Five Years Ago #2
His shoulders bounce as he laughs above me.
The moonlight illuminates his messy tousle of hair from behind and I take a turn giggling in disbelief as the improbability of this new reality settles between us.
He goes quiet at the sound, like he needs to be still to marvel at me.
And when I realize, I go still too. But then his face parts in a grin again and his head drops.
It’s like playing a game of hot potato, lobbing the imaginary force of it back and forth.
Laughter begetting laughter begetting laughter.
Finally, the last of our laughter fizzles out like finishing the last sip of bubbly, and we allow the silence. I think he’s a second away from bending his elbows and lowering his mouth onto mine when he says, “Wanna play the question game?”
“Sure,” I exhale, a mixture of shock and unmet want.
He quickly bends his elbows and tucks his hands into his chest, unfolding next to me onto his back. The crash of waves fills the pause as he situates himself.
“Okay. First question,” Declan says. “If a crystal ball could tell you anything about your future, what would you want to know?”
I catch him looking at something in his left hand.
“Are you reading from a list?” I demand.
“Maybe,” he says, faux shyness creeping into his voice.
I shake my head, but then the answer hits me. I contemplate choosing a lighter one, but I can’t think of a decoy in time. So out it comes. “I’d probably ask if I’ll ever see my dad again.”
The darkness has gone from navy blue to nearly black except for the subtle glow of the moonlight. If the world didn’t feel so still, I don’t think I’d have offered this level of candor.
Declan rolls onto his side in the sand, facing me with his head on his bicep.
“You know,” his voice is soft, like an outstretched hand inviting me in. “It’s on your dad for never coming back. Not you.”
I stare at a specific star in the sky, scared of how my face will betray me if I look at him.
“Yeah, I know,” I choke out. “I just think—” I press my lips together.
“You just think what?”
“I know my dad is the only one to blame for his actions. But knowing something and believing it are two different things.”
I feel Declan’s meaningful stare on the side of my face, but I don’t turn. If I meet his eyes and see sadness in them, I’ll stop saying how I really feel. And it feels good to say it out loud for once.
“You blame yourself?” Declan says it like a fact. “For how he left you and your mom. You’ve somehow deduced that it was your fault?”
“Well,” I huff, turning to meet his eyes finally. “It sounds so wrong when you put it like that. But when you’re five and no one is telling you what’s going on, it’s only natural to make up your own conclusion. Even if the information you’ve gathered with your tiny mind is incorrect.”
“Hey,” Declan protests. “My five-year-old brain loved your tiny mind. As unformed as it was, it was responsible for all your cute little expressions.”
My mouth splits into a smile.
“But in all seriousness, I know what you mean. About knowing something is true but not believing it. You came to the false conclusion that there was something about you that caused your dad to leave, and you started believing that so long ago, it’s hard to spontaneously not believe it anymore.
Even with your grown-up brain.” He taps the side of my temple playfully.
I laugh and then his expression becomes grave again.
“But, Blair, someone who chose to leave you must be the stupidest man in the entire world. There’s just no other explanation. ”
The corners of my lips wobble and I have to smash them together to prevent my chin from trembling too. “That’s what you said our freshman year too.”
“Hah,” he laughs. “I must still be bad at comforting you then.”
“No,” I say quietly as I relax my head into the sand and stare at the sky again. “You’re very good at it.”
He must know I’ve laid down to avoid being looked at while I fight grateful tears, so he joins me in looking at the sky.
“I don’t know if your dad is in your future, but I know I will be,” he says, voice husky like it’s been forced from his throat. “If you let me be.”
“Of course I will.” There’s nothing I want more, I don’t add.
We let the tender hope of it lay between us. The twinkling stars and whispering ocean are our only witnesses.
“I would like to know what I’m doing for work at the age of forty,” he says abruptly.
I chuckle, his sudden way of talking has always been my favorite. “Why forty? And why work?” I ask.
“Because,” he says. “If I do end up making it to the NFL, it’s not a career that lasts your entire life.
Unless you’re Tom Brady and you play football until you’re, like, eighty.
But sometimes, I get scared that I don’t have my finger on the pulse of anything other than football.
I don’t know what I’d find myself doing once I didn’t have to think about it twenty-four seven.
Which is kind of destabilizing, you know?
” he finishes with effort, punctuating each word.
“Hmm,” I muse, craving a deflection from the rising panic of where we’ll be in that many years.
We don’t even know where we’re going to college.
“First of all, you will make it to the NFL, and second, anyone who uses the word ‘destabilizing’ in a casual sentence is smart enough to figure out what to do with their time.”
His eyes dart down to my mouth, half-smirking as I wait for his chuckle. After it arrives, I take a more sincere approach. “You’re too creative to stay bored for long. You like engineering, right? You could build stuff.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” he says, more so to himself like he’s rolling the thought over in his mind. “Not a bad idea at all.”
The seed of doubt worms its way back to the forefront of my mind. I don’t want to put a damper on our first date by thinking so far into the future, but we’ve already applied to colleges. Don’t we need to put some forethought into how we’ll last past high school?
“Declan,” I start, unable to push off the racing thoughts. “How is this going to work if we go to different colleges?”
“We applied to a lot of the same ones, right?” he replies, not missing a beat.
“It’s just that…” I peter off, realizing I’m in danger of souring the mood.
My hand subconsciously lifts to my mouth to chew on a hangnail.
“Hey.” Declan shifts himself up onto his elbow and gently grabs my wrist, pulling my hand away from my mouth. “I know it’s scary to think about where we’ll end up in a few months, but let’s talk about it. Walk me through what you’re thinking about.”
“Well,” I falter.
