Freedom, adrenaline, and control.
And now, it’s us.
“Now finish that wack-ass chicken, Izzy. I got a bike to christen with my girl.”
“Yes, Teach.”
EPILOGUE
DIEGO
“You going to tell me where we’re going?”
Iz’s voice cuts through the low hum of the truck’s engine as I merge onto I-93. Her socked feet rest on the dashboard like she owns this place. And she does. Me, this truck, and my bike after christening them multiple times.
It’s hot having her memories imprinted on my possessions, including my loft. This has been the best semester of my life, mainly because of her graduating and because I get to hang out with my idol when I drive us to Princeton every few weekends.
“Eventually.”
“Give me one hint.”
She stretches the last word like a tease, but her curiosity is genuine.
“I already gave you one,” I taunt, my LED lights making her face glow and look even prettier.
“It’s too cold to ride our bikes is not a hint. That’s an excuse.”
The air outside is biting. December in Boston pulls no punches. Inside my truck, it’s warm, cozy, and humming with the kind of energy only she can create. I have yet to admit this to her, but sometimes, riding bikes is too far apart. I can’t touch her whenever I want, as I do now, with my hand tucked into her inner thigh while I drive.
“Agree to disagree.”
“You’re driving me to the middle of nowhere, so I at least deserve to know where we’re going.”
It’s part of what I love about her. How she wants to know everything, dissect it, analyze it, and control it. Yet relinquishing control to me allows her to be free, to take in the experience holistically, and provides the relief she needs. It doesn’t make her question me any less as we go through this little exercise every time.
“Alright, one more since we are almost there.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. There’s nothing but trees and this road. We’re not close to anything.”
She looks out her window, the windshield, and then the back window, looking for something that can’t be seen from the highway. Her gaze connects with me for a second, long enough to capture the happiness on my face, before my eyes turn back to the road.
“Fine, just tell me.”
“It’s a celebration. For both of us.”
The truth is, I know I aced her final.
The material was easy for me, but difficult for most. I’ve been studying chemistry for over a decade, and I’m fascinated with the stuff. But passing her class was my last one to graduate with honors in a couple of weeks.
My acceptance to MIT came last week, like a green light to the next chapter of my life. I look at her again as I take the exit toward the campsite and park. Everything else in my life has aligned in ways that still feel like I’m dreaming.
She’s frowning, staring ahead, trying to figure out what we’re celebrating way out here.
“What are we celebrating? Because it can’t be both of us if I wasn’t part of the planning. And if I were, the celebrating would happen in the city at a nice restaurant followed by a rooftop bar somewhere.”
She huffs as if disappointed, but those are the last things she wants. Trust me, I’ve tried. She is either an adrenaline junkie like me or a worried couch potato, hovering over her laptop and work papers for her classes. She’s shot down going to dinner and a bar countless times, even when I told her we wouldn’t be seen or caught by anyone that mattered from campus.
“You say that, but it’s not true. And we’re celebrating your first semester and my last.”
