- 21 -
March 2045
Hallee
Marlowe and Avery started blowing up my phone around two o’clock. We all assumed I’d be back before noon, at the very latest, ready to debrief the date sleepover-style. Snacks, face masks, nail painting—the whole deal. Avery even made cupcakes.
“They’ll sweeten the sting of the date being over, or comfort you if it’s dumpy,” she’d insisted.
But here we are.
One turned to two, which turned to three, to now four forty-five and I don’t want to go back. We’ve taken as many detours as possible on the way back to my apartment. There was a crack in the sidewalk on Main Street that caused quite the scene because Dean, apparently, is very superstitious. He said it was bad luck to step over it and made us turn around. My laughter drew the attention of everyone on the street, and I didn’t even care, because him killing time means that he feels this too. I already miss him and he’s not even gone. Will I miss him next year when he is?
Call in a pizza and I’ll pay you back. Be home soon!!! I text Marlowe and Avery.
Send three question marks if we need to call the police, Marlowe replies.
No, don’t do that! Avery jumps in. Marlowe, you know she sends three of everything, always. SEND TWO!
Laughing under my breath, I inhale a rush of bravery.
“The girls think you’ve taken me hostage. Let’s send them a picture!”
Butterflies swell in my stomach as I raise onto my tiptoes, leaning back against him for balance. Wow, he’s strong. Knew it, but now I can feel it. Has he always been this tall?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I lay a kiss on his cheek, and the camera captures his entire reaction. It’s minimal, but the change in his eyes is there—surprise mixed with desire. My feet flatten out as I sink down to my normal height.
“Wait, take one more,” he insists, leaning down beside me. My eyes roll, but any excuse to be closer to him is good enough for me.
He kisses my forehead, lingering for a second like he doesn’t want to move. Is this love? Green flags are all I see.
No police, but maybe a doctor??? I text back.
Wait, why a doctor? Avery quickly replies.
Because I’ve taken a hard fall!!!
Imaginative cheers echo through my mind as they “love” the picture.
You better not hold out on us! SEE YOU SOON! Marlowe replies.
“I have a question,” Dean says, grinning as I slide my phone into my back pocket, and nerves run to me like an old familiar friend.
“I may or may not have an answer!”
The more I think I know, it always turns out to be the opposite.
“Why do you smile at everyone you pass?”
Fear, loss, kindness, all come to mind. Mostly fear. Fear of loss.
“Everyone has a story.”
“And?” he asks.
“Who of these strangers has been interwoven into my life? Someone out there is the reason why I’m happy when I hear Taylor, flinch when I hear about baseball, laugh when I see a moose, feel sad eating tacos, and scared in the club. Someone is the reason I run instead of stay, apologize for my existence, startle easily, think breakfast for dinner is superior, and believe in mermaids.”
“You believe in—?”
“Fairytales. Someone out there is why I believe in fairytales. Am I the reason anyone believes in anything? Loves, or hates? Who do these strangers have in their lives that cares for them? Do they feel valued? Has anyone smiled at them today?”
“Wow, that’s—”
“Crazy, I know.”
“Amazing. Your mind is—”
My cough of shock cuts him off, and I look everywhere except at him as he continues.
“Extraordinary. Your mind is extraordinary.”
“Anyway,” I say, completely ignoring his wildly inaccurate compliment, “obviously, they’re answers I’ll never get, and the people will continue on completely unaware of the girl who cared enough to wonder about them. But what if I’m their last hope for kindness, and I don’t give it? What if they need it to want to live?”
“That’s a pressure you can’t put on yourself.”
“Well, even on my worst day, I will give them my best smile, because my worst day is someone else’s worst day too. I’ll never know when someone has met their breaking point, but you better believe I’ll do everything I can to let them know they are not alone.”
Dean blinks, squeezing my hand tighter while his chest freezes as if I just knocked the wind out of him.
“Do you disagree with me?” he asks, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.
“With what?”
“That your mind is extraordinary . . . that you are.”
I try to change the subject from the least favorite part of me, but the words get caught in my throat.
“You think I’m perfect, and if I tell you, then I won’t be perfect anymore.”
“I don’t want perfect, Hallee. I want to know you .”
“Right. Extraordinary . . .” I close my eyes, blowing out as many of the scary feelings as I can. “My body, maybe. My mind? Damaged—broken beyond repair. I’m a mess, really.”
“How do you feel, admitting it?”
“Free.”
“That’s my girl.” His eyes are a galaxy of pride, shining just for me.
“Come on, Mr. Stand and Stare,” I tease, reaching out my hand. He hesitates but eventually gives in, and his hand comes home to mine again.
“You know, I loathed that nickname at first, but it’s starting to grow on me.”
“Oh yeah?”
“People stand and stare at art all of the time. They even make a hobby of it, and you, Hallee, are the greatest masterpiece of them all.”
Art is valued; does he value me? If it’s all art, then maybe we’re continuously being sculpted into our final design. Each day is one step closer to becoming our own personal masterpiece of experiences that make us unique. There is still hope, then—that my happiest days are to come.
Reaching into my bag, I grab my annotating pen. The cap clicks as I pull it off and flip my forearm over.
This is art, I write in chicken scratch handwriting.
