“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just surreal to be here with you having this conversation about the future. To be with you at all, actually. Surreal.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m fucking lucky, is what I mean.”

I hope he always feels this way. I hope he always looks at me this way.

“Can I be honest?” he asks.

“Please.”

“Babies freak me out,” he says. “They’re so small.”

“They are really small. I didn’t know they came that small.”

“I’m not saying I don’t like babies.”

“Right. You’re saying that you hate them. You hate babies.”

“If you tell your sister—”

“If I tell her what?”

“Never mind,” he says. “Never mind.”

“That you hate babies?”

He sighs.

“You chose this,” I say, leaning across the table to kiss him. “You chose me.”

“I did,” he says. “I do.”

—

We get in the car and start driving back to Ian’s. It’s dusk, the sun sinks behind the trees, and the snow-coated branches glitter in lingering daylight. The sky is a vibrant pink.

I notice my reflection in the side-view mirror. I’m smiling. I reach up to feel my face, to hold the smile in my hands.

We pull up to a stop sign. There’s no one coming, but he doesn’t roll through like I would. He follows the rules. He’s good. He’s so good.

He turns.

We’re on Cutter Road. Not far from where I was bitten.

I’ve been on this road since. Many times.

So why this sudden sickness?

I’m queasy. My heart beats fast. It’s getting louder and louder, the sound blaring inside my head.

“I feel weird.”

“You’re probably still tired,” he says. “We can take it easy tonight.”

I crack the window. There’s a smell in the air. A ripeness.

“You okay?”

I watch mist seep through the trees.

“Rory? You need me to pull over?”

“What day is it?”

“Saturday,” he says. “Why?”

A chill chokes my bones. I take out my phone.

I must have lost track of the days. It’s tonight. The full moon is tonight.

I look through the windshield.

It’s now.

“Pull over,” I say. “You have to pull over.”

“All right. Are you okay?”

The car’s still moving when I open the door and fall out into shallow snow.

“Rory?”

“Stay in the car!” I start running. “Promise me you’ll stay in the car!”

“What? Rory?”

“Please! Don’t follow me! Stay in the car!”

He’s not listening. He’s following me. He’s following me into the woods.

“Where are you going?”

“You have to stay away from me! Please!”

“I can see you get sick. It’s fine,” he says. “I’m not going to leave you alone.”

“Ian! Will you just fucking listen to me! Stop following me!”

“Why are you running? Can you hold on? Damn, you’re fast.”

It’s getting darker and darker. I’m running deeper into the woods. The terrain is treacherous, the ground sheathed in ice and snow. He’s behind me still. There isn’t much time left. There isn’t much time.