My tears had almost dried before they started up again and I’d nodded thankfully, trying to look away from her but she wouldn’t let me.
“You’re the reason he wanted to go to school. He’s never forgotten you. And he thought he’d see you again if he went.”
It didn’t make sense, really. Coming to school was putting him in the position to be made fun of and be anxious. Why would he do all of that?
“So many times, more than I can count, he’d ask. ‘Where’s Lilly?’ And I’d have to tell him that you were probably at school. Eventually he just asked what school you were in and if he could go, too. Please don’t get upset, but I made sure you were there before I agreed. How could I say no? He’s been in occupational therapy. I paid a lot of money when he was younger to get him into a room with other children to make friends under the watch of a therapist. If you haven’t noticed, he’s much more comfortable with adults. But you? He wanted to find you again. He doesn’t care about what others think about him. Spending time with those other people in his class has been an added bonus. But you’re the reason he continues to go.”
Call me blindsided, but I’d had no idea.
“I was so surprised to see you standing at the pick-up with him on the first day. I thought it would take more than a few hours for him to find you and become friends again. But you’ve always had a good heart, even if you’re clumsier than anyone else in the world. Anywhere. Ever.”
I wanted to laugh but I needed answers. “Is that why you said I couldn’t hang out with him anymore when we were younger?”
Her eyes dropped to where our hands were still joined. “I was seriously afraid you were going to kill yourself on our property . . .”
At that point we both started laughing because it was the truth. Had I been left alone with him any longer, Colton would surely have been present at my funeral.
“It’s been a really tough road for us. From the minute I knew something was different about him. Between the testing and evaluations, learning him and how he works . . . I’ve often thought maybe I did things wrong. That he should have been in school this entire time. But it’s just not for him. He gets frustrated when he can’t communicate because the other person isn’t on his level. He touches too hard. He gets overwhelmed and it makes him break down because he can’t vocalize what’s happening inside of him. Having the tutors alleviated some of that.
“Maybe I should have told you when you were younger. But if I walked into every room announcing that he wasn’t the same as everyone else, it wouldn’t have done him any favors. I want people to see him for who he is. All I’ve ever wanted was for him to have some semblance of a normal childhood – a normal life. When you came around, I thought maybe, because he was so enamored with you, that you two would be a good fit. You’ve never judged him. I’m overprotective to a fault because of what we’ve been through, and it was a rash decision to remove you from his life, but I felt it was best at the time. But he never forgot you. Not for one day. There are paintings upstairs that prove just that. And if you can hold onto that truth for the future, when things get tough and you’re feeling like it’s a little one-sided, then maybe it won’t be so bad.”
This was the truth he could not say, and it made me happier than I ever thought I could be.
She released me and I made my way up to his room to tell him goodnight. And though I was torn to leave him, I knew I had to walk out the front door. But before I did, I snuck into the art room to unlock his window.
Because it would be the first night I would climb that lattice to sneak into his room after his parents went to bed.
* * *
I was nervous as I pulled my car around to the other side of his neighborhood and parked off the road before changing into a pair of sweatpants, t-shirt and flip flops I kept in the car for emergency sleepover clothes when I would hang out with Harper.
The night made every sound of my feet on dead leaves become magnified by a million percent. I had to bite my lip to stop from mouth breathing and causing white puffs of smoke to give me away as I snuck through the yard of his neighbor directly behind him.
And I’ll have you know once I reached his house on foot, I made that lattice my bitch.
There’s something about being focused and motivated that can give you an adrenaline rush unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. That was what happened as I pulled myself up the unsteady and flimsy wood and pushed the window open to slide inside. At first I was worried I would fall and land on one of his pieces he was still working on, but I didn’t and pride kind of surged through me, making the experience all that much better.
All the lights in the house were off save for the one in his room farther down the hallway. I let the minimal glow lead me to his door and stood off to the side so I could compose myself before knocking quietly. He didn’t call out a response, but I heard his footsteps and when the door did open, he froze and stared down at me, bewildered.
