I think I might be in love with Alex Harrison. And I also think I don’t fully trust him.
“I’m so proud of you,” he says—still talking about London—and my confusion solidifies even further, pulled right from an emotion I can’t even name. I don’t know whether to love him for his unconditional support or ask if I mean so little to him that it’s that easy to let me leave.
“I could wait,” I say. “I could wait until summer and take a different job.”
“Absolutely fuck that,” Alex says. He rubs a thumb along my jawline. “This job is, like, a novel described as perfect for fans of finance and new adventures. That’s you. That’s the book you want to read, Case.”
“It is,” I say, laughing.
Alex smiles. “Just lean all the way into what you like. The smile on your face right now is what’s telling me it’s the right move.”
I try to hold it, but my smile drops eventually. If I really did what he’s suggesting, I’d be leaning all the way into Alex, too. “How come you’re so eager to let me go?” I whisper.
He pulls back, sets his mouth into a grim line. Eventually, he says, “It’s not in me to be a tether.”
“Not even a little?” I ask.
“Not even a little.”
“Why not?”
Alex runs a hand through his hair, blushing at the ground. “Because nobody stays anyway,” he says softly. “But I didn’t want to admit that because I don’t want you to feel guilty, or sorry for me. Not when I want this job for you almost as much as you want it for yourself.”
Something clicks in my brain. A memory. An explanation.
Alex sinks onto the couch, and I kneel in front of him. “In the elevator, when I freaked out because I thought you were going to be with some other girl on my birthday,” I remind him. “You said the word ‘clockwork.’”
His eyes burn into mine. “Yeah. I thought you were giving up on us because of what we texted about earlier that day, the stuff about my dad. People always distance themselves from me at the same point. Like clockwork.”
“What point?” I ask.
He scratches at his jaw. “When they start to really know me, I guess.”
Another memory, another explanation: what Sonja said, about Alex not being the person she thought she wanted to date. She thought she was getting first-day Alex. Shiny Alex. Unbroken, world-traveling, extroverted Alex. When we started all this, I assumed he wasn’t interested in long-term commitment because that’s just who he was. But the truth is closer to what he’s been alluding to: it’s almost never his choice.
“I think some people just like me best at a distance,” Alex admits.
I have a pathological need to be liked, he once told me. Because he doesn’t think he’s capable of being loved.
I crawl into his lap and kiss him, because my heart is breaking and I can’t not. He’s hesitant at first but slowly opens up to me, teeth catching on my lips, hands rubbing along my thighs and up my back, breath coming more like a pant. Even his eyes are a little possessive.
“I like you better the more I get to know you,” I tell him, pushing closer the only way I know how right now. “That’s how it’s supposed to work. When you let the right people in, they’ll love you, and they’ll stay.”
Love you. Right there: I basically just said it.
He unbuttons my pants. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you’re leaving, so the point stands.”
“That,” I say, unbuttoning his, “is a technicality. I’m not going anywhere, not in a metaphorical sense, and I might not even get that job, which would make it in a literal sense, too.”
He stands, still holding me in his arms, and carries me to my room. “That specific job is neither here nor there,” he responds casually, but there’s a brokenness I can still hear in the tenor of his voice. “You’ll go. I know it in my bones. You’re going to eat atrocious pub food and delicious ethnic cuisine, and you’ll pretend to love trendy East London even though you’ll like the touristy neighborhoods, too. You’re going to see the White Cliffs of Dover, and then Scotland, Bath, and even Windsor.”
“Talk dirty to me.”
Alex laughs and lands beside me on my bed. We’re both quiet for a minute, smiling at each other, and then he says, “I know you’re scared, Casey. But you’re more scared of not going than you are of going, and that makes you brave.”
Someone needs to get this human being an award. For what I’ve yet to determine, but it’d be nice to have the trophy prepped for inscription.
“Your birthday is in three days,” I state.
Alex nods. “Your flight leaves for Nashville tomorrow.”
His cousins aren’t coming home for Christmas this year; too much holiday shipping to deal with, apparently, and his aunt Jane is already in LA, helping her son pack orders. Freddy is spending the holiday with his dad’s proper and straitlaced side of the family （not his mom’s, which is the side that always welcomes Alex with open arms）。 Freddy told me this when I texted him to confirm Alex’s holiday whereabouts, gearing up for what I’m about to say:
“Come with me.”
His face snaps up to mine; he’s shocked out of his daze. “What?”
“Book a flight, my flight, and come to Nashville with me.” I am surer of myself with every word. “We can spend your birthday at the park playing soccer in our sweatshirts. And maybe we can go on a hike. I feel like you haven’t done much of that. And we’ll get tickets to some expensive bar downtown on New Year’s Eve.” I bite my lip and exhale.
He looks shocked, but his eyes are smiling in amusement. “Is this a pity invite? I was going to be perfectly content with Cleopatra and Calliope, watching Wes Anderson films and drinking hot chocolate.”
“Convincing, but no. I’ve been thinking about this for days. Mainly because every time I picture you spending Christmas in New Haven with Sonja, I see red, but also because I just want you with me for however long we’ve got.”
Alex’s eyes warm into a bourbon color. “Really?”
“Really. If it feels like too much pressure, you can think of it as your introductory tour to the South,” I offer. “I’m your tour guide. I even accept Venmo tips.”
Alex laughs. “Okay. His grin is so wide, it takes up his whole face. “The answer is yes, jagi. Of course I want to come home with you for the holidays.”
“Famous last words,” I try to joke.
Emotionally, I’m aware this is a horrible idea. Alex Harrison is not my boyfriend and certainly isn’t going to be if I get good news after my interviews on Monday. He likes to move around, is interested in freelancing. Maybe that means London for him, but maybe it means New Zealand. I don’t have any answers, but it doesn’t feel right to demand them from him, because the launch he’s been working so hard for didn’t get approved, and our company is about to get acquired—which might just change everything.
Yep. Emotionally this is not a genius move. But right now, I just don’t care. I’m operating on one self-imploding goal now: make me love you enough to trust you.