I start peeling the paper apart gracelessly in a blur of shaking fingers. I’d feel bad about wrecking something Eli put together with so much diligence if I weren’t desperate to see what he wrote.
My urgency is rewarded; seconds later I open it, and my heart stops. It’s a list, written in meticulously small block handwriting, scrunched onto the two Post-it notes that made the intricate ring.
207.
Because you panic under pressure, but you’re magic so you make magic happen anyway.
208.
Because you let me in this week when you didn’t have to.
209.
Relatedly, because you’re brave through your fear and you don’t even realize it.
210.
Because of the bachelor party and your 57 streamers. Also, that red bathing suit, holy shit.
211.
Because you don’t want me to say goodbye this morning. You don’t know yet that with us it’s never goodbye. But you will, I promise.
The words blur as I reread them, my brain scrambling to figure out what the hell this is. A list, yes, but of what? And where’s the rest of it?
My eyes dart to the Converse box. The other paper rings.
For a long second, I stare at it, unable to breathe. But then I throw open the hinged lid, snatching the first substantial ring I can find. The straw wrappers would’ve given him away years ago, so I unfurl a worn gum wrapper ring instead.
Sure enough, there’s writing inside:
22.
Because I’m the first person you look at when you think something’s funny.
23.
Because you meet me and my sisters at the park when we need to get out of the house, and you scream every time that shitty plastic slide
shocks your ass to make them laugh.
24.
Because the coffee I make sucks, but you love it anyway. I think your taste buds are defective.
I press the back of my wrist to my mouth with a strangled laugh, throwing the wrappers aside and grabbing for another ring.
76.
Because you were so excited to see me when I got to BY yesterday that you ran too fast down the driveway and ate shit.
77.
Because you let me carry you inside. Gonna think about your breath on my neck all summer.
78.
Because the cartoon Band-Aids Julia brought made you laugh, then you laughed harder when I wiped the dirt off your teeth. Even like that you’re so beautiful. Especially like that.
79.
Again, because you were so excited to see me. Fuck, I am so in love with you.
And another one.
184.
Because I came to bed at 3 last night and you were asleep, but you turned toward me and let me hold you. Feels like it’s been weeks since we’ve hugged.
185.
Because you have an unhealthy obsession with Everything but the Bagel seasoning. On cottage cheese?! Seriously?
186.
Because my coffee still sucks but when I made you a cup this morning, your face lit up.
187.
Because you smiled at me. You looked happy for a second. I can’t dig myself out of this anxiety, Peach. The only thing that makes it go away is work. But it’s the thing that makes it worse, too. Why can’t I tell you that?
I pull more apart, reading each one as the purpose of the list becomes clear. There are three silent words before each item: I love you.
146.
Because we share an address now.
1.
Because you let me call you Peach when no one else is allowed to.
54.
Because trying to parallel park makes you so mad, and then you get even madder when I take over and do it fast.
32.
Because you buy me a puzzle every time you see one at a store. I don’t have the heart to tell you I’m good on them for five lifetimes.
123.
Because you pretend like you don’t believe in airport snacks, but you were so into it when I bought you that 7 a.m. Peppermint Pattie. Stop lying to yourself, Peach.
47.
Because you were smug as hell when I told you Heather Russo has a crush on me. I love your petty little heart. You know I belong to you, but you don’t know how.
89.
Because you looked so fucking happy when I told you I was coming to Cal Poly.
151.
Because the corner bodega guy knows your name and birthday already and exclusively calls me “Georgia’s boyfriend.” You find family anywhere.
111.
Because you told me you love me. 164.
Because you lean on me whenever we’re on the subway instead of holding on to the rail. You never lean on me otherwise. You wonder why I don’t mind long subway rides—it’s that.
The language switches on some of them, and I recognize that they’re during our hardest times.
182.
Even though you didn’t invite me to dinner with Rory. I know you thought I’d be working, but you didn’t even ask. I love you for bringing me takeout when you realized I was home.
191.
Even though you say “it’s fine” when it’s not. Even though I can see you pushing me away, and I don’t know how to get to you. Or if I even deserve to.
198.
Even though it hurts to love you sometimes.
199.
Even though I can’t make you happy.
Tears fall freely as I read each unraveled ring and unravel along with them. The floor is littered with paper. It’s a mess, and I make it even bigger. I spread them out, then line them up in order, taking in the passage of time in the sharp creases and soft wrinkles, in the fresh and smudged ink. I see the ebb and flow of emotion in Eli’s handwriting—sometimes it’s so careful. Sometimes it’s dashed off, each line curving unsteadily.
