Look on the Bright Side

Chapter Six

Lark had always loved the term puppy love.

For one, was there anything cuter than puppies playing together? Of course not! And two, the thought of two puppies growing up together, best friends for life, having cute puppies of their own…perfection. She was repeating a family tradition—Grandpop had moved to Grammy’s street when she was ten years old, and Grammy said to her sisters, “I’m going to marry that boy someday.” And twelve years later, she did! They were married for more than sixty years, and they had loved each other so much.

Yes. People were too quick to dismiss puppy love. To say that it wouldn’t last, it was just a crush, to chalk it up to adolescent hormones. Who marries their first boyfriend, after all? people said.

Lark had loved the idea.

Being an identical twin was the best thing ever…except when it wasn’t. Addison was the outgoing twin, the star, the one who was funnier, faster, louder. She was the kind of five-year-old who simply sat next to someone and said, “I like your hair band. Let’s be friends.” By the second week of school, she was the queen of kindergarten. And Lark was proud, not jealous. Because they were twins, Addie’s triumphs were hers, too…just not on the outside. Being Addie’s sister made her interesting to her classmates, but that was where Lark’s popularity ended. Unlike Addie, Lark was shy, hesitant to intrude, worried that people might not like her or, worse, think she was Addison and then be disappointed to find she was not.

So, like any good lady-in-waiting, she attended to Addison, obeying her without question at lunch and recess, always near her, loving her and not minding a bit that she was in her sister’s shadow. Except academically. Lark was more like their big sister, Harlow—bookish and a good listener, as her mother often told her. Addie was not. Addie had to protest, object, resist the smallest things so she could make her mark. If Mommy said to brush their teeth, Addie would say no, not yet. Or she’d pretend to brush her teeth, going so far as to wet the brush, spatter water, even eat a little toothpaste to have minty breath.

“Why don’t you just brush?” Lark asked. “It’s easier than fake brushing.”

“Because I don’t want to brush my teeth,” Addie said.

The same was true in school. It wouldn’t have even occurred to Lark to not sit down in story circle or do all the math problems (they were so easy, after all, and fun). Addie would sigh dramatically and say, “Mrs.Rogers, this is boring. Can’t we do art instead?” or “I’m just too exhausted for gym, Mr.Carvalho. I’ll be taking a nap in the nurse’s office instead.” Her classmates would laugh at her outrageousness, her boldness, her confidence. Lark would smile, full of admiration for her strong-willed sister, but she’d never follow her naughty example. She loved school, and was immediately put in an advanced reading and math program, which irked Addie. Sometimes, though she felt guilty thinking it, Lark was glad for the separation. It made her feel a bit more…free. Here, she could just do the work and be herself without Addie needing her, just for a little while. And she could have a friend or two who wasn’t Addie’s friend first, a new experience for her.

Justin Dean was one such friend. One of two, really, the other being Jordyn Rae, a girl who was cheerful and smart and had a golden retriever puppy she let everyone pet at pickup. Jordyn was friends with everyone, though, and when neither Jordyn nor Addie was available, Lark felt a little tremulous.

Justin Dean was one of the nice boys. The nicest, in fact. He always said hello and never chased or yelled or shoved. Then, in October of her kindergarten year, Lark sat at her desk as Ms.Ryan explained how all the clouds were made of water, and she felt her stomach roll and squish. Addie was home with a stomach virus, and Lark knew this was a bad sign. There was a bitter taste in the back of her mouth, and suddenly, she vomited all over her desk.

“Gross!” cried her classmates, leaping away from her. Brooklynne, the mean girl, laughed. Shame and bile burned in Lark’s throat, and tears spurted out of her eyes as she kept her face down.

Ms.Ryan got paper towels to mop up the mess, and put her hand on Lark’s head. “It’s okay, sweetie. Justin, would you walk Lark to the nurse, please?”

Justin took her arm gently, and she stood up.

“Feel better, Lark,” said Jordyn.

“Don’t puke on me, you pukey puke-face!” crowed Brooklynne.

“Leave her alone,” Justin said, and his voice was firm but not mean. He opened the door and guided her out. “It’s okay,” he said. “I always feel better after I throw up. Plus, you get to go home early.”

Lark nodded but didn’t look at him. At the nurse’s office, since her throat was too tight to speak, Justin said, “Lark threw up. You should call her mom.” Then he looked at Lark, and she saw that his eyes were dark blue, like the sky just after the sun set. “I hope you feel better, Lark.” He gave her a pat on the shoulder and left.

She felt her cheeks flush. Justin Dean had just transformed, right in front of her eyes, from a nice boy in her class, to…to someone she loved.

Daddy picked her up, which was better than Mommy, because Daddy was a nurse. Addie was already well enough to be at Grammy’s bookstore for the day, and Lark hoped she, too, could have a day there. Daddy felt her forehead, then tucked her into bed and lined up all her stuffed animals at the foot of her bed.

“They’re very worried about the patient,” he said. “They’re going to stay and keep an eye on her while she sleeps.”

He gave her a sip of ginger ale and some Ritz crackers, and for a little while, Lark felt very special. Winnie peeked in at her with solemn eyes, and Daddy brought Robbie to the doorway so he could wave his chubby little arm at her before she fell asleep.

“I knew you were sick!” Addie declared when she got home. “I was reading with Grammy, and I felt sick, too, but in you, not in me. Are you better yet? We can stay home again tomorrow and play all day.”

