Page 84 of Stuck With the Smokejumper

She passed.

Her mother gets to her first, then her father, then Reid again, everyone crowding in at once, congratulations overlapping, already talking about where we should all go celebrate. I hang back for a second, just watching, letting everyone else have their moment with her.

She’s glowing. Surrounded by people who love her, having just finished something she's worked toward for years.

Once I finally get her alone, there’s something I've been waiting to tell her.

thirty-three

Ivy

Everything happens at once. Mom's crying, which she'll deny later. Dad hugs me twice. Russ tells me he always knew I'd get here, and Annie's already talking about where we should all go for dinner like the outcome of today was never in doubt. Two of my committee members stop to shake my hand on their way out, one of them telling me my discussion section was the strongest he's read from a student in years. Reid picks me up off the ground, which although unnecessary, doesn’t surprise me.

Years of fieldwork. Years of data collection and writing and rewriting, of crying over a chapter at two in the morning and then fixing it the next day, of doubting whether any of it mattered to anyone but me.

And now I have an M.S. in Wildlife Biology. I did it.

Through all of it, I keep finding Beck with my eyes.

I still can't quite believe he's here. I'd made my peace with him not being able to make it, told myself it was fine, that trying meant something even if trying wasn't enough this time. And then I walked into that room and there he was, standing next to Reid, and every carefully constructed piece of that peace fell apart in about half a second.

We hugged during the committee's deliberation. But we haven't had a single moment alone, and after almost two months, I intend to fix that as soon as possible.

“I understood some of it,” Reid announces, mid-celebration, like this is a genuine accomplishment.

“How much?”

“Twenty percent. Maybe twenty-five.”

“That's generous of you to admit.”

Beck's quieter about it, but when he gets a moment near me, he mentions the fireweed slide, tells me it reminded him of the burn we hiked in July, the one where he learned more about post-fire vegetation than he probably ever wanted to know.

Hearing him connect it back, unprompted, months after that hike, means more to me than every compliment I've gotten today combined.

I catch him with my dad at one point, shaking his hand. Beck's been around my parents a few times over the years, always through Reid, always as Reid's friend passing through during some visit or another. I was usually off at Blackpine when it happened. This is different, and I think Beck knows it too, something faintly self-conscious in how carefully he's holding himself, like my father's grip might carry more weight than it used to.

My dad, for his part, is being as normal as he always is, completely unaware he's making Beck nervous. I find that more amusing than I probably should.

Eventually the group starts dispersing, everyone making plans for dinner later, my parents heading back to their hotel to freshen up. Russ and Annie wander off to find coffee, and Reid disappears to make a phone call.

Which leaves me finally, blessedly, alone with Beck. We walk across campus together and find a quiet bench under a tree that's mostly gone orange. I don't even get a full sentence out before he's kissing me.

I kiss him back like I've been waiting two months for this, because I have. This isn't a quick hello kiss or a goodbye kiss with somewhere to be right after. Phone calls weren't this. Texts weren't this. Knowing he loved me from three hundred miles away wasn't the same as having him here, solid and warm and real, his hands in my hair, nowhere either of us needs to be.

When we finally pull back, I press my forehead against his.

“I missed you,” I say.

“Missed you too.”

Neither of us needs to say more than that.

“So,” I say eventually, still not quite ready to let go of him. “Fire season's actually over?”

“It’s over. Officially. No emergency callbacks.”

“When do you leave for Colorado?”