“May I come in?” I whispered and he tilted his head to look me over.
“Did you forget something?”
I laughed nervously and took a deep breath. “I snuck in the window. I wanted to see you.”
“You should have used the front door.” He was still just staring at me.
How was I supposed to explain?
“I know I should have, but I didn’t want your parents to know I was here. I wanted to see you.”
“You already saw me today.”
It was all I could take. “I wanted to kiss you some more, if that’s okay.”
He smiled. “You should have said that first.”
I shuffled into his room as quietly as possible and stood off to the side of his bed while he leaned against his desk, clearly unsure of what we were supposed to do.
That made two of us.
Did I mention the fact that he was shirtless? In only pajama bottoms?
I think it was the first time I had seen him like that and I’m not ashamed to admit I was staring a little.
My boyfriend is gorgeous to me. And shirtless he’s even more worthy of a lattice climb.
His computer screen caught my attention and I fought back the urge to ask him if he was talking to Talia. What his mother had said was true and I needed to believe that in order to keep hope that everything was going to be good between us.
“Colton?” I slipped off my flip-flops and dug my hand into my pocket. “Can I use your toothpaste?” My hand thrust forward with the toothbrush I had with me, and he grinned, nodding and pointing to his bathroom. He watched from the door as I did my routine before I moved into the bedroom and sat on his bed, suddenly feeling very shy.
He was by my side immediately, his mouth pressed to my neck and fingers pulling at my waist. But I angled away a little and held his hands in my lap as I got the words together I wanted to speak. “I need to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“I have to ask. Why do you like me?”
He shifted away from me then, his brows pulled together making him look even cuter, if that was possible. “I don’t understand the question.” His hands were squeezing mine tightly as he looked down at them. “You’re my Lilly. You’ve always been my Lilly.”
My heart was his forever when he spoke those words. How could it not be?
That night we kissed and more. We went as far as we could go without things getting out of hand, and while I wanted to, I knew it wasn’t time. There were a lot of things I didn’t know about being with a boy. Or being with Colton. It was a learning experience and I was okay with figuring it out and waiting.
After a while, we slowed down and I had to push away, wanting air and needing space so I could collect myself.
“I have to go before your parents get up so we don’t get in trouble . . . for this . . .”
“I understand.”
He might have, but my heart didn’t. It wanted to stay with him.
“I’ll see you later,” I said. And then, before I could stop myself
, I leaned over and gave him one more kiss. “Email me when you get up. We can talk. Like you do with Talia.”
He smiled against my cheek and kissed me again. “Talking with you would be much more enjoyable than talking with Talia, Lilly.” His eyes scanned the floor by my feet. “She’s paint by number; you’re a watercolor.”
Things like that, moments like those, how do you explain to other people that no one else in the world can you make you feel this way?
There’s a lot to be said about dating Colton. He’s smart and interesting and full of important facts and information. He’s focused and reliable. He listens. I learn when I’m with him. He sees things around us so differently and he makes me think.
I’ve always heard your best match in life is the person who is the opposite of you that makes a complete whole. If that’s the case, then we were made for each other. My need to be spontaneous and scratch the itch to do dangerous things outweighed a lot of my ability to make responsible decisions.
His mom said she wanted him to have an authentic teenage experience – though I doubt she wanted things to progress in an unhealthy way. I wasn’t going to take him to concerts all night and not bring him home until the sun came up. I don’t drink. I’m not a rule-breaker in the true sense. But being with someone who doesn’t vocalize his affections made it that more important to express ourselves in other ways. I won’t go into it, but if I’ve learned one thing over this year, it’s that some things between a boy and a girl are very, very normal.
I wasn’t going to let some doctor’s opinion of my boyfriend stop me from having the kind of relationship we both deserved. It would be a learning experience and there are things that are slightly different in approach and practice. But I’m always up for a challenge. Especially when it’s with him. Or for him. Because it always comes back to him.
