Begin Again

But I don’t finish it. I open my phone to find Connor has texted me a stream of apologies, pleas to hear him out. Then a direct: Please don’t say you’re breaking up with me. I text back a short I need you to leave me alone right now. Then I pocket my phone. I walk to the arboretum and sit on my favorite bench and wait—wait for enough time to pass that the sun has gone, and Connor will have to have gone home with it.

I know what I have to do, but it’s too much, too soon to let it all go. How do you quit an entire person? How do you give up on someone who has defined almost every version of love you know?

It seems doubly unfair that I have to be the one who does the hardest thing here by ending it. The same way I’ve been upset with my dad for leaving me to decide whether he gets to be part of my life, I’m at another impasse where a choice has been forced on me. One I can’t will away. One I can only put off until I’m ready to deal with it. And with the shock of this still so fresh, I know I can’t.

When I finally get up from my perch, my plan is to dive face-first into my pillow and sleep until Shay’s alarm wakes us both up for the Monday broadcast. What happens instead is I turn the doorknob to my room, and find Valeria and Shay sitting on Shay’s bed and Milo sitting on my desk chair, the little collapsible table Shay sometimes uses for bookstagramming overloaded with a half-empty bottle of room-temperature rosé, Tastykakes, and Goldfish.

The sight of Milo splits something in me, opens me up to a feeling I know too well because I’ve felt it before. That afternoon we fell into each other at the snowball fight. The first time I saw him slip into his Knight persona in the studio. The rub of his shoulder on mine in that shed in the woods. Earlier today, with his springtime eyes and the warmth of his forehead on mine.

So many countless moments I’ve bulldozed past and dismissed. Moments I press back down so fast that they pinch in my chest, sharp and painful, too much to be contained.

“You’re here,” Valeria exclaims.

Luckily, the room full of complete and utter lightweights doesn’t notice my momentary pause; despite only being half a glass deep each, Shay is positively glowing, Valeria appears to be missing both a sock and one of her dangly earrings, and Milo is—

Well. Milo is Milo. Clear-eyed and staring at me with a wry expression the same as he always does, that somehow makes me weak in the knees in a way I’ve never let it before.

“I was never here,” he says, raising his hands up. “Legally, I was in my room the entire time, unaware of underage drinking taking place on my floor.”

“You’re underage, you dope,” says Shay, kicking her foot in the air for emphasis.

Valeria has already leapt off the bed, enveloping me in a hug so tight and so effusive that bones in my back crack during the impact of it. I squeeze her right back. Only then do I understand that I wasn’t waiting for closure with Connor. What I needed was this. My friends, all here and waiting for me with my favorite snacks and their unwavering love and, judging by the unmistakable sound of Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone” blasting from Shay’s laptop, a breakup playlist that is already in full swing.

“Fuck Connor,” says Valeria. I can tell she was crying at some point today from the slight congestion in her voice, but she’s all indignation and rosé now. “I’m so fucking sorry, Andie.”

And frankly, I’m too overwhelmed with how grateful I am for the All-Knighters to even think of Connor right now. “You guys . . .”NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

Before I can get too weepy, Shay chucks a wrapped twin set of Tastykakes at my head, a knowing smile on her face. I let out a guffaw—maybe the first time I’ve fully laughed all day—just barely catching them before they hit the floor.

“I’ve taken the liberty of changing the group chat’s name to ‘Fuck Connor Whit,’” says Shay, holding up her phone proudly.

“Ah, yes,” says Milo dryly, taking a swig of what appears to be Semi-Eternal Darkness. “The group chat I’ve begged to be removed from all semester.”

Valeria releases me, only so she can bop Milo on the head on the way to rejoining Shay on the mattress. Milo looks so gloriously affronted by this gesture that I end up laughing again despite myself.

“You love us,” says Valeria.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” says Milo. “I affectionately tolerate you.”

Then he uses his foot to hook the chair from Shay’s desk and pull it closer to him, beckoning for me to sit next to him. I settle into it with a mingling thrill and guilt, the two of them a perilous cocktail of emotions I can’t process right now. Fortunately, a solution for dealing with them comes in the form of a mug half-full of rosé, which Shay hands me with absurd ceremony.

I recognize Milo’s chicken mug on the spot. “Oh my gosh. It’s Rosaline,” I say, pointing at one of them.

I turn to look over at him, and his grin is broad enough to make my heart stutter. He waits until I take a sip, then he leans in to point at the other chickens and says, “And here’s Patricia. And James. And Abigail, and Camille . . .”

We take a brief and much-needed pause to tease Milo to high heaven for not only naming all his mother’s chickens, but recognizing them on sight. I sag a little deeper into the desk chair, some final tension leaving me. The emptiness doesn’t feel so empty now, but more like it’s making room for something else. Something a whole lot like this.

“Seriously, though, Andie,” says Shay. “I’m so sorry. And when you want to talk about it for real . . . we’re all here for you.”

“Always,” Valeria iterates.

I should tell them it isn’t really over yet. Not the way they think it is, at least. But Shay has her head on Valeria’s shoulder, and Valeria’s hand is resting on her thigh, and Milo is smiling this sleepy, exasperated smile that ignites something so tender in me I can’t bear to put it out.

We all lift up our mugs for a “good riddance” toast. There’s the clink of ceramic and the love in the air between us and the solidarity of our long, drawn-out sips. There’s another hour of eating and drinking, of swapping stories about our exes, of intermittently breaking out into fits of giggles over things that happened or things that could have been.

And then there’s Shay trying to leave with Valeria quietly, saying she wants to meet her roommate’s cat. There’s Milo still hovering at the open door, his mug of coffee empty, his dark curls tousled, his cheeks flushed.

“Hey,” he says quietly, so the rest of the hall can’t overhear. “I know you, so. I know shit’s going to be okay.”

I raise up his chicken mug, biting down the surge of guilt. “Same to you.”

He salutes me, sliding out of the entryway, but not before I see something telltale in his eyes. Something that aches the same way I ache; something taking shape before I understand the depth of it. The understanding that no matter what happens—if we both stay here, or we’re flung thousands of miles apart—we are important to each other, and we will be for the rest of our lives.

The moment everyone is gone, I flick out the lights. No more thinking. No more feeling. I fall asleep so quickly and so thoroughly that my body can forget it all, even if the beat, beat, beat of my heart pulses it the whole night through.