There’s thirteen years’ worth of love here. I can see it even in the five years of absence.
I imagine the number doesn’t end at 211—no, 212, I realize, remembering the numbered card attached to the anthurium Eli sent. You’re going to do amazing, he said. You already are. I heard his “I love you”
there, even if I didn’t want to admit it, and I hear it now. Two hundred twelve times on paper, hundreds more out loud. Some that were never said.
Sitting back on my heels, I look down at the winding path the list makes. I’m a list girl, so I recognize the purposeful organization of thoughts. But I’ve never seen one like this before—it’s not meant to keep thoughts or emotions compartmentalized. It’s meant to set them free.
My eyes find the most recent unfolded ring.
208.
Because you let me in this week when you didn’t have to.
209.
Relatedly, because you’re brave through your fear and you don’t even realize it.
Something inside me cracks down the middle. Maybe I’ve been brave elsewhere in my life, but not with Eli. I’ve kept myself safe because that’s what I thought it took to keep him. But this list shows the best and worst of us, through so much change and turmoil and separate growth. The one thing that hasn’t changed at all is him loving me.
And me loving him. It’s our tether, the thing that’s never let us drift too
far.
I recognize, too, that plenty of the things he loves about me aren’t easy
or pretty, and it makes me think of what I love best about Eli. It’s not the perfect things, it’s the real things. The messy stuff, the way he let me see all of him during our week at Blue Yonder, the way he’s let me see him over the past thirteen years. Imperfect, yes, but real. I can’t dash off a list this comprehensive, but the one he made for me is an Eli Mora capsule in itself, a way for me to lay out all the reasons I’ve loved him through time.
I love him because he finds beautiful moments even in the hardest of times. Because of his determination and dedication to the things and people he loves. Because he really is an annoyingly talented parallel parker.
Because he’s pushing through his anxiety with the same commitment he gives everything. Because of his terrible coffee and his quiet mouth and that crease he gets between his brows when something annoys or perplexes him. Because of his unshakable belief in airport snacks and his sweet little puzzle addiction. Because he assigns nicknames to the people he wants to keep. Because he’s bossy when it counts the most.
Because when he’s messiest, that’s when I see myself reflected in him.
It’s a privilege to have someone trust you enough to show you those pieces of themselves, the most vulnerable and tender, the least polished. It’s a show of trust to let you see them first thing in the morning, in the middle of a panic attack, right after they’ve cried. To give you a shaky smile after a messy fight. To come back to you again and again with their heart in their hands.
Eli spent the entire week at Blue Yonder telling and showing me that he wants real and honest and messy. This list is telling me the same thing: he wants to love me in totality. I have to let him. Isn’t that the way I deserve to be loved—completely, messily, imperfectly? Isn’t that the way I deserve to love myself?
And isn’t it what Eli deserves, too?
We can be all those things—good, bad, easy and needy, okay or not on an endless cycle—and trust that the other will stay. Our circumstances are messy, but so is life. It doesn’t mean that we can’t love each other through it. We already are.
Suddenly I understand what Eli must’ve been feeling the morning of Adam and Grace’s wedding when he said he was done not saying the things he’d held back. I have so much to tell him. I want to say everything. The first thing will be I love you. The last thing, too.
“Phone,” I breathe out, a blizzard of papers swirling around my swiping hands as I search for it.
My ringtone blares behind me and I whirl, crawling to my phone where it skidded halfway under the couch sometime during all of this. God, I hope it’s Eli.
I deflate when I see Adam’s name, but swipe to answer anyway. “Oh, hey.”
“Wow,” he says, “I’ve never gotten a more underwhelming greeting, thanks.”
“Sorry, I’m—” I look around, overwhelmed. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining, actually.”
“Do you…want to?”
“Maybe after.” God, I’m making zero sense, but I need to talk to Eli. “Listen—”
“Are you at home?”
I frown at the out-of-the-blue question and his tone. I think he’s aiming for breezy, but Adam couldn’t blow the fuzz off a dandelion. “Yes, I’m home, but—”
“More importantly, are you okay?” he interrupts, his voice shifting into what I’ve come to label as Dadly Concern. He’s been experimenting with all of us before the baby arrives in April. “You sound—”
Now it’s my turn to interrupt. “I swear to god if you say feral, Adam—” “Would you rather I say unhinged? Because it’s going to be one of the
two.” I groan, resting my forehead on the couch. “Are you okay, seriously?”
