“There is something I want to talk to you about,” I tell him, because I know it’s time to ask questions that need to be asked. To have the talk about where we’ll be in a few years, what our plans are for the future. “But let’s do it after we tell my mom and your dad that we’re getting married.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, his fingers unraveling through my hair.

“I’m sure,” I say. “Besides, if we don’t get this whole wedding announcement thingy out in the open there isn’t going to be a wedding, at least one that people can go to.”

“Where are we going to have it?”

“I don’t know,” I say, and I don’t. Even when I was little, I never imagined getting married. In fact, when I thought about it, I thought about how much I didn’t want it. I watched my mother and father fight too much, be miserable, fall apart, our household always on the verge of cracking until one day it shattered completely. But I’ve changed. And it doesn’t matter where it takes place or what I’m wearing. I just want Micha there with me and I’m good. “In your backyard?” I suggest. “I mean, a lot of stuff happened in the backyard.”

His sucks on his lip ring, contemplating. “Yeah, a lot of things did, but a lot of things happened at our spot, too, so how about up by the lake. It’s where we first said we loved each other, even if you don’t remember it.”

“Won’t it be cold?”

“Does it really matter?”

He has a point, but I still frown at the floor, my heart knotting in my chest as I remember the night on the bridge and how I almost jumped into the water. How Micha saved me. How I kissed him afterward to silence the three words I knew he was going to utter, words I can’t get enough of now. I remember turning to leave, ready to bolt from him and my feelings, and then the rest of the night is only broken pieces in my mind because of the mixture of adrenaline and anxiety in my body, along with the pills I took from my mother’s stash. Rain drops splashing against the asphalt. Puddles covering the ground. Water like black ink. Silver lightning blazing across the midnight sky. Micha’s intoxicating warmth. “You never did tell me exactly what happened.” I glance up at him. “Would… would you tell me what happened? I want to know what happened the night I first told you I loved you.”