Lark didn’t tell her family—even Addie—about Justin Dean walking her to the nurse. It was a secret glow in her chest, but she went over the memory of his hand on her arm, the way he held the door for her just like Daddy held the door for Mommy, the pat on her shoulder, the assurance that she would feel better. She had believed him.

When she went to school two days later, there was a card in her locker. Flowers and a smiling sun drawn in crayon. She unfolded the paper and read the card. I hope you fell beter. Ervyone feels sick somtimes. From Justin.

When she lifted her head, he was looking at her, and she smiled. He smiled back, and there was that glow in her chest again. She hoped that if he got sick or hurt, she could walk him to the nurse and be just as nice to him as he’d been to her.

Justin had no siblings, which Lark found fascinating and exotic. She asked her mother if he could come play at their house, and he did. He was nice to Addie even though she was bossy. He played peekaboo with Robbie and made him smile, asked Winnie what her favorite color was and blushed when Harlow told him he had nice manners. Over Christmas break, his mother called her mother and asked if Lark would like to see the latest Pixar movie with them. Lark had never seen a movie without Addie and her parents present, and it was strange and thrilling to sit in the dark, sharing popcorn with someone not related to her.

In first grade, they weren’t in the same class, but they talked at recess and lunch, Addie allowing him to sit at her table (at the end, but next to Lark). In second grade, they both had Ms.Murray, who had long red hair and was the nicest and funnest teacher in school. Addie and Jordyn were in Mrs.Harrington’s class, so when it was time to pick a partner, she and Justin always picked each other.

In third grade, when the school had a talent show and she played Bach’s Prelude in C Major, Justin wrote her a note saying he couldn’t believe how good she was and that he bet she’d be famous someday.

In fourth grade, when Addison started sitting with Kaylee Doane on the school bus, Justin saved a place for her, and they’d talk quietly, shoulders bumping, sometimes sharing a snack. In fifth grade, they were buddies on the field trip to the New England Aquarium in Boston. As they stood in front of the coral reef tank in its mysterious blue glow, their eyes met for a long moment, and something passed between them, a kind of shared wonder, not just at the teeming life inside the tank, but at the feelings between them.

In sixth grade, Justin stopped coming to school.

One cold February day, he was absent. And the day after that, and the day after that, and then Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday. Every day that week when Lark got on the bus, his spot was empty. She sat on the aisle, as if he was there. If his family had taken a vacation, he would have told her, because they talked about everything. Mr.Dean’s car was gone from their driveway, and Lark felt a hollow ache. Something was wrong. She knew it. No one in their class seemed to know where he was.

On the seventh day of Justin’s absence, she asked Mr.Michalski, the science teacher, if he knew why Justin was out. His eyes were kind…and sad. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Lark,” he said. “But maybe one of your parents can call Mr.or Mrs.Dean.”

She told Harlow she’d be getting off the school bus at the gallery and would walk home later. Harlow said okay—she knew Lark was worried, and also that she was responsible enough to walk home alone. She was twelve, after all. The second Lark ran into Long Pond Arts, she said, “Mommy, you have to call Mrs.Dean. Something’s wrong.”

Mom did call. “Hello, Heather!” she said in her chipper phone voice. “It’s Elsbeth Smith. How are you?” There was a pause. A long pause. Then Mom’s face changed, the smile sliding off like ice cream melting in the sun. She looked at Lark, then took the phone into the office and shut the door, leaving Lark alone with her mother’s paintings and the sharp smell of oil paint.

When she came out, Lark could see tears in her mother’s eyes. “I’m sorry to tell you this, honey, but Justin has leukemia. He’s at the hospital in Boston, and his parents are with him.”

Her insides clenched like a fist. Lark often curled up with one of her father’s medical books, since she liked science and thought she’d be a doctor someday, probably the kind that delivered babies so she could help her sisters when the day came. She knew what leukemia was. It was bad. “Will he be okay?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Mom said firmly. “It’s the kind with a really good cure rate. ALL, I think. And Dana-Farber is probably the best place in the entire world for someone with leukemia to be.” She smoothed Lark’s hair back, since her hair was slippery and always fell out of braids. “Maybe you could write to him. I bet that would cheer him up.”

Instead, Lark ran home, asked Winnie to get off the computer and googled ALL leukemia, 12 years old. Mom was right; it was the “good” leukemia to get, with a 90 percent survival rate. Justin had had a nosebleed in January. At the class holiday party, he’d fallen asleep at his desk, and she’d gently shaken his shoulder to wake him up.

She wrote to him without even taking off her coat. A seven-page handwritten letter telling him how much she missed him; what was going on at school; how her little brother, Robbie, had stolen her favorite pen, so she’d gone out and bought him three of the same type, so he wouldn’t have to steal anymore. She told him how much she’d loved babysitting little Isolde from down the street, and even though she was only twelve, Mrs.Schultz had asked if she’d come again. How was Boston? Did he have a nice room? Was he bored? Could she visit? She’d bring him brownies, the kind they shared at lunch sometimes. Then she went outside to the sunny side of the house, where the snowdrops had just peeked up. She picked one, pressed it between the pages of a fat medical book, and slipped it into the envelope.

