Authors: Katie Klein
“
You know you’re beautiful? Even when you cry?
”
He smiles
, holding my face in his hands,
smearing
the tears
away with his thumb
s
.
I breathe in, lungs shudde
ring.
“I’m sorry,
” he whispers
,
black eyes sincere.
I swallow
.
“I
know
why you had to
.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“Doesn’t
matter
anymore
,” I say, shaking my head.
The moon ha
ng
s
suspended in the sky, stars twinkling overhead, as h
e leans down and kisses
me softly
,
lips meeting mine
,
familiar
—lips I
imagined, dreamed about,
memorized
a million hours
ago
.
Then h
e wraps his arms around me, pulling
me into him
, quelling every doubt and fear and uncertainty in this one, perfect moment
.
Epilogue
A Few Months Later
The leaves crunch beneath my soles as I mak
e my way down the sidewalk, the strap to my laptop bag draped over my shoulder and cell phone pressed tightly against my ear.
“It’s crazy, Savannah
. They have us dissecting a cow’s eyeball tomorrow.”
“Hello. You w
ant to be a doctor,” she replies
. “I’m pretty sure that
, at some point, you’re
gonna
do
much worse than dissect a cow
eye. I hate to
even
say it, but you’re
gonna
have to get used to digging inside random body parts.”
I laugh
. “And what makes you the authority all of a sudden? Two months into our college careers and you’re alre
ady some kind of expert.” I set
my laptop bag down on the c
afé table. The days ar
e
cooler, and I pull
the sleeves of
my
gray
sweater over
my wrists. I sit down and
start
my laptop while Savannah tells
me about her American history
professor, who apparently will
not
shut up about The New Deal.
Not only can
he effectively transition from Puritan Salem to FDR, he also had
the nerve to give Savannah a ninety
on her last paper because she forgot
to list the bibliographic entry to the novel it was about.
“That sucks,” I reply
, waiting for my computer to find a signal from the wireless internet in the café.
“Yeah it was, but then, it was like, written in these massive bold letters at the top of our assignment sheet not to forget the bibliography
,
so it was
kinda
my fault.”
“Oh,
well, when you put it that way
. . .”
“But still,” she interrupts
, “I was totally mad at myself knowing I would’ve aced the paper if I would’ve remembered.”
“Lesson learned.”
“Tell me about it.”
I smile
,
imagining her eyes rolling
on the other end of her dorm phone. “I have to admit
:
I’m scared of you right now.”
“What’s th
at supposed to mean?”
“It means that I’m not used to this . . . this
you
. A few months ago you wouldn’t have even turned the paper in. You’re totally studious.”
“I know!” she cries
. “I think I may be a nerd!
And Jaden, you would
not
believe
the guys here. I mean, I h
ad no idea what we were missing
,
wasting our time on high school boys.
”
I smile. Blake and Tony, along with several other members of the boy
’
s basketball team, were cited for various drug-related infractions during the school
’
s raid. Tony lost his scholarship. Savannah went to college without him.
I lean
back in the wrought-iron chair. The leav
es on the tree hovering above a
re in different stages of autumn. Some still g
reen, some turning yellow, others
a dark crimson
,
r
eady to fly away. They flutter
in the breeze, rustlin
g against one another. I inhale
a cleansing breath
, taking in the crisp, cool
air.
I glance
up just in time to watch him cross the
street. He jogs
toward me,
bag s
lung over his shoulder.
He’s wearing gray dress pants, and I just can see the burgundy sweater vest beneath his leather jacket.
I smile when I see
him.
“Have you heard fro
m Ash lately?”
I ask
.
“I talked to h
er this past weekend.
But if we’re all home for fall break next week we need to meet up. I feel like I haven’t seen you guys in forever.
And
I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but I’d kill for some pizza at Papa Guido’s.”
“Let-ah me show-a
h you some magic-ah!” I mock
.
Savannah burst
s
out laughing.
“
I
’
m
serious
.
”
Parker steps onto the sidewalk and drops
his bag to the ground. He bru
shes
my arm as he
passes
, disappearing
inside the café.
My phone trill
s. I pull
it away from my ear and glance
at the screen.
“Savannah, my mom is beeping in. Can I call you back later?”
We say goodbye and I answer
the other call.
“H
ey, Mom.” I reach inside my backpack and pull
out my anatomy book. “No
, everything’s fine.
