24. Jack #2
She laughed as I shoved it in my mouth, taking the last bite of my sandwich to chase it down. She reached over to wipe something off my lip and sucked the residue off her thumb until she pushed me away, giggling. I started listing Oregon mountain ranges in my head to take my mind off the image.
A butterfly landed on our blanket, and Nat reached for her phone before pulling her hand away, rethinking the motion.
I frowned. “Why aren’t you taking the picture?”
“I figured pulling my phone out at something like this would take away from the moment. Or would annoy you, I guess.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Did I ever say anything to give you that impression?”
“No, I’ve just been on dates where I saw something pretty and was reprimanded for not appreciating my surroundings or caring about living life in the present.” Her eyes widened. “Not that this is a date.”
I nearly laughed at her nervousness over what we’d call this outing, instead focusing on the problematic part. “You can photograph something and still be in the moment. I love how you look at the world and how you document things. I’m sorry I misjudged you in the beginning.”
Her eyes softened. “You really don’t mind?”
I shrugged. “That’s why we’re here, princess. I noticed you haven’t done any excursions lately and figured you could use some inspiration.”
I had one more surprise up my sleeve.
She watched me as I went into the bag and pulled out a glass container of Fritos that I had melted chocolate over.
Nat touched her chest, taken aback. “You thought of everything.”
After cleaning up the trash from our meal, Nat pulled her camera out, practically bouncing at the chance to immerse herself in the event.
This was Nat in her element. I watched her talk with people and film a couple talking about their favorite Oregon viewpoints. I took a photo of her as someone offered a telescope for her to see Saturn’s rings before the event started. When I showed her the image, her eyes went glassy.
That had me taking a dozen or so photos of her doing various things: standing in front of the mountain view, our food strategically arranged on a Starlight-themed paper plate.
Our sticker-covered water bottles. Her looking out with her binoculars, the happiest smile on her side profile. She was absolutely stunning.
She thanked me profusely each time, and it had me wondering how often people helped her with her job.
I pictured her with selfie sticks and tripods trying to get a shot of her for her brand, as she’d put it.
There were so many artistic and vivid portrayals of places off the beaten path and people she’d met in various towns, but as she’d told Jordan during their hangout, photos of her had higher engagement, so she interspersed them.
I’d seen firsthand the amount of time Nat put into her work.
It was impressive, the way she’d taken on Starlight as well.
She did both without breaking a sweat. She’d told me that she had a system she stuck to because of her ADHD, and it obviously worked for her.
She put so much work into getting things right, even if this was technically a break from her normal routine.
Nat looked invigorated as she lowered herself onto our blanket.
We were probably minutes from the beginning of the event.
She swiped through photos of people and the surrounding area on her phone.
She lit up as she told me stories of her new friends.
“This is Cameron and Sarah. They’ve been married for more than forty years and live three hours away, but this was the spot they met during a solar eclipse in the 1980s.
I’m going to post about their story this week. Aren’t they the cutest?”
She waited for my answer, which I realized I hadn’t given her. I gave her a quick smile in response, hoping that was enough after realizing I hadn’t even seen the photo. I’d been looking at her.
The stars sprinkled out of the night sky, fading out to make room for other miracles, but I was focused on this one, right here.
The gathered crowd appreciated the sky in a nearly reverent silence.
Nat leaned backward, placing her hands behind her, and touched one of mine.
Instead of pulling away quickly or apologizing for it, she wrapped her fingers around my palm and squeezed, turning to smile at me.
I felt small in this universe and in this moment, but no matter how small I might be in this world, I had the power to make Natalie Breckenridge smile, and that was all I needed.
I wanted to be the reason she brought out that smile even more.
Nat shook beside me, and I saw the goose bumps on her arms. I reached into my backpack and pulled out a sweatshirt, which she gratefully accepted. I also pulled an extra blanket out and placed it over our legs.
“Thank you, Jack. This is perfect.”
The word didn’t do it justice. In the silence, as dozens of us gazed upon the passing comet, I found myself questioning what everything meant.
Because the last thing I learned about myself when it came to Nat was that I couldn’t get her out of my head.
Not her laugh, not her ability to bring me to my knees, and definitely not the way she looked when she was filled with unadulterated joy.
That was the thing about Nat. She was unforgettable.