SADIE
Sometimes, I’ll build up this vision inside my head, and it’s so perfect, so beautiful, that I’m convinced reality can’t live up to it.
I was terrified of that happening with this trip.
That I turned it into a fantasy, promised myself too much, classic case of false advertising, and once we landed on solid ground and started exploring the city, things would go wrong.
I would end up disappointed; my hopes would be foiled one way or another.
Yet it’s even better than I daydreamed about.
Not because it goes precisely according to plan—we only visit half the restaurants I searched up and saved, and we have to adjust a few of the activities on my itinerary because of uncooperative weather.
But that doesn’t matter, not when I’m with Julius.
On Wednesday morning, we get brunch at a hole-in-the-wall dim-sum spot, where you can tell it’s authentic because the waitresses ignore you and the menus are laminated, the prices adjusted via Sharpie, unavailable menu options directly scribbled over.
The tables are close enough together that I feel like we’re dining with the old couple next to us.
I order salted egg yolk buns for us to share, and we both eat quietly, pretending not to be eavesdropping on the couple as they rant about their son-in-law.
What kind of man, the wife tuts, forgets to take his clothes out of the laundry machine for a week?
We go grocery shopping in the afternoon, finding our way around the Asian supermarket on Clement Street, and I bake the egg tarts Julius loves so much back in our Airbnb.
I call over the sound of the TV to ask him how much half a pound is in grams, and he joins me in the kitchen, wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back toward him, and I’m laughing, flour dusted on my forehead, pretending to complain about how he’s getting in the way.
We set the timer together, and soon the air is rich with the fragrance of custard and butter.
He takes a giant bite while it’s still steaming hot and tells me it’s the best thing he’s ever had.
When the day draws to a close, we head down to the beach together.
In the back of the car, he rests one hand on my thigh, his finger lightly tapping out a rhythm in beat with the music blasting from the speakers, and I stare out the window so he can’t see me smiling.
Once the driver drops us off, we find a bench to watch the sun sink beneath the sea.
It looks like liquid gold from here, its last rays the brightest, most dazzling, the orange of the sky burning against the deep, cold blue of the water.
Seagulls fly in a straight line across the horizon, heading home before it gets dark.
I can’t stop grinning up at him. I feel almost drunk with affection, so deliriously happy that he’s here.
We could talk about anything, do anything.
With everyone else, it feels like I’m scrambling to keep up with their pace, yet still somehow always off by a beat or a key.
But with him, there’s a natural rhythm unique to only us, the flow of words, the space between breaths, the shift of his body next to mine.
Then there’s the modern Italian restaurant we visit on Thursday night, the one Julius apparently reserved for us weeks in advance, even though this is technically cheating and I should be in charge of all our dinner plans for this week.
But it has such high ratings and the menu looks so appealing that I don’t have the heart to protest. The interior is fancy without being too flashy, and we’re seated right by the window, with a view of the city and the rippling water.
“Are we celebrating anything tonight?” the waitress asks us.
Julius tilts his head toward me. “There’s a lot to celebrate.”
“True,” I say. “Graduating as valedictorians, for one.”
“Joint valedictorians,” he supplies.
“Right. Joint valedictorians. And getting into our dream schools.”
“And, most importantly, it’s the sixth-month anniversary of the email incident,” Julius says.
I blink. “It’s—what?”
“You don’t remember?” Julius’s mouth twitches. “On this very special day, six months ago, I’m sitting in physics class, just minding my own business, when all of a sudden, I receive forty-two lengthy emails from my co-captain confessing how obsessed she is with me—”
I kick his leg underneath the table, but he doesn’t pull back or even flinch. “That’s not how it happened,” I protest.
“Would you like to review the evidence together? I have all the emails printed out, you know,” Julius says.
I gape at him. “You—You printed them out? You never told me that.”
“Of course. I’m keeping them for life,” he says, leaning back leisurely in his seat, his dark eyes glittering under the chandeliers.
“Well, congratulations to you both?” the waitress says, looking quite lost, and leaves to fetch our menus.
“I didn’t even remember the date was today,” I admit to Julius.
“I guess that settles it, doesn’t it?”
“What?”
“That I have a better memory than you,” he says, so proud of himself it’s almost endearing, like a kid showing off the sparkly sticker he earned at school.
“You remembered one date,” I counter.
“I remember them all,” he says confidently. “Test me, if you’d like.”
“When’s my birthday, then?”
He looks affronted by the question. “Sadie Wen, do you honestly think I wouldn’t remember your birthday? I remember the exact color of the skirt you wore on our first official date. I remember where we were sitting when you first held my hand.”
“Okay, you know you’re really setting yourself up for a huge apology if you ever forget our first-year anniversary,” I point out.
He shrugs. “That simply won’t happen. Not our first anniversary, not our second, not any of the ones after.”
When the waitress returns, we choose the potato gnocchi and sticky date pudding upon her recommendation.
It tastes like childhood, but someone else’s childhood—the cake itself is warm and sweet and buttery, the caramel sauce even sweeter, the kind of food where you can feel how much sugar has been stuffed into every bite but you can’t stop eating it anyway.
The sky is pitch-black now, and it’s dim indoors too, the restaurant lighting up only when a group of teenagers in cocktail dresses gather to take a rapid series of photos with the flash on, switching up poses, positions, self-conscious and showing off at the same time.
