Page 143 of Romeo

What if Sunday mornings vanished the second I told him?

What if Jasper’s careful way of looking at me changed into pity?

What if he stayed only because he felt sorry for me?

Me: I can’t.

The message left before I could reconsider it.

Jasper: Can’t or won’t?

I closed my eyes. He had a terrible habit of finding the real question.

Me: Not yet.

I waited for his response. Nothing about the silence felt patient while I was inside it. Every second gave me time to imagine frustration on the other end.

Then his response appeared.

Jasper: Then not yet.

I read it twice; confusion settled in my stomach.

Me: You aren’t angry?

Jasper: No.

Me: What if it’s important?

Jasper: I trust you to tell me when you can.

The tears came quietly this time. Not because I was relieved that he’d let me keep the secret. Because he hadn’t treated my fear like something I owed him an explanation for.

Me: You shouldn’t trust me that much.

Jasper: Too late.

I laughed, wiping beneath one eye. That sounded like him.

Me: You make this harder.

I wasn’t even sure which part I meant. Telling him. Not telling him. Caring about someone enough that his opinion could matter this much.

His answer took a little longer.

Jasper: I’m trying to make it safe.

My breath caught. I set the phone in my lap.

He said safe.

Not easy.

Not painless.

Safe.

There was a difference.