Fifteen Years Ago
“I should get you home, it’s almost curfew,” Caleb says, peppering my shoulder with kisses as he squeezes me tighter from behind my back. “But I really, really don’t want to,” he whispers.
“Five more minutes.” I sigh blissfully, feeling the cold winter air fighting its way in through the frost covered windows and nipping at my cheeks. Caleb was prepared for the weather and brought a few heavy wool blankets. We’re currently on top of one and under another. The other was lost somewhere on the floor below sometime after my bra came off and the windows began fogging up. “When do you need to be home by?” I ask, rolling within his grip to curl myself into him. Thank goodness for this generously wide backseat.
“My dad’s away for work and my mom is probably asleep by now. So, whenever I want.”
I wonder if Caleb knows his demeanor changes whenever he talks about his parents. How unconvincing his usual carefree tone becomes. “It’s your birthday, you don’t think your mom stayed up to say goodnight?”
“No, I doubt it. She gave me my gifts this morning before school.”
I cringe internally. That is not the sole purpose of seeing your child on their sixteenth birthday. Or any birthday, for that matter. But I don’t have the heart to break that to him. “No one can top Opa’s gift, anyways,” I say, changing the subject somewhat as I admire the moonroof above our heads. Opa is, without a doubt, my favorite of Caleb’s family members. He cannot stand his son-in-law, for one, and he sees his grandson the way I do—kind, gentle, smart, thoughtful. Not weak or easily distracted, as his father does. I think Opa decided to gift Caleb his old car because he knew Caleb needed to be out of his house as much as possible.
“I think I like your gift the most,” Caleb coos against my neck, spreading goosebumps across my exposed skin as he sucks on my pulse point.
I hum playfully in response. “I hope you’re not implying that my virginity was given to you…”
A laugh rumbles from the back of Caleb’s throat. “ No, never. I meant the hat your mom made.”
“Hey!” I say with a breathy laugh as I turn to face him. “I made that hat!” It was actually Win who made it. I wrote her essay on The Crucible in exchange.
“That is what you said, yes.” He tilts down to smile at me, and I’m struck by just how beautiful he is. How good this feels.
I never allowed myself to imagine that having sex for the first time would feel so safe or warm or comforting. Hell, the way my mom described losing her virginity was almost enough to put me off the idea of sex forever. But Caleb is not my father—whoever that guy is. Caleb is something else entirely.
Caleb’s contented sigh vaporizes into a fog in the cool winter air between us. “I love you,” he says, bringing his lips to my forehead. “I love you a truly stupid amount.”
And I understand what he means by stupid because I’ve come to the same realization…We are far too young to be feeling this way. Far, far too young to give ourselves over to someone else this much. That this will most likely end, as most first loves do. Meaning, we’re both running headfirst toward heartbreak. And what else could you call that other than stupid?
But, even still, in this moment I cannot bring myself to care about that possibility at all.
I choose to hope that maybe, just maybe, fate will have something kinder in store for us. That I’ll never need to know a day without Caleb, his ease, puns, or comfort, ever again.
That, just maybe, I got lucky earlier than most.
I tuck my smile against his throat. “I love you too.”