“We should get a photo together too,” Julius tells me.
We get five. In the first photo, I’m so awkward that I pose like I’m getting my passport photo taken, facing straight ahead, my shoulders stiff. But by the fifth, I find the nerve to wrap my arms tight around Julius, burying my face into his chest.
“I like this one,” he says, and sets it as his new lock screen right there in front of me, and I try not to act too thrilled.
On our way home, we stop by a bookstore, where he hands me a massive tote bag and gestures to the shelves like he owns them.
“Choose as many as you like,” he tells me. “I’ll buy them for you.”
I laugh, shake my head. “That’s really very generous, but even if I wanted to, I couldn’t possibly carry them all.”
“Why would you be carrying them by yourself?” he asks, like he’s genuinely confused about why this would be a concern. “Just leave it to me.”
I must spend hours browsing. There are five sprawling levels in the bookstore, each with their own towering tables of new releases and displays of shiny hardcovers and special editions.
Julius follows me through the aisles, letting me take my time, listening with quiet amusement while I read the blurbs, the author bios, point out every title I recognize or already own.
He carries the tote bag for me exactly as promised, filling it up with book after book after book until the straps appear in danger of breaking.
“Okay, that’s more than enough for me,” I decide. “What about you? Is there anything you need from here?”
He blinks, like he hadn’t even considered getting anything for himself. “I suppose there are a few texts I could buy now. Better prepare for when classes start.”
When classes start. My stomach tenses as the reality rushes in around me.
It’s not as if this is news, as if I’d forgotten the commencement date for the fall semester, but I’ve been trying to block it out the whole trip.
Worry about it later. And it was almost too easy to.
During those early days, when we first landed in San Francisco, it felt like we had a luxurious amount of time stretched out ahead of us.
An endless number of cafés to try and rate on a scale of to-die-for to overhyped, sunlit parks to stroll through, nights to waste kissing in the kitchen, mornings to wake up with my fingers laced through his. Two entire weeks. Practically a life.
But now, I realize, it is later. The hourglass I’ve been ignoring has already tipped over, leaking out faster and faster. By this time next week, we’ll be moving into our dorms, heading off to orientation with the other incoming freshmen …
“… should be downstairs, in the nonfiction section,” Julius is saying. “I’ll just grab them really quick.”
“Okay, go for it,” I tell him, keeping my voice as light and level as I can, my face turned away from him so he can’t see my expression.
He’s too good at detecting when I’m anxious.
Knows me too well. Like when I was bitten by a mysterious insect the week before we left for the US, and my brain was considerate enough to float the possibility that the insect might be venomous or carrying a deadly disease.
And while I fell silent, picturing my tragic demise and wondering if we’d be able to get our plane tickets fully refunded, Julius had lifted my bare ankle onto his lap to rub some insect bite gel in, his fingers gentle and pleasantly cool.
You’re not going to die from this, by the way, he said dryly, as if I’d spoken my thoughts aloud.
But I don’t want him to have to reassure me now. I don’t want to ruin the perfect ending to a perfect day.
I watch him take the escalator down, the familiar back of his silhouette, the bulky bag weighing on his shoulder.
It’s only once he’s gone that I start walking without any particular direction or purpose, just to keep myself moving, to quiet the hundred different awful scenarios playing out in my mind.
When classes start …
What if everything changes then? What if school gets too busy and he forgets to text me back one day, and then two days, and the distance between us grows until I can’t reach him anymore?
What if he meets someone new? A brilliant, beautiful Stanford girl who’ll invite him to parties and save a seat for him in class and won’t throw a fit if she loses to him in Scrabble?
What if he wakes up and changes his mind about me?
Because that’s what happens, isn’t it? According to Abigail’s daily gossip updates, almost every couple from our high school has already broken up. Many of them weren’t even that sad about it; there was a mutual acknowledgment that things wouldn’t work out once they headed off to college.
But if I were ever to lose Julius—
I swallow, an ache in my throat, the mere idea physically unbearable.
My phone buzzes, the sudden vibration against my pocket jolting me back to the present. I hadn’t even noticed how far I’ve walked, but when I glance up, I find myself on the other side of the bookstore.
I quickly read over the new text from Julius.
where are you?
women’s fiction section, I text back. near the café.
stay there, he replies at once. I’ll come find you.
I stare at the words on the screen until my fears feel small. Surmountable. The knot in my stomach untangles itself, and I let myself breathe in fully, inhaling the scent of new books and fresh blueberry muffins from the café.
“There you are,” Julius says.
I spin around, and as he smiles at me, the last of my worries fade into the background. This is Julius Gong, after all. My Julius. The boy who’d run all my races for me, who’s memorized everything I’ve ever said, who’s carrying a bag full of my books, and who’s studying my face closely right now—
“You seemed a bit quiet earlier,” he says, and the ache in my throat moves deeper, swelling inside my chest. Even with my attempts to hide it, he still noticed. “Are you okay?”
“Better than okay,” I tell him.
“You sure?”
I nod, because despite the uncertainties, despite the changing seasons, the risk of new beginnings, I’m sure about him.
About us. Because I know without a doubt that as long as I tell Julius Gong where I am, he’ll say, Stay there, I’ll come find you, and he will find me, in any crowd, any room, any city. He always has.