But of course, no amount of gratitude can surpass what I know now. About James and me. And about Celeste. I’m so caught up with all my different thoughts and emotions that I don’t realize we’re back at Celeste’s place until I bump into her as she unlocks the door.

When we’re back inside, Celeste says, “Gem. Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have told you all that.”

I shake my head. My voice comes out soft and hoarse when I reply, “No, I’m glad you did. It’s given me a lot to think about.”

Celeste gives me a quizzical look. “How so?”

My eyes burn with tears. “I know we agreed that we both fucked up,” I say. “But for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry, Celeste. I wish I’d waited longer for you. I wish we lived in an alternative universe where we’re still together here in SF.”

Her eyes widen, and she looks at me for a long moment before wiping the drops on my cheeks. “It was such a long time ago, Gem,” she says. “We were both young and could have handled the situation a lot better. Come on, let’s not talk about sad stuff anymore. I’m glad we cleared the air a bit more, but I’m so sick of being sad. And I can use a pick-me-up.”

She pulls me in close, and I start kissing her, slowly moving down her neck and to the rest of her body. I can’t change what happened in the past, but I can change how she feels at this very moment.

“In that case,” I say. “Let me be of service.”

31: Celeste

In the week before their last shoot, Celeste wakes up every day kissing Gemma in the morning and goes to sleep with her arms around her every night. It’s like she died and went to heaven, except her heaven has always been the too-brief time in college when she and Gemma lived together.

She can’t remember the last time she laughed so much, can’t remember the last time she was this happy. It’s a dangerous type of joy. One that’s so overwhelming she feels like she’s floating, seconds away from crashing back down to the ground.

Every little moment she spends with Gemma feels so precious, to the point that Celeste finds herself unable to sleep in the first few hours of Thursday morning. She watches Gemma as she sleeps, gently running her fingers through the other woman’s long, wavy hair.

It’s been a few days, but she can’t stop thinking about how Gemma had cried for her and the past they’ll never be able to undo. The emotion in her voice had been so raw and genuine that Celeste’s own heart ached.