After he got that letter, he emailed her. He was okay, sometimes pretty sick, but okay. He missed school and being home. She rode her bike to his house and took a picture with Harlow’s phone, then to Marconi Beach, even though it was so windy, and took more pictures there. When she got home, Harlow showed her how to send the photos.

After that, they emailed every day. She continued to handwrite him letters so he’d get something when the volunteer came with the mail cart. They talked on the phone a couple of times a week, when he wasn’t too tired or sick. He told her about the bone marrow biopsy and how much it had hurt, the spinal tap, the vomiting from his chemo, and she tried to hide the shakiness in her voice so he wouldn’t know she was crying.

“I wish I could visit you,” she said, three weeks after she’d sent the first letter.

“Me too,” he said. “But I can’t see anyone right now, except my parents. The chemo basically erased my immune system.” He paused. “You could send me a picture, though. You know. Of yourself.”

Addie chose which outfits Lark should wear, braided her hair, told her to smile and took a dozen pictures of her. Lark sent two, as well as other small gifts—shells from the beach, a sprig of pitch pine for him to smell, a bag of sand. She read about chemotherapy, stem cells and side effects, and peppered her father with questions.

When Justin’s parents brought him home three months after he’d first left, she visited him with the promised brownies and cried with relief at the sight of him, and he’d reached out and held her hand. He was taller, and thinner, and bald, the lack of eyelashes and brows making him look like a baby bird.

“I missed you, Lark,” he said, and his smile was the same, so sweet, a little dimple just below the left corner. “Come visit again, okay?”

She did, every day, except for the week she’d had the sniffles and was afraid she’d give him something. For the rest of the school year and into the summer, she became a fixture at the Deans’ house. Sometimes, Justin would be asleep, so she’d sit at the kitchen table, drinking tea with Mrs.Dean, or helping her make dinner. Her own parents were proud of her for being such a good friend and keeping up her grades.

The truth was, Lark loved it at the Deans’. The big, elegant house; the quiet; the ability to talk without interruption from her sisters or brother; the way Mrs.Dean asked her questions and looked at her as she answered, really listening.

It was different (Lark couldn’t bring herself to say better) from the happy chaos of her own home, where Robbie was always torturing Winnie, and Addie was practicing makeup and hair, and Harlow was always trying to organize them to do their chores or homework, and Mom and Dad were scattered and busy and always coming and going. That was home, but this…this was wonderful, too.

“I can’t tell you how much it meant to him, your letters, all the little gifts you sent,” Mrs.Dean said. “If he didn’t have a crush on you before, he sure does now.”

Lark felt her face grow pink. “He’s always been the nicest boy in school.”

“And you’re the nicest girl, Lark. You’re a jewel.”

Mrs.Dean (“Call me Heather”) was so easy to talk to. She didn’t work—Mom had used the words trust fund at one point. Their house was filled with beautiful things—a chandelier from Venice, a statue from Greece, a pure white couch that never got dirty. They didn’t have pets, and their whole house smelled like oranges.

Justin was still getting treatment, and still weak and tired. Sometimes she’d sit by his bed or on the couch, reading to him as he dozed. She tutored him when he had the energy so he could catch up on all the school he missed. Mr.Dean had taken a leave from his job as an attorney, so if he drove Justin to his chemo appointment in Hyannis or a doctor visit in Boston, Lark would help Mrs.Dean—Heather—arrange flowers cut from their garden, or hang sheets on the clothesline, because line-dried sheets smelled like love, Heather said. At Lark’s house, there wasn’t enough time to hang out clothes, since there was a minimum of three loads of laundry to be done every day.

When Lark stayed for supper, she’d set the table with the cloth place mats and napkins the Deans used every night. After dinner, they’d all play Scrabble or Scattergories or Boggle, since the Deans loved word games.

To Lark, it was the kind of family she might want to have someday. Orderly, peaceful, friendly, thoughtful. They talked about serious subjects—politics, war, other cultures—and Heather and Theo listened to both Justin and her, nodding or suggesting an article they might read if they were interested. Lark learned that not only was Justin nice, he was eloquent and a deep thinker. Alone in his room or on a walk along the Cape Cod Rail Trail, which was flat and paved and not too much for him in his still-weakened state, they talked about what they hoped to do in the future, the friends they thought they’d keep when they started high school, their families.

By late July, the bulk of Justin’s chemo was done, thank God, though he’d have to have “touch-ups” for the next few years to keep the leukemia from coming back. He had a 90 percent chance that he’d be just fine. Ninety percent was an A, Lark reminded herself, worrying over the remaining 10 percent. An A–, but still.

Then, one hot August day as they walked through the gentle trails of the Audubon center, where the Deans were lifetime members, Lark got up the courage to ask the question she had not dared ask yet. The sky was a stunning shade of pure blue, and birds warbled in the trees. The breeze off the bay was warm—thunderstorms were predicted for later with an ensuing temperature drop, and the smell of pine and salt marsh was strong and comforting.

“Did you ever think you were going to die, Justin?”

He stopped walking, frowning thoughtfully, looking out at the bay. His hair was just starting to grow back, and his eyes no longer looked so unprotected, since his lashes and brows had come in. He was achingly beautiful.

“I did, yeah,” he said. “The first round of chemo was so hard, I almost wanted to. Everything hurt so much, even my bones. Maybe especially my bones, because, you know, my bone marrow had cancer. Even lying down hurt, and then I’d have to puke. Sometimes I couldn’t even lift my head. I’d just throw up on my own pillow.” He grimaced. “I had sores in my mouth all the way down my throat, and it hurt so bad to puke like that.”

