Chapter Thirty-Four
I stand behind the bar, wringing a kitchen rag between my hands, twisting it over itself until it’s as taut as a rope. Sarah peeks her head out from the kitchen.
“He’s on his way,” she says. “Everything okay?”
She was skeptical at first. I guess she was always skeptical of me, the same way I was skeptical of her, but after some apologies on both sides, she agreed to help me. Plus, Jamie pleaded my case pretty hard over text. She agreed to unlock the restaurant an hour early so I could surprise Henry here.
“Thanks, Sarah,” I say, releasing the twist in the rag. “For all of this.”
She bites her bottom lip and sighs. “What I said to you a few weeks ago about you making him miserable wasn’t fair,” she says. “It wasn’t nice and it also wasn’t true. Before he met you, he used to hang out with the rest of the staff after work. Now he rushes out of every shift as fast as he can to see you. He comes in late, he’s distracted when he’s here, and he’s always smiling at his phone like a goofy idiot. He’s going to be happy to see you.”
I swallow, my heart beating faster. “I hope you’re right.”
Her phone dings, and she pulls it out to check the text. “He’s almost here,” she says. “You have the envelope?”
I nod, pulling a white envelope from my back pocket.
“Great,” she says. “I’ll go to the back.”
The kitchen doors swing closed, and Sarah disappears behind them. Now it’s just me alone in L’italiano behind the bar. The lights are dimmed, the rich lilt of Ella Fitzgerald’s voice dances in the air, and a pepperoni pizza sits in front of me. Just like the night we met. Henry will come pick up his paycheck, like I came to pick up my wallet, except he’ll find me here waiting for him, just like I found him waiting for me.
My heart squeezes in my chest and my stomach churns. I keep my eyes trained on the door. Any second and he’ll be here.
It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen him. Two weeks of wishing I’d handled everything better. Two weeks of knowing I love him, of not being afraid anymore, of formulating the plan that I am now executing. I let the image of Henry walking away along the beach flicker into my mind, but this time I don’t wonder if I could handle the heartbreak again. I’ve handled so much in my life that I never thought I could. I’m ready for heartbreak just as much as I’m ready for love.
But, god, do I hope this doesn’t end in heartbreak.
I grab two empty wineglasses and set them on the bar, and I put a bottle of Chianti next to them. I bend down to the cooler below the bar to grab a bottle of the grapefruit wine I drank that first night, so everything’s the same. As I do, the little bell above the restaurant door chimes.
I freeze, crouched below the bar so he can’t see me.
“Sarah?” he says.
Just his voice alone makes my heart jump. He’s right there, two feet away.
Henry.
It aches.
I stand up to reveal myself, clutching the cold bottle of wine between my hands. He looks at me, eyes wide, and takes a step back.
“Bennet?” There’s a hitch in his voice, a shakiness I’ve never heard from him.
I uncap the wine. “Red or white?”
“What—” he starts to say, scratching his chin. “What’s going on?”
I take a deep breath, trying to recall everything I’ve planned to say to him. Everything I feel, that I hope he feels in return.
I pour the white wine into my glass and the red into his. He watches me carefully but doesn’t budge. “A few months ago, I stumbled into this restaurant after a really horrible day,” I say, watching the red liquid pool into his glass. “There was a guy behind the bar who, against all odds, made me believe that maybe life was worth living.” I set the bottle down and slide the red wine toward him. “All it took was one glass of wine for him to convince me to go on this crazy quest for my passion. He was really convincing and, honestly, a little pushy.”
Henry snorts out a laugh. It’s enough to keep me going.
“Anyway,” I say. “I was a wreck that night. I was embarrassed, grieving, pushing every single person in my life away in favor of being alone. But something deep down told me that I should say yes to him. That he is important. He’s going to be important to me. And he was.”
Henry looks away, into the light.
“He helped me look for my passion all summer,” I say. “It was a wild goose chase, really. We did a bunch of odd things trying to find it. But now I’ve figured it out. Do you want to know what it is?”
