It felt like some sort of game.
The challenge of going from one mundane task to the next and the payoff of clearing that level. It wasn’t a perfect analogy, but being with Luke felt a little bit like that. The weekdays were the tough part, the anxious, boring moments when I longed to be able to touch him or kiss him, to see his face outside of a palm-size screen. The weekends were the payoff for all the waiting.
The second weekend in October, for the fourth time in a row, Luke drove down again. I felt guilty thinking of all the quality bonding time he was missing with his fellow freshmen, all the social events at the start of a new year that he didn’t get to be a part of. But I told myself that he would probably have made the trip every weekend anyway, to check on Mel. If anything, I was giving him something to look forward to, aside from watching his mother deteriorate a little every time he saw her. For the most part, Mel was still doing okay. She had lost a bunch of weight, and her skin looked sallow and pale all the time, but she kept reminding me whenever I worried that it was the treatment making her look sick, not the Big Bad itself. She could handle the treatment if it kept her around a little bit longer, she said.
After finishing his first midterm late on the Friday, Luke was scheduled to drive down super early on Saturday. He would get something like twenty hours at home before he had to turn around and drive back. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than not seeing him at all.
Ro, on the other hand, had a tournament an hour away in Millwood, and Mel was determined to go and watch him play, despite the fact that she’d had a bad week. “The season is almost over,” she kept saying, but what she meant was that she’d have to wait a year to see another of his matches, and nobody knew if she had that kind of time. The doctors were hopeful, but not sure.
So, while Ro and Mel drove to Millwood, I turned up at Mel’s house bright and early on Saturday morning to look after Sydney and wait for Luke. It was something ungodly, like five thirty a.m., when Mel hugged me goodbye and Ro jumped into the driver’s seat. The tournament was one in which they would play multiple matches in one day until a winner was determined, so it would be late before they got back.
“Take care of my Sydney baby for me,” Mel told me, and I promised I would.
After they were gone, Sydney and I made ourselves comfortable on the couch. Strictly speaking, the dog wasn’t allowed on the furniture, but for years each of the Cohens had been making “exceptions” without telling the others. At this point Sydney had pretty much determined that it was her divine right to sit on the leather throne. I let her climb up beside me, my feet tucked under her furry belly, and turned on the TV. I meant to find something to watch until Luke got home, but within minutes I was yawning.
I woke up briefly to let the dog out and then woke up again hours later, when I felt someone tucking a strand of hair behind my ears. My blurry vision told me it was Luke, but even if it hadn’t, I had developed a hyperawareness to his scent.
“Hi,” I whispered groggily, my face still smashed against the couch in what I’m sure was a deeply attractive pose. “I meant to stay awake until you got here. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, still leaning over me. “Did I ever tell you you’re the cutest when you sleep?”
I gave a tired smile. “I don’t think you’ve ever seen me sleep.”
“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “We have to do something about that.”
Despite myself, my heart galloped in my chest.
“I need to go up and take a shower,” Luke told me, still playing with my hair. “Want to come and hang out upstairs?”
“Yeah, okay,” I said. I sat up and held my arms up over my head. Laughing, Luke helped me wrap my arms around his neck, and I wound my legs around his hips.
“Hi,” he said when our cheeks were brushing.
“Hi.” I kissed his cheek. “You’re probably more tired than I am, and I’m making you carry me up the stairs.”
“You’re not making me do anything,” he said.
Once we were upstairs, he pushed open the door of his room and tossed his backpack on the floor. Then he walked me over to the edge of his bed, where he gently let me down.
I tucked my feet under me, watching as he dug through his closet, his back to me.
“How was your trip?” I asked.
“Eh. Went by pretty fast actually,” he said.
“What time is it?” I stifled another yawn.
“Eight thirty, I think?”
My mouth dropped open. “How the hell did you get here in two hours?”
“I left at like three. Thought it’d give me more time here.”
I tried to seem as stern as possible. “Luke. There’s no good reason to be driving when it’s that dark out.”
“Seeing you’s a pretty good reason,” he said, and all the sternness left me. I smiled at him, then yawned.
“You should get in,” he said, pointing to the bed. “Promise it’s clean.”
Flurries swirled in my stomach. Luke was asking me to climb into his bed. Of course, he didn’t intend to be in it at the same time, but that didn’t matter.
