.”
Michael chuckles, but it fades as quickly as it comes. His gaze softens. “You know I’m still rooting for you, right?” he says, stepping closer. “Not just bakery dreams. I mean all of it.”
My smile tilts, a little confused. “All of it?”
He nods. “You’re gonna get that cheesy grand gesture someday.”
And I feel his words dance around in my head. Because I don’t want a cheesy grand gesture anymore. I just want him.
“I’m rooting for you too,” I say. “You’ll reach big milestones. Big dreams.”
He laughs as his expression shifts. He steps closer, and I suddenly forget how to breathe. His hand comes up, brushing a loose piece of hair away from my face. I freeze, not because I don’t want this, but because I do—so much it almost undoes me.
“You’re staring,” I whisper, trying to be funny, but it comes out more breath than bravado.
“You’re still beautiful when you’re sad,” he replies softly. “That should be illegal.”
His hands cup my face like I’m made of something delicate and rare. His thumbs gently graze my cheeks, and I feel everything—how he’s trying to be brave too, how much he doesn’t want this moment to end.
“I just… don’t want to forget anything,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
And then he kisses me.
Like he’s pouring every version of love he knows into it. And both of us don’t know much about versions of love. But we both know this version. The one where we yearn but mourn the other at the same time.
I kiss him back with all the things I never said out loud. Every quirky thought I filtered. Every look I stole. Every time I fell a little harder without telling him. I kiss him with the parts of myself I never thought existed.
When he pulls back, his hands still linger at my waist.
“You’ll always be home to me, Katie,” he says.
And somehow, for the first time, I believe that maybe I could be someone’s home. Someone worth staying for. But more than that—someone who could stand on her own, sturdy enough for another person to depend on.