No one believes me when I tell them that Jonah was the best boyfriend in the world. They think I’m painting too rosy of a picture, considering what happened later. They insist that there must have been some signs, something wrong, some clue where this was headed. They want to hear symptoms. But I can only tell them how I felt with him.
We became best friends by the end of the first week. Jonah seemed to need me as much as I needed him, even if he hid his social anxiety better than I did. And I was so relieved that I wouldn’t have to spend sophomore year alone that I never stopped to count the hours we spent together.
We were rarely apart. After school, we hung out in my room or his until our moms separated us for the night. We took the train down to DC and roamed the National Gallery of Art, and Jonah showed me details about the great masters’ paintings that I could never have imagined. I learned about light sources and shadows. I learned how to critique art, what to look for in a portrait, how to interpret an artist’s choice of color and palette.
We listened to music, studied for tests, watched movies on his laptop. He learned that I cried at happy endings and became angry at sad ones. I found out that he liked action-adventure flicks and oddball comedies. And I discovered that I didn’t care what we watched as long as I was sitting close to him and I could feel the tremble of his body when he laughed.
Most of all, I enjoyed watching him when he wasn’t looking. I’d never had a boyfriend before, so I don’t know if this was normal, but everything he did fascinated me. I loved the way he bit his lip when he was concentrating on an assignment and then rubbed his eyes when he was frustrated. I loved it when he’d ask for help with a math problem and then make fish faces when I tried to explain the answer. I loved the sound of my name when he whispered good night to me. I even loved it when he fell asleep in the middle of a movie, because then I could just watch him. I’d brush the black curls from his forehead and trace his dark brows with my eyes, memorize the dimple over his open lips, the curve and hollow of his cheeks. I’d touch the dark hairs on his arms and follow them to his wrists, then slip my fingers into his hands. I’d study the open button at his neck, run my eyes over the dip beneath his collarbone and then imagine the rest, the hidden I couldn’t see. I’d wonder how his lips would feel against mine when he finally kissed me. I’d count the days we’d been together and worry that maybe he didn’t want to. But when he woke, I was always careful to look away, because I couldn’t let him know what I’d been thinking. I was embarrassed to let him see how much I cared.
Kris felt the whole kiss situation was very concerning. Jonah and I were into the second week when her texts starting getting embarrassing.
Are we there yet?
No.
How about now?
Get a hobby, Kris.
During the second weekend of our relationship, Jonah’s mother called mine and invited us to a family picnic near Quarry Lake. I was totally against the idea at first, but my mom had already made a giant quinoa pudding, so I didn’t have much choice. As it turned out, Mrs. Golden was a quinoa fanatic, so their friendship was instant (and very wholesome). After ten minutes of listening to “Really? Quinoa meatloaf?” Jonah suggested a private stroll across the playground. Katie was swinging on the jungle gym, and our mothers were walking Lady. It was the perfect time to sneak away. Halfway up the garden path, we paused and looked over the green. It was a beautiful spot—quiet, secluded, with a gorgeous outlook. There was a cluster of trees close to the path, and we settled beneath them for a rest. It was a cool and hazy evening, and the setting sun had stained the clouds a wild indigo against the darkening sky. We didn’t have much longer, I realized. Our family would be looking for us soon, but I wanted to savor this moment before we had to go.
Jonah pulled me close to him when we sat down, and his arms tightened around my shoulders; I felt him lay his cheek against my forehead. I turned around to look at him, and he ran his fingers through my hair, pulled me close, and kissed me, timidly at first, then slightly bolder, and then with an intensity that took my breath away.
I’d waited forever for that perfect moment. I’d dreamed of it every night since I’d met him and practiced it over and over in my imagination. But no dream could have come close to the reality. In my fantasy, I hadn’t heard him catch his breath before he bent his head toward me. I hadn’t imagined the feel of his firm hands against my cheeks. I hadn’t felt the thrill of warmth as his lips brushed mine. I could never have guessed that I’d be shaking by the end.
He looked worried when I pulled away. “Is something wrong?” he whispered hoarsely. “Moving too fast?”
“Not at all.” My voice caught on the words.
“You sure?”
I smiled. “If you didn’t make a move today, I was prepared to tackle you.”
He laughed and pulled me roughly onto his lap. “Damn it. I knew I should have waited longer.” With one finger, he traced the outline of my lips, then parted them and kissed me again.
And that’s where my daydream ends when I think about that day. I’m curled up in his arms. He’s smiling at me and brushing his hand against my cheek.
But if I have to, when they force me to remember everything and describe when I first sensed something was wrong, I have to end that scene the way it really happened. I have to remember past our kiss. He was holding me as I described. I glanced up at him and was about to speak when I saw that he wasn’t looking at me anymore. His body was tense, his eyes narrowed in concentration. I slid off his lap and stared out into the darkness, trying to see what he was staring at. “What’s wrong, Jonah?” I asked him as he scrambled to his feet.
He shook his head distractedly and started back across the path. “I heard Katie scream. She must have fallen and hurt herself.”
I hadn’t heard anything, but of course I hadn’t been paying attention to anyone but him. I hurried down the hill and caught up to him by the playground.
Katie was there just where we’d left her, swinging happily from the jungle gym. Our mothers were sitting on a nearby bench and watching her. Lady was snoring peacefully near the sandbox. Mrs. Golden looked up at us and waved.
“There you are, guys,” she called. “We were about to go looking for you.”
Jonah appeared not to have heard her. He was staring at his sister with a frightened expression on his face. “Are you okay, Katie? Did something happen to you?”
She dropped down from the bars and skipped over to him. “No, I’m good. But I’m glad you came. I want to show you a trick I learned.” She tripped back to the slide. “Watch me, Jonah! Watch me!”
But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. He wasn’t looking at any of us. He dropped heavily onto a nearby bench and put his head in his hands. His mom rushed over and sat down next to him. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asked him quietly. “Is it another migraine?” He shook his head and placed his hands over his ears. Mrs. Golden reached out to touch him, and her fingers brushed against his neck. “Oh God, Jonah, you’ve broken out into a sweat,” she fretted. “That’s it. We’re going back to Dr. Rosen and asking her to look at you again. I’m calling her office now.”
Jonah pulled away and grabbed the phone from her hand. “I’m not sick, Mom,” he insisted sharply. “I’m just a little tired. And I had this—this ringing in my ears. I’m fine now. I just want to go to bed.”
Mrs. Golden didn’t look convinced, but she took the phone from him and dropped it in her purse. As we headed for the car, I overheard her whispering to my mother. “He gets these sudden headaches,” she murmured in a worried voice. “But he doesn’t want to talk about them with the doctor.”
“Why don’t you take him to Dr. Steiner?” my mom suggested. “I’ve worked as his secretary for years, and he’s great with teenagers.”
Jonah muttered something under his breath and slumped down in the backseat next to me. Katie slid in on the other side and rested her head against my shoulder. It was a short ride home, but as soon as the car left the parking lot, Jonah appeared to doze off. As we rounded the corner onto our street, the car swayed and I accidentally bumped his arm. He shifted over without speaking, and I realized that he hadn’t actually been sleeping. The muscles in his shoulders were clenched tight, his arms rigid at the elbows; he was gripping the fabric of his jeans, his knuckles white over his knotted fists.
He was suffering, but it was obvious that he didn’t want us to notice, so I said nothing and waited for it to pass. When my mother pulled our car into their driveway, he sprang out without a word and rushed into the house. His mom gave us an apologetic shrug. “Maybe I’ll call later for that doctor’s number,” she said and hurried after her son.