“I know. And he’s been really hard to read . . . but sometimes, for just a moment, he says the exact right thing, and it makes me feel like . . . my whole body is glowing.” I hate myself a little bit for even saying that out loud, but there it is.

“Waylon,” she says, her voice soft and patient. “I want you to be happy. I want you to fall in love and find something and someone that brings you the kind of joy you only see in movies. But I can’t watch you fall for another guy who’s still in the closet.”

I shake my head. “I can’t. I won’t. Everyone’s on their own time, but I think I might finally be finding my place, and it’s definitely nowhere near any closets. Unless it’s an immaculately organized closet Marie Kondo style with my dream wardrobe.”

“I love mess,” Clem says solemnly, quoting the goddess Marie Kondo herself.

“But we don’t love other people’s half-in-the-closet messes.”

“Amen,” she says.

“Besides, I won’t have you here to pick up the pieces.”

Her lips puff into a frown.

“No, I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean that in a passive-aggressive asshole way. I meant it in a literal way. I don’t want to say the idea has grown on me, but . . . I think you should go to Georgia.” The words are out of my mouth before I have too much time to think about them. I’ve felt this moment slowly dawning on me for a little while now. “Not that you needed my permission.”

She drops the squeegee and throws her arms around me. “I’ll visit. You’ll visit. We’ll FaceTime every day.”

I wrap my arms around her and press my face into her shoulder. “Don’t forget me,” I say so quietly that I almost hope she doesn’t hear.

“Impossible,” she squeaks.

I step back and take her hand. I can’t imagine who we would be without each other and I never want to know, but it’s time for us to take a few steps apart. Just enough space for us each to grow a little broader. A little stronger. A little brighter.

“Besides,” I say, “if anyone can survive being half a country apart, it’s us.”

She bites down on her lip, tears welling as she nods. “What will you do?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “But when I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

A knock on the window startles us, and I let out an embarrassingly dramatic scream.

From inside, Hannah waves and sticks her tongue out.

I spray the spot over her face with window cleaner and blow a raspberry.