Page 79 of Given Our History

Teddy.

We come to a stop maybe ten, fifteen feet from each other. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his coat. It accentuates his broad shoulders. His nose is a little rosy with cold, which I find surprisingly endearing.

“I quit my job,” I announce, lifting my arms and letting them fall to my sides. His lips part in surprise, but I hold up a mittened hand. “Don’t say anything yet. I have my thoughts all organized and you’re going to jumble them, and then it’ll just be—”

“Word vomit?” he provides.

“Something like that.” I take a deep breath, the air stinging my lungs. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. And I’ve come to some conclusions.”

Teddy nods. Go on.

“A few hours ago,” I say, “I was sitting in Julien’s office, and something he said made me realize that I’m not really happy with just one fig. I want to be more than just Clara Fernsby, Associate Professor of History.”

His eyebrows pinch and he sucks in a breath like he’s going to say something—probably to ask Associate since when? and What’s this about a fig?—but I just keep talking.

“I want to feel like I’m my own person, not constrained by this—this compulsion to force my life into these neat little boxes. I miss being the girl who stood on a rock with her friends, just … shouting random words, because I wasn’t worried about what anyone else thought. I want to be a sister to Reagan, not a second mother. I want to finally dye my hair black and get a weird tattoo that students will ask me about and then I’ll tell them the story about how I was drunk off my ass in Edinburgh and I thought it would be funny.”

The words all tumble out in one go, so that I’m winded by the time I’ve finished, my breath rising in a fog. There’s a glint of something in his eye, but I can’t tell if it’s love or admiration or if he simply thinks I’ve lost my marbles. Maybe this whole speech worked better in my head.

“But more than any of those things,” I conclude, “I want to be all the things that I am to you.”

“And what are you to me?” he asks without missing a beat.

I wasn’t expecting him to ask that. “I don’t know,” I admit, feeling ridiculous.

He moves closer to me. The shoulders of his coat are freckled with snow and his hair is starting to do that frizzy, curly, disheveled thing that gets me every time. “The love of my life,” he says, brushing a lock of hair from my cheek, but his hand doesn’t leave my face. “We could start with that.”

He bends to kiss me, his other hand rising to angle my mouth toward his. His hands are surprisingly warm, but just as I’m starting to lose myself in the kiss, he draws back.

“Someone with great taste in music”—he lifts a brow—“for a homeschooled history nerd.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you talking about you, or me?”

“The girl who was kind to me, even when I didn’t have any friends.” He kisses me, once. “And the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”

I laugh against his lips, my eyes closed.

He draws back again, dark brown eyes flitting around my face. “And my best friend.”

“We didn’t talk for nine years,” I say softly. I’m not sure I’ve earned it.

“Doesn’t matter.” He puts on a mock-serious tone. “The cool thing about best friends is that you get to decide who you think deserves the title.”

I breathe a laugh. “Well, in that case, I choose you.”

We kiss again, holding each other tight, wrapped in our own warm little bubble. I never want to lose this again. After a minute, we agree that we should probably head inside. Teddy stomps his shoes on the mat beneath the eaves, but freezes with his hand on the door, turning to look at me with his brow knit. “You said ‘ass.’”

I give a tiny shake of my head, bemused. “What?”

“‘Drunk off my ass,’ that’s what you said.” He points at me, triumphant. “You cussed.”

“I also said ‘fuck.’ In Julien’s office.”

“To Julien?”

“Not to him exactly, but—”

“Well, well, well.” The snow crunches behind us and we turn in unison. Izzy plants her fists on her hips and shakes her head, her lips curved in a smug smile. Her hair is sleek and flat-ironed and she’s wearing one of those waist-cinching thermal jackets. She looks more like she’s going skiing in the Alps than bar-hopping in small-town Maryland. “I thought this day would never come.”