Over

62 | Step 34

I was hoping he wouldn't press this, but I'm not surprised he wants to know. "Alex. He said you had a side account, and I made him tell me."

"He's seen it?"

"Well, I think he's a bit more conscientious than me in that respect. I know he saw some of our early conversations, but just to make sure I was okay, you know?"

"And what about you? What did you see?"

"That you weren't okay. That you loved me."

"Why did you—Why would you say you love me? In the DM, she—you said it was different."

Why can't I get this right? "It is. It is different. You called it love, and I don't know what to call it. I don't know how to make you understand. I loved Alex, but this is different." He's silent, lips pursed. I need this to start working. I need my sister back. "Help me out here, Scott. I feel like I'm losing you. Just tell me what to say."

"You know what I realized? When I visited you apartment and you were angry with me, that's when I realized that I never helped."

"Scott—"

"It was always you fixing things between us, making it so we never fought, and I made it worse and worse, and you stretched more and more, and when I came back thinking I was doing you some kind of favor you snapped."

"It wasn't your fault. I was upset about Alex."

"But everything came crashing down without you holding it up, and it made me see how much you'd been trying to support. How patient you'd been. How I'd never carried my weight, and you made up for it every single time."

"It's n—"

"I'm trying to do better. I want this too. Don't be afraid."

"I don't even understand myself. How can I make you?"

"I'm trying. You said you love me."

"You said it first. You had the facts, and that's what you called it."

"But it's not what you call it."

"It's just so different."

"I know," he nods sympathetically.

No he doesn't. Does he think he can just agree and nod his head and call that trying? He still doesn't get it, and there's literally no way for me to tell him.

"I know," he repeats, "how it feels to love Alex." It takes about five seconds for my brain to reset, and while they pass, I stare blankly at Scott with my mouth hanging open a little. "I told him so many times." He does understand, at least in part.

"Yeah." Me too. "It was always so profound." And then I said it to Scott, and it felt worthless. What used to be a bold, proud declaration with Alex is basically empty now.

"It felt like an accomplishment, to be able to say it and to mean it."

"Exactly!" That's precisely how it felt. My face falls and my stomach inverts as the implications hit me. How would Alex feel, hearing this? Hearing that loving him was such an achievement? Awful. He would feel awful. Does Jake say "I love you" like it's some kind of personal triumph? No. Jake doesn't try to love Alex, he just does.

"How did it feel," Scott asks hesitantly, "when you told me?"

"Hollow." I squash the rest of my pâté into a little crisscrossed heart shape with my fork. "Empty. Meaningless. Inadequate. Pathetic." It felt completely wrong for what I was trying to say. "It wasn't enough." The words were utterly powerless to describe how I felt. "Not even close." Words don't exist to capture the magnitude, the weight, the absolute conviction, the desperation, and the unconditional permanence of my need for Scott.

He's still struggling to grasp it, but I promise to explain it better soon, and I ask him to take it on faith until step 34. It's enough for now, enough to keep going. We order dessert and talk until closing time, rehashing everything we've already covered nonverbally. By the time we get back to his house, we've agreed that I'll move in eventually, but we're best off giving it a bit of time first, taking things slow, and doing it right as much as we can. We'll make a plan, work with Esther, and pull in Avi as well. We promise each other we won't give up this time.

I lure Wyatt into his carrier, and Scott and I wait on his front step for my Uber to arrive. This is my chance to try again. I couldn't find words before to explain my feelings aloud, and he doesn't trust my eyes enough to believe them, but maybe there's a simpler approach. I think he'll understand. He did the first time, before I even knew what I was saying, much less how true it was. He understood, even before I was ready to admit it to myself, that it was real.

Step 34 is a small taste, in a language that leaves no room for doubt or ambiguity, of my adoration, admiration, and devotion. Step 34 is a steadfast promise to keep my word and to see this through, a reciprocal vow, a seal on my lips and on his. Step 34 is a kiss.