We got lost that weekend. Took no notice of anything or anyone but each other. It was like we’d broken a dam. There was so much to make up for. All the times I’d felt the touch of his hand on my lower back, or gotten a swift kiss on the head? Those could have been his hands sliding around my waist and his lips on my neck. There could have been nights of falling asleep in each other’s arms.

It wasn’t just the physical, either. As much as I’d thought I knew Beckett, there was so much more. We talked endlessly. Nothing was off limits.

“Does it make me a bad person if I wish my parents would just get a divorce?” We were lying in bed in the middle of Sunday afternoon, having just had what was probably some very weird sex during which we tried to name every nerve that was involved in the process. Turns out, it’s very hard to remember things in flagrante delicto. And that we were way weirder than I’d thought.

“Not if they’re not happy together.”

He sighed, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear. “They’re not. But then I wonder if they’re just unhappy people. What if they’re, like, happy being miserable together?”

“I hope not. That sounds awful.”

“Yeah.”

I bit my lip, and decided to go ahead with something that had been on my mind for a while now. “Can I ask? Why did you want to get married when your parents are so unhappy? Didn’t you worry?”

“Well, yeah,” he said as if it were obvious. “But, you know, you sort of think you’ll do it differently than they did. Get it right.”

“Even though you didn’t really want to do it?”

“I know. It sounds crazy. But it didn’t seem like a big deal. Like, do it now or do it later, what’s the difference?”

“Very romantic, Beck.”

“Says the girl who married me to avoid being homeless.”

“That was a business arrangement.”

He shrugged. “So was marrying Emily. I don’t know, I guess I figured worst case scenario, we’d be no worse off than my parents.”

“Aspiring to be the same level as miserable as your parents is not a life goal.”

“I wasn’t. I was just preparing for the worst while hoping for the best.”

“Still fucked up.”

“Yeah, well…” He left the words hanging.

“Of course, what do I know? Maybe you’re right. My parents were very happy together, and look what happened.”

“Em, no.”

“I’m just saying. Maybe it’s just as crazy to want to be happy.”

Beckett rolled up to one elbow, looking down at me. “It’s not crazy.”

“But you can lose it all in a heartbeat.”

“At least you had it once, though, right? At least you know it’s possible.”

“I guess.”

“It is. Trust me.” He leaned in to kiss me. “The six of us, living in our house in Irvine? That was the first time I knew it was possible to just be happy.”

I reached up to smooth my palm over his cheek, the feeling of pity in my chest too strong not to touch him.

“So that’s what I want now. I don’t want to be unhappy. It’s not easier. It’s worse. Way worse.”

My entire chest felt like it was throbbing. I wanted to hurt everyone who had ever hurt Beckett. He didn’t deserve that. He was one of the good ones. I didn’t know how, given his background, but he’d done better than his parents. He was good.

I pulled him close, until his forehead rested against mine. “I want you to be happy.”

He smiled. “Then shut up and kiss me.”

* * *

Later we had to pack. There was a flight to catch in the morning. We were both Phoenix-bound, though for different reasons. Beckett was going home to meet his fate with his family, whatever that would be. I was meeting my dad there because it had been a cheap ticket for both of us. When you don’t have a home, it doesn’t really matter where you spend the holiday. It had been a toss-up between Phoenix and Salt Lake City, and at least this way I’d have someone to sit with on the plane.

“You should bring your dad to my house,” Beckett said.

“Yeah, you’ve done a great job of selling a family Christmas with the Andersons,” I teased. “Where do I sign up?”

“I just feel bad that you’ll be spending Christmas in a hotel.”

I shrugged. “It’s practically a family tradition.” This would be the fourth Christmas my dad and I had spent at a restaurant or a hotel, though the first outside of California.

“Well, you’re invited, okay?” He held up a hand. “Only if you want to.”

“Hey, everybody, remember my friend Emmy from undergrad? We’re secretly married! Isn’t that fun?”

“I might leave that part out,” he admitted.

“Why?”

He threw a balled-up t-shirt at me.

“You’re gonna have to figure out how to get that ring off your finger, then.”

“Right.”

We consulted Ye Olde Google and found a video about winding dental floss around your finger to get a tight ring off. It actually worked really well. Mine slid off easily, and we put both in the velvet box mine came in, which I tucked into my underwear drawer. In the exact spot where the lone condom had been.

My hand felt naked without my ring and I found my thumb searching for it repeatedly. “So weird,” I said.

“Definitely.”

Neither of us said anything else about it, but I caught Beckett rubbing his bare ring finger as often as I was while we finished our packing and got ready for bed. The transition from studiously avoiding impropriety with him to standing at the sink brushing our teeth together in our underwear was surprisingly smooth. Like turning a puzzle piece that didn’t seem to fit before and finding it belonged there all along.

We went to bed later than we should have, considering the long drive to Des Moines before our early flight, but that still didn’t stop us from finding each other in the dark, beneath the blankets. After the long dry spell, this weekend had taken a toll. Neither of us were up for another round, but that didn’t mean there weren’t plenty of other things to do.

“I’m going to miss you,” Beckett said, palming my breast.

“Are you talking to me or my boob?”

“You.” He laughed. “Mostly.”

“It’s only going to be two days.” But I understood. I’d miss him too. I would have missed him even if we hadn’t started sleeping together. I told him that.

“Me, too.”

That was the last thing I remembered before I fell asleep.