Page 111 of Kissing is the Easy Part
Even at the end, Sean remains the gentleman he is. There’s no bitterness, no resentment. I can’t find one bad thing to say about him. He’s perfect all the way.
“Just so you know,” he says, “I don’t regret anything that happened between us. I still think the best time of my life was spent with you.”
“Me too.”
He doesn’t answer. After a short while, he flicks his gaze to my face, and there’s a lost little boy in his eyes. “When . . .ifyou think of me, can you remember the good times? Not that we fought a lot and I made you cry.”
At that, a fresh wave of tears hits me, and all I can think of are the little things I love about him. The way he drives. The sound of his laugh. How he bites his lip absently when he does his math homework. The thoughtful gifts he gives me. How he’s all about doing the right thing even though he can opt for the easy way out. He’s normally calm, gracious, and confident, but his vulnerable side melts me. How he’s cocky and innocent at the same time. His kisses. His nerdy jokes and lame pickup lines. He’s the sweetest, most earnest boy I’ve ever known, and every moment spent with him has been the best.
He gets up and hands me fresh tissues. “Stop crying, Flora. My parents are going to think I did something to you.”
I blow my nose. “Can we still be friends?”
He nods. “Sure.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
Sean
Back when I was in third grade, we had a dog. Technically, it was Lindsey’s dog, but she named it White Fang and then considered her responsibility complete. The name didn’t stick, so we just called him Dog. I took Dog for walks all the time and fed him scraps under the table.
Dog got sick. On his better days, when he was in better spirits, he could still run around a little. I’d start thinking he might pull through, but then he’d relapse. It went back and forth, and we gradually lost hope, until it was just a matter of time.
Just because it was expected didn’t make it any less painful when Dog passed. It’s a terrible comparison, but sometimes I think Flora and I could make it. When we don’t, I’m not shocked.
But it still hurts like hell.
* * *
The day after the breakup, we finish a basketball game in which we completely crushed the other team. I’ve done my part, scoring better than I have in weeks. As we’re about to leave the gym, Jake slaps a hand on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He scrunches his nose. “Your head’s not in the game.”
“I’m just tired.”
“Bullshit.” Dylan’s voice is flat. “You’re always tired, but you’re not usually like this. Enough with the emo brooding. What happened?”
I adjust the strap on my bag. Telling them is inevitable, but if I sit with the information a little longer, it feels less real, like I’m stuck in some parallel universe.
“Flora broke up with me,” I say, after a long pause.
They’re bound to make jokes about it, since breakups are so common no one takes them seriously anymore. But then the smirk slips off Dylan’s face and Jake shuts his mouth. After a few seconds Dylan says, “You’ll get back together in two days.”
“No. This is final.”
“But why?” Jake asks.
Good question. I pick the simplest answer. “We’re . . . incompatible.”
“Physically?” Dylan insists it’s a legitimate question. He’s adamant that people split up all the time over this.
“No, not physically. Jesus, Dyl.”
“Financially?” Jake asks.
“Not that either. At least, not entirely. I guess we want different things in life right now.”
