Piper
I dream about Henry and our first kiss: two fourteen-year-olds with no experience and little to lose, who won’t see each other again until we’re seventeen, with plenty of experience and loads to lose.
In the morning, I try to convince myself that I’ve built it up, spent years fantasizing about a connection that was, in reality, rushed and immature. But I’m not sure that’s the case. Our connection has survived time and separation. It doesn’t feel rushed anymore, and I don’t think it’s immature.
Three years ago, I made the first move. After we watched the mama turtle, I reached for Henry’s hand.
His palm rested against mine, unmoving, as if the touch surprised him, as if he wasn’t sure what to do about it.
I gave him a chance to pull away, laugh it off, change our course.
Instead, he laced his fingers through mine and held on.
He talked about snow skiing, something I’d only ever imagined doing.
He talked about his friends, a couple of guys he ran cross-country with.
He talked about his parents, but only in generalities: His mom liked to bake bread on Sunday mornings, and his dad, who’d once been his skiing buddy, was taking up golf.
I didn’t know they weren’t married or that they lived thousands of miles apart.
I didn’t know that Henry’s time in Florida had already run its course.
He took his cues from me. The way I avoided talk of my family, the way I spoke vaguely about friendships, the way I referenced school like I was an observer, not a registered student.
He gaped when I told him I’d never seen snow. “How is that possible?”
I shrugged. “We have frosty mornings every once in a while during the winter, but the sun melts it almost right away.”
“Do you want to see snow?”
“I want to see a lot of things,” I said softly.
All that time, he kept my hand in his. Kept my mind busy. Kept my tears at bay.
When the sun announced itself on the horizon, he said, “I’ve gotta get back.”
We turned for the Towers.
I was grateful for this brown-eyed boy who’d come out of nowhere. We hadn’t even parted ways yet, and I couldn’t wait to see him again.
The beach was empty except for a few early joggers and a host of trawling seagulls, and he pulled me in. Shyness heated my face. I remember worrying that he could feel the fierce vibration of my heartbeat.
He looked deep into my eyes. “I’m glad I met you.”
In retrospect, it was a goodbye.
Later, I called Gabi to gush about the rendezvous, which I’d inflated to romance-novel status.
She oohed and aahed as I divulged every detail: the way Henry had leaned in; the way he’d pressed his lips to mine, an innocent kiss that became less so as it gained traction; the way he’d released my hands to find my waist, drawing me gently forward, until I wrapped my arms around him.
I told her how it had felt as though static were popping and snapping in the air, the energy he and I had created together spilling over.
“Oh, my god, Piper!” she squealed. “I’m beyond jealous, but so, so happy for you. I can’t wait to meet him!”
It wrecks me, knowing that she might never.
My first kiss with Henry was a string of moments that stayed with me.
A kiss that started nervously and ended gratifyingly.
Three years later, we’re staring down adulthood.
We’ve got hours of deep conversation behind us, and we rarely let a morning pass without texting.
But last night, we let a follow-up kiss slip out of our grasp.
I can’t wait to be with him again.
***
Shortly before sunset, we meet on the beach reserved for residents of the Towers. It’s a gorgeous stretch of sand, rarely used because most of the people who live on the property take the beach for granted. Not me. I’d live out here in a grass hut if my sister approved.
Henry’s on one of the loungers with a book, Dereliction of Duty. There’s a brown paper bag perched on the neighboring chair—dinner, I think.
He looks up as I cast a shadow over him, surprised one second, grinning the next. He ditches his book and moves the paper bag off the chair, gesturing for me to sit.
I do. “I thought we were going to get dinner out.”
“I brought food instead,” he says, giving the bag a poke.
“I’m intrigued.” I nod at his book. “Should I have brought reading material?”
He smiles, his eyes reflecting the glowing sun. “Nope. I got here early because I thought it’d be busy. I had no idea we’d have the whole beach to ourselves.”
I wave a hand at the pastel sky. “Most residents don’t appreciate amazing sunsets or sugar sand or warm salt water or pods of dolphins.”
“I think you just described paradise.” He says this sincerely, except he’s not appreciating paradise either—he’s gazing at me.
“Sorry I’m late,” I tell him. “Tati was a special sort of cyclone tonight.”
“Bad mood?”
“The opposite. Have you seen Sleeping Beauty?”
“It’s been a while.”
“Well, she does a lot of skipping around in the forest, singing dreamily, chitchatting with woodland creatures. Tati went full Princess Aurora while she was getting ready tonight. I was a woodland creature.”
Henry laughs. “Davis was feeling himself too. He busted out what he called the ‘good’ cologne, and he must’ve changed his shirt six times.”
“Tati borrowed one of my sundresses. One she told me exposed too much skin a couple of weeks ago. Go figure.”
His gaze drops to my bare legs. The sundress I’m wearing exposes a lot of skin too, and the breeze flutters its chiffon.
I sit very still, expecting his lingering attention to make me uncomfortable; I’m anticipating the sensation of a thousand spiders skittering over my skin, like when Damon closed Gabi’s bedroom door, trapping me inside.
It happened at Blitz Brews too, when he spewed that remark about what I was wearing.
I wait for that itchy tingle, ready to quash the shudder that’ll almost certainly follow.
It never comes.
Henry realizes he’s checking me out the moment I decide I don’t mind.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, turning his head to watch the slowly sinking sun.
“Don’t be,” I tell him. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I reach for him, letting my open hand hover in the space between our loungers. He shifts his gaze back to me, linking his fingers with mine.
“I made you uncomfortable.”
My chest floods with warmth. He’s so conscientious. So eager to make things right—to do right. I smile, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.
“No you didn’t, Henry. You never have.”