“Do you think they’ll take both of us?”
Something flickers across his face for half a second. I barely register that it’s doubt, before it’s gone. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”
Our food arrives, and we segue out of Stanford talk. Rob wants to know about my parents and whether or not we are finally going to build that pool they’ve been talking about for years. “Honestly, I think they should invest in air conditioning first.” He takes my olives; I take his onions. By the time dinner is over, I’m not really nervous at all. It feels like I’m just out with Rob. My best friend Rob, who knows that I hate yellow peppers and that every time I lost a tooth I used to sleep over at his house the next night because I thought that I could trick the tooth fairy into coming twice.
We split a dessert—chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream—and when the check comes, Rob brushes me off. “No way,” he says. “This is mine.”
We walk to the car, and it’s gotten a little cold out. I didn’t bring a sweater, and I hug my arms around me. Rob tosses me the Stanford sweatshirt from the back seat. I pull it on, and when I poke my head out, he’s smiling at me.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. It just looks cute on you.”
The comment makes my heart start racing and my hands feel numb. “I don’t want to go home yet,” he continues. He puts his hand softly on my kneecap. It’s warm and dry, and he leaves it there. It feels very different than this morning. More definitive, because I don’t have any more questions. I know now. Rob and I are going to kiss before this night is over.
“Okay.”
“Should we go to the Cliffs?”
His hand is still on my knee, and I nod in agreement. We start driving back past Grandma’s Coffeehouse and the school and up toward the water. The Cliffs are this area of San Bellaro above the ocean. Pretty self-explanatory except for the fact that there’s a cemetery there. Which completely creeps Olivia and Charlie out. It’s always been somewhere I’ve gone with Rob. Our place. It’s quiet and peaceful, and all you can hear, besides the occasional passing car, is the sound of the waves crashing. I’ve spent my whole life living by the water, and while I don’t surf and, yeah, my skin is whiter than a sheet of paper, there is something comforting about that sound. It’s so eternal. Like Rob, one of those things I can just count on.
I keep my window down, and when I wet my lips, I can taste the salt air. Rob and I are quiet on the way over, but it’s a goodquiet now, a quiet we’re used to. Watching movies, studying at my kitchen table. That kind of quiet.
It takes us about ten minutes to get there, and the entire time we’re driving with the windows down, music playing and the salt air settling onto our skin, he has his hand on my knee. It’s just resting there, like it fits. Like we’re these two puzzle pieces that have finally been put together.
We pull into the parking lot, and Rob cuts the engine. It’s quiet—so quiet I can actually hear the wind whistling through the grass outside. Rob takes his hand gently away and then gets out. This time I wait for him to come around, and when he does, he opens my door easily, on the first try.
I hug the Stanford sweatshirt closer around me.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand.
We walk through the grass to this place at the end of the cemetery where there are two big rocks that are so close to the edge of the cliffs, it feels like you’re literally hanging over the water. I’ve always been afraid of heights. I was that kid who refused to go on the monkey bars and hated gymnastics. I still don’t even like to fly. Being high up freaks me out. All of that space. All of that possibility for complete and total catastrophe. One wrong move, and everything changes.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Rob says. It’s the same thing he’s been saying for years. Every time I get close to therocks, I just sort of freeze up. I can’t help it. It is a long way down into that water. If I knew anything about math or geography, I’d probably put it around way too many feet.
“I know. Just give me a minute.”
“Okay.” He stands on one of the rocks, arms spread out like he’s flying. “Check it out, Rosie. No hands.”
“Please stop.” My heart is racing and my blood is pounding so hard, I can hear it in my ears. It feels like it’s going to thump straight out of my body.
Then Rob trips and his arms flail out, and he’s literally inches from the edge, his torso so far forward I swear he’s going to topple over. In one tiny, terrified moment I start screaming.
Rob rights himself effortlessly. “Relax, Rosie. No problem.”
He tries to take my hand, but I yank it away. “It’s not funny.” I know I sound petulant, like a little kid, but I can’t help it. “I hate when you do that.”
“Okay, okay,” he says, softening. He brings one hand to my waist and puts the other underneath my chin, tilting my head up toward him. “I’m sorry,” he says, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that he means it.
I grumble, “Okay,” and let him lead me over to the rock just behind the one he was standing on, where we settle down next to each other.
He points to the sky. The stars are brilliant, so specific that itfeels like if I tried, I could count them. And from our spot on the rock it looks like they are all around us. Even underneath us. Like we’re in a universe composed entirely of stars.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing up at a circular constellation. Rob has moved just a tiny bit behind me so my back is resting half on his chest and half on his shoulder.
“I’m not sure. I was never too good at astronomy.”
“Me neither.”
