Chapter Thirteen
After field hockey practice on Wednesday, we visit the three locations the committee voted on from our narrowed-down list of potential venues.
Baker’s Park was our first choice, but it proved to be a bust. The field was smaller than Google’s satellite image led us to believe, and the man-made pond was full of stinky, stagnant water.
Highland Park is second on our list, and thankfully, there’s no pond. Across from the parking lot is a wide-open field, and behind that is Highland Woods.
“Wait, who recommended this place again?” Hannah asks, turning off the car but making no move to get out.
I check the notes I brought with me.
“Brianna?”
Hannah gets a rueful smile on her face and shakes her head. “Of course.”
“What? Is there something wrong with this place too?”
She laughs, running her hand through her hair and leaning back like this is some great joke.
“Have you never heard of Highland Park before?” she asks.
I look through the windshield again, letting my eyes scour the field and weave in the spaces between the trees. When nothing comes to mind, I say, “I don’t think so.”
“This is, like, a notorious make-out spot.”
My lips form an O.
“I mean, hey, at least no one will have a problem finding the place,” Hannah says, cracking herself up.
“Oh my gosh.” I laugh. “Really?”
“Yes, this is where half the girls on the team bring their boyfriends. During the day, they go into the woods, and at night, a lot of people just park here or pull farther onto the grass.”
I laugh along, trying not to feel insecure about the fact that I’ve never heard of Highland Park or any infamous make outs.
“Have you ever—” The words spill out, catching me off guard. Crap.
“Have I ever…?” Hannah baits me, smirking because she knows exactly what I was about to ask.
“Nothing.” As much as I’m dying to know, I simultaneously don’t want to know.
“A few times, when I was a freshman. I dated this junior, and after practice was over, she’d give me rides home, but sometimes we’d come here to kill an hour.”
I try to picture it, a younger version of Hannah riding in the passenger seat of a teammate’s car, having exciting, intimate experiences… with someone else.
“That’s cool,” I say, not looking at her.
Before she can say anything more, and before I can continue down the unsavory road of my own imagination, I throw my door open and slip out of the car. I head toward the field, not even waiting for her.
“Clarity,” she calls.
Hannah was my first kiss, my first handhold, my first stolen night together, the first person to see me in my underwear—
“Clarity, wait up!”
I shared the best parts of myself and then all the rest. And she accepted the parts of me that I had put out, put down, or forgotten. And to think that she’s done this however many times before. That she’s perhaps fallen in love… That I’m just another one. I mean, am I?
As the question comes to mind, I already know it can’t be true. At least, in my heart, I don’t feel like it is. What we have is different, as different for Hannah as it is for me… maybe… hopefully.
“Hypothetically,” I say, out of breath. I stop and turn around, Hannah nearly knocking into me.
“What the heck?”
“Hypothetically, would we come here?”
Hannah opens her mouth and then closes it. I watch her eyes watching me, and I do my best not to give away the thoughts swarming my mind.
“No,” she finally says, still scrutinizing me for my reaction. “We wouldn’t come here.”
“Hypothetically,” I remind her.
“Yes, hypothetically.”
“And, hypothetically, where would we go?”
“Why are you asking me this?”
There’s no hint of laughter, no smile hiding between the pinks of her lips. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, I have nowhere to hide… and no one that I have to hide from.
“I just want to know what it would be like.”
My voice catches and the corners of my eyes begin to sting. This park is a cruel joke. A reminder of all the things I haven’t done, of all the moments I don’t get to have with Hannah.
I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss her here, in a place filled with secrets and stolen moments. At this point, that’s all we have anyway.
“I just want to know what it would be like,” I repeat, my voice softer this time.
A slight breeze blows some loose hair across her face, and a few strands catch on her lips. Her lips that used to be mine. Her lips that are pink and full and just out of reach.
I don’t know how to stop wanting you.
Hannah’s fingers graze my cheek, and I close my eyes at her touch. I lean into her, refusing to open my eyes because I know I’ll see the confusion and restraint that has become our give and take. I just need this for a few more moments.
“Clarity,” she whispers, so close now that her lips brush against mine, her breath hot against my mouth.
I shudder when her other hand rests in the curve between my neck and shoulder, her fingers splaying against my skin. I keep my eyes closed, pretend this is a dream. Because I can be with her in my dreams.
I can still kiss her in my dreams.
I lean forward and our mouths seal together in a perfect, familiar kiss.
Her lips are warm and soft, better than I remember them.
Gently, she tugs on my sweater, and I press my whole body against her, my curves and contours fitting into hers.
I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her closer still.
I graze her bottom lip with my teeth, testing its fullness, and she sweeps her tongue along mine, pulling a small gasp from me.
With my head tilted back to meet her more fully, my nose presses into her cheek and her hair brushes against the edges of my face.
The strawberry flavor on her lips from her ChapStick, the smell of her mango shampoo—that blessed mango shampoo—and the gentle pressure of her fingers weaving into my hair—all of it becomes my entire world.
For this moment, my life consists of Hannah and me, entwined, pressed so close together, we could be one.
I savor every second, parting for breaths and closing the space between us for more of what we’ve been missing.
I can’t pick any one place to feel: the curves of her muscular arms under my caress; her warm cheeks as I hold her face; her silky hair slipping in between my fingers; her sloping spine, traced with my slow touch.
I document it all because any second we’re going to break apart and open our eyes and be back in real life.
Where we both agreed not to do this.
Reluctantly, I break the kiss and rest my forehead against hers. I open my eyes first, admire the small detail of her light lashes. I watch the way she collects herself, taking deep breaths and licking her swollen lips.
“Hannah—”
“Shh,” she hushes, keeping her eyes closed, not pulling away. She starts tracing gentle circles on my back. “I know… Just a little longer.”
Highland Park is perfect for the festival.