Chapter 35
35
Tatum
I pick June up at seven on the dot.
We’ve lived this before, another version of us. Those people feel far removed from who we’ve become. It’s only been two months, but we’ve both done a lot of growing up.
June opens her door with one hand behind her back, wearing a lacey white crop top and the short pleather skirt I remember from New York.
“I got you flowers this time. Irises,” I say, handing mine over right as she pulls her arms to the front and reveals a bouquet of lavender roses. It’s a funny synchronicity, both of us with our purple flowers for each other.
“Why lavender this time?” I ask.
“They’re supposed to mean admiration,” she says bashfully. “Why irises?” She thumbs a petal, then brings it to her nose. “One of my favorite scents,” she says, breathing it in.
“One website told me they could represent being proud of someone for an achievement,” I say. “So I got them because I am proud of you for moving to New York. And because I knew they were one of your favorite scents, of course.”
“Of course,” she says, grinning so wide both of her dimples pinprick into her cheeks. We exchange our bouquets, laughing as we do it. “This feels like prom.”
“I didn’t go,” I tell her.
“Tatum!”
“My friends and I told our families we were going. We bought the nice clothes and everything. Took all the pre-prom pictures. And then we drank in the forest preserve all night. Nobody ever knew.”
“I’m trying not to pass judgment on that experience,” June responds, “but that sounds miserable.”
“It felt very cool to do at the time,” I assure her. “But yes, I’m old enough now to admit it was a lot soggier than we anticipated. The forest is just kind of damp. And very dark.”
I reach for June’s hand, guiding us to my car. Grabbing on still sends a flutter of excitement through me, only now there is also contentment. I don’t have to wonder what any of this means anymore.
“I still get scared of the dark,” June tells me. “I know that’s so immature. But I do.”
It makes me think of the escape room. Everyone in their pairs, watching the actor playing Mrs. Weathermaster through the haze of special-effects fog and flickering LED candles. All I’d wanted then was someone to look out for. A person to share the experience with, having me as the first one in the room they reach for when they’re scared.
“I’d let you sleep with a night-light,” I tell her.
It’s forward, implying a future where we share a bedroom. We haven’t even left her parents’ yet. But it’s the truth. I could dress it up as something else, using any manner of pretty words to disguise the real meaning. But I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to hide any of myself.
“That’s only fair if you let me do something for you in return,” she tells me.
We get into my car.
“Can I think on it?” I ask.
This makes her smile as I back out of her parents’ driveway. “The last time I let you think something over, you asked me on a date.”
“Someone had to do it,” I tease.
She steals a single glance. “What did I tell you on that very first night? You’re courageous.”
“You also told me when you think of me, you think of trees,” I say. “Yet you just scoffed at my tree-themed anti-prom!”
This gets a real laugh out of her, unguarded. It makes me feel like the funniest person alive. It makes me feel right.
“I also told you you’re the writer,” she reminds me.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say. “Let’s get to the good stuff.”
···
Our date takes us all across Trove Hills. We go mini golfing. We eat at the town’s finest pizza place. We grab ice cream—June picks mint chip. I choose chocolate with peanut butter. It’s lovely. Simple and sweet. We’ve never needed much fuss. Just each other.
I pull us into my driveway now, leaning over the seat to kiss June again. It’s meant to be quick, a gentle thank-you, but I lose track of myself, lost in the taste of her. When we’ve kissed enough that my head’s been emptied of all sense, I invite June into my cottage.
We uncork a bottle of wine. We sit on my couch, laughing and telling each other stories. None of this is as scary as I used to imagine it would be. It isn’t as overwhelming either. I don’t find myself thinking in the way I feared I would, my brain like an overheated laptop, whizzing and whirring to make sense of her every micro-movement, judging myself for my every response.
When the bottle of wine’s been emptied and my record player starts to skip—Whitney no longer serenading us through our evening—June follows me up the stairs into my bedroom.
She presses me into my closed door, kissing me as she takes down the straps of my dress. The way she touches me—never forceful, but assured—keeps me right where I am, even as my nerves surface. I don’t have to see this nervousness as fear. I am not afraid of her. I’m excited . This is our chance to know each other in a new way. It doesn’t have to be a big, meaningful, earth-shifting thing. It can be exactly what it is.
By the time we have undressed each other, we are on top of my bed. I’m about to reach for my side lamp, plunging us into a private darkness, when I remember.
“Oh yes,” I say. “I promised you a night-light.”
This makes June laugh, tucking her head into my shoulder. “I want to be able to see you, anyway.”
I want to see her too. I don’t want to hide from any minute of this.
So we keep the light on as she touches me. She doesn’t pull the covers over us when I go down on her.
In fact, she looks down at my head centered between her legs, my tongue stroking her as our eyes stay trained on each other. How I used to fear this, I will never know. Because her unbroken attention is like a tether, holding me right where I am. Even as she edges toward her pleasure, she never looks away. Her hands grab my hair, pressing me closer.
“Tatum,” she says in that low, husky way—the way I used to dream about—dizzy with ecstasy.
And I keep my tongue pressed into her, never once relenting.
She holds me after, whispering into my ear. Even though we’re no longer looking at each other, my back pressed into her front, I still see her. She is in my mind’s eye. She is in my ear.
She is everywhere I am. She always has been.
Maybe we don’t have every answer right now. But that doesn’t scare me anymore. We’re choosing each other. No matter what.