“Because you were polite.”
“Because I was chickenshit. I didn’t want to send you running.” He smiles wryly. “I don’t think you’ll run tonight.”
This is getting deep, but he’s right.
I shake my head; I’m not going anywhere.
“Then I’m gonna to ask. Were you crying because of your parents?”
I sift through my memories, trying to figure out how to explain that night in a way that’ll make sense to Henry, a boy who’s got a living mom and dad, two people who’d step into traffic for him. “Kind of. And because of my sister. She and I’d fought earlier that night, and I felt very alone. If Tati, who’d lost our parents too, couldn’t understand what I was going through, then how could anyone? You know?”
He drops his voice to a whisper. “Yeah. I think I do.”
“You’ve felt sadness like that?”
“Not in the same way, but sadness, yeah.”
I smile up at him. “Turned out to be a good night, though. Being with you made the heavy stuff seem lighter. By the time we said goodbye, I felt a lot less alone.”
“And then I vanished,” he says, his low pitch betraying his regret.
“Well, yeah. That sucked. Except…” I hesitate, trying to decide how forthcoming I want to be. This moment feels special, like we’re in a bubble of truth. Like there’s no way I’ll say the wrong thing. And so I forge ahead. “Except you never really vanished. I thought about you a lot afterward. That night turned out to be everything I needed.Youwere everything I needed.”
He smiles with charming conceit. “You’re referring to my mad kissing skills, aren’t you?”
I lift a brow. “You were my first.”
His smile becomes sincere. “You were my first too.”
“I thought I was hallucinating when I saw you at the pool the second time.”
“Jesus, same! I was sure you were a mirage.”
He shuffles forward, extending a hand toward me. He leaves his palm open in the air between us, letting me choose whether we take things further.
Should we?
When he disappeared three years ago, I was inconsolable. That week was the first time I snuck onto Marine Conservation Park property after hours, an act of pure desperation. The pool no longer felt like a refuge, the childhood house I’d made a million memories in belonged to a new family, and there was a gaping hole in my heart, one that had been momentarily patched by a boy who’d then left without explanation. Yet another person whose presence I couldn’t depend on. When I finally accepted that Henry was gone for real, I wanted nothing more than comfort, than to feel the unconditional love of my parents. The only place their spirits endured was the park. That night, I sat on the pavement beside their memorial medallion in the quiet darkness, weeping.
I’m confident that Henry won’t vanish again, but I’ve got other concerns. Saying yes to more than friendship with him is entirely different from saying yes to a night of fun with a tourist boy or a tipsy kiss with one of the guys from my school. Saying yes to Henry involves trust and vulnerability.
Saying yes to Henry means handing over my heart.
Thanks to Damon, I know all about the wrong sort of boy.The sort of boy who takes, who demands, who hurts. Henry isn’t that sort of boy.
I’d be crazy not to see where he and I can go together.
I slip my hand into his. It feels good—nowhere near as scary as I expected.
“That kiss,” he says, swinging our linked hands between us. “How’d it measure up?”
“It’s the kiss to which I’ve compared every one since.”
He lets out a laugh so hearty I worry he’ll disturb the neighbors.
“I mean it,” I tell him. “Dry a girl’s tears, make her swoon with talk of science and history and politics, spend forever at her side watching a turtle nest, then kiss her on the beach as the sun comes up? Perfect.”
He tugs me gently toward him. His warmth encircles me, his eyes taking on a new vibrancy, brown flashing with starbursts of gold. My heart pounds, excitement and anticipation spinning into joy. This moment reminds me of sandy toes, a sherbet sunrise, a whirlwind night with Henry.
