“I’ve been thinking about that night a lot,” he said.
“So have I.”
“And what I realized,” Brett continued, “is that nothing I felt toward you was tainted or confusing, Becca. In fact, you’re the only clear part of my life right now.”
He moved a little closer.
I moved a little closer too.
“You know what I like about you?” he said.
I tried to hide my smile but I could feel it breaking across my face. “What?”
“I like how you have the absolute worst taste in food,” he said, moving another inch across the bench.
“Agree to disagree,” I chimed in.
“I like how you don’t even flinch when we watch scary movies,” Brett continued. Paused. Moved a little closer. “I like how you always get lost in thought, like you live half your life inside your head. And I like how your face turns all pink whenever you catch me staring at you.” As if on cue, my face started to heat up. “See?”
There was no space between us on the bench now. We were thigh to thigh. Knee to knee. I was all warm and tongue-tied. My brain went to mush whenever Brett was this close.
“Sooooo,” I said, inching my hand closer to his. “What does all that mean?”
“It means,” Brett said, wrapping his pinky around mine, “that I like you. A lot. And that I was a jerk to ever doubt that. A lot of things have been changing in my life, Becca. In this whole mess, you’re the only constant. You’re the one that always comes back.”
“I’m still a little unclear on what you mean,” I said, smiling.
Brett gave me a look. “Is this some sort of payback?”
“Maybe.”
“Fine.” I shrieked as he reached out and grabbed my waist, pulling me across the bench until I was halfway on his lap. My first reaction was to make sure no one was lingering on the street, watching. They weren’t. Then I let myself relax, grabbed Brett’s face in my hands.
“Can we give this one more shot?” he said. “No more pretending. No more space. No more people coming between us. One last try. I won’t mess it up this time.”
“Only real from here on out?” I asked.
Brett smiled, pressed his check into my palm. “Only real.”
He leaned in, touched his mouth to mine ever so lightly.
It was nowhere near enough.
“One more question,” I said. He made a very agitated noise in response. “Our first kiss in the hallway, rate it on a scale of one to ten.”
Brett pulled his face back a little. “Are you being serious?”
“Yes. Rate it.”
“A nine. Why?”
I shrugged. “I thought it was only me that felt that. I mean, it was my first kiss, so I didn’t have much to compare it to. But it’s nice to know you thought so too.”
“That was your first kiss?” I nodded. “Tell me, Becca,” Brett said, running his thumb across my bottom lip. “If this were a book, how’d you want your first kiss to be?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. I never really thought about that.
“Come oooon. I don’t believe that for a second. Would it be raining? What about fireworks? Or would it be late at night when you’re sitting on a bench in front of a bookstore?”
“That doesn’t sound totally horrible,” I said.
Brett took my face in his hands then, gently. He moved closer until I could see nothing but those deadly ocean eyes. “I think you’re amazing,” he said, “and I think you deserve a first kiss that’s a hell of a lot better than standing in a school hallway while everyone watches.”
“Like sitting on a bench with no one watching?”
“Becca,” he said, closing the space between us until our foreheads were touching, “your first kiss should have been like this.”
I wondered if Brett could feel how quickly my heart was beating when his mouth touched mine, or if he could feel the shift too. Because in that moment, something changed. Like the world remolded itself around the two of us.
I didn’t question why my heart was burning when I wrapped my arms around his neck or why it felt like it would fall out of my chest. I only pulled him closer until we were one silhouette of lips and hands and beating hearts against the night sky.
I wasn’t sure who pulled away first. All I knew was that it was too soon, and my heart no longer felt like it was entirely mine. It was shared somewhere between the both of us.
“That,” Brett whispered, “was an eleven.”
I was thinking more of a twelve.
Brett
IT HAD TO BE IN here somewhere.
I was rummaging through my closet, trying to find my black denim jacket to wear tonight. There was a new horror movie playing in town and, in light of Becca’s obsession with all things scary, I told her I’d take her. Only the film started in a little over an hour and I couldn’t find my damn jacket.
I was pulling boxes off shelves and throwing them onto the floor. There were hangers everywhere like my room had turned into an out-of-control garage sale. I was digging through boxes on the top shelf, knowing full well my jacket would not be there, when I found a blue box. Seeing it kind of knocked the air from my lungs. I held it in my hands and sank down on my bed.
Slowly, I took the lid off.
Everything was in there. The first football my dad ever bought me. Polaroid photos of the two of us at my football games as a kid. My old cleats, jerseys, trophies. It was a box of memories I’d forgotten I even had.
My mom came running into my room. “Brett! What was that— What happened in here?”
I couldn’t take my eyes off the box. I picked up a photo. My dad and I were smiling at the camera. I was missing my two front teeth and my hair was long, covering both my eyes. I think I was nine or ten when this was taken. I could still smell the grass and feel my dad’s arm on my shoulder. He looked so happy. So proud. We both did.
My mom sat beside me on the bed, placed her hand on mine.
“I always loved that photo,” she said. “You know, your dad still talks about that day all the time. It was one of his favorites.”
“Mine too.”
“He was so proud of you, Brett. He still is.”
I put the picture back in the box and picked up another. My mom was in this one. It was sophomore year, after I made the football team at school. It was my first game and my parents had come to watch. They sat in the bleachers, and I remembered how I could hear my dad’s voice yelling over the entire crowd. We took that photo after we had won the game. It was on the desk in my dad’s office until he replaced it with a new one. I kept it here, locked in this box.
My mom rested her head on my shoulder. I knew she was remembering that day too. It felt like a different life, a different timeline where everything was similar and different at once. And for the first time, this tiny, small part of me missed my dad. Missed that weight of his arm on my shoulder.
“Mom? Can I ask you something?” She was sorting through the box, unknotting the laces on my old cleats. “If you didn’t have to worry about me, what would you do about Dad?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you were trying to protect me. Right? That’s why you didn’t tell me Dad was having an affair. But what if you didn’t have me to worry about? Then what would you do? Would you stay with him? Divorce him? How would you protect yourself?”