She ruined my friendships, and I retaliated. I took her best friend away from her.
I am no better than she is. I am the same.
A tear slides down my cheek.
“I can’t see you anymore,” I say, my voice breaking. “We can’t do this anymore.”
“Why?” he asks, like he’s croaking out the word.
“We just can’t.”
“Why? Tell me why.”
How do I even begin to list all the reasons?
I drop my head in my hands. Take a deep breath. He gently smooths out my hair. God, I will miss this. I will miss him more than I ever did before. My heart is gasping inside of me, choking as I look up, finally speaking the truth.
“Because I don’t know who I am. I don’t even know how to live a life separate from her. I don’t know how to be a friend. I’m not even a very good daughter. I’m just stumbling through everything, and you’re the only thing that’s ever made any sense to me,” I say, as I run my fingers along the collar of his shirt. It’s too hard not to touch him. My leg is pressed against his. Our bodies are magnets, and they seek each other out even as we fall apart.
“And if we go on I’ll never know who I am without this love,” I say, my voice breaking as a new round of tears rains down. At least I’m finally being honest. At least I’m telling him the big truth as the fountain patters behind us, and crowds walk by, coming and going in the middle of the day. “I love you more than I ever knew I could, but I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with life or anything. I’m a mess. And I can’t have you be the only thing in my life that’s right. That’s not fair.”
“I know who you are,” he says firmly, his dark eyes on me, the look in them resolute. He lifts my chin gently with his fingers, so the hold between us can’t be broken. “You’re the girl who loves musicals, even the ones that didn’t make it. You’re the woman who looks for hearts in the middle of a messy world. Who admires her father and wants to study art because of him. Who laughs at my jokes. Who loves to hear stories. Who seeks out absurd humor and overwhelming beauty.”
I bring my hand to my mouth so all of Lincoln Center won’t see my lips quivering with tears as he keeps talking, his voice softer now.
“You’re the one person who needed nothing from me but me. You’re the person who sees beyond the surface at what’s inside. You’re smart, and kind, and sarcastic and sexy,” he says, then slows, his breath shaky, as the last words come out in a painful rasp. “And you are unbelievably heartbreaking. And if you don’t know those things about yourself, you’re right. I can’t show them to you. You have to find them.”
He stops and takes a deep breath, then taps his chest. “But I know who I am. I know what I want. I knew what I’d risk. And I’ve done it. My boss could fire me today and I wouldn’t care. I’ve always been certain. I will always be certain. You were worth it. You’ll always have been worth it.”
“So are you,” I say, pushing past the relentless slide of salty tears.
He puts his big hands on my cheeks, gently pulls me to him, and kisses my forehead. I want to melt into his arms, I want to slide back next to him, to let him hold me, to fall asleep curled around him again. Instead, I let myself savor the last time his lips will touch me, the last time I will feel him on my skin.
“You were worth everything,” I say, into his neck. I want to kiss him there, to tuck my face in the soft and safe crook of his neck, and escape. But I can’t use him for escape anymore. I have to escape myself first.
He stands up. “Good-bye, K.”
“Good-bye, Noah,” I say, and then I watch him walk away. He reaches into his pocket for his phone and pops the earbuds in his ears. I know he’s toggling over to Sweeney Todd. He only listens to Sondheim when he’s sad. I watch him the whole time, watch him walk away from the fountain, down the steps, onto Broadway, away from me, through the crowds, until I can no longer make out the outline of his broad shoulders, his back, his soft thick hair, until he fades into a sea of New Yorkers. Gone.
I sit on the steel edge of the fountain for another minute. I hear a song from the Vivian Beaumont Theater drifting out. I turn, and a few actors are leaving the theater, singing the chorus to “Best of Times” as they go.
How I would have loved to slow dance with Noah to that song at prom, to have the lyrics guide my heart with their urging to seize the moment, to seize love, because who knows what tomorrow brings.
Who knows, right?
I wipe my palms across my cheeks, erasing the tears. I check the time on my phone. I can’t linger here nor do I want to, so I take off for the final game. I make it to Randall’s Field in record time, then proceed to whale on our opponents, slashing with abandon, scoring like it’s breathing, winning the championship trophy like it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.
I cheer loudly with my teammates and we jump up and down and we scream and we shout. For a moment, I’m fully seventeen and loving it. I’m a girl in high school, not an almost woman lost in time, trying to attach herself to a man, or fighting to detach from her parents.
As we hoot and holler, I’m not defined by my mistakes or my lies. I’m just an athlete who likes scoring goals and who loves winning, and hanging out with her friends.
I’m me.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Kennedy
It’s still party time for my mom, even a day later. We’ve won the championship and she wants to celebrate, since it’s a Saturday. But I don’t. If I’m going to live the life I want, if I’m going to become the person I want to be, I have to start by telling the truth.