He believes it, and his smile confirms it. This unfamiliar flicker in my heart gives me permission to hope that one day soon, I might believe it too.
A popping wine cork greets me as I walk into the apartment. I barely set the flowers and Polaroid on the counter before Marlowe and Avery nearly tackle me to the ground. Grabbing my hands, they drag me over to the window.
“What are we doing?” I yell over their ear-splitting squeals.
“There!” Marlowe points as Dean comes out of the first-floor door.
“Look at that walk !” Avery screeches.
“It really is a good walk,” I mumble.
He runs a hand through his hair and the crowd goes wild.
“He glances back within ten or I cook dinner all week,” Marlowe bets.
“Twelve,” Avery counters, shaking her hand.
“Three, and we get ice cream,” I say, laughing through my burning cheeks.
Three .
Two.
That’s my man, giving the people what they want.
“Oh my god!” Marlowe gasps as we duck under the windowsill.
Avery’s eyes widen as she whispers, “Oh, girl. What did you do to him? He’s whipped!”
Marlowe’s laughing so hard it’s quiet—more of a wheeze, really. She grabs her stomach as I shove her over. Tears roll down her bright red cheeks, and Avery snorts next to me. This kind of joy feels never-ending. Right when we think the wildfire is under control, one of us lights a match and ignites a new burst.
A knock from the pizza man only adds to the situation. Poor guy is just doing his job, but Marlowe can’t stop laughing in his face.
“Sorry about her,” Avery apologizes, giggling while I sneak up behind them and mouth, She’s crazy.
With one nervous smile, he leaves, and we fill our plates and file into the living room like a well-oiled machine.
We have a dining table, but the coffee table is our favorite place to eat. Every night feels like a special girls’ night when we eat here, criss-cross applesauce like teenagers without any rules.
“Okay, well—” I begin, but Marlowe cuts me off with a gasp.
“Girl,” she draws out.
Avery looks at her and then back to me before asking, “After one date?”
“What are you talking about?” I question, nervously sipping my wine.
“You’ve got that look,” Avery mutters, eyes flicking from Marlowe to me about ten times before finally landing on Lowe.
“What look?” I ask.
“You wear love well,” Marlowe replies, winking and clinking her glass against Avery’s.
“Love? I am not in love. It was simply a really good date. A great start.”
Marlowe strikes my rebuttal from the record. “Call it whatever you want, Hallee, but you can’t hide the sparkle in your eye.”
“Dangit,” Avery mumbles, reaching into her pocket. She pulls out a crisp twenty and hands it to Marlowe, shaking her head at me.
My finger shifts, pointing at each of them. “What is this? What are you doing?”
“We may or may not have bet on how head over heels you’d be when you returned,” Marlowe confesses, proudly pocketing the twenty.
“We’ve got to quit it with the betting—”
“My money bet you’d be sparkling, utterly enchanted and unable to contain your love,” she admits.
“My money bet that it’d be a slow burn. At least three dates before you committed,” Avery says, smiling directly at me.
“We aren’t formally committed— ”
“BUT YOU’RE IN LOVE?!” they scream.
Marlowe hits her hands on the table, and Avery simultaneously drops her pizza and her jaw.
My hands fly to cover my face, and the reality of their words set in. “Oh my gosh, am I crazy?”
I didn’t say the “L” word, they did. But—I couldn’t deny it. Denying it the first time felt wrong, like putting your favorite dress back on the rack. Denying it again? Book me for lying on the stand.
The room’s energy shifts into the danger zone as I peek through my fingers and meet their knowing stares.
“I am—aren’t I?”
The sympathetic shrug of their shoulders is answer enough.
“He coordinated his roommates to hand me a sunflower outside of every place we went.”
“He did what !?” Avery springs to a stand, pacing frantically. “He got his friends involved?”
“You. Are. Kidding,” Marlowe says, absolutely dumbfounded.
“I’m not.”
Their eyes shift to the sunflowers on the kitchen island.
“Shut up!” Avery squeals, feigning passing out before crawling her way back to the table.
“Did you kiss him?” Marlowe asks.
“No—well? Only when I kissed his cheek for the pictures I sent you. I almost did plenty of times but it never felt right.” I lower my eyes shyly and finish off my wine.
His hug goodbye didn’t bother me. It felt like the natural progression for us, but now insecurity sweeps in to shove me down the rabbit hole of overthinking.
“Do you think it’s bad that he didn’t kiss me? ”
“I don’t think so,” Avery instantly replies. “Everyone moves at their own pace. If it felt right to you, then it was.”
It’s what I wanted to hear. Not as comforting as I’d hoped, though.
“Oh my gosh, do you think I should’ve made the move and kissed him? He planned this extravagant date and I didn’t even—”
“You don’t owe him anything, Hallee. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.” Marlowe slams the door in self-doubt’s face and lays her hand on my knee. “Don’t let worry win this one. You had a great date.”
“I had a great date,” I repeat.
“When are you seeing him again?” Avery asks.
“We’re getting coffee tomorrow.”
“Attagirl.” Marlowe winks, pouring my second glass of wine.
Avery raises hers for our girls’ night toast tradition. “To Hallee.”
“To Dean,” Marlowe calls.
“To love,” I toast, smirking as the sound of our clinking glasses fills the air.