Esben is wearing a dark-green shirt under his leather jacket. He is all the colors of some magical forest that I want to get lost in. “Hi.” I step back and try not to look as mesmerized as I feel.
“I’m on my way to go meet Kerry, and I’m already late, so I have, like, two minutes. She wants to show me what she’s been working on in her painting class, but I had to come by here first.”
“You did?” Even these two small words are shaky.
He nods. “I missed you today. Is that weird? It is, I guess. But it’s true. I had a really good time yesterday, and today has pretty much whoppingly paled in comparison. So, I came to see you.” Esben rocks on his toes a bit. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah. It is.” It’s so beyond okay that I want to start jumping up and down like a lunatic. Instead, I do something else that I really want to do. With less awkwardness than I would have anticipated, I step in and put my arms under his jacket and around his waist. I cannot believe that I’m doing this, and while I am absolutely trembling with nerves and insecurity, I want this intimacy so much.
Esben puts his arms over my shoulders and draws me close. “This is why I came by. This is what I needed.”
I relax into his hold, and when he softly kisses the top of my head, I turn and rest my cheek against his chest. We stand as one for a few minutes, until he gives me a quick squeeze and says, “Damn, I gotta go. I wish I didn’t.”
My hands rub his back briefly. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.”
After he leaves, I inflate the unicorn Simon sent. Maybe it’s because Esben mentioned unicorns yesterday; I don’t know. But I set the pink monstrosity on top of the desk in the spare room.
On Wednesday, Esben sits next to me in psych class. His arm touches mine the entire time, and I take in probably 10 percent of the professor’s lecture. He walks me to my next class, as though we’re in some old-fashioned era and he’s courting me. I could die over the sweetness and respect of this. We stand outside my classroom, only inches apart, and I’m too giddy to look up at him, so I busy myself, fussing with the zipper on his jacket.
He whispers in my ear, “So, can I get your cell number?”
“Yes,” I say too breathily.
On Thursday evening, Esben blows up my phone with texts.
He sends a selfie he took wearing a shocking neon-orange bulky-knit sweater his mother just sent him. He’s making an exaggerated frightened face.WTF?he texts.My mother has gone insane.
After that, he sends a picture of Chewbacca with the note:Because...Chewbacca.
Then a joke about a cow and a pretzel that I don’t understand, and before I can reply, he writes,Yeah, I don’t get it either. Some dude keeps posting it on my FB wall with a million LOLs. Help me! Help me!
Later, he sends a list of three important things he thinks I should know about him:1. I often wear mismatched socks. 2. I loathe corn on the cob. I know I’m probably the only person in the world who does. So, I turn the ears on their ends and cut off the kernels, which always makes a huge mess, because they just fly all over the place, and only a few land on my plate. 3. I think you’re incredible, and I’d love to run over to your room right now and tell you that in person and hug you and listen to the sound of your breathing, but I don’t want you to get freaked.
I stare at number three and smile. Then I take a screenshot of it, because I want to keep this text forever.
I reply.1. It’s an interesting fashion choice. Maybe I could teach you how to do laundry. 2. Corn on the cob is annoying, and I support you 100 percent in this. We can research some sort of dome under which one cuts the corn and thereby contains the kernels. 3. I’m not freaked.
Then I think better of it and text him again.Okay, I’m trying not to be freaked.
A few minutes later, I add,Fine, maybe I’m freaked, but I’m also very happy.
I’ll take it,he writes back.I’m way behind on writing a paper that’s due on Monday, so I’m going to work tomorrow night (yay me!), but do you want to hang out on Saturday? Please say yes, because that’s the only thing that will get me through writing aboutThe Brothers Karamazov. I hate those brothers.
I reply,I’d be happy to help you survive Dostoyevsky by accepting. Sure.
See you in class tomorrow,he texts.Sleep tight, pretty girl.
I take another screenshot. I’m on the verge of texting the two images to Steffi, but I stop. I want to keep these just for myself.
And then I do sleep well, better than I can remember.
On Friday, Esben takes his now-usual seat next to me in class, and midway through, I watch as he slides his hand under mine, entwining our fingers. “Allowed?” he asks softly. I love when he smiles without actually smiling. It’s all in his eyes.
“More than allowed,” I say. “Wanted.”
He lifts my hand to his mouth. I am entranced, seeing him lightly touch his lips to my skin, the way he closes his eyes for a moment as he does so, the shape of his mouth, his sweetness... it’s enough to make me nearly pass out. My hand stays in his for the rest of class.
