George kisses me once. And then he pushes inside. I cry out at the feel of him. He takes his time, his forearms on either side of my head, my hands against the small of his back. My gaze is bound to his, and I see it all.
Blue eyes through the cedar hedge.
“Were you watching me?”
“No. Well, not for long.”
Running through the field to the creek, grasshoppers springing out of our way.
Dressing up as king and queen in Mimi’s old clothes.
Sharing vows under the apple tree.
A labyrinth in the long grass.
School bus rides and letters and dancing lessons.
Sobbing into his neck in the library cupboard the day my mom came home.
George’s dad, coming to take him away.
Weeks of crying. Months of missing him. Taking in his strange body as he lay face down on his bed.
Letting George lead me around the ballroom with my eyes closed.
Pool parties and grape pop.
The funeral we held for Baryshnikov.
George slugging Dylan Martin.
“Touch her, and I’ll kill you.”
Kissing George in my bedroom.
Moving to the city. Tattoos. Fake IDs. Seeing George in his underwear.
Years of texts and phone calls and emails.
The summer the country burned.
“Frankie, listen to me. I need you to really hear me, okay? I love you. You have meant everything to me.”
Yelling at each other in the snow-covered field.
Twenty-two years pass in a blink of time as George and I come together, and a single tear streaks down my face.
He pauses, his eyes searching mine. “Are you okay?”
I swallow the lump in my throat, but I can’t stop the feeling that’s expanding in my chest like helium.
“George.” It’s all I can say.
He sets his forehead on mine, shutting his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, they shimmer with unspent tears.
“Frankie.”
• • •
