Chapter Twenty
Hannah darts upstairs, intent on not wasting time. The wood creaks softly under her weight, and when the bathroom door closes, the shower squeaking to life, I’m left in silence.
Alone, downstairs, in Hannah’s house.
I’m relieved that her family isn’t home. I definitely wasn’t prepared to meet them today. Plus, their absence makes being here less daunting.
Her house is warm. Not temperature warm but homey warm, lived-in.
There’s so much color. The banister is painted a dark berry purple and the hallway beyond the stairs is a teal color that surprisingly complements the former.
The living room is a softer version of the teal and catches the shadows cast by the sunlight coming through a bay window beautifully.
A couch is centered in the living room, covered in mismatched pillows in various states of wear and tear.
Blankets are strewn about as if someone got up moments ago and is about to return and curl up in front of the TV.
I float over to the Ikea bookshelves flanking the TV console, overflowing with books.
I lean close and find a section specifically dedicated to coffee, espresso, and tea.
Probably research, since Hannah’s parents own a diner.
I’m drawn to the framed photographs on the wall next to the shelves.
In my house, we have a formal photo on the mantel in the living room and a few framed black and whites along the hallway leading to the bedrooms. This wall is like a collage of memories, a collection of Hannah’s infectious smile, her sister almost always rolling her eyes, and her parents always looking toward each other.
In the kitchen, dishes are stacked in the sink, and an empty carton of orange juice and whiteboard markers are discarded on the counter.
I pick up the markers and return them to the mesh magnetic holder on the fridge, next to a color-coded calendar.
Hannah’s field hockey schedule in green, her sister’s robotics club meetings in pink, her mom’s schedule at the café in blue, her dad’s in orange, doctor’s appointments in gray, and an orthodontist checkup with the reminder GET THE GREEN AND PINK RUBBER BANDS THIS TIME scribbled underneath in bright red.
All the different handwriting, big and small, competing for space like inked entries on a road map of their lives.
I love it. I envy it a little too. My house is clean, like a hospital. Everything is put away, spaces are impersonal. Hannah’s house is real, charmed with clutter and history.
I’m validated by the fact that everything around the house is evidence of what I already knew. But glimpsing her world like this, actually stepping into it, not just the one we share at school, is special. More special than I ever thought it would be.
The bathroom door creaks open upstairs, immediately followed by Hannah’s voice calling, “I’ll be down in a sec!”
“No rush!” I shout back, coming back to the bottom of the stairs.
I grip the banister, as if I’m going to take the first step. But I don’t. I want to. I want to see her room, actually see the backdrop for all our FaceTime calls. But the thought of being alone with her in her room, the house empty, makes me shy.
There were a few times over the summer when we came close to…
going all the way. In the moment, I wanted to.
I wanted her that way, to be as close to her as I could possibly get.
But Hannah stopped us. She told me she didn’t want my first time to be in the back of her car. I always figured that was fair.
I also hadn’t given much thought to what my first time would be like, only that I didn’t see myself waiting until marriage.
I understand the value of purity and I’ve had Bible study around sex, but my takeaway was more so that my virginity is something personal, something that’s mine until I decide otherwise.
And the cornerstone of intimacy is love, real love, and I always hoped I might fall in love a few times before deciding to get married.
Of course, until Hannah, there hadn’t been any real prospects, no real reason to think deeper about this. I decided a long time ago that when I started having thoughts and desires that the best way to get clear about my feelings would be to pray… which I haven’t done much of lately.
Hannah appears at the top of the stairs, dressed in her usual pair of jeans with a T-shirt under a flannel. Her hair is down, still wet from the shower and undoubtedly scented with her fruity shampoo.
“Ready?” I ask, smiling.
She bounces down the stairs, stopping right in front of me, toe-to-toe. Before I fully register what she’s doing, her lips are on mine. Her breath is minty, her hair smells like apples, and her skin is warm and soft. Her hands find my waist and I twist mine into her hair.
Though brief, the kiss leaves me wobbly.
“Now I’m ready.”
I pull up the playlist Hannah and I have been gradually building on Spotify—a cozy mix of alternative and R I became shapeless and boundless, infinite.
Until infinity collapsed into a single point of dread.
To write it—actually write I’m gay, I’m a lesbian, I like girls—would be a risk.
“I can relate,” Hannah says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Who are you? Where do you see yourself in five years—”
“Hopefully still alive,” I answer, making both of us laugh.
“I know, right? In five years, if I’m lucky, I’ll have just graduated from the school I sent this application to.”
After taking a sip of her Snickerdoodle Latte, Hannah shuffles our drinks. I welcome the distraction, not wanting to dwell on something so heavy. While the Cardamom and Cinnamon Latte is bold, the Snickerdoodle is sweet and reminds me of the cookies my grandma makes around Christmas.
“I think I’m going to hold on to this,” I admit, pulling Hannah’s latte close.
“Good, because this one is way better,” Hannah says, sipping some foam off the top. “But back to my original question. Essays aside, where are you applying?”
I run down the list, “Ohio State, Kenyon College, Temple University, Princeton, and University of Pittsburgh. How about you?”
Hannah’s eyes light up. “Pomona, Ohio University, Oberlin, and University of Pittsburgh.”
She stares at me, and instead of addressing the obvious, I say, “You’re not allowed to go to Pomona. I’m going to call them and tell them your application is a joke.”
“Why would you do that?” she asks, laughing.
“Because it’s too far away!”
“Fine, then instead of going to school far away, why don’t we both go to Pitt? We can be roommates,” she says, probably only half kidding.
“You would love that, wouldn’t you.”
Hannah pauses, tilting her head back as if she’s considering my question. “Maybe not roommates, but if we end up at the same college, that would be pretty amazing.”
“Seriously?” I ask, though the idea starts to click into place.
We’re already both applying to the same school, and Pitt is a real contender for me if I get in. Before, the idea of us going to the same college felt like a far-fetched dream. But what if it happens?
“Seriously,” Hannah says, doubling down. “What, you don’t want to go to the same school as me?”
“I didn’t realize it was a real possibility,” I admit, both to her and to myself.
She nods, understanding, and brushes her foot up my leg underneath the table. A year from now, we could be sitting just like this in the dining hall, talking about our classes, picking out what clubs we’re going to join, whispering over Pitt’s famous shoestring fries.
“Look, I haven’t even submitted my applications yet and I’m hoping to land at least a small field hockey scholarship somewhere. Pitt isn’t a big field hockey school, and I might not even get in—”
“I’m sure you could get in with your grades,” I say, not wanting to backpedal so soon.
“Possibly,” Hannah relents. “I’m just saying, as exciting as the idea of us going to the same school is, there’s no reason to get our hopes up yet.”
“Right,” I say, though it’s too late.