He turns back to me, his eyes glassy, and nods.
“It’s not a job, it’s not a hobby, it’s not even a person. It’s just…loving. It’s loving, and it’s trying. It’s giving people a chance. It’s standing on the ledge of a skyscraper to appreciate the view. It’s sharing stories while sharing a pizza. It’s making new friends and putting in the effort to visit them in New Jersey. It’s taking a business class because someone you care about wants to. It’s whacking a vase with a baseball bat when you haven’t let your emotions out in a long, long time. It’s holding someone’s hand. It’s doing something that scares you with someone who scares you. It’s realizing that you might be broken, but that doesn’t mean you can’t heal. That doesn’t mean you can’t be loved. It’s going to therapy and finishing my undergrad degree. It’s restarting my life. It’s waking up every day and deciding that it’s worth it. It’s so simple, and I feel stupid that it took such a journey to figure out, but that’s all it is, and I think the rest falls into place.”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. I think he might say something, but he shakes his head, swallowing it back. He feels so far away. I ache to touch him.
“I spent so much energy worrying that I was behind, or that the world was moving on without me, or that having a passion would fix me, but I realized that I’m the only one who can fix me. No one else. Not a fancy job, not a passion, not you, and not even a therapist. Me. So I’m not waiting for some magical key to unlock my life anymore. I’m doing it myself. Starting over. Committing to waking up every morning and trying with my whole heart. I may never find a passion or a career or anything like that, but screw that, Henry. I don’t think it even matters.
“The Passion Project is the best thing I ever took a chance on, but not because I found a passion. Because it made me happy. You made me happy. You showed me love doesn’t care about whether or not you have your shit together, or if you’re a grieving mess. Love doesn’t care if you’re anxious or depressed or drowning in everyday life. Love just loves. I feel grateful, every day, that I puked my guts out in the bathroom here, and that’s insane because that was one of the worst nights of my life, but it led me to one of the best things in my life. You.”
It’s all spilling out, everything I feel about him in one fell swoop. I press forward, hoping it’s not too much.
“I want to do this with you, for real. I want to kiss you, and sleep with you, and laugh with you, and tell stories, and watch movies, and cry with you. I want to watch you take pictures and I want to meet your dad, and I want to hike mountains and hold you when you’re falling apart. I want to fight with you and make up with you and roll my eyes when you stop and talk to the millionth person in the park. I want to rescue a mean old dog with you and name it Falkor the Third. I want to drink wine with you and make fun of people and admire people and talk to people with you. I want to take care of each other and take turns leaning on each other.” A tear slides down my cheek. I wipe it away. “I’m ready. I’m so ready. I’m done being sad. I’m done being angry at the world, and with myself. I’m done latching myself to the past because I’m afraid of the future.”
Henry’s eyes betray nothing. If he hates me, if he loves me, I don’t know, because he’s quiet.
I hold the envelope up. “The night we met, you made a bet with Sarah that you’d see me again, and you won that bet.” I open the envelope and pull out a twenty-dollar bill, setting it on the counter. “I want to make another bet now.”
He comes closer to the bar and traces the bill with his hand, feeling it beneath his fingers. “Okay,” he says. “What do you bet?”
Here it is, the final confession. “I bet you don’t know that I’m in love with you. I’m madly, deeply, insanely in love with you. What I said to Sam’s mom was wrong. I thought it was what she needed to hear, but I was so wrong. I love you so much it hurts. I love you so much I thought I didn’t deserve it. I love you so much that I found a therapist so I could love you right. So I could love the world right. I bet you don’t know that I have felt more passion in my life in the last summer than I have in years. I bet you don’t know that you’re my favorite person. I bet you don’t know all of this, because I was too afraid to tell you. But I’m telling you right now, everything out in the open: I love you. And it has nothing to do with how much I loved Sam, because you’re different people, and it’s a different love.” I feel my hands start to shake as I press on. “And I really, really hope I’m right about this final bet, otherwise I’m going to look incredibly dumb, but…” I take a deep breath, allowing myself to say the scariest part. “I bet you love me too.”