Me in Luke’s bed.
I stood up, went around to the side of his bed, and slipped under the covers, carefully lowering my head onto one of his pillows. He watched me the whole time, holding a change of clothes in his hands.
“Be right back,” he said after a moment.
“Okay.”
When I heard the door shut, I buried my face in his pillow, sighing. It smelled just like Luke. Clean and fresh, like boy and like home. Once again, I meant to wait up until he got back, but when I woke up again, he was fast asleep on his back beside me.
I stared at his profile, his long eyelashes, the strong set of his jaw. His perfect nose.
“I’m not as cute when I sleep,” he muttered, covering his eyes with one of his arms. I shifted closer even though he was on top of the covers and I was underneath them.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I said, running my finger along the contours of his face. I wanted so badly to kiss him, to bury myself in the space between his neck and shoulders. I wanted . . .
“Is Mel going to freak out?” I asked, imagining her walking in and finding us in bed together. For all the talk of how much she loved me, I suspected there was still a good chance she’d throw me out on my ass if she caught us in a compromising position.
“I’ll stay over here. Or I can take the couch downstairs, if you’re uncomfortable,” he said, opening his eyes to look at me. His eyes were intense and worried, like maybe he thought his nearness was freaking me out.
“I’m not uncomfortable.”
Uncomfortable was the last word I’d used to describe the sensations wreaking havoc on my heart and limbs and brain.
“I promise I won’t touch you,” he said, still looking at me.
It was the reason I loved Luke so much. He was always thoughtful and respectful and sincere, but at that exact moment I wasn’t so sure respectful was what I wanted.
I reached over and traced the outline of his lips with my fingers. I watched as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
We fell asleep that way, touching but not touching. Close but not close enough. I knew right then that I wanted to do everything with him, but it had been just a few weeks. This was only the beginning, and we still had so much time, so many more minutes and hours and days, so I closed my eyes and slept.
I’m lying next to Luke on Tuesday evening as the sun bounces off the roof of Willow’s massive house. Her huge infinity pool glistens a few feet away. Luke and I lie on separate beach towels next to each other. Separated from us by a pair of lounge chairs, Willow and Brett are sitting on their own beach towels.
I close my eyes and try to enjoy the feeling of the warm air against my skin. I tell myself to relax, that everything is okay, but none of it feels true when Luke is close enough for me to feel the heat of his body. He is wearing nothing but a pair of swim shorts, and the sight of his chest sends me back months into the past, then years. When he was mine—and way back when it seemed like he never could be mine.
Somehow, now we seem closer to who we were when we were kids. When the only string holding us together was his brother and his mother. When I would try to think of excuses and reasons to talk to him—because I felt so sure that, without constant reminders of my presence, he would soon forget I existed.
“Tell me whenever you’re ready to get in,” Luke says, nodding toward the pool and drawing me out of my thoughts. I glance over at him, but he’s staring up at the sky, dark sunglasses over his eyes.
I say nothing, and a few moments later he speaks again. “I called you.”
“When?” I ask.
“That night. You asked whether I saw your messages after,” he says. “Did you see mine before?”
My heart drops. I can’t believe we’re talking about this. That he’s bringing up the night when everything changed.
“Only when I got home hours later.”
He nods.
“Why?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer. His question sounds random, but it tells me that he’s still stuck in the past. Dreaming about it, reliving it, wanting it back, and wanting it as far away as possible. It tells me he’s still sifting through all the details of that night, trying to find the exact moment before everything fell apart. The same thing I used to do for months after.
If only I’d never gone out that night.
No—if only I’d never kissed Luke the very first time.
If only I had never met Rowan.
If only I had stopped him . . .
If, if, if.
“Okay, rise and shine, sleepyheads,” Willow says, coming over to us. “We’re getting in the pool. Do you want to play volleyball?”
“Sure,” I say, standing up too quickly.
“Us against you guys?” she asks.
Behind me, Luke is standing, pushing his sunglasses up on his head and brushing off his shorts.
“I don’t know if they can handle our trash talk,” Brett says, wrapping an arm around Willow’s waist, and she giggles.
“We’re both competitive. Like, supercompetitive,” Willow says.
“If that’s you trying to scare us, it’s not working,” Luke says as he dips a toe in the water.
Brett laughs. “Why do I get the sense you can handle our trash talk?”
