She takes my free hand and turns it over. Bending down, she kisses my palm. “I love being irrational with you, babe. We’ve done everything fast, thrown the odds out the window, and followed our hearts. But—”

I pull back and swing my arm away in frustration. “Fuck that. I don’t give a fuck about playing by other people’s rules. I have money. I have trust funds. Three actually and those don’t include my parents’ bank accounts. So no, I’ll be as irrational as I want to be if it means we stay together.”

Her mouth hangs open as her green eyes shine under the kitchen lights. The quicksand of my emotions starts sucking me under, so I back up, staring at her, knowing I just committed sins against her nature.

She laughs, which is a pleasant surprise, and says, “You have more money than sense. You know that, babe? I don’t even know what to say to that. I can’t wrap my head around blowing off reality to live in la-la land or in some unattainable fantasy world that gives freedom from worries, even for one day, much less for a longer period.” She slides off the stool and comes to me. Wrapping her arms around my middle, she leans her head on my chest. Not long enough. Resting her chin there instead, she looks up at me. “Tell me what that freedom from worry feels like. I’m being genuine, Harbor. A part of becoming a doctor was the dream that I could taste that freedom one day. Is it worth it?”

I suddenly feel shitty for spending my days like I don’t have a care in the world. I guess I don’t, comparatively.

I have cares, but they’re all wrapped up in her. I may not know much about how her world truly rotates, but I do know that time is slipping away from us, burying us under what happens next instead of living in the present. I’d never say anything, but the day she heard from Yale is the last day I remember feeling how we used to be . . . normal in our relationship, and it’s all because of fucking money.

Always about money.

My fear, my true, deep-down, buried fear, is that I realize this plays out only one of two ways—she finds the money and we stay together, or she gives up her dream. If the latter happens, I don’t know what will happen to our relationship.

“I will do anything to keep us together.”

She presses herself against me as if she can’t get close enough. I understand the craving. It’s how I feel about her as well. Time is a ticking bomb, tricking us into thinking we’ll find the money for her dream to come true. But I’m starting to worry we won’t.

She whispers, “I can’t take your money.”

I already knew, but hearing her say it strikes a different chord. I kiss her head and hold her tight, knowing we’re headed into the unknown.