“I don’t want to speak to you,” Bailey seethes, her voice rising again. “How dare you come here! My dad is paying good money for my tuition, and you interrupt my class--how did you even know where I was?!”
“Bailey,” I say, holding up both palms in a gesture of peace. “I’m sorry. Will you please just come outside with me for a few minutes? I drove all the way here to talk to you. You know I wouldn’t have done that if it wasn’t important.”
She acknowledges the logic of this by pressing her lips even more tightly together. I hold my breath as she stares at me, her eyes no longer full of tears but fire, that familiar flame I’ve watched blaze so many times before. Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, Bailey gives me a curt nod. I nod back, and we walk in silence down the hallway and out the main door.
I allow myself a sideways glance to survey her in the sunlight. She’s wearing a sundress I’ve seen her in many times before, blue with yellow flowers, that hugs her breasts and waist and flares out at the hips. Her dark brown curls cascade freely down her delicately freckled shoulders, nearly to the small of her back, now. Her expression is still stony, but I notice her own gaze flit to the side to look at me, before her face flushes red and she looks back down at the ground.
We walk into the courtyard, where now only one or two other people are present. I sit on an iron bench, and gesture for her to sit beside me. For a second, I think she’ll say no--her dark eyes flash, her lips still compressed into a thin line. After a few moments of my heart pounding in my ears, she finally sits, carefully smoothing out her dress instead of looking at me.
“Okay,” she says, when I don’t say anything, mesmerized just by staring at her profile. She takes a shaky breath. “Why are you here, Christopher?”
I reach into my pocket and pull out her letter. She still won’t look at me, so I murmur, “Bailey.”
She looks. Her eyes widen and her lips part as her gaze darts between the letter and my face. “Oh, my God,” she whispers. “If… If you’re upset about it, or something, I’m really sorry. I--”
“Sweetheart, I just got this today,” I say, my voice low.
She stares at me, her face oscillating from confusion to shock and back again. “What?”
“I don’t know why,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Fucking USPS delivered it three months late.”
“But--what--just today?” Bailey whispers, her eyes huge and filling with tears.
“Just today,” I confirm.
“Then--why--”
I tuck a curl behind her ear in a familiar gesture; almost unconsciously, it seems, she leans into my hand, her eyes fluttering closed. “I had to see you,” I say, no longer aware of anything around us, only watching her. “I had to tell you that I feel the same way.”
Her eyes snap open as if she’s been electrocuted. A single tear escapes and begins to roll down her face; I catch it with my thumb, and then capture her hand in mine, pressing the back of it to my lips.
“Oh, my God,” she whispers. “Christopher… When you didn’t respond, I--I thought you didn’t…”
“I am so sorry, Bailey,” I say, my voice nearly breaking. “I’m so fucking sorry. I would never, ever do anything to hurt you. Don’t you know that?”
With a quiet sob, she crumples into my chest, and I finally get to take her into my arms. God, the warmth of her, the smell of her, all of it is enough to drive me crazy, and I breathe her in--the smell of her perfume, her shampoo, her hair. Her skin, so soft, so smooth, so irresistible; I press a gentle kiss behind her ear, on her neck, until she turns her face up and I kiss her soft lips for the first time in months. In this moment, sitting on an uncomfortable park bench on an unfamiliar college campus, I could die the happiest man on the planet.
She breathes my name, and I kiss each corner of her mouth, the tip of her nose, and then both of her closed trembling eyelids.
“Are you okay?” I ask, rubbing her back in slow, steady circles.
She nods and looks back up at me, her expression still tremulous. “What about my dad?” she whispers.
What about Rick? I’ve thought about this for hours, days, maybe even weeks, and have come to a firm conclusion. I gently tilt her chin up.
“You’re an adult, Bailey,” I say, wiping another tear from her cheek. “You can make your own decisions, and so can I. Rick is my best friend. But if I have to choose… I choose you. I’d choose you every time.”