“Throwing up is how we first started being friends,” she said, putting her hand on his skinny arm to let him know it was okay.

He smiled at that, and her heart swooped up like an osprey on a current of wind. “That’s true.” His face grew serious again. “The thing I kept thinking was, I couldn’t do that to my parents. I couldn’t die, because it would wreck them. But it hurt so much to be alive.” He gave her a sideways glance. “That’s when my mom would read me your letters.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked away, fast. “That’s…that’s good. I’m glad I wrote them.”

“Me too.” He leaned in and kissed her, a soft, sweet kiss, short enough that she didn’t have to feel uncomfortable, long enough that it was utterly perfect. Her first kiss, age thirteen. Her first love with this gentle, quiet, kindhearted boy.

“Will you be my girlfriend, Lark?” he asked.

She smiled and bit her lip. “I thought I already was.”

“You are. I just wanted to make it official.” He grinned, then took her hand, and they kept walking, their conversation returning to their last year of middle school and what lay beyond.

When Mrs.Dean dropped her off later that afternoon, Lark ran into the house and pounded up to the room she shared with Addison.

“We’re going out,” she announced breathlessly.

“Did he kiss you?” Addie demanded.

Lark nodded. “It was…it was perfect.”

Addie didn’t smile. “Well. Okay, then. If it has to be someone, I’m glad it’s Justin. Just don’t forget about me. Twins first, everyone else, take a number.”

Lark laughed and flopped on the bed next to her sister. She could feel her sister’s jealousy as much as she felt her own happiness. She squeezed Addie’s hand, reassuring her without words.

“Twins first,” she echoed, though she knew that someday soon, it wouldn’t be true anymore. It shouldn’t be true forever, after all. Someday, Addison would find the love of her own life.

Lark knew she herself already had.

Once they got to high school, the puppy love didn’t fade. Instead, like a puppy, it grew in leaps and bounds. Everyone knew they were together—Lark and Justin, Justin and Lark. Larstin, Addie had dubbed them, still jealous but trying to keep it hidden, which Lark appreciated. It wasn’t that Addie resented her for having someone; it was that she’d figured she’d have someone first. But she was gracious in her way, and Lark made sure to include her often, which served both of them well. Addie didn’t feel left out, and Lark had a chaperone.

Despite their mother’s frank and embarrassingly frequent talks about human anatomy and how babies were made, Lark still felt shy on that front. So far, she and Justin had just kissed. Justin hadn’t tried anything else, and she was glad, because as flushed and taut as kissing him made her feel, she didn’t want to rush anything. Their love was in its earliest springtime—snowdrops and crocuses just blooming. Giving in to impulse might have the same effect as a hard freeze, and something this beautiful, this new and fragile, should not be tampered with.

Their love was perfect. They could talk about serious things, and they could laugh together. He knew she cried easily for happy and sad reasons…when Grammy was diagnosed with cancer, he had simply held her and stroked her hair and let her sob, something she couldn’t do at home, since everyone was sad there, and she didn’t want to add to their burden. But Justin had plenty of room for her and all her feelings, which could overwhelm her sometimes.

When she was happy and proud—learning she was the top student of their freshman class, for example—he knew that after she blushed and smiled and accepted her classmates’ congratulations, she’d need to cry to get out all that pride and embarrassment. She’d need to cry if Addie was mad at her, and she needed to cry when Harlow told the family she was going to college in Colorado, even though she was happy for her big sister. Sometimes, she cried just because she felt such intense love—for him, for Grandpop, for Justin’s mother, for Amos, their creaky old cat who wouldn’t be around forever.

Everyone else in her life hated when she cried. There was often a stampede to console her—Daddy, Harlow, Mom, Addison, and Robbie, who would cry along with her. Winnie would avoid her, because Winnie hated tears from anyone. Justin was the only one who understood that without crying, her feelings would make her pop like a bubble.

She was aware that most fourteen-year-old boys were not quite as remarkable as Justin Edward Dean. Oh, he wasn’t perfect (though he kind of was). He got moody. He didn’t vocalize his feelings until he was in control of them, which made him private and glum sometimes. He resented not being able to do sports (his parents forbade it), and he was a bit spoiled, not understanding that she had to babysit most weekend nights, and later work waiting tables, because she was saving money for college. Her parents supported them, and Grammy and Grandpop had put away a little nest egg for each grandchild, but college (and medical school) would be expensive. Smith family vacations were to Aunt Grace and Uncle Larry’s house in Maine for one week of the summer. The two Smith cars were old and worn. The Deans went to Europe and Canada and Norway for their summer vacations. Heather drove an enormous SUV with heated leather seats, and Theo had more shoes than anyone Lark knew.

Justin preferred it to be just the two of them, though he accepted that Addison was going to be a significant part of their nonschool hours. Lark’s circle was bigger than his—she had her siblings, Addie’s group of friends, and Jordyn Rae, whose family continued to own the most beautiful golden retrievers, and who hosted the best sleepovers. Lark didn’t want to be one of those girls whose entire social life was only with her boyfriend. At school, knowing from Harlow that she’d have to be more than just a good student to get into the best schools, Lark joined the Gay-Straight Alliance to support Addie and other LGBTQ kids, and the Green Club to make the school campus as ecologically harmless as possible, and kept up with her piano lessons, though Addie had since quit.