I look around my decimated living room, my eyes landing on all the words Eli wrote for me, the tiny little declarations transcribed over time. So much quiet devotion.
“Adam,” I whisper.
“Georgia,” he replies warily. “I’m in love with Eli.”
There’s a long pause. And then he says calmly, “Yes, I know.” “You know,” I echo.
“I know.”
“Like you know.”
“Oh, I know,” he says smugly.
I groan. “Please use more and different words, and also tell me why you sound so chill about it.”
“Because I am chill about it,” he says. “Listen, I know I was all hyped up before the wedding, but that’s mainly because you two seemed so off at Nick and Miriam’s wedding and I didn’t want to put you in a weird position. And fine, also because I was obsessed with the curse thing.”
“Minor detail.”
He ignores that. “But then you two volunteered to go up to Blue Yonder to help out and honestly…” He trails off. “I don’t know, you told me things were fine—better than ever, I think were your exact words—”
“That was more a premonition than the truth,” I admit.
“Right,” he says with a laugh before his voice turns thoughtful. “I didn’t know know that you and Eli weren’t okay, because neither of you stubborn dicks would ever admit it, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. And I didn’t know if letting you go up together would be a mistake or the best thing that ever happened to you two, but I trusted you’d figure it out.”
My throat tightens at how sincere he sounds. How calm and assured.
“I never told you this, but Grace can back me up because I talked to her about it over the years,” Adam continues.
“Frequently,” Grace calls in the background.
“I always had this feeling you were going to find your way back to each other. Sometimes I just wanted to, like, push and meddle to speed things up, but Grace reminded me—”
“Frequently,” she repeats.
“—that if you were ever going to get to this point, it had to be because you wanted it, not because I was getting in the middle. She was, as she always is, brilliant and right.” Adam’s voice gentles. “And you did want to find your way back to one another, George, so in that way I was right, too.”
I choke out a shocked laugh.
“I saw it happening when you were vibing on our FaceTime calls, and then when we got there it was really obvious—the bachelor party, the way you leaned on each other through the clusterfuck of wedding disasters, how you both disappeared during the afterparty and no one saw you again for the rest of the night.”
He says the last part slyly, but I’m barely paying attention. I’m playing back how unsurprised he was when he found Eli in my hotel room, when he walked into the bathroom in the middle of my breakdown and saw me in Eli’s arms. When Eli and I danced together at the reception and I caught his eye over Eli’s shoulder. I thought he was in his own world, too blissful to put it all together, but he saw everything.
It wouldn’t stop me if he was concerned about this development, but I can’t deny it soothes me to hear his steadiness now—and his hope.
“Wow, okay, so you really do know.”
“I do,” he replies. “And I want you to know that I’m rooting so fucking hard for you two. I always have. One of the things that stuck with me most during your speech was when you talked about me and Grace taking on the highs and lows and loving each other through it. I think you and Eli have done that without even realizing it, but now you get to do it together.”
“Oh, goddamn you,” I say, my voice breaking. “Payback, baby,” he crows.
I wipe my face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “Ugh. I’m a mess.” As soon as I say it, I think, I wish Eli could see it.
On the other end of the line, there’s a ding, like a text message coming through. Adam laughs quietly. “Hey, George.”
“Hmm?”
“I know it’s late,” he says, “but I think you’re about to have a visitor.”
I frown at the clock on my kitchen wall. It’s nearly ten. “What are you
—”
There’s a knock. It’s soft and patient. My body recognizes it before my brain catches up, and suddenly I’m standing, staring at my front door. My heart is in my throat. At my feet. On its way to the person it belongs to.
“Adam,” I whisper, a hot tear streaking down my cheek.
“Love you, dude,” he says, his voice just a little thick. “Tell him I say hi, okay?”
I think I say “okay” and maybe I say “goodbye” but then I’m at the door, unlocking it. Throwing it open.
Eli’s standing there with a suitcase at his feet and a bakery box in his hands. He’s so beautiful, his expression a heady mix of nervous and sure, that I can’t say a word.
But Eli’s got me. He steps closer, and I feel the latch of our gazes right in my chest when he says, “Hey, Peach. Happy birthday.”