What follows is silence. A long silence, an eternity that seems to pass as Henry and I stare at each other, unmoving. He takes the twenty-dollar bill in his hands, turning it over once, but he doesn’t say anything.
“What do you think, Henry?” I whisper. “Do I win the bet?”
Please say yes. Please, for the love of god, say yes.
His green eyes are trained on mine, swimming under a layer of tears. “You win the bet,” he says. “Of course you win the bet.”
A rush of air leaves my lungs and I almost let out a sob of relief. I run around to the other side of the bar and he opens his arms for me as I engulf him in a hug. I inhale his spearmint-and-sugar scent, clutch my fingers to his shirt, and feel his rib cage shudder with a laugh or a cry, I’m not sure. He lifts me off the floor, holding me tighter than he ever has.
“I’m so sorry,” he says into my neck. “I’m so sorry I left you there.”
He sets me on my feet and I pull away so I can look at him. I brush his hair off his forehead as he holds my waist close to him. “I pushed you away,” I say. “What were you supposed to do?”
He twists his mouth. “I said some terrible things.”
“I needed to hear them,” I say. “I really did. And I told Andy we’re together. Well…were together. You were a hundred percent right. She was happy for me.”
“Still. I feel awful. It was so important to you.”
“Of course it was important to me, but so are you, and I didn’t treat you like it,” I say. “I should’ve introduced you to the Chases proudly as my partner, not hiding how much you mean to me. Neither of you deserved that. We both could’ve handled it better, but all that matters is how we handle it now. No more pushing each other away, okay?”
“Okay,” he says. “No more pushing each other away,” he repeats.
He hugs me close to his chest and we rock back and forth. “You looked good behind the bar,” he says. “I like how the tables have turned.”
“You didn’t puke in the bathroom,” I say. “So the tables haven’t completely turned.”
“Yeah.” He laughs. “I won’t be doing that.”
I pull away to look up at him. “God, I’ve missed you so much,” I say.
“I’ve missed you too,” he says, a soft smile spreading across his lips. He lifts the twenty-dollar bill up to show me. “And I kind of feel like I deserve half the prize money.”
I smirk, knowing he would say this. I pull a ten out of my pocket and hold it up for him to see. “All yours,” I say.
He cups my face with his hands and kisses me, letting the money flutter to the floor. Warmth fizzles through my body as I let my hands brush against his waist. I grip the fabric of his shirt, making sure it’s real. Making sure he’s real.
“I want this so badly,” I say. “Can we be together again? Please?”
“I’d like that,” he says, smiling down at me. “For as long as humanly possible.”
Our lips come together, his mouth as soft and loving as ever. I wrap my arms around his ribs and pull myself flush against him.
“I love you,” I whisper.
He kisses my temple. “I love you too. I have for a while now.”
I press my cheek to his chest, listening to his heart beating under his shirt. He tangles his fingers in my hair, holding me as if I’m something precious, something cherished.
“Henry?” I say, my voice muffled against his chest.
“Yes?”
“Where do you want to go on our next Passion Project date?” I ask.
He strokes the back of my head, tipping my chin up to look at him. “Right now? I just want to go home with you,” he says. “Can we do that?”
“Of course,” I say. “Always.”
He slings his arm across my shoulder, holding me close. I hug his waist with one arm, not wanting to let him go, and I push the restaurant door open with the other.
Outside, I look up at his face, his kind, open, gentle, charming face. His eyes, his hair blowing in the wind…I couldn’t imagine it better if I tried. I don’t know where we go from here or what happens next. I don’t know if I’ll ever find a passion or if it was always an arbitrary goal that never really mattered. All I know is that this matters. He matters. I matter. I let the feeling rush through me like a ripple in the water as I kiss the beautiful boy who makes every match in my body light on fire. The first breeze of fall brushes past us as the oppressive summer heat melts away.
I am going to be just fine.