Chapter 40 - A Choice, Properly #2
There was a difference.
We finished dinner because neither of us knew what else to do.
Slowly.
Barely eating.
Occasionally talking about completely unrelated things because apparently the human brain sometimes needed shelter.
Work.
Her students.
A stupid college story.
Anything.
And somehow that hurt too.
Because we were still good at talking.
Still easy.
Still us.
Just—
ending.
Outside, we walked.
Not holding hands.
First time in a long time.
The absence felt physical.
My hand kept noticing nothing was there.
At the parking area, Celeste stopped.
"Lia."
"Hm?"
"One last question."
"Okay."
"Did I do something wrong?"
Fuck.
"No."
Immediate.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
"Was I too much?"
"No."
"Too serious?"
"No."
"Too late?"
That one hit differently.
"No."
Celeste's mouth trembled.
She looked away.
Then back.
"Was she better?"
"No."
Celeste stared at me.
I meant it.
"You're not a worse option."
Her eyes filled again.
"Please don't call me an option right now."
Fuck.
"You're right. Sorry."
She wiped one cheek.
"Then why her?"
There.
The question I had been avoiding.
I thought.
Then finally—
"I reach for her in my head."
Celeste's expression changed.
I continued.
"When something happens, sometimes she's the person I think of first."
That hurt to say.
"And with you—"
I stopped.
"What?"
"You're already part of me in a different way."
Celeste stared.
"That's annoyingly vague."
I almost laughed.
"I know."
"Try again."
Of course.
Even now.
"You feel like someone I could build something really good with."
She listened.
"Really good."
Her eyes dropped.
"But with Tori, I keep wanting to know what's next."
There.
That was it.
Maybe.
"Not because you're boring."
"Jesus Christ, Lia."
"Bad wording."
"Extremely."
I laughed weakly.
Then—
"I don't want to choose you because I know you already fit."
Celeste went quiet.
"I think I want to choose what I'm reaching toward."
There.
Current life.
Current choice.
Not history.
Not fear.
Not optimization.
Just—
want.
Celeste looked at me for a long time.
Then nodded slowly.
A tear escaped again.
She didn't bother wiping it immediately.
"Okay."
Still hated that word.
But this one—
this one sounded like goodbye.
Then she asked—
"Can I hug you?"
My throat closed.
"Yes."
She stepped into me.
And immediately—
held on.
Not polite.
Not careful.
Her arms wrapped around me tightly, face pressing against my shoulder.
I held her back.
And after maybe two seconds—
I felt her start crying again.
Fuck.
I closed my eyes.
Held her tighter.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
Her head moved slightly against me.
"Stop saying that."
"I don't know what else to say."
"Nothing."
So I said nothing.
I just held her.
Celeste had always been polished.
Controlled.
Direct.
Even when she'd told me she wanted me, she'd done it like she could survive either answer.
Now—
I could feel how badly she'd wanted the other one.
That hurt.
A lot.
Eventually, her breathing settled.
But she didn't let go immediately.
Neither did I.
Then, quietly against my shoulder—
"I really fucking like you."
My eyes burned.
"I really fucking like you too."
"That's so annoying."
"I know."
"I hate this."
"I know."
"I don't hate you."
"I know."
Pause.
"I kind of hate Tori."
I laughed into her hair.
Celeste laughed too.
Then—
"No. I don't."
"I know."
"She didn't do anything."
"I know."
"Which is also annoying."
"Very."
Finally, she pulled back.
Her hands stayed lightly on my arms.
Mine stayed at her waist for another second before I let go.
Celeste looked at me.
Eyes red.
Face tired.
Still beautiful.
Of course.
Then—
"Can I kiss you goodbye?"
Fuck.
My chest hurt.
But—
yes.
I wanted that too.
"Yes."
She kissed me.
Soft at first.
Then longer.
Familiar.
Painfully familiar.
My hand came up to her cheek without thinking.
She leaned into it.
And for several seconds—
I let myself feel exactly what I was giving up.
Not because I wanted to change my mind.
Because I didn't want to cheapen this by pretending it wasn't hard.
I kissed her back.
No hesitation.
One last time.
And when we finally separated—
Celeste didn't move away immediately.
Her eyes stayed closed.
Forehead against mine.
Breathing uneven.
Then she whispered—
"Fuck."
"Yeah."
Another second.
Then she stepped back.
"No more after this."
I looked at her.
She wiped under one eye carefully.
"No more kissing."
My chest tightened.
"Okay."
"No holding hands because we 'forgot.'"
"Okay."
"No stupid almost-dates."
"Okay."
"If we're friends, we're friends."
There.
Boundary.
For her.
She needed it.
"You decide if you can do that," she said. "But I can't stay half-in while you're with someone else."
I nodded.
"That's fair."
"I know."
Still Celeste.
Then her mouth curved slightly.
"Still good?"
I laughed, and now my own tears escaped.
"Very."
"Good."
Her voice shook again.
Then—
"Go date your product manager."
I stared.
"There she is."
Celeste sniffed.
"She's very pretty."
"Celeste."
"Excellent nose?"
I froze.
No.
That joke had not been formally established this life.
Apparently she had developed independent standards.
I started laughing.
Hard.
Celeste laughed too—
wet, messy, real laughter.
"At least you're laughing," she said.
"Fuck you."
"Not anymore."
I stared.
She looked pleased with herself for approximately half a second.
Then winced.
"Too soon?"
"Deeply."
"Yeah."
The laughter disappeared gradually.
Celeste looked at me one last time.
And this time there was no joke protecting either of us.
"I would've chosen you."
Fuck.
There.
My face crumpled before I could stop it.
Celeste saw.
Her own eyes filled again.
"I know that isn't supposed to make you feel guilty."
"It doesn't."
Lie.
She gave me a look.
"Okay. A little."
"A lot."
"Lia."
"I know."
She breathed out.
"I just needed you to know."
"I know now."
She nodded.
Then—
"Be happy."
My throat hurt.
"You too."
She looked away briefly.
Then back.
"I will be."
Pause.
"Eventually."
That was more honest.
I nodded.
"Good."
She gave me a weak smile.
"Don't say good. That's Tori's thing."
Fuck.
I laughed through tears.
"Okay."
"Better."
Then Celeste left.
I watched her walk away.
She didn't look back.
I understood why.
I got into the car.
Closed the door.
And cried.
Not—
a possibility closed, that's sad.
Actually cried.
Because Celeste had been right.
We had finally tried properly.
And it had been good.
So fucking good.
And I had still said no.
There was no comforting explanation where we were incompatible.
No red flag.
No timing disaster.
No betrayal.
No—
it never would have worked anyway.
It might have.
That was the grief.
I sat there long enough for the driver to glance at me once and then very professionally decide she had seen nothing.
Bless her.
No regret.
I checked.
Because that mattered.
If I regretted the choice already, I needed to know.
I didn't.
I still wanted Tori.
Still thought of her first.
Still wanted to say yes.
But—
I was grieving Celeste.
Both could exist.
Apparently.
I did not call Tori that night.
Important.
I wasn't going to end things with Celeste and immediately run into a new relationship like I'd completed a transaction.
Celeste deserved not to be treated like a completed prerequisite.
Tori deserved an answer that wasn't contaminated by adrenaline.
And I deserved—
one fucking night.
Maybe more than one.
Growth.
Saturday morning, Jane messaged.
coffee?
I stared.
She probably knew.
Of course she knew.
I replied—