Page 54 of Rhett & Moses
“Exactly,” I confirmed, pleased that he understood my vision so precisely. “Neither of us has to give up everything immediately. We can ease into this, find our rhythm, decide together what makes the most sense for our future.”
The word “future” hung between us, weighted with possibility. A frog croaked somewhere nearby, the sound echoing across the pool’s surface. In the distance, crickets maintained their rhythmic chorus, the soundtrack to our midnight conversation.
“Can I ask you something?” Moses said after a comfortable silence.
“Anything.”
He turned slightly to face me better, his expression serious in the moonlight. “Why me? After twenty years, after building this successful life in Boston, after, I assume, other relationships, other possibilities. Why come back to this, to us?”
The question caught me off guard, not because I didn’t have an answer, but because the answer seemed so self-evident to me. Yet I understood his need to hear it articulated, to know that this wasn’t just nostalgia or unresolved feelings from our youth.
“Because no one else has ever been you,” I said simply. “I’ve had relationships, yes. Some lasting months, a few lasting years. Good people, compatible lives. But there was always something missing, a connection that I couldn’t quite explain or define, but that I felt with you from the first moment we met.”
Moses listened intently, his eyes never leaving mine as I continued.
“When I saw the reunion invitation, my first impulse was to ignore it, as I had with previous reunions. But something stopped me this time, curiosity, maybe, or some instinct that it was time to face the past. And when I saw you again at the bar that first day, it wasn’t just nostalgia I felt. It was recognition of the person who has always understood me most completely, who challenges me, inspires me, makes me laugh even when I’m determined to stay annoyed.”
A small smile played at the corners of Moses’s mouth, encouraging me to continue.
“So why you? Because despite twenty years, despite distance and misunderstandings and separate lives, you’re still the person I want to talk to at the end of the day. The person whose opinion matters most to me. The person who makes me feel most fully myself.”
I hadn’t planned such an earnest declaration, but once started, the words flowed naturally, honest and unfiltered. Moses was quiet for a long moment after I finished, his expression thoughtful as he processed my answer.
“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice soft but steady. “For being so open. For saying what I think I needed to hear.”
“Your turn,” I prompted gently. “Same question.”
Moses took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “For me, it’s both simpler and more complicated. Simpler because, if I’m completely honest with myself, there’s never been anyone who affected me the way you do. No one else has ever quite measured up to the memory of what we had, brief though it was.”
He paused, selecting his next words carefully.
“More complicated because I spent so many years actively avoiding those feelings, convincing myself that what we had was just teenage intensity, not something that could have lasted in the real world. Creating this narrative that helped me justify my choice to stay away, to not reach out even after Soren was gone.”
The admission was clearly difficult for him, a recognition of his own role in our long separation. I squeezed his hand gently, encouraging him to continue.
“But seeing you again this week, reconnecting, it’s like a part of me that had been dormant for twenty years suddenly woke up. And I realized that all those reasons I’d given myself for staying away were really just fear dressed up as practicality. Fear of rejection, fear of vulnerability, fear of what it would mean to try again and potentially fail.”
His honesty humbled me. Moses had always been the more guarded of the two of us, keeping his deeper emotions carefully contained. This level of openness represented tremendous growth, and trust.
“And now?” I asked. “Are you still afraid?”
“Terrified,” he admitted with a small laugh. “But not in the same way. Before, I was afraid of what might happen if I reached for what I wanted. Now, I’m more afraid of not reaching for it, of letting fear dictate my choices again, of missing out on what could be.”
The simple honesty of his answer moved me deeply. I leaned forward, resting my forehead against his in a gesture of intimacy and understanding.
“That’s progress,” I murmured. “That’s growth.”
“It is,” he agreed, his breath warm against my face. “Though I can’t take all the credit. Having you come back into my life, standing by me through the revelations about the statue, showing me this possible future, that’s been the catalyst.”
We stayed like that for a long moment, foreheads touching, the sound of the falls creating a private world around us. When Moses finally pulled back slightly, his eyes were clear and determined in the moonlight.
“There’s something I want to ask you,” he said, his tone shifting to something more formal. “A proposal, of sorts.”
My heart rate picked up at the word ‘proposal,’ though I knew he didn’t mean it in the traditional sense. “I’m listening.”
“Let’s set a deadline,” he suggested. “Three months from now. We spend that time visiting the property together when possible, exploring logistics, testing whether this idea of a shared country house is practical or just a beautiful dream.”
I nodded, following his reasoning. “A trial period.”
