April brought cherry blossoms and college decisions. I got into Indiana University with a scholarship. I got into Northwestern. I got waitlisted at NYU.
Jesse got into NYU. Full ride. Early decision.
"I'm going," he said, when he told me. "Even if you don't get in. I have to. It's too good an opportunity."
"I know," I said, even though my heart was breaking. "I'm proud of you."
"Charlie."
"Don't. Don't apologize for getting into your dream school. This is good. This is right."
But it didn't feel right. It felt like the end of something. Like the universe was conspiring to teach us that love wasn't enough, that circumstances and geography and the cruelty of admissions committees could defeat even the strongest feelings.
I got off the waitlist two weeks later.
"We're going to New York," I told Jesse, waving the acceptance letter.
"We're going to New York," he repeated, and lifted me off my feet in a hug that lasted approximately one hour.