I just have a lot of homework to do. Story of my life for the next decade.”
Parker re-emerges
from th
e café carrying a soda, bottled water
, and two chocolate chip cookies. He set
s
t
he water and one of the cookies
in front of me.
Thank you
, I mouth
. “What? No, I was thanking Parker. He bought snacks.”
I listen to her for a moment, then move
the phone away fro
m my mouth. “She says hello.”
He smiles, and my insides go all
b
uttery, melting
, fusing
together
. “Tell her I said hello back.”
I roll
my eyes, pretending to be i
rritated. “He says hi.” Mom goes on. I move
the phone away again. “She wants to know if you’re coming home with me for fall break.”
“If I’m inv
ited
.”
I smile, and go
back to my mom. “He says
if he’s invited
he would love to.” I listen
, and roll
my eyes again. “She say
s
you’re always invited
.
”
He laughs, a sly smile crossing his face. “Then I’ll be there.”
My heart flutters, skipping a few beats.
“You realize, though,” he begins
after I ha
ng up, “that high school students don’t get a fall break, right?”
My
smile flips to a frown, deepening.
“You don’t have the end of next week off?”
“Nope.
So
I’ll have to wait until Friday night
to see you.”
“That sucks.”
“I thought you knew that.”
“I’
m sorry. Some of us aren’t fourth
-
year seniors,” I tease.
He
shakes his head, grinning. “That’s a low blow.”
“
So
, w
hat’s o
n the agenda for today?” I ask
.
He opens
his
Norton Anthology of American Literature
and
skims
through the table of contents. “Today it’s Nathaniel Hawthorne in all his parabolic splendor.”
“Sounds fascinating. I’
m dissecting a cow
eye tomorrow
.
”
“Remind me not to sign up for that class.”
“D
on’t even try to play dumb
with me
, Mr. Montgomery
Preparatory Academy
.”
“Yea
h. I’m so brilliant,” he replies
, flicking me playfully on the crease of my elbow
. “Brilliant enough to know better than pick a career that has me playing with knives and slicing through animal-flesh.”
I pass him a knowing glance. “No, y
ou just picked one that lets you play with guns and leaves
you a perpetual high school s
enior
.”
“Which is why I’m fully willing to admit that you a
re on a much higher plane of intelligence
than I am.”
“The idea of intelligence
is relative.”
Parker smirks
. “What else do you have for me, Miss Intro to Philosophy?”
“The idea of love is
also
r
elative. For instance
:
I love that you pretend
I’m smarter than you are.”
“I love your
false modesty,” he replies
,
eyes sparkling.
“I love that despite all of my warnings you are still consuming t
hat fizzy, caffeinated beverage
.
” I
tap
the
aluminum
soda
can
on the table in front of him
with my pen
.
“I love that you’re concerned enough about my health and well-being to warn me of the dangers.”
“I love that you don’t listen to anything I say.” I roll my eyes.
He scoffs. “I listen to everything you say.”
“Okay, well,
maybe you
listen to the most important things,” I clarify.
He grabs his notebook, leans back in his chair. “I love that you tell me the important things.”
“I love that half the time you don’t want to hear them, but then, like, two weeks later you tell me I was right.”
He smirks. “I love how
you’re purposefully
keeping me from Hawthorne.”
“I love how you’re
purposefully
keeping
me
from ma
cular degeneration.”
“Then stop arguing
with me
and get to work,” Parker says
sternly
, the
faint trace
of
a smile behind
his eyes.
A cool
breeze rattles the tree above
. Red, yellow, and orange leaves fall from its branches, sprinkling the sidewalk and table. I pick one up and twirl it between my fingers,
watching it dance. When I
lift
my head,
Parker is watching me
, his dark eyes
shimmering
and alive
.
“I love your eyes,”
I tell him
.
“Not as much as I love you
.”
He
watches me closely
, a hint of a smile playing at his lips
, teasing
.
My cheeks flush
with heat
and I lean forward,
grabbing
his notebook and pen
. I write
carefully
beneath his steady, block print, smiling at
life and its little ironies. The
knowns
and the unknowns. The goods and the not-so-goods. The ups and downs: the never-ending see-saw that is a relationship.
Because the truth is: Parker
Whalen
changed me
. He taught me to cry,
to love, to forgive. He taught me that sometimes truths are complicated, woven deeper than we could ever imagine. He taught
me to let go. T
o hold on.