But, gosh, it was so wonderful, having Justin. She loved the dinners at the Deans’ house, loved when her parents would invite Justin to go to the Land Ho! with all of them for dinner—the seven of them plus Grammy and Grandpop. Over the cheerful noise of the restaurant, Grandpop pointed out that he and Grammy had met young, as well.

“I never even looked at another girl,” he said, and Grammy gave him a sweet smile. “Why would I? She’s perfect! Keep this one close, young man,” he said to Justin, putting a hand on Lark’s head. “She’ll never let you down.”

She and Justin had looked at each other and smiled, even as Winnie said, “Stop trying to marry them off, Grandpop! They’re fourteen!” Ever wise, Winnie. Ever cynical, even at eleven.

And of course, underneath their blooming, gentle love was the terror—that Justin’s leukemia would recur. If he made it five years without incident, he’d be officially cancer-free at eighteen. Cured. For now, every bruise, every yawn put Lark (and his parents) on high alert. After the initial year of chemo finished, Justin went to Dana-Farber every three months, then every six, and each time nothing was detected, it was like God invented a new level of happiness. To celebrate, Heather and Theo always took Justin and Lark to the Mews, that beautiful, elegant restaurant in Provincetown, all of them giddy with relief. The staff got to know their reason for coming, and always saved a great table for them overlooking the water.

One year post-leukemia. Then two. Three. During the second half of the fourth year, Justin grew a little withdrawn and somber, waiting for each week to pass. As the five-year mark crept closer, each day was an eternity.

It was the only time they weren’t in harmony, and it hurt her heart, seeing him shut down, staring at the floor, not telling her what she already knew. She wrote him little notes and tucked them around his room or put them in his locker. I love you. You are my favorite person. Stay hopeful. The finish line is getting closer. I’m with you no matter what. He didn’t mention them, and even dinners with his parents were stiff and forced.

At night, she’d cry silently into her pillow until Addie snapped. “Stop planning his funeral already! At least wait till he’s sick again, for God’s sake!” Then her sister climbed down from her top bunk and got into bed with her, spooning against her. “Just go to sleep,” she whispered, and Lark did.

Lark and Justin decided not to go to junior prom…well, he decided, which was fine. Except what if the cancer did come back? What if they never made it to senior prom? What if he died? What would she do?

And then, finally, in January of their senior year, Justin was cleared. He was officially in the 90 percent of kids with ALL who made it out just fine.

The next morning, the school held a secret assembly. All the teachers and staff and the entire senior class came to school early and gathered in the gym with balloons, the pep band in uniform, instruments ready. They sat in nervous silence on the bleachers until Mrs.Arrow, the school secretary, spotted Mrs.Dean’s car. Justin was detained in the office briefly over some pretense so Heather and Theo could scurry around to join them. Then, over the PA came a voice. “Justin Dean, please report to the gym. Justin Dean to the gym, please.”

A second later, the door opened, and there he was. The band burst into the theme from Rocky, confetti cascaded from the ceiling, and everyone cheered. Justin jumped; his mouth fell open. Then, realizing this was for him, he covered his eyes with his hand for a few seconds. Shook his head. Then he held up his arms to the class, as if in a prayer of gratitude.

Everyone went wild. He was done. He had beat it. He was finally unfettered from that insidious fear. Then Addie pushed Lark out from the front row, and she ran over to him, tears of joy streaming down her face. With those dark blue eyes laughing, he kissed her, right in front of everyone. Another huge cheer. “Jus-tin! Jus-tin! Jus-tin!” their classmates chanted, and Heather was crying, Theo had his arm around the principal, and it was the happiest moment of Lark’s life.

There were donuts from Hole in One and coffee from Dunkin’, and everyone swarmed off the bleachers to hug Justin or clap him on the shoulder.

“You two make me believe in love,” said Jordyn, grinning. “Seriously. The rest of us are like, ugh, so ordinary.”

It was glorious to be ordinary. To have a boyfriend who no longer had to get chemo or check his lymph nodes or wait with grim patience to see if he would die or not.

“I’m really sorry I’ve been so…withdrawn,” Justin said that night as they sat in his bedroom (door open, a house rule). “It’s just…I kept picturing you without me, and it made me so sad, I couldn’t bear talking to you.”

“I understand,” she whispered.

“I love you, little bird.” It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but it felt different tonight. More adult, more mature, more meaningful…more true than ever before.

“I love you, too,” she said. She kissed him with all her heart then, not the sweet, chaste kisses they’d had before now, but full-on passionate, long, deliciously wet kisses, and wrapped her arms around his waist. He got up and closed his door silently, and second base was achieved, his hands hot on her bra, slipping underneath the lace, her body limp and aching with lust, him on top of her, and it was all the hotter, knowing they wouldn’t go any further. Not with his parents downstairs.

The rest of their senior year lit up like a Cape Cod sunset, dazzling with color and possibility. Freed from the fear of dying, Justin seemed to burst from his cocoon into everything Lark always knew he was—funny, smart, so kind, so good. And my God, so handsome. That sweet boy with the blue eyes had become a man who shaved every day and was suddenly three inches taller than he’d been the year before. The smell of him gave her a contact pheromone high, and home was wherever he was. He made his parents laugh till they cried, threw the baseball to Robbie, brought her mom flowers whenever he came over for dinner and told Addie she was his second favorite girl in the world. Even Winnie liked him.

