Page 107 of The Two of Us

I lift the vase a little. “It’s kintsugi. It’s the imperfect parts broken.” I squint my eyes, trying to remember the eloquent words Mitsu used but my nerves cause me to fumble. “The broken parts are our imperfect pieces, coming together.”

Ambrose starts walking toward me.

“Even amid the imperfection… it’s still beautiful.”

He’s within reach now, his green eyes dancing over every inch of my face.

“We’re still beautiful, Ambrose,” I whisper, stepping toward him.

“Wait,” he says, his voice rough from unshed tears. “If you take another step…that’s it. You’re stuck with me. I will never let you go again, Mara.”

A sound of relief escapes me and I fly forward, colliding my mouth with his. Ambrose and I cling together and it feels both like drowning and coming up for air.

Ambrose pulls away abruptly and smiles at me. “I have to show you something.”

I groan. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now.” He laughs. “Don’t move.” He’s only gone twenty seconds before he returns with a shoebox in his hand. He sits on the couch and pats his lap. “Come here.”

I curl up on him, burrowing myself into his neck. When he pulls a folded piece of scrap paper out of the box and rests it on my lap, I stop breathing.

“My mom found it in her things. It’s from the night of the wish burning.”

“She forgot to throw hers in,” I whisper. I pick up the piece of paper and unfold it. And in the arms of the man I love the most, I read my best friend’s last wish.

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