Being together publicly came with consequences nobody warned me about. Not just the stares and whispers. Those I expected. It was the organized intervention campaign that caught me off guard.
My aunt called on Monday. The one I saw maybe twice a year at holidays where we made uncomfortable small talk about the weather and my job prospects.
"Zoey, honey. Your mother's worried."
"She's always worried."
"She says you're making some questionable choices. Dating that boy from high school?"
That boy. Like Chase was seventeen and stealing car stereos instead of a twenty-eight-year-old architect with a mortgage.
"I'm an adult. I can date who I want."
"Of course you can. But after ending an engagement? People are talking."
"Let them."
She sighed like I was being deliberately difficult. "Your mother just wants what's best for you."
"Then she should probably ask me what that is."
I hung up before she could guilt trip me further. Two hours later, my uncle texted. Then my cousin. Then my mother's book club friend who I'd met exactly once.
All saying the same thing in slightly different words: You're throwing your life away. You're embarrassing the family. You're not thinking clearly.
Like my choices required a committee vote to be valid.
Wednesday brought an email from Professor Davidson, my grad school advisor. Subject line: "Checking In."
Zoey, I hope this finds you well. I wanted to reach out regarding your recent leave of absence. Several colleagues have expressed concern that your personal circumstances may be affecting your professional focus. While I understand life can be complicated, I want to ensure you're maintaining the standards expected of our program.
Translation: People are gossiping about you and it's making the department look bad.
I stared at the email for ten minutes before responding with something professionally neutral that basically meant "mind your business."
But the damage was done. My personal life was now a professional liability.
The demolition hearing was six weeks away.
Six weeks to gather enough community support to save a building most people had forgotten existed. Six weeks to prove that historical preservation mattered more than developer profits.
We were losing. Not dramatically, just gradually. Like watching sand slip through your fingers one grain at a time. Thursday's committee meeting was brutal.
Marcus brought data showing our petition numbers were stagnant. Jasmine reported that three council members were "leaning toward compromise." Even the people who showed up to early meetings were suddenly too busy to volunteer.
"Maybe we should consider it," someone said. I thought it was the librarian whose name I kept forgetting. "The partial compromise. They'd preserve the facade and build around it."
Half the committee nodded. Actually nodded like that was an acceptable solution.
"That's not preservation," Chase said. Voice flat. Dangerous. "That's taxidermy. You're keeping the skin and gutting everything that made it alive."
"But it's realistic," Marcus interjected. "We're not getting the full protection. This way we save something."
"We save an Instagram backdrop," I snapped. "A pretty facade people can photograph while the actual building rots from the inside."
The room went quiet. That uncomfortable silence where everyone was thinking the same thing but nobody wanted to say it out loud.
We were going to lose. After the meeting, Chase didn't ask if I wanted to leave. Just walked to his truck and waited while I gathered my things.
We drove in silence. Past downtown. Past the residential neighborhoods. Onto the highway heading out of town.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"You'll see."
Twenty minutes later, we were parking under the old overpass. The abandoned one that had been scheduled for demolition since before we graduated. Chain-link fence with a gap big enough to slip through if you knew where to look.
He did.
I followed him up the embankment. Gravel sliding under our feet. Weeds catching on my jeans. The concrete structure loomed above us, tagged with graffiti from a dozen different eras.
"We're not actually climbing that," I said.
"We absolutely are."
He was already halfway up the access ladder. Rusted rungs that probably hadn't been inspected since the nineties. I watched him climb like he'd done this a thousand times.
Maybe he had.
I followed because turning back felt like admitting defeat. My hands shook on the cold metal. My legs protested with each step. But I kept climbing until I was standing on top with the wind whipping my hair and the town spread out below like a judgment.
Chase sat on the railing. Let his legs dangle over the edge like he wasn't forty feet up with nothing but air and bad decisions between him and the ground.
"You're insane," I said.
"Probably."
I sat next to him anyway. Gripped the railing so hard my knuckles went white.
"Why here?" I asked.
He stared out at the horizon where the sun was bleeding orange into purple. "Because this is where you can't lie. Too high up for pretending."
The words hit different at this altitude. Like gravity was already pulling the truth out of us.
"What would I lie about?"
"Whether you're staying. Whether this is real. Whether you're going to run again when things get hard."
My chest tightened. "The campaign ends in six weeks."
"I know."
"So I'm leaving in six weeks."
"I know that too."
I leaned into him. Let his warmth cut through the wind. "I'm not pretending."
"Good." His arm wrapped around my shoulders. Pulled me closer to the edge and simultaneously further from falling. "Neither am I."
But when he kissed me this time, there was something different. Something fragile underneath the familiar heat. Like he was kissing someone who was already halfway gone.
Like he was waiting for me to disappear again and trying to memorize the taste before I did.
I kissed him harder. Tried to prove I was here. Present. Not already planning my exit strategy.
But we both knew the truth. Six weeks wasn't forever. It wasn't even close.
When we finally pulled apart, the sun had set completely. The town below was all streetlights and shadows. Beautiful from a distance. Complicated up close.
"We should probably get down," I said.
"Probably."
Neither of us moved.
Just sat there on the railing with our legs dangling over nothing, holding onto each other like that might be enough to stop time from running out.
It wasn't.
But for now, forty feet up with the wind trying to blow us apart, it almost felt like it could be.