They were prom king and queen. No one was surprised. On Awards Night, Lark was named the second Smith child to become valedictorian and nabbed seven extra scholarships, courtesy of local businesses and organizations. She felt simultaneously stunned and embarrassed and sorry for the other students who didn’t win, but Justin stood up and whistled each time Larkby Smith was announced by the speaker. By the end of the night, she had $13,400 more for college than she’d had that morning, just shy of the record set by Harlow three years before.

Lark and Justin had both decided to go to college in Boston. After all they’d been through these past five years, there was no way they were going to be apart. Half their class would be going to school in Boston, more or less. Why not? It was a great city, full of colleges and universities. It had the Common and Fenway Park, water views and history, the North End and the Freedom Trail, the Boston Pops and the Head of the Charles.

The plan to become a doctor had been cementing itself since Lark was little. Science and math were her strongest subjects, and she slayed the AP exams and the SAT. (Addison didn’t bother taking them; she wanted to be an interior decorator.) Boston University gave Lark a solid work-study package, and between that, her scholarships and savings, the nest egg from Grammy and Grandpop and a modest student loan, she could swing it.

Justin would be at Boston College, where his dad had gone, with the plan of becoming a mechanical engineer. No need for him to get any scholarships, the lucky guy. Addison would be studying interior design online and was doing some modeling here and there. Being Addison, she had also landed a job as an assistant to a prestigious Boston interior designer, who offered Addie the use of a tiny, adorable apartment as part of the package. It was only a fifteen-minute walk from BU.

Home was just an hour and forty minutes without traffic (which was silly, because it was Boston, and there was always traffic). Still, not that bad, and between Mom and Dad and the Deans splitting chauffeur duty, all three were able to go home pretty much whenever they wanted to.

Boston was big enough, small enough, far enough and close enough. It was a cozy city where you’d bump into someone you knew every day. Harlow had gone to college in Colorado, which Lark couldn’t even imagine. Why live anywhere but Massachusetts? Aside from the long, gray winters, gritty and biting winds, wicked bad nor’easters and more and more frequent scorching temperatures each summer; despite the Massholes who did ninety on the Pike and never used their signals; despite the traffic in the tunnel, where you prayed chunks of the ceiling wouldn’t fall on your car; despite the fanatical and sometimes violent devotion to the Sox/Bruins/Celtics/Pats; despite the Irish Mafia and rampaging drug problems, Boston was paradise.

The entire state was, she, Addie and Justin all agreed. They’d never leave the Bay State. The beaches, the fresh seafood, the beautiful small towns outside Boston, the gentle hills of the Berkshires, the bustling North Shore, the quieter South Shore and the magical Cape…it had everything.

That first year, Lark and Justin met up two or three (or five or seven) days each week, getting together for dinner or a walk, or one of them going to the other’s campus to study as their feet entangled under the library tables, or lying in some ridiculously pretty spot outside, watching the leaves turn yellow and gold. Lark loved being able to touch him just for no reason, lean against him, hold hands. She’d known his hands since they were small, guiding her down the hallway to the nurse’s office that singular day. Sometimes, they just looked at each other, no need to talk, their eyes shining with love, still a little stunned that after all these years, after all the changes of childhood and adolescence, after five years of cancer treatment, after the mini-dramas and changes of high school, they were still so right.

At the end of their first semester, Lark and Justin decided they were both old and responsible enough to sleep together. Justin booked a room at the Copley Square Plaza. And though they’d been friends since kindergarten, it was strange, stepping into that room. It seemed so…adult. So committed. Her heart nearly thumped out of her chest, and her fingers shook as she unbuttoned her blouse.

But when they got into bed, they just lay on their sides, facing each other, smiling. This wasn’t a simple hookup. This was love, soft as velvet, strong and enduring as granite. How many people could say they’d met the One in kindergarten? Love and happiness—no, joy—bubbled inside her. They were both virgins, and still, it was exactly right. They’d been waiting years for this moment, and it was tender and thrilling and a little awkward, but awkward was fine, because it was the two of them.

“Sorry,” he said as he leaned on her hair, making her yelp. “I’m new to this.”

“You better be,” she said back, and for some reason, that set them off into unstoppable giggles, which turned into sighs, which turned into hums and moans and whispers of love. It was perfect. Meant to be.

Afterward, they ordered room service, ate turkey club sandwiches and drank root beer, since they weren’t yet twenty-one, and made love again.

“I think we’re figuring this sex thing out,” Lark whispered afterward, and there it was, that laughter, that abundant love.

College was wonderful. The classes were challenging and fun, and Lark made friends, though Addie and Jordyn Rae maintained their top-notch rank. Jordyn was at Suffolk University, so theirs was a happy triangle. It also took some of the twin pressure off Lark, knowing Addie had Jordyn and not just her. Lark’s grades were stellar, the professors liked her (but told her to speak up more) and her roommates were nice people.

