my hands, wondering why I am the way that I am.
When I open my eyes, Nash has silently disappeared and I can’t believe it. I know he’s pissed, but to just run away? I clutch my stomach, which is still making the god-awful give me fries noises, the panic of the empty table doubling the rate of my heart. But then I look over my shoulder and exhale because Nash is in the fries line.
He comes back to the table with two large fries, a packet of ketchup for him, and honey mustard for me. Because honey mustard is the superior dipping sauce of choice, obviously.
But I’ve never dipped fries in honey mustard in front of Nash.
My heart swells with this realization.
It’s a Kels thing. A running argument. We got into a stupid Twitter war over it. Polls and all.
But Nash got it for me, Halle. It’s a me thing.
Nash’s nose crinkles when the first fry makes contact with the honey mustard.
I dip another fry in the honey mustard and hold it out to him.
He shakes his head.
I shrug because it’s his loss, really. We eat the rest of our fries in silence and Nash sticks with his ketchup. It sucks because I already said so much, and there’s so much I still want to say. But I don’t want to overload him and Nash is giving me nothing.
This sucks.
“This sucks,” Nash says.
I want to laugh or burst into tears or both.
“Yeah,” I say. “It really does.”
“I just …” Nash pauses. Breathes. “These last two months have been really hard, Halle.”
His voice breaks when he says my name and I can’t.
“I know,” I say.
“But, like, you don’t. At all.”
I look down. “You’re right,” I say, softer.
“I’m sorry I pretended going to OTP’s event was a Nick thing. That was not my best move. But other than that, I’ve never lied to you. Not about my feelings for Kels. Not about my feelings for you. And it’s still really hard for me to wrap my brain around all the lying. I’ve been trying to put myself in your place, asking myself what I would’ve done if the roles were reversed. I’m trying to understand. But I don’t, like, at all. The moment I knew you were you? I would’ve told you.”
I fidget with a crumpled-up napkin.
“I didn’t mean for it to go as far as it did,” I say. “First, it was because I was scared to—but then it was because I didn’t know how to.”
Nash leans back in his chair. “But why were you scared? I would’ve been happy, you know. I would’ve been so happy.”
“I guess I thought maybe if you got to know me, you wouldn’t be. Happy.”
“That’s dumb,” Nash says.
“The most dumb,” I concur.
We stand and wander aimlessly down the hall, both way too fidgety after we inhaled our fries to sit still. We wander back toward E110, the room that hosted my first-ever panel appearance. I did it. I spoke words on a panel in front of an audience and I didn’t puke or pass out. Which means I can do it again. Someday. If I want to. This is the world I want to be in. I’m here.
But I want Nash to be here with me too.
I open the cupcake container. There is one red velvet left, so I pick it up and place it in his palm before he can say no. It’s now or never, I decide.
Cupcakes make me brave. Books make me brave.
Grams makes me brave.
“I mean it, you know. I really love you, Nash Kim. But it doesn’t matter. None of the other stuff matters if we’re not talking or reading or laughing—if we’re not friends.”
He freezes. “Friends?”
I nod. “We were good as friends, right? Before I messed up. But I won’t do that anymore—mess up, I mean.”
“I’ve been so mad at you,” he says.
My shoulders slump forward. “I know.”
“But I’m mad at me too. I should’ve known—or, like, seen it coming at least. Obviously, I wasn’t paying enough attention. Because I should’ve seen it. I should’ve seen you.”
People swarm around us in every direction as the panels let out, moving on to their next destination. So many people in one space, yet somehow, I’m able to block out the noise. Somehow, it’s only Nash.
I chew on my lower lip. “I’m different online.”
“But, like, you’re not. Not really. Not in the ways that matter. I kinda fell in love with you twice, Halle Levitt. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”
My face is on fire, I’m sure of it.
I’m also sure there’s officially a stupid smile on my face.
“You don’t have to say that,” I say.
“Halle?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop.”
Nash’s mouth smashes against mine and I kiss him back and oh my God, we’re kissing again. At BookCon. In New York City. His hands are around my waist and mine are in his hair and wow, I missed him.
I can’t help but hope this is the first step back to okay.
Because I’m not thinking about whether I’m Halle or Kels.
Because I am Halle.
I am Kels.
I am me.