Page 139 of The Pairing

If I can catch Theo before they get on the plane, I can tell them I was wrong. That I was afraid, but I don’t want to be anymore. That being with them is worth anything. Everything. Whatever it costs, however it ends. The only thing I’d regret more than losing them is never getting to love them the way I could love them now.

The chance I’ll make it is so small, but I have to try. I have to.

I turn off the oven, pocket my keys, snatch my wallet and my passport from the bowl above the fireplace, charge toward the door and throw it open and—

On the other side of my apartment door, wide-eyed and breathless, their pack still on their shoulders and their right hand raised as if to knock, is—

“Theo.”

They stare.

“Hi.” They scan my frantic expression, the passport in my hand. “Were you going somewhere?”

“The airport,” I say faintly. Theo is here. Theo is here, at the pied-à-terre, on my doormat. “How did you—”

They hold up a yellowed, crinkled envelope. It’s been unfurled from the tight roll I put it in, and one side is ripped open.

“Return address.”

“You—” I try to form words, to get my head to stop spinning. “You opened it.”

“I was on the plane from Palermo,” Theo says, “and I realized, I’m never going to love you less.”

I’m gripping my passport so hard I think I might tattoo its crest into my hand.

“There I was, on another plane without you. And there you were, in Paris without me. Everything we’ve been through, everything we said to each other, everything we’ve done to try to be better, and we’re right back where we started. And somehow, we talked ourselves into believing that means we’ve grown up. But, Kit, Ihavegrown—I’ve grown into someone who’s better for you. And you’ve become someone who’s better for me. And I know you want to put our friendship first, and I’m so afraid of fucking that up. I’m so, so afraid of fucking everything up all the time. I don’t know how we would make it work, I don’t even know where we would live, or what my life is supposed to look like, or what happens if I take the wrong chance, but—but that’s not the worst mistake I could make.Thisisn’t the worst mistake I could make. The worst mistake I could ever make is pretending I’d be happy as just your friend for the rest of my life. And I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear, but I couldn’t go home without saying it.”

They let out a huge breath, as if they’ve been holding it since I opened the door. Bright tears blaze in their eyes. Their hair isdirty from traveling, their face red from running, and if I could commission an oil painting of them in this state of absolute, screaming perfection, I would.

“Also,” Theo says. “It would be so great if I could crash on your couch tonight, because the next flight out is tomorrow.”

“Theo,” I say. My voice shakes. Every nerve in my body sings together a three-movement opera. “Fuck the couch. Come get in my bed.”

And, with all the momentum of twenty years and a hundred thousand miles, Theo smashes into me.

The force of their kiss knocks me backward into my apartment, toppling the shoe rack and at least two of Thierry’s hand-thrown vases, which shatter on the floor by our feet. I barely notice. I’ll make it up to him. Right now, I’m being thrown up against the wall, and I’m fisting my hands in Theo’s hair, and I’m kissing them like we’re twenty-two again, courageous and astonished and pushing our luck. I’m kissing them like we’re twenty-four, full of dreams and fears, and like we’re twenty-six, lost in each other’s memory. I kiss them like now, twenty-eight, wiser and steadier and evolved and still so fucking gone for each other.

“To be clear,” Theo gasps, breaking away from my mouth, “when you said you were going to the airport—”

“I was coming to get you,” I say. “You keep beating me to it.”

“Nice. I love winning,” Theo replies, smiling hysterically. They’re still wearing their backpack. I think I might be stepping on my passport. “And that means you—you feel the same—”

“I love you,” I say. “I want you back.”

“And you’re not going to change your mind in the morning?”

“Theo.” I look directly into their brilliant, searching eyes. “If a priest lived in this building, I would take you to his door right now and tell him to marry us.”

“Oh,” Theo says. “I was thinking it’d be fun if Fabrizio officiated.”

“You were—” My heart stammers. They’re not even joking.“There are so many things I want to ask you, but Theo, I swear to God, if you don’t get in my bed right now Iwilldie.”

So we go, Theo’s pack thrown down on the carpet, shoes kicked off into different corners, clothes removed so quickly that buttons go flying and skittering across the floor. Theo kisses me hard enough to bruise, and I’m so thankful, I’m so fucking unbelievably, shatteringly thankful for this.

The next morning, I wake Theo up with cinnamon rolls.

“You finally found the perfect recipe,” they say after their first bite. They’re resplendent, sitting in my kitchen chair wearing nothing but a pair of my underwear, hair matted in the back from sex.

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