Sophomore year, Justin got an apartment, telling his parents the truth—he could study better without dorm life, and he wanted to be able to spend time with her. Already, he was declaring his commitment, and the Deans lectured them both about safe sex and committing too early, but they didn’t protest, either. Justin had an inheritance from his maternal grandfather, so money wasn’t an issue, something Lark couldn’t quite imagine. She didn’t move in with him, but gosh, it was so nice, those nights when they made dinner together, when she could study at his kitchen table or read in his bed, highlighting text and taking notes. It was, she thought, the way things would be forever.

During her junior year, Lark went to Rome for a semester. She missed Justin horribly, despite the beautiful architecture, appreciative men and confident women, the amazing food and abundant wine. But she was determined to have these adventures and not be joined at the hip, as her mother often worried. Addie came to visit, and they laughed and finished each other’s sentences and analyzed Addie’s latest girlfriend, then cried at the airport, both reassured that nothing had changed between them and sad that they had to part. Once again, she took to writing to Justin almost every day, signing the letters Love from your little bird. When he came to visit for spring break, she fell into his arms and sobbed with relief and joy.

It was fair to say she was no longer a puppy. She was twenty-one and had been with Justin Dean for most of her life. She’d never even had a crush on anyone but him. Some people were made for each other, like her parents and grandparents…and now, continuing that family tradition of perfect, drama-free love that grew with each passing year, Justin and Lark.

During that visit, they rented a tiny car and drove to see some more of the country. Florence was glorious, Milan sophisticated, but Venice…Venice took her breath away. They booked a gondola ride to go under the Bridge of Sighs at sunset, because legend had it that if you kissed at that time under that bridge, your love would last forever.

As the gondolier paddled along past the pastel-colored houses that lined the canals, singing, Lark looked at Justin. This beautiful man, his hair now thick and short, had filled out in the past few years. His smile still made her heart melt; she knew their love would last forever. At the exact moment they went under the bridge, they kissed, and the gondolier said, “Bravo, bravo, bellissimi amanti! Il primo amore non si scorda mai!”

First love is never forgotten. Lark smiled against Justin’s lips and pulled back. The sunset lit up the sky, and when she pulled back, she wasn’t surprised to see that he was holding a small velvet box. Sure enough, he dropped to one knee.

“I love you more than I can ever say, Larkby,” he said. “We grew up together. Let’s grow old together, too. Marry me.”

She couldn’t speak, her throat was so tight with joy, and tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Say yes, signorina!” said the gondolier.

Lark wiped her eyes, held Justin’s face in her hands and kissed him. “Yes,” she said. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

“You didn’t even see the ring,” Justin said.

“I don’t need to.”

“Well, since you’re gonna wear it every day between now and a hundred, take a look and make sure you like it.”

Of course she liked it. It was an art deco ring, the diamond set in white gold with sapphires on each side. Delicate scrollwork held the stones in place, and it was the prettiest piece of jewelry she’d ever seen.

Sure, they were young. No, they didn’t have a single doubt. Not one.

Her mother was worried they were rushing, her dad cried and said he didn’t want his little girl to grow up too fast. Heather hugged her and wept with joy, and Theo said he’d raised a smart son, and he was thrilled that Lark would be his daughter-in-law.

The wedding would be…someday-ish. They were in no hurry. Babies would come after she was done with residency. They were barely adults, and planning a wedding was a whole endeavor neither of them wanted at the moment. They were still in college, after all. A wedding could wait.

“We could just sneak off and get married at city hall,” Lark suggested, but Justin said she deserved a beautiful dress and Addie as her maid of honor, Winnie and Harlow as her bridesmaids.

“Your parents would kill me if they didn’t get to walk you down the aisle,” he said. “I’d never do that to them.”

After graduation, Lark got a job as a certified nurse’s assistant—direct patient interaction was required for med school—and loved the work (if not the degrading pay). Being old-fashioned, she didn’t want to live with Justin before the wedding, so she moved into Addie’s adorable little place, wanting this last bit of unmarried life to be spent with her twin, even though she was with Justin at least a few nights a week. In her off time, she studied for the MCAT. She wanted to get into medical school somewhere local—Harvard, Tufts or Boston University so they wouldn’t have to move—and they put off the wedding until she could know for sure.

Justin had a job at an architectural firm in the South End and would be starting off designing ventilation systems for large-capacity buildings. His parents bought a condo in Chelsea—“We’re not trying to smother you, we just don’t want to deal with the traffic!”—and had dinner with them two or three times a month. Lark went home to the Cape to keep tabs on Robbie and check in with Winnie, who was studying at Cape Cod Community College, not sure what she wanted to do for a living just yet.

While home, Lark would practice her nursing skills on Grammy, who was getting over some cancer treatments of her own (and doing very well). In the evenings, the Smith family would play rowdy games of Scattergories or try to beat each other at Jeopardy!, yelling answers at the screen. Harlow had just moved back from Colorado and was helping Grammy renovate the bookstore, and it was all just wonderful.

When she and Justin were at the Deans’, it was quieter but just as fun. The four of them would have dinner and talk about the future—Heather was so excited to help plan the wedding, hinting that they should pick a date. She offered to contribute (by which she meant pay for everything). Lark envisioned a simple, family-only wedding in Wellfleet with dinner at the Ice House or Winslow’s afterward, but she sensed she’d be having a pretty big bash. Justin was an only child, and the Deans wanted to go all out and would fund just about anything.

“After all,” Heather had kindly said to Lark’s mom, “you two were blessed with five kids. We only have Justin.”

