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“Do you miss them at all?”
“It’s kind of irrelevant, right?” he says, kissing the tip of my nose. “It won’t change anything.”
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I wake up before he does and I watch him sleep. With his eyes closed and his mouth parted slightly—his bottom lip quivering with each exhale of breath—I’ve never seen him so at peace, and even though the permanent lines between his eyebrows can’t hide the constant worry that falls on his shoulders—he’s never looked so weightless before. When every single part of me aches to kiss him, I creep to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and then silently sneak back in his arms. “Wake up,” I whisper, lightly kissing his bottom lip.
His mouth forms into a smile against mine—his hand finding my waist and gently pulling me to him. One eye opens and then closes quickly. He groans quietly—his voice hoarse from sleep, and rests his head on my chest. Holding me tighter, he mumbles, “Please tell me this isn’t a dream.”
I run my fingers through his hair. “It’s not a dream, baby.”
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
He’s silent a moment, and just when I’d assumed he’s fallen asleep, he mumbles, “Good, because I have to tell you something…”
“Yeah?”
“Yep.” He moves up a little and presses his lips to my bare shoulder. “I’m kind of crazy in love with you, Becca.” Then he jumps out of bed before I can respond. “And I need to go potty.”
“What kind of jerk declares their love for someone and then announces a potty break!” He just laughs as he closes the bathroom door behind him, all while I sit there, my heart pounding and my emotions forming a puddle in the pit of my stomach. I open my mouth, the words I love you too on the tip of my tongue.
I wait for minutes that feel like hours and when he finally reemerges from the bathroom—his hair and lips wet and his entire body still drunk from sleep—I sit up and pull the covers over my bare chest.
He smirks, his eyes focused on mine and I self-consciously tighten my hold on the sheets. “So…” I say, shrinking under his gaze. “Did you want to order breakfast… or…”
He settles his palms flat on the bed, his arms outstretched as he leans forward, his face less than an inch from mine. The muscles in his forearms and shoulders flex with his movements—movements that intimidate me and cause my breath to catch. “Or…” he answers, taking my bottom lip between his. He pulls back slightly. “Definitely ‘or.’”
We “or”ed until we we’re forced to stop and when we’re satisfied, he holds me to him, his thumb grazing up and down my arm. “When I was a kid,” he says, pausing to kiss the top of my head, “my dad made me this skate grind rail. I had no idea he was doing it but the look on his face when he saw my face was just… it’s how I try to remember him, you know? Anyway, that weekend Hunter came around and we spent every second messing around on it. His dad kept calling on the Sunday afternoon telling him he had to go home. I stayed out there until my mom made me go inside for dinner. I couldn’t sleep that night. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And I hated that I had to go to school the next day and be away from it. I remember thinking that I wished I lived two lives. The skating and the reality, and I wished I could live them both at the same time. I hated school for so many reasons but mainly because it took me away from something that made me so happy… something I loved.
“I have that feeling now, Becca, with you in my arms. You’re the reality I want and now I have to go back to real life where I’m going to be away from you. And even though I miss Tommy and I know that I see you every day, it’s not the same. In this room, within these walls, you’ve given me a better reality. A greater existence.”
“Josh?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m so deeply, insanely, desperately in love with you.”
“Yeah?” he says again, neither of us looking at each other.
I nod against his chest.
He reaches to the nightstand and grabs my camera, then proceeds to take a shot of us lying exactly how we are. “There’s absolutely nothing to question about what I just captured. It’s perfect. This is perfect.”
20
-Joshua-
Sometimes the most basic of moments become your most treasured memories. Like the time Tommy got on a skateboard for the first time and just stood there, not knowing what to do. He looked up at me with those clear blue eyes and said, “What now, daddy?”
I showed him where to place his feet and how to kick off the ground. He rolled for two feet before stopping and throwing his arms in the air. He shouted, “I just like Daddy!” And I laughed at the time, but now I look back on it and wish I’d paid more attention to every detail of that moment—what he was wearing, what the weather was like, what time of day it was.
So now, as I wait for Becca and Tommy who are getting ready to perform some kind of show they’ve apparently been working on for me, I try to remember everything. I look at the time; look at the orange of the sky outside. I try to memorize the sounds of their loud unrestricted laughter coming from Tommy’s room. But most of all, I try to bottle my emotions, not to contain them, but to savor them. I try to remember the excitement and the acceptance I feel and the love. There’s so much love. Not just the love I have for them, but the love I feel from them.
