Forget Me Not by Julie Soto

32

Elliot

NOW

It’s been two years, nine months, one week, and three days since we’ve been in this back room alone together like this, and all the memories flooded in with her when she crossed the threshold. I stare at her, on one knee, one foot in a walking boot, and her eyes hopeful.

I can still feel the press of her mouth against mine from last night. The way she clung to me. I couldn’t sleep last night with the ghost of it hanging on to me.

Marry me.

I clear my throat to keep from choking on the answer, and I step backward. I see her face fall.

“That’s not … That’s not necessary,” I respond. It feels dull and stupid on my lips.

She stays there, on one knee. Waiting for me. It burns a hole in my chest to see her confidence drain like this, but I can’t do this. I can’t allow her to change everything she wants after just one kiss. That’s what we did last time. And look where it got us.

Ama loves big gestures. It’s the wedding planner in her. I think of the email about the Franklinia tree—how she just wanted to give me something, and in return I took too much. There’s a piece of my chest that’s fighting to slot back into place, hearing that she still wants me and hoping. But Ama doesn’t want to get married.

She’s still on the ground, so I kneel down and grip her elbows to help her stand. But she stops me and keeps me on the ground with her.

“Not necessary,” she repeats. “What does that mean?”

Her eyes are wet. I can smell her hair from this close.

“It’s not—” I shake my head, gazing at a place beyond her ear. “You don’t need to do all this.”

I feel her fingers push into my shoulders. Her eyes are wide and almost scared. “I heard you talking to Jackie. You tried to mute, but you didn’t.”

Fucking Bluetooth. My mind hurries to remember all I said. Things about not ever falling out of love, about needing to feel useful to her, and tallying the days … Waking up in the morning and counting every moment backward. Three years, four months, two weeks, and two days since our first kiss. Three years, two months, and two days since I first slept over. Two years, nine months, one week, and one day since I made a huge mistake.

I look into her eyes, praying she doesn’t know what I meant. Suddenly, she looks away from me.

“Right,” she says. “It was—it was someone else. Sorry. I’m—I got confused, but we can forget this.”

I’m still trying to mentally catch up to her when she starts to push to her feet. I help her up, ready to make sure she understands. “Ama—”

“Can we work together again?” she says quickly. “I—I get now that we won’t be together, but the wedding … The work we do is too amazing, Elliot, and I don’t think I can lose it again—”

A puff of air bursts out of me. I run a hand through my hair and try not to laugh at her. “You’re never done working. You …” I smile and shake my head. “You just proposed to me, and pivoted so quickly to business.”

I watch her try to figure out if that’s a good thing or a bad thing and can’t help the feeling that we’re inching closer to it—to the moment. She needs me again. She wants me again. And I’ve never stopped loving her.

I want to say it, but the last time I did, it was for me, not for her.

She looks away, and I watch her fingers run absently over the indents of my initials carved into the worktable. She taps them.

“You know, this table doesn’t go with anything now,” she says softly. “You should upgrade.”

“I couldn’t get rid of it.” Memories rise—her spread over the table, rose petals sticking to her skin as she tugged my hair to get me closer to her. Three years, two months, and five days ago.

Her eyes meet mine, and I know she’s remembering the same. I don’t look away, trying to show her that I kept it for the memories of her. That I could never get rid of a piece of her.

“Who were you talking about to Jackie?” she asks, whispering. Her gaze flickers over my face.

I step forward and reach out to brush my fingers over her jaw. She leans into me.

“Someone I met five years, four months, three weeks, and five days ago.”

A sob breaks from her chest. She brings her hand up to cover her mouth, but I grab her wrist and pull her closer, dragging her face to mine.

This time when we kiss, it doesn’t feel like goodbye, or a mistake, or something to overthink in the morning. It’s just … starting.