Fifteen years ago, I asked a boy to marry me.
I was three and he was seventeen. Apparently, that’s a big age difference. I didn’t know that at the time. I didn’t know he was older or what it meant even if he was.
All I knew was this boy gave me the best piggyback rides and brought me candies all the time. He played with me, read me stories, taught me to climb trees and ride my bike. He was always the one to wipe away my tears.
When I told him I was going to marry him, he laughed. Then he kissed my forehead and told me I’d feel differently when I grew up. I told him I wouldn’t. And I think we bet on it—I don’t remember that part well.
In fact, I shouldn’t remember any of it; I was three for God’s sake. But somehow, I do.
I remember everything about him. I remember growing up with him by my side. I remember him living a few streets over and coming to dinner at our house most nights with his sister. I remember my dad and my mom loving him as their own son. I remember my mom saying she’d never seen a friendship like this, like ours. A boy of seventeen being best friends with a three-year-old girl.
Most of all, I remember him always making me happy. Or at the very least, making my sadness not so sad. Because not being sad has always been very difficult for me.
But I’m not going to think about it right now. I’m not going to think about how hard things are or how different I am from everyone else. Because he’s here.
Dean Collins.
My best friend and the love of my life.
From the top of the stairs that lead up to my college dorm, I notice him standing across the cement pathway.
He’s waiting for me.
Over our last phone call, we’d agreed to meet here at 9 AM sharp and he’s early. Like always. Dean loves to be early. He loves to go the extra mile. He’s very much like my dad in that way. Always working, always trying to prove himself.
Anyway, I’m never early but today I am.
Because I’m excited. I’ve been excited about this morning for days now. When I’d get to see him and talk to him and maybe even touch him.
Dean hasn’t seen me yet. His head is bent over his cellphone and his fingers are flying on the keypad, and I imagine him typing up high-level, lawyerly things. He is one of the best prosecutors in L.A. That means he never has time to see me. All we ever do is talk on the phone, and that’s it.
I’ve been in California for about four months now and this is the first time I’m seeing him. Well, the first time after he picked me up at the airport on the day of my arrival to start my freshman year, helped me set things up in my dorm and left with a lukewarm goodbye.
But finally, he’s here.
So again, I’m not gonna think about how much it hurts knowing that my best friend, the man I’m in love with, doesn’t have time for me.
I’m simply going to be happy.
“Dean!” I call out his name, grinning.
His head snaps up from his phone and his eyes settle on me. Dark and gorgeous, just like his hair.
I begin panting, pulling huge amounts of air into my lungs that suddenly feel starved under his gaze. Dean takes me in, his eyes boring into mine, then sliding over my face so thoroughly, slowly and rapidly, both at the same time. Like he needs to make sure that I’m really here.
A few moments later, his lips pull up at the sides and the lines bracketing his mouth deepen. My breath hitches as his smile comes into view. The smile that I see in my dreams.
He doesn’t stop there, though. He opens his arms, his thick, corded arms, and I feel a jolt in my chest. An onslaught of memories that fill every corner of my body, leaving space for nothing else but him.
I’ll wait for you, Tiny. Right outside the school gates, he’d tell me, when I threw tantrums about going to school. Mingling with people, studying, lessons. All these things that might come naturally to other people have always been hard for me. Dean was the only one who could get me to go.
I’d ask him, teary-eyed, Promise?
Yes.
Will you also hug me? Like, really tight? Like, when I get sad and I don’t know why.
He’d smile and his eyes would go all liquid and soft. Yeah, I will. I’ll hug you for as long as you want.
He always kept his promise. He’d wait for me just outside the school gates, and as soon as he saw me, he’d kneel on the ground and open his arms for me so I had a place to run to.
That’s what I do now, too.
I rush down the steps, and like always, I run to him.
But the heel of my sandal twists on something—knowing me, I’d say it could be a crack in the ground—and instead of going straight into Dean’s arms, I’m flailing mine so I don’t faceplant on the ground.
I don’t. Faceplant, that is.
Because someone saves me. That someone steps into my space, grabs hold of my waist and my arm so I collide with his massive chest instead of with the ground.
I’m so thankful and so happy to be with him I don’t have it in me to be embarrassed. Gulping in air, I look up at Dean.
“Thank you,” I breathe out.
He smirks. “You’ve still got two left feet, Tiny.”
I shake my head at him. “It could happen to anyone.”
“No. Not really. Only you.”
“It was an accident.”
“Sure it was.”
“That thing from the ground came out of nowhere.”
“Sure it did.”
His smirk is still in place, and I can’t decide if I want to smack it off his face or kiss it. I settle on narrowing my eyes. “You know, I don’t wanna fight with you today. So, you’re in luck. Or I would’ve kicked your ass for pointing out my coordination flaws.”
Dean chuckles and strangely, it vibrates through my own chest. “Lucky me.”
I take a moment to absorb him, absorb his nearness. He’s warm and strong. So solid. Dreams of him pale in comparison to the reality. In my dreams, I can’t smell his citrusy scent or touch the softness of his t-shirt. Or notice the nuances of his brown eyes.
“Hey, Dean,” I whisper.
“Hey, Tiny,” he whispers back.
I love it when he calls me that—Tiny. It makes me feel cherished. It makes me believe that I really am tiny. That I don’t have massive issues for which I take a pill every day.
“You’re early,” he murmurs.
I let his rumbly voice wash over me, seep through my clothes and into my skin. Winding my arms around his waist, I bury myself in his chest and nod. “I know.”
He lowers his face and his lips seem so close to my forehead that I’m disappointed when they don’t touch me as he says, “You’re never early.”
Closing my eyes, I smile. “I know. But I couldn’t sleep last night.”
His arms tighten around me in concern. “Why not?”
I burrow my face even more, grazing my nose against the tight arch of his chest. “Because of you. Because I was excited to see you. Be with you.”