38. Stephen
38
STEPHEN
When James suggested I surprise Dorothea at this party instead of at Kira's house, it seemed like a good idea.
Do it at the party! He said. She can't make a scene or run from you in the middle of a party! He said.
Without the fog of four glasses of bourbon clouding my judgment, this no longer seems like a brilliant idea. Dorothea has gone pale, like she's just seen a ghost. No one at the party seems to be paying us any mind, so even if she were to turn and run out of here, I don't think anyone would notice.
"Dorothea, I need to talk to you," I say gently.
She stares at me, stunned as I lightly wrap my hand around my arm.
"Oh my god, he calls you Dorothea. That is so cute, can I please use that in a book?" A short woman with a black dress and ‘Birthday Girl’ tiara appears from behind, James hot on her heels. She taps Dorothea on the shoulder, and the diamond on her ring finger nearly blinds me. Putting two and two together, I decide this must be Georgie.
"Harry's Georgia Rose, I'm assuming? Big fan. Huge. I would very much like to fangirl over the dining room table scene in The Dinner Party , but right now, I really need to talk to your friend. I'm assuming there's somewhere private in this monolith of an apartment where we could go?"
"Of course! You can go to our office," she says, grabbing Dorothea by the hand and dragging her down the hall. James leans towards me and claps me on the back.
"Welcome to The Pussy Posse Peanut Gallery, my friend."
That’s the second time I’ve heard that term, and I’m still not entirely sure what the fuck a pussy posse is, but that’s a problem for future Stephen. I dash down the hall, following Dorothea past a hall of doors until her friend leads us into a low-lit room filled with books.
"Good luck," she whispers as she leaves me to Dorothea, shutting the door behind her.
"Stephen," she says again, her voice laced with hesitation. "Why are you here? How are you here?"
I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans and shrug.
"You left without saying goodbye."
Her breath hitches, then she claps her hand over her mouth. Tears start to stream down her face, and I can't take it. I glide across the room to her in two long strides and pull her into my arms, holding her close to my chest. My tattoo feels like sunburn under my clothes where she rests her head, but I don't care. She wraps her arms around my waist and starts to sob.
"Stephen. Stephen, Stephen, Stephen," she chants my name breathlessly between cries.
"Shh, it's okay sweetheart. It's okay. I've got you, Dorothea. I've got you." I start to rock slightly as I attempt to soothe her. Her tears soak through my flannel, and she sniffles uncontrollably. I kind of wish I was the kind of dude who carried around a handkerchief right now. Not that I care if Dorothea gets snot on me, it just feels like handing her a handkerchief is something grown up and romantic.
Instead, I offer her the next best thing, my sleeve. She chuckles quietly as she wipes her nose. When her breathing starts to slow and she looks up at me through wet eyelashes, I take my opportunity to pour my heart out to her.
"Dorothea, when we were out on the McKenna's dock that night, you told me that if you could go back in time to when we were younger, you would have made the same decisions all over again. I heard you, and I get it. But there's something you don't know. I made a decision back then, too. A decision that I’m choosing not to make again."
"What do you mean?" she asks, blinking up at me.
"I knew where you were. Kira came to me not long after you left. I knew you were at the cabin, and I knew you were planning on going to California. I could have come after you. I wanted to. But I didn't, because I thought you'd be happier without me. I let you go, and there isn't a day that's gone by that I haven't regretted that decision. You've spent all this time painting yourself as the villain for doing what you needed to do, for getting the hell out of that town, and I let you. I sat there in Fox Hole, and I played the victim because I was convinced that you didn't think I was worthy of you. That you'd be better off without me. But I don't think that's true anymore. Is it?"
She shakes her head, almost violently.
"No, Stephen. That was never true. It's me. I'm not worthy. I'm an awful person. You're so good, your family is so good. You've all given me so much and I've thrown it all away again. I hate myself right now. I've spent the last few days hating myself for leaving. Hating myself for hurting you. Hating myself for ever coming back to Fox Hole and fucking up your life in the first place. I don't get you. How can you stand here in front of me and not hate me, too?"
Her lip trembles, and I reach out and run a thumb over it.
"Because I love you, sweetheart. My heart beats for you and you alone, and I might have let you go before, but I was an idiot kid then. I'm all grown up now. I know better, and I know that when you get scared, it's my job to be brave enough for the both of us."
"I won't go back to that town, Stephen. Not forever, at least. I can't live there," she says, and I shake my head.
"I would never ask that of you. Never. Trust me when I tell you that I have a plan. I'll go wherever you want to go. Anywhere that you are is the only place I want to be, and I already have plans in motion for my job and my dad's retirement. Your pal James has been helping me out on that end."
I smile, but she can't see it. She's too busy staring down at her feet.
"I don't think I know how to do this," she whispers as I cup her cheek and tilt her face up to look at me.
"You don't need to know everything right now. I don't need any huge decisions. I just need to know if there's potential here. Not do you love me, but could you love me? Not the boy you grew up with, not the memory of who I was, but me, Stephen Hudson, as I am now. Because if there's even the slightest possibility that you could, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not giving up on you. I'm not letting you out of my grasp again. And if you want to run, sweetheart, you just tell me, and I'll lace up my shoes. Because this time, I'm ready to run with you."
She blinks, and a tear slides down her cheek. I swipe at it with my thumb, and she leans into my touch.
"There's no potential. No possibility. I'm already there. Stephen, I love you. I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I loved you when we were younger, I loved you when I was gone, and I love you now. I had to leave when we were kids, there’s no way around that. But now? Leaving you this time was the stupidest fucking thing I've ever done in my life, and I swear to you, I will never, ever make that mistake again," she leans up to kiss me, but I lean back. The roar of the party has picked back up in the background, and the unmistakable sound of the New Year's Eve countdown penetrates the dark office.
"Truth or dare?" I ask her, and she smiles.
"Dare," she says as the crowd outside counts back from ten.
"Be my girl, sweetheart. Be my Dorothea," I dare her.
"Easiest yes of my life," she whispers.
I drop her hands and scoop her up by the waist, capturing her lips in a kiss. I pour everything into it, every ounce of love, desperation, all the years of yearning and wanting. I express it all to her with the way I kiss her. I'm not soft or gentle. I kiss her like she's the most incredible thing I've ever tasted, because she is. I seal my mouth to hers like I own her, but behind all the passion, I know the truth. She owns me. She always has.