“Hey, so can I!” I protest.
“It’s true,” Luke surprises me by saying. “She might seem all quiet and delicate, but Jessi’s not afraid to get her hands dirty.”
I run his comment through my mind, checking for any possible hidden meanings. When I find none, I say, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Which is the last thing I remember before his arms wrap around my waist and I’m fighting to stay afloat in Willow’s pool.
“Luke!” I squeal, too shocked to form any other words. “You jerk!” I cry, but when I see him doubled over laughing, I can’t help but grin too.
“Your face . . .” Brett says.
“Are you okay, Jessi?” Willow steps closer to the pool and calls over the sounds of Luke’s and Brett’s laughter.
“Barely,” I say, which makes the boys laugh even harder.
“I’m so sorry,” Willow says, shifting even closer to Brett. “It’s just so mean—” On ‘mean,’ she shoves Brett with all her might, and then he’s falling belly-first into the pool and sputtering. I can’t help laughing too. The timing was perfect.
“That was deeply satisfying,” she says. She holds out her hand to Luke, and they high-five.
“You planned that?” I ask.
“Yep,” Luke says with a grin. It makes him look younger and mischievous, like someone else. Like Rowan.
My heart plummets, but before I have a chance to think anything else, Brett is coughing and flailing a few feet away from me. Luke’s and Willow’s laughter stops abruptly.
“I . . . can’t . . . swim . . .” Brett pants between breaths.
Luke and Willow exchange a look.
“Are you serious, man?” Luke asks.
“Brett, you better not be lying,” Willow says.
Sensing my cue, I say, “I don’t think he is, you guys.”
I start swimming toward Brett.
Within half a second Luke and Willow are both in the pool. Luke reaches him at the same time I do, but when he tries to lift him out of the water, Brett lunges and pushes Luke down. It’s the perfect time to exact my revenge, so when Brett lets Luke go, I use all my force to push him back under.
Luke manages to writhe his way out from our grips, and then he’s shaking out his wet hair, laughing a full belly laugh. I’ve heard it maybe three times in my life. Once, before Sydney was housetrained, she pooped in Ro’s tennis shoe. When Rowan went to put it on, he squealed out a string of expletives that were totally inappropriate for a ten-year-old but completely hilarious. Another time was during a movie Mel took all three of us to. The third time was with me. I made him laugh with his whole being.
Now I just stand and watch, watch him being happy and carefree and fun. I always thought of Luke as serious, kind of high-minded, but it’s not until I see him now that I remember he wasn’t always like that. He used to giggle when we were younger. He used to love practical jokes and making fun of his younger brother. It was after his father left that he changed and became more conscientious and practical, more concerned for his mother and Ro than he was with friends or having fun, or even with school. He was happy when we were together. I know that with all my heart, but he was also always scared. Everything with Mel wouldn’t have allowed anything else. It’s nice to see him as he would have been if his father had never left, if his mother never got sick, if I’d never ruined everything.
While Brett splashes Willow, Luke swims over to me, his eyes still sparkling. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
I swallow over the lump in my throat. I want to tell him how much I love seeing him happy, how much I miss him, how sorry I am for everything. Instead I smile and say, “What can I say? Payback is a bitch.”
We both float there for a second, treading water, and then he lifts his hand and moves a strand of hair away from my eyes.
“Thanks,” I breathe.
He just looks at me.
His gaze is like the pull of gravity, strong and magnetic. His eyes slide all over my face, lingering at my lips.
My first thought is that Brett and Willow are preoccupied with themselves; he doesn’t have to look at me like that.
My second is that I really, really want to kiss him.
So I do.
I close the distance between us, loop my arms around his neck, and press a kiss to his lips. He kisses me back, his tongue pushing my lips apart and sweeping over the inside of my lower lip. We drift until my back is against the edge of the pool, our bodies pressed against each other. His hands roam the bare skin of my side, my stomach, my thighs, while my hands are trapped against his chest. Everything feels familiar, but different and terrifying, like walking through the city you grew up in after a war.
When we finally break apart, Willow and Brett are lobbing a small beach ball back and forth and trying to seem busy.
“I keep forgetting we should be doing that,” Luke says, his voice husky. He steals a look in their direction again. “Think they’re buying everything?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, my knees like jelly. “I think they are.”