“There’s something on my list I haven’t done with you yet,” he whispers, and I learn I was wrong before. He’s not about to say goodbye.
When I spin back around, he’s staring at me, lost in my eyes.
“What’s that?” I swallow as a bundle of nerves weaves a knot in the base of my throat.
Then he leans in and kisses me. Soft and sweet like he has all the time in the world to drink it in. He pulls away just enough to whisper, “Kiss her, check.” Then he’s dipping in for another kiss.
It’s not the sound of a barstool tumbling over on a hardwood floor that has us jerking apart. It’s me.
A flash of red lips, the grey of an overcast sky, the feel of grass beneath my fingertips, and the devastated face of Miles Bishop as he catches my first kiss with Reed. A memory, so crystal clear it’s like it was downloaded into my mind. As if it’s always been there—part of me that nothing could have erased forever.
I see Miles reaching to pick up the barstool one second and gone the next.
I panic, a feeling of devastation clutching at my heart when I can’t find him, and Reed notices.
“Teddy, what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” I say. Gripping the hem of my dress, I cut through the crowd of people, looking for Miles. I knock into several shoulders, apologizing in my wake. The last people I see are Reed’s parents, who take one glance at me and look back to where their son is crumpled over the railing, watching me run out of his life for a second time.
When I make it to the parking lot, I spin in circles in search of his truck, but it’s already gone. I yank off my heels and start to run. I run as hard and as fast as I can toward our cabin, my lungs feeling like they’re going to implode with each stride I take. Hot tears streak my cheeks as memories of Miles and me as kids rush back like an old family movie.
He’s holding my hand at his dad’s shop. We’re sharing our first kiss along the side of the road. I’m walking away from him, and then he’s kissing her. Reed’s there for me when I’m left devastated and needing a friend. He’s making me laugh and doing nothing wrong but falling in love with someone who doesn’t love him back. I’m drowning in memories a handful of yards down the main street on the edge of the road when the hatchback pulls up beside me.
My mom leans out the window and calls, “Get in.”
I need to keep running, but I don’t know if I’m still running away from the memories now or toward them.
Ones with my parents come rushing back too. My mom sick; my dad scared.And Cozy.
I’ve never needed my best friend more than I do right now.
“I promise I didn’t want to do anything or be anything that would disappoint you,” I hear the voice in my head telling my parents, “and yet that’s all I’ve been doing.”
I wish I could say it out loud.
I can’t imagine they’ll support me in this… running toward Miles. But they’re here now, and they’re offering their help, and my lungs are screaming to say yes. I pull back on the handle andcollapse in a heap in the back seat. My dad starts to pull away as I quake against the headrest.
“Stop the car, Arch,” my mom demands. She wrestles her dress over the center console. When she settles in beside me, he keeps driving, and she holds me in her arms, rocking me back and forth like an infant.
“You’re a wildflower,” she whispers, and the fourteen-year-old version of myself brokenhearted and weeping in her arms flashes through my mind. She comforts me like I’m the only thing that matters to her, and I realize how wrong I’ve been in pushing her away. I need my mom.
She offers to help me inside when we get back to the cabin, but she knows I won’t say yes. She gives me an understanding nod, watching as I pick myself up and rush to the edge of the dock where my first love hurts because of me.
I need to tell him.
When I trip and fall on my knees on the first plank, he stands and sprints for me, lifting me in his arms.
“Teddy, are you okay?” he gasps, and I cling to his shirt.
“I remember,” I cry.
His arms stiffen around me. “You remember what?”
I lift my eyes so that when I tell him, he won’t just hear it, he’ll see it too. It’s written all over my face.
“You remember what, Teddy?” he repeats, cradling my face in his hands and brushing the tears away with his fingertips.
“You,” I breathe. “I remember you.”