It was very generous, and it made Heather happy to take the reins. Mom made a few noises, but she didn’t have the same interest in all things wedding that Heather did. Honestly, Lark didn’t care what the wedding looked like. It would be beautiful, she had no doubt. For now, she just wanted to be in the moment.

Getting through college with a 3.98 had taken a lot of mental energy, and a lot of stress and exhaustion were waiting for her in med school. These early adult days, the “flower of her youth,” as Grandpop said, felt so new and precious, and she didn’t want to rush them. She and Justin had decided to work and save for her medical school for two solid years before marriage, then start a family later, unless a happy accident occurred. She knew one woman, a couple of years ahead of her at BU, who was currently pregnant and in med school, so it could work.

Not one of their former classmates was surprised to hear they were engaged. Lark heard many times that she and Justin were the fairy tale, that they gave those on dating apps hope, that they were what love looked like in real life.

“It’s true,” Justin would say. “The first time I kissed her, I knew. Then I had to wait seven more years to propose. It was hell.”

“It wasn’t exactly hell,” Lark said. “But yeah, I was naming our kids in geometry.” And they’d look at each other and smile, dazzled at their luck, brimming with happiness in the moment and hope for the future.

The months slid by in a happy rhythm. It was nice not to be in school, lovely to be able to go grocery shopping and plan dinners and study for the MCAT. The second year after graduation, they finally set a wedding date—December tenth, more than a year away. Heather hit the ground running, as promised, and first things first—wedding dress shopping. She made an appointment at a posh bridal salon in Boston, rented a limo to bring the female members of the family to Boston. The store was fabulously fancy, and it was just like one of those TV shows. Champagne was passed, and the consultant wanted to hear all about Justin and how they met.

“Kindergarten? Oh, my gosh, how romantic! We have to find you something to match that beautiful love story.”

“I’ll only wear it for a few hours,” Lark said. “No need to break the bank.”

“But it’s special,” Grammy said, smiling. She and Grandpop were picking up the tab on the dress, as she had promised to do for all their granddaughters, and Robbie’s partner, if he ever got one.

Lark would’ve been fine with anything—just a nice dress, really, bought from a department store—but she didn’t fight it, either. This was the first dress her husband would see her in. She would say her vows in this dress, and yes, it should be special.

And so she talked to the consultant about her preferences (simple, comfortable, not too intricate). Addie pawed through racks. Heather, Mom, Grammy and Harlow commiserated over how fast Lark and Justin had grown up, and Winnie stared into the middle distance, trying not to let her boredom show.

“Why don’t we try some of these on?” the consultant said.

“Let’s go, Addie,” Lark said, because of course her twin would be in the dressing room with her.

The consultant had four dresses, plus two that Addison had liked. Addie unzipped the first dress bag, one that she’d picked out.

“Can I help her put it on?” Addie asked the consultant. “We’re twins. This is special for us.”

“Of course, of course. Let me know if you need me.” The consultant smiled and left the two of them alone.

“I just want to say something,” Addie said, her eyes filling with tears. Lark’s, too, immediately welled. They reached for each other’s hands simultaneously, gripping hard. “You’re the best sister, the best person, in the whole world, Larkby. I love you with my whole heart, and…” Her voice thickened. “And if anyone deserves you, it’s Justin. You’ll always be my best friend. We’re two halves of a whole. No one will ever change that.”

“Of course not,” Lark said. “Just because I’ll be someone’s wife doesn’t mean I stop being your twin.”

“I was here first, after all,” Addie said with a watery smile.

“You were. And you were so nice in Mom’s uterus. You always made sure I had enough room.”

“And you always made sure I got enough placenta,” Addie said, and they giggled and hugged and cried a little more. “Now stop crying, you sentimental idiot, and try this dress on.”

Lark took off her flowery dress and stepped into the puddle of fabric. Addie gently guided it up, and Lark slipped her arms through the sleeves. Addie fastened the buttons on the back and fluffed the skirt.

“Oh,” they said in unison, staring into the mirror. For a moment, neither moved. They didn’t even breathe.

“This is the one,” Lark whispered. “This is it. Great job, Addie.” She hugged her sister, and it was hard not to sob with joy, with nostalgia, with love. The wedding wasn’t for sixteen months, but suddenly, she could taste it—the simple, joyful constancy that married life would hold. Just like Grammy and Grandpop. Just like Mom and Dad.

The dress was a classic—pure silk with a wide neckline, three-quarter sleeves, a tiny bow at the waist, princess skirt. Grace Kelly would have looked quite at home in it. Lark had never seen herself look so…adult. So gorgeous, so much herself, and yet so much more.

“Well done,” the consultant said, a little misty herself. “Let’s go show the crowd.”

Everyone gasped as she came in, and Mom burst into tears. “Oh, Lark! My little girl! You’re so beautiful!” They hugged, Lark’s eyes streaming again.

“Well, that was easy,” Harlow said. “I’m guessing this is one of Addie’s choices.”

“It is,” Addie said proudly. “I know my sister.”

A veil edged with satin ribbon, and that was that. Lunch followed, with lots of champagne and laughter and love.

There was a moment at the restaurant where Lark just looked at everyone—Mom, her sisters, her grandmother, Heather, all so full of support and love for her and Justin, their happiness, their future children, their entire lives. She was so lucky. So loved. If this was what the future held, her life would be incredible.

But the future, the hateful bastard, had other plans.