I am taking a break from packing my car, scolding Beau for jumping in the front seat, when Ben finds me. He has roses. He has my heart in knots.

He grabs one of my suitcases from the lawn, asks me where it needs to go, as I busy myself with the open trunk, the overflowing going on there.

When he finally looks at me, his arms are crossed over his chest, and I am blushing, wondering if he thinks I am leaving him again. Without a goodbye. The roses are now on my hood, pulling at my eyes.

“Yes?” I say, shaking my head.

“Where are you going, Sev?”

“I don’t know,” I reply. And it’s not a lie. I could drive home to California. I could drive to New York to spend some time with my sister. I am thinking about flipping a coin. Ben and I haven’t discussed whatever is going on with us. My life has been too heavy, with no moment to discuss relationships and feelings that aren’t grief.

“Where do you want to go, Sev?”

“I don’t know,” I repeat. Ben takes a seat in the grass, and I walk over to him. I place my knees on the grass, too, one on each side of him, caging him. He lets his hands wander down my back, pulling me closer. I don’t care who sees me straddling him on the lawn. I just want to be close to him one more time. Before we have to address this or undress this.

I place my hands on his cheeks, and he looks back, into my eyes. For once, not brimming with salt. “I’ve been crying too much, Ben. I’m so tired of it.”

“I know.” He kisses my jaw, and this feels natural. It doesn’t ache, not in the way I have craved. I craved pain and love. I mixed it all up, convinced myself they had to be intertwined. Ben makes me feel like myself. The me that is buried under the sarcasm and the things I run from.

“When are you leaving?” I ask.

“Whenever you do,” he says, echoing earlier words. I bite his neck in response. He laughs. “I’m serious. There’s nothing essential for me here. My mother is doing better than she ever has, and I think she may leave my father. And Bryan. That’s never going to be some sitcom bullshit brotherly love thing. It’s just you here that I find…worth it.”

I pull him close, close my eyes, then open them. I stare across the lawn, and it’s so sunny out. So bright and I know he will go have lunch with me if I ask him. He will go have dinner with me if I ask him. He will walk around with my hand in his, in front of everyone. He will let the sun hit his face as he kisses me, never hiding.

I pull away, untangle myself from him and the ground. I walk to my car without a word and sit in the driver’s seat. I leave the door open, and Ben gets up, coming to me. He kneels on the pavement of the driveway and places one arm on the side of my seat, the other shoots out, grabbing my hand on the steering wheel.

“Let’s leave town together,” he says, soft.

I shake my head. I can’t do it. And I don’t want to hurt him. I can’t get wrapped up again.

“No,” I say, a tear running down my cheek.

“Why?” he asks. “Why can’t you let yourself have this? What have we been doing? I’m here every night. And you let me hold you, and you let me kiss you, and it feels different, right? You’re not still thinking about him, are you?”

I look at him, startled. I see it in his face then. The doubt. In these short weeks, I have felt more for him than I ever felt for Bryan. It’s real, what I feel. It doesn’t hurt, and it isn’t some fantasy-chasing game. He is my friend, and I know I could fall for him. I know I could have more with him than I have ever had with anyone. “No. God, no,” I say, flipping my hand over, taking his.

“Then what is it?”

“What is it you want? I live in LA, and you live, where? I don’t even know where you live.”

“Connecticut,” he answers, laughing at us.

“Okay, where are we going to run away to?”

“Wherever we want,” he replies.

I pull my hand away, let it fall to the bottom of the steering wheel. “No,” I say, again.

“Why, Severin?”

I look away from my hands then, pulling the visor down, pretending to look for something in my eyes. There’s nothing in my eyes but my sadness. He repeats his question, and I close my eyes. “Because…I like you,” I whisper.

“And?”

“I love her,” I reply, looking into my own eyes. I wait a moment, then break my own stare, and look at him. I see that he gets it. I see that he knows.

He stands and clears his throat. “C’mere,” he says, reaching for me. I take his hand and get out of the car. I lean back against it, looking up into his eyes. “You make love a tragedy. You have. But you and I, we don’t have to. This is what I want. I want to drive back home. And I want you to come with me. I have one month left of this summer, and I know you want to spend some more time with your sister, and she is a hop skip and a jump away from me. So we can get in my car, and we can take that ride, and we can forget all of this, and we can laugh, and we can unburden ourselves. We can have sex in hotels, and we can take wrong turns, and you do not have to lose yourself, and stop loving yourself, to like me. Those two things do not go hand in hand. And when we are done with this trip, you can fly back here and get your car and go back to your life. Unburdened. You can do whatever you want. I am not here to weigh you down. I am here to make you laugh and to make you smile, but never forget the things you want to hold onto.”

I am crying, and it feels so strange to cry this way. Tears of hysteria and confusion over his words. Because I know he could be all-consuming and I know he could be a fling and I know either one would heal me. I start shaking my head and he smiles at me.

“What are you feeling?” He laughs.

“I thought you said you could read me?” I dare, and he runs his hand through his hair. I walk to him, stopping his hand, running a thumb over his jaw before he can answer. “Them good moth flutters. I’m feeling them good moth flutters, Ben.”