Chapter 19
Tucker
I was holding Ava’s hand.
It had been weeks since I had gotten to touch her in any meaningful way. She was overwhelmed by the trailer for Wicked. It was a powerful soundtrack and a beautiful scene. I was glad she’d gotten to experience it.
Seeing it, feeling it, would awaken the artist in her. Vinnie had told me she was struggling with the photos. She didn’t know what to take pictures of. She didn’t see the point. I had been surprised to see her walk up with her camera when I arrived for the date.
But I was willing to bet that after today she would start to see the beauty in everything again. Survivor Ava would shift to the back of her mind, and she would move forward with her own unique vision of what the world, her world, should look like.
I couldn’t wait. It was the best part of being with Ava.
I paid more attention to her than to the movie. She squeezed my fingers when the story got tense, when Superman was trapped by the enemy, and there seemed no way out.
She laughed at the dog. She cried when Superman sat with his father, feeling defeated.
She had no filters, no protections, not yet. She would feel everything deeply, both good and bad. That was why toddlers cried when they were startled. They couldn’t suppress the intensity of their reaction. It felt like near death to them.
She was the same, although she had more control of her body and could adjust more quickly than a two-year-old.
Eventually, she let go of me to take a drink of the soda. By the time we got to the end, she had steadied her emotions again. “That was good. Are all movies like this?”
I picked up the cup and the mostly empty bucket. “No. Some movies are not good at all. But this one was.”
We exited the theater with the others, blinking when we got out into the light.
“To the mall?” she said. “I saw all the stores when you were buying the tickets.”
“Absolutely.” I would extend this date for as long as possible.
She took my hand again as we approached the mob of people outside the theater. I wanted to hold on to this moment. Ava and I, wandering the mall like any other couple. No failed wedding. No starting over. No having to leave my house.
We were getting another new beginning.
It was our sixth.
We got home hours later, feet sore from walking the mall, stuffed with Annie’s pretzels, Dippin’ Dots, and boba tea. We’d bought goofy sunglasses at Spencer’s, a Totoro umbrella at Hot Topic, and a perfume at Dillard’s that Ava had dragged me back three times to sniff again.
We were teenagers, impulsive, silly. We laughed a lot.
It was only when we got to the yellow door of our blue house that I remembered I wasn’t allowed inside without an invitation. I couldn’t take her hand and lead her to the sofa to watch TV or to our bedroom.
I couldn’t even kiss her. Not without risking the momentum I’d gained.
When she unlocked the door, she said, “I’ll run in and get the envelopes for you.”
Well, that was that. I waited on the porch, trying to hang on to the joy of the day. But the disappointment of having to leave her encroached.
She popped back out with the stack. “It was a good day. Can we go to another movie soon?”
“Of course. I’ll text you with some ideas, or you can look.”
She nodded. Her face was beaming. She felt no angst about this moment by the door. She had no context for what I might expect, no worry if we should kiss or not, or what that could lead to.
“Well, okay, goodnight!” She passed me the envelopes.
And with that, she bounced back inside and closed the door.
I stood there for a moment, listening to the cicadas sing from the bushes. The night was warm and still. Down the street, someone started a car. A dog barked from a yard.
She hadn’t locked the door. I resisted the urge to lock it myself with my key, but instead, I went down the steps to the sidewalk.
Even so, I sat in my car for long minutes, looking up at her house, our house. How long would it take to get her back? The risk was always that she might meet some other man in these vulnerable first weeks and months. What would I do if she fell in love with someone else?
I had to believe. I pressed my palm to my collarbone, where the infinity tattoo inked my skin. We had gotten them in the good times to prepare for exactly these moments.
I could not consider any future that didn’t include her, where we weren’t together.
I would get her back. Tonight had been a solid first step.
When I got to Gram’s, she was sitting with a cup of tea at the table in the kitchen.
“How did it go with Ava?”
“We saw Superman and walked around the mall. It was fun, like a high school date.”
“Good, good. It’s always slow going, isn’t it?”
I sat down opposite her. “Seems to be.”
“You are exactly the right person to do this for her, Tucker.” Gram reached across the table to take my hand. “You always had all the determination in the world. She needs that.”
I knew Gram was right. From the first moment I’d seen her in the disco room at the children’s hospital, we’d been drawn to each other.
She’d trusted me from the beginning, in the swirling lights, and even the next day when she met me all over again.
Why was it harder now? She couldn’t be different.
It was me. My expectations. My foreknowledge.
Even when my brain knew she didn’t recognize me, remember me, or know how she once felt, my heart insisted she should.
Hell, we’d tattooed it on our skin.
The heart remembers.
So, why was it so difficult? Why did it take so long?
And why was it so hard to bear?