Apparently converting my feelings into words is a pathway my neurons are unfamiliar with. “It’s just that… okay, let me start here.”
I push up on my elbows in the cool sand.
“The other day I was talking to my mom about all the colleges we applied to, and she made an offhand comment about how I’d need full-ride scholarships to attend any of them.
And when I pushed and asked if she was being dramatic, she laughed in my face.
I legitimately can’t go to a single school I spent all this time applying to unless I get a full ride. Full. Not half. Not a quarter. Full.”
Declan nods silently, allowing me to go on.
“And I know this is going to sound terribly cliché, but it feels like that saying that goes ‘Walk like a duck. Talk like a duck. Hang out with other ducks. You start to think you are a duck.’ But I’m not a duck, Declan.” My voice rises.
“Woah, woah, woah,” Declan says, catching my gesticulating arms. “I was following so well until this duck comparison.”
“What I mean is, I grew up in this town because my great-aunt could afford it. So, I hung out with kids whose parents could afford it. And I started to forget that I wasn’t like them.
Everyone rattled off the list of Ivy Leagues they were applying to and I somehow followed suit without much thought.
So much so that I forgot to ask my mom if we could afford it.
I just assumed we could because everyone else can.
But if I want to go to college, I have to pay for it!
” I say, driving my pointer finger into my chest. “And also, I can’t be going to college for creative writing.
What was I thinking?” I spit the words out like they’re obscene.
“I need to be strategic. I need to put myself in a position to get a high-paying job. One high enough to support me and my mom.”
Declan is nodding with force now, eyes skimming the sand as a hand scrapes his chin, deep in thought.
“So, your mom didn’t tell you that you’d be the one paying for college on your own?” he asks.
“Well… yeah, I guess she just assumed I knew that,” I concede, not liking how it sounds.
“But she didn’t want to deter me from trying to apply to any big schools because she has some weird blind faith that I’ll be able to get full scholarships and…
I don’t know, Declan, you know how she is.
She’s not one for many words and I guess this is one of those things that slipped through the cracks. ”
“Slipped through the cracks? Isn’t that a pretty big thing to let ‘slip through the cracks’?” he says, stress peaking his voice.
“Hey, calm down,” I try to say soothingly. “I’m stressed about it too. That’s why I’m bringing it up.”
“Sorry, it’s just hard to stay calm when I just got you and now I have to worry about losing you soon.”
“You’re not going to lose me, Declan,” I say, touching his arm. “I mean, we’ll figure it out, right?”
He doesn’t move away from my touch, but he looks down, jaw grinding.
He shakes his head, hand coming up to rub his chin again and the sight makes my stomach drop.
“I’m sorry, it’s just—you know how much pressure I’ve been under since I was a kid, Blair.
My dad has made it his chief goal for me to play D1 at an Ivy League and then straight to the NFL. It’s already so much to think about.”
My stomach aches and I feel the need to run and hide. I never want to add to the pressure he feels, but I don’t want to compete against his dad and football.
At my silence, Declan looks over at me. “Are you okay? I don’t mean to scare you, I just want to let you know where my head is at.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “No, that makes sense. It’s just…” I shake my head. “I don’t want to be second fiddle to football, you know?”
I feel like I walked off a cliff saying that out loud. But then, Declan exhales, looking sorry. “Hey, come here.”
I obey immediately, climbing on top of him. He chuckles at my sudden conviction, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob with the movement. His hands drift to my waist, supporting my weight as I hover above him.
“You won’t ever come second to anything. Okay?” he says from under me.
I nod, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. He reaches up to palm my cheek and I lean into it.
“You’ll always come first,” he breathes. “Nothing tops you.”
My cheeks heat and I hope the darkness hides it. The only natural response I feel is to say the forbidden L word, but I know it’s too early, so I fold over him to stop myself. Our chests meld and warmth spreads through me. Sometimes the weight of love is more frustrating than pleasurable.
I turn my head in the sand by his ear and only manage to mouth the words thank you.
“One day, when I’m playing football, you’ll be an author. I’ll be reading your books every second I’m not on the field,” he says softly, wrapping his arms around my back and holding me against him.
I’m robbed of speech. There’s frustration in not being able to communicate how much his words mean to me. I’m grateful words aren’t the only way to communicate.
I kiss his temple, softly at first, and then move to his cheek. After that, I kiss his forehead and slowly drift down to his nose.
“Please, Blair,” he grinds out.
“Please, what?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“Please,” he begs. “Kiss me now.” Yearning coats his expression so intensely that it looks like he might die.
I let out a full-bodied belly laugh. His unhidden longing is disarming in a way I can’t resist.
I still, elbows bending beneath me, causing my full weight to lower on top of him. I prop up my upper half, shuffling my forearms in the sand beside his face. In the time it’s taken me to readjust, Declan’s face is filled with even more anguish.
“End me now,” he says, as if to himself before impatiently curling his fingers around the nape of my neck and pulling me down to meet his lips.
The kiss is hungry and searching, and I feel everything with a new level of intensity. I become aware that this is the point of no return. The one that starts and ends my ability to enjoy anyone or anything else with this much fervor.
This moment, with the waves lapping gently to shore, and the deep darkness, is too perfect. Completely on our own, the stars as our only witnesses to the moment I’ve dreamt of for years.
Declan, who I never imagined reciprocating my feelings, is beneath me. Opening himself up to me in rare and precious ways, finally letting the mysterious curtain drop between us.
It fills me up so quickly that, for a moment, I feel weary. Unsure that I can trust something so perfect to stay.
“You’ll always come first.” I repeat the sentiment he offered me earlier, holding on to the promise with a grip that hurts.
The truth is, I have more faith in the probability of his leaving than this moment being the catalyst of his staying.