I have no clue how this conversation got here, but I refuse to back down. “Maybe I do.”
“So do it,” he says, taking a step toward me. “Touch me.”
I swallow over the lump in my throat. “I don’t mean right now.”
“I know. Whenever you want,” he says. His eyes are intense, as if he’s saying one thing but meaning another.
“Fine,” I say.
“So, truce?” he asks, holding out his hand.
I hesitate for a second and then put my hand in his. “Truce.”
11
THEN
It felt likesome sort of game.
The challenge of going from one mundane task to the next and the payoff of clearing that level. It wasn’t a perfect analogy, but being with Luke felt a little bit like that. The weekdays were the tough part, the anxious, boring moments when I longed to be able to touch him or kiss him, to see his face outside of a palm-size screen. The weekends were the payoff for all the waiting.
The second weekend in October, for the fourth time in a row, Luke drove down again. I felt guilty thinking of all the quality bonding time he was missing with his fellow freshmen, all the social events at the start of a new year that he didn’t get to be a part of. But I told myself that he would probably have made the trip every weekend anyway, to check on Mel. If anything, I was giving him something to look forward to, aside from watching his mother deteriorate a little every time he saw her. For the most part, Mel was still doing okay. She had lost a bunch of weight, and her skin looked sallow and pale all the time, but she kept reminding me whenever I worried that it was the treatment making her look sick, not the Big Bad itself. She could handle the treatment if it kept her around a little bit longer, she said.
After finishing his first midterm late on the Friday, Luke was scheduled to drive down super early on Saturday. He would get something like twenty hours at home before he had to turn around and drive back. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than not seeing him at all.
Ro, on the other hand, had a tournament an hour away in Millwood, and Mel was determined to go and watch him play, despite the fact that she’d had a bad week. “The season is almost over,” she kept saying, but what she meant was that she’d have to wait a year to see another of his matches, and nobody knew if she had that kind of time. The doctors were hopeful, but not sure.
So, while Ro and Mel drove to Millwood, I turned up at Mel’s house bright and early on Saturday morning to look after Sydney and wait for Luke. It was something ungodly, like five thirty a.m., when Mel hugged me goodbye and Ro jumped into the driver’s seat. The tournament was one in which they would play multiple matches in one day until a winner was determined, so it would be late before they got back.
“Take care of my Sydney baby for me,” Mel told me, and I promised I would.
After they were gone, Sydney and I made ourselves comfortable on the couch. Strictly speaking, the dog wasn’t allowed on the furniture, but for years each of the Cohens had been making “exceptions” without telling the others. At this point Sydney had pretty much determined that it was her divine right to sit on the leather throne. I let her climb up beside me, my feet tucked under her furry belly, and turned on the TV. I meant to find something to watch until Luke got home, but within minutes I was yawning.
I woke up briefly to let the dog out and then woke up again hours later, when I felt someone tucking a strand of hair behind my ears. My blurry vision told me it was Luke, but even if it hadn’t, I had developed a hyperawareness to his scent.
“Hi,” I whispered groggily, my face still smashed against the couch in what I’m sure was a deeply attractive pose. “I meant to stay awake until you got here. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, still leaning over me. “Did I ever tell you you’re the cutest when you sleep?”
I gave a tired smile. “I don’t think you’ve ever seen me sleep.”
“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “We have to do something about that.”
Despite myself, my heart galloped in my chest.
“I need to go up and take a shower,” Luke told me, still playing with my hair. “Want to come and hang out upstairs?”
“Yeah, okay,” I said. I sat up and held my arms up over my head. Laughing, Luke helped me wrap my arms around his neck, and I wound my legs around his hips.
“Hi,” he said when our cheeks were brushing.
“Hi.” I kissed his cheek. “You’re probably more tired than I am, and I’m making you carry me up the stairs.”
“You’re notmakingme do anything,” he said.
Once we were upstairs, he pushed open the door of his room and tossed his backpack on the floor. Then he walked me over to the edge of his bed, where he gently let me down.
I tucked my feet under me, watching as he dug through his closet, his back to me.
