Page 74 of Make The Cut

“I’m not. This is the day we met seven years ago, Poppy. Remember?”

My mind travels back to that day so long ago, when we were basically just kids, at the earliest starts of our careers, without a care in the world for any fame or popularity, wide-eyed and idealistic.

“Yeah,” I say. “I remember, Lucky.”

He quirks a grin at the old nickname. I spot the newest addition to his ever-changing tattoo collection: a cartoon heart on his wrist.

“Wearing your heart on your sleeve?”

“You caught me,” he says softly, reaching for my hand. “It’s yours.”

I blush in spite of myself. “That was incredibly cheesy.”

“You just bring out the cheese in me.”

I pick up a piece of sushi with my still-shaky chopsticks skills (I may have some knowledge on how to use them, but I’m by no means an expert) and ask him, “So, when did you find out our dad was getting remarried?”

“Over Thanksgiving.” He picks up another piece of sushi. “My mom and I never really celebrated that holiday. Mostly because that was the day where we found out that my dad was cheating.”

My heart splinters at the thought. “That’s awful.”

“Not really. I mean, sure, it was bad, but… One less holiday to worry about, I guess.” He shrugs. I can tell he’s doing his best not to be vulnerable, and I don’t know how to tell him that he can be comfortable with me when I am the last person anyone would be comfortable around, my brother included. I hurt everyone, on purpose or inadvertently.

“My mom would love to have you over for Thanksgiving,” I say softly.

I try not to envision next year, try not to imagine him coming over to our tiny bungalow and making himself at home there. I don’t think he’d be judgmental of my hometown. It’s just that imagining him there seems so implausible that I have to stop myself from doing it, so that I don’t get my hopes up for an impossible dream.

“I’d like that a lot, too, Red.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Sometimes, I wish I had never found out about my dad cheating.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. “Why?”

“We’d be happy. Maybe he’d be lying to me, but we’d have some kind of happiness, some kind of relationship instead of this—“ He gestures with his cup, nearly knocking over the candle onto the table runner.

“Not again!” My eyes widen and I grab the candlestick. There’s no fire extinguisher in sight.

He chuckles. “Sorry. What was I saying?”

“You were talking about your dad.”

“I wish we’d have some kind of relationship, instead of this… This no-man’s land where I wish he was a better father and he tries to be one, but I keep pushing him away because I don’t want to get hurt again,” he says, the words pouring out of him. “This weird space where I wish he’d never cheated but that if he had to, that he’d have been more careful about it.Thisaftermath where I don’t have to lie awake at night wondering if anyone else could care about me if my own father couldn’t.”

“Naoya.” How can he say that? And yet I can’t tell him not to feel what he feels, not to think what he thinks. Haven’t I had the same thoughts? “Lots of people love you.”

“My mom,” he says. “But that’s different. Family’s contractually obligated to care about you.”

If that’s true, I’ve broken that contract a hundred times. “I love you.”

“Don’t say it like it’s a pity thing. If you say it… I want you to mean it.”

“I mean it.” I shrug. “I’ve meant it for a long time, and I’ve had no idea how to tell you.”

“If you knew the number of times I’ve had to stop myself from telling you…” He shakes his head. “I’ve held myself back from confessing so many times. But if you asked me when I fell in love with you, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. It’d be like asking me when I started breathing because I’ve loved you so long, it’s a habit I’ll never break.”

His words skewer my heart, removing it cleanly from my chest and dropping it at his feet. “Naoya…”

Tears spring into my eyes. I’ve experienced this all-consuming, obsessive kind of love before. But what I’ve never known—never let myself want—was this. The steady, slow-burning flame that promises to always be there for you. The kind of love that holds your hand through the hard times and carries you when you can’t take another step. The kind of love that’s with you, even when you can’t stand being with yourself.

This kind of life is terrifying. Yet it’s all that I long for.

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