28. Inspiration Granted #3
A laugh escapes me through the tears already forming. “You just said you love me and now you're issuing an addendum?”
“Yes.”
“Very romantic.”
“Cami.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
His thumbs move once against my waist.
Predictable and grounding.
“I am not saying it because you said it first.”
The teasing drains out of me.
“I have known I’ve loved you for some time.”
My throat closes. “How long?”
“That is not relevant.”
“It is extremely relevant.”
His mouth twitches, but he keeps going. “I did not want to say it immediately after sex because I did not want you to wonder whether it was an emotional consequence of what just happened.”
That is painfully him.
“And then?”
“Then there was Christmas.”
I wait.
“And New Year's.”
“Ronan.”
“And today is Valentine's Day.”
I stare at him.
His expression becomes faintly annoyed. “I didn’t want a commercially designated date to dictate when I said something that matters this much.”
A laugh breaks out of me. “You are fucking unbelievable.”
“I am aware.”
“So you were just going to keep loving me in secret because capitalism ruined the calendar?”
“I was not keeping it secret.”
“You definitely weren't using the words.”
“I was looking for an appropriate moment.”
I gesture at the giant box on my desk. “And I beat you to it.”
“Yes.”
“Ha.”
“This is not a competition.”
“I won.”
“You did not.”
“I absolutely did.”
He looks annoyed.
But his eyes are wet.
My smile disappears. “Ronan. You're going to make me cry harder.”
“That seems inefficient.”
I laugh and cry at the same time, which is deeply unattractive.
His hands slide from my waist to my back, pulling me closer.
This time when I press my face into his chest, it feels different.
Not because anything has changed.
Because something has finally been named.
“I love you,” I say again, because apparently now that I've crossed the terrifying part, I want to say it a thousand times.
His arms tighten. “I love you too.”
No addendum.
No qualification.
Just the words.
I stay against him for another few seconds before finally pulling back. “You realize this makes the robot tripod even more romantic.”
His expression goes flat.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“It is functional.”
“You told me you love me next to it.”
“Those events are unrelated.”
“Romantically functional.”
“That is not a category.”
“It is now.”
“I reject the premise.”
I kiss him.
When I pull away, I'm still smiling. “Happy Valentine's Day.”
He exhales. “Happy manufactured-romantic-capitalism day.”
I kiss him again anyway.
By nine that night, Dex has gone to work, Micah is back, Griffin has sent us a selfie from the ambulance looking deeply unimpressed with humanity, and Ronan has retreated to his bedroom after reaching his people limit.
The house is quieter.
Not empty.
Never empty anymore.
I sit curled against Micah on the couch, turning my wrist so the two bracelets catch the light.
My new tracking stand is assembled in my bedroom.
There are tulips from Griffin on the kitchen counter—along with all the flowers Dex bought.
The balloons are slowly losing altitude over the dining table.
One of the gift bags is still sitting unopened because apparently Dex bought so much shit he forgot what was in all of it.
And somewhere down the hall is a man who told me he loves me today.
I keep thinking about that.
Not obsessively—maybe.
My phone buzzes.
Dex
FOUND ANOTHER VALENTINE’S PRESENT IN MY CAR
I laugh.
Cami
How
Dex
I THINK I PANICKED IN TARGET
Micah
Sounds believable
Dex
wow
hostile environment
love you both
My chest warms.
Micah looks at my screen as I type back.
Cami
love you too
go do your job
Micah
Love you. Stop buying things.
Dex
NO PROMISES
I rest my head against Micah's shoulder.
Tomorrow is just February fifteenth.
Griffin will still be working.
Dex will still be obnoxious.
Ronan will still insist Valentine's Day is an economically manipulative social construct despite having spent God knows how long comparing tracking motors—and apparently delaying an I-love-you because he refused to let Hallmark influence the timing.
Micah and I will still wear bracelets that match Dex's in a way nobody else needs to.
And sometime soon, Griffin is taking me on a date because February thirteenth wasn't a consolation prize.
Maybe that is the thing we’re finally learning.
Equal does not mean everyone gets the same night.
The same gift.
The same kind of sex.
The same amount of noise.
The same words at the same time.
It means nobody has to become interchangeable to prove they matter.
My phone buzzes one more time.
Griffin
Finally sitting down. How was the rest of your day?
I smile.
Then send him a picture.
The tulips.
The bracelets.
The ridiculous dying balloon.
Ronan's creator stand.
All of it.
I consider telling him about Ronan.
Then stop.
Not because it's a secret.
Because Griffin deserves more than finding out something that important as an addendum to a picture of a dying dinosaur balloon.
I'll tell him when he gets home.
Cami
Different
Perfect, though
Griffin
Good
Simple.
Very Griffin.
I tuck the phone against my chest and settle back into the crook of Micah’s arm.
Yeah.
Everything is good.