Page 17 of Ardently Yours

Then, one day during junior year, he stopped talking to me in class, and the next thing I knew, he was making out with another girl during lunch. I pull away from him now, remembering that a little more vividly than I’d like to.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing my change in demeanor.

“It’s so stupid,” I say, laughing to myself. “I was just thinking about back then. I was so stuck on you. You were my middle school and high school crush. And then you broke my heart by making out in the cafeteria with that one girl who looks like a black Jennifer Lawrence. Do you remember that?”

He laughs too, shaking his head. “I did not make out with her like that.”

“Then what would you call it? There was kissing involved. I remember I was just minding my own business, walking out of the cafeteria. And there you were. Sitting there, kissing her. And you even had the nerve to stop kissing her and turn to look at me and say, ‘Hey,’ before you continued kissing her.”

I start to question why I even liked him in the first place because that was brutal for younger me.

“Okay, I was wrong. She was my new girlfriend, and yes, we were kissing. I saw you walk by and I wanted to make you jealous.”

I suck in a breath, shocked. But I laugh, and then we’re both laughing. He’s closer somehow, and my hand lands on his chest.

“What?” I ask. “Stop. You were kissing her to make me jealous?”

“Yes. Do you know how many times I asked you out, and you shot me down? I was desperate, young, and dumb. I thought it would show you how in demand I was if I had a girl who wanted me when I thought you didn’t.”

“I didn’t understand how to flirt back then. I thought you were joking when you asked me for my number or offered to walk me home. The concept of you liking me was so foreign to me. And I was just so obsessed with you. How could you not see it?”

I laugh so hard that I throw my head back. He wraps a hand around my waist and pulls me closer to him. It should feel right, but something feels off.

Before I can process that, George asks, “You don’t get it, do you?”

I stop laughing, watching him while he watches me. I ask, “Get what?”

“Lizzie, I was obsessed with you too. I just wanted your attention. I was an idiot.”

He leans down, his eyes moving from my eyes to my lips. This is everything younger me wanted. But now, I’m not sure if this is what I want anymore.

Somewhere in the house a door slams. We jump apart. My heart thumps in my chest. We both laugh again.

“Please go and sit down before we get in trouble,” I say to George, pointing over to his seat across from me. He takes his seat, but winks at me as he sits.

My heart is still beating fast. I can’t throw him out before dinner has even started. I can’t back out now.

I didn’t tell anyone that George was coming. But I am so happy that Billie isn’t here yet so that I can hopefully shock everyone with the surprise of me having a date tonight. Lydia hasn’t yelled to everyone that we have a guest, so I assume she is keeping her mouth shut to allow the shock to settle in for everyone else.

I hear the back door shut as my sisters come inside from the backyard. The sink turns on, and chatter fills the air. I am too nervous to go in there and wash my hands.

Instead, I use some of the hand sanitizer Mama leaves on the table at all times to ensure that only those with clean hands eat at her table. I offer some to George, and he takes it. As he rubs his hands together, Papa walks into the dining room, stretching as if he’s been working hard, even though he is retired.

“Hey Papa,” I say, trying to get his attention.

He gazes around sleepily, not noticing George at first. He doesn’t even look at me, but he knows my voice. “How’s my Elizabeth doing?”

“Papa,” I say again, tone more urgent. Him calling me by my first name feels more like I am a kid being called the childhood nickname I have left behind. “You know Officer George Wickham?”

He glances over at me and then at George across from me. He raises an eyebrow. The corners of his mouth turn up as if he is slightly amused at the sight of George at our dinner table.

“Well, hello, Officer Wickham,” says Papa. He sits down at the table. “What brings you by today? We aren’t in trouble, are we?”

“Trouble? No, sir. Lizzie invited me over.”

“She did?” Mama asks, entering the room carrying a bowl of sweet rolls. She sets them on the table next to the potatoes and takes her place at the other end of the table. Her eyes are on me the whole time, though.

“Yes, Mama,” I say through a forced smile. “I did. Aren’t you going to be nice and say hi to our guest?”