* * *
As the weather turned colder, I couldn’t go and see him at night. I originally didn’t have a hard time getting up the lattice and into the window, but once it started to ice and snow and freeze over, I couldn’t justify breaking my neck to get alone time with my boyfriend. Stupid winter.
Our parents began to spend more time together and eventually our mothers were inseparable. Their blooming friendship meant that I got to see my boyfriend more than I would have otherwise. And no one ever said anything when we would claim to be going upstairs to watch a movie or whatever excuse we made at the time to get away from the boredom that parents bring. Especially when all we wanted to do was go anywhere else and suck face for a few hours.
Which we totally did.
Repeatedly.
When winter break came, my parents decided they were going to leave town to go see my grandparents. But I really didn’t want to go. The thought of being away from my boyfriend during our first Christmas made me anxious and it did the same for him. It was decided I could stay at his house over the holiday. I thought the adults around us were oblivious to the goings on behind closed doors and we had been stealthy enough to pull the wool over their eyes, but the night I brought all of my stuff over to the Neely’s place, I found out I was sorely mistaken.
Sheila and Rick made sure I had everything I needed in the guest room and then Rick had kind of given his wife this . . . look . . . and I got a feeling in my stomach like I was in trouble or that perhaps they knew something I didn’t.
It’s at times like those that your mind quickly goes through worst-case scenarios back to back in your brain. I thought maybe Colton wanted to break up with me, but couldn’t say it. Or maybe he had a terminal illness and I would have to marry him like that stupid book they made into a movie with Mandy Moore in it.
I mean, I would definitely marry him at seventeen, if that were the case.
Instead, it was much worse than a terminal illness.
Much, much worse.
Sheila Neely wanted to talk about sex.
The majority of the conversation was lost due to the sound of rushing blood in my ears and humiliation in my brain. I can’t remember word for word what was said, but they knew we’d been fooling around. She never came out and said she had heard us but she mentioned something about an increase in dirty laundry and a towel or something. I’m not a hundred percent sure. It was mortifying, though.
I assured her I was a virgin. That Colton was a virgin. And she laughed and said she knew that much, but she wanted to make sure I was okay.
And that made me fall in love with her at the same time I wanted to fall into a hole and disappear forever.
She wanted nothing more than for her son to have as many predictable teenage experiences as possible. Even if it meant he was groping his girlfriend in her house. I probably should have thanked her or something but my inability to form words was back in full force, and by the time she left the room, I curled up on the guest bed and went fetal, wondering if I could pretend to be in a coma for three months until spring finally came.
Instead, Colton knocked on my door, giving me that disarming smile of his that made me lose all coherent thought. It made the embarrassing conversation with his mom worth it.
That night we celebrated Christmas Eve with his family; mostly with me avoiding eye contact with his mom for fear I would just die on the spot. When everyone was ready to go to bed, he and I walked up the stairs together, hand in hand before he steered me toward his studio instead of escorting me to the guest room.
“I want to give you your present privately, if that’s all right with you.” He looked shy and . . . come on . . . I’m a girl. Like I was gonna say no?
“Then you get yours, too.” It seemed only fair. And I guess as long as I was willing to take his gift early then he was willing to take mine as well. I ran back to the room to get the wrapped box and held it out to him like the proudest girlfriend in the world.
On my insistence, he opened mine first and I was pleasantly surprised he seemed to like what I had given him. I bought him new brushes. They were these freakishly expensive ones he had goo-goo eyes over all the time. He looked at them online like other guys would look at porn. Seriously. Sometimes I wondered if he wanted to feel up those brushes more than me.
He didn’t.
But nothing compared to his gift for me. It was leaning in the back of the room, covered in a tarp. A medium sized canvas, transformed with vibrant colors that practically stepped off the painting and onto the floor.
It was of us.
He had painted the two of us staring into one another’s faces. Frozen for all of eternity at seventeen and eighteen years old. Perfect and beautiful. Hands holding hands. Eyes staring lovingly into eyes.
It was, as far as I could tell, his way of showing me how he saw us.
His way of expressing his adoration.
And possibly his way of communicating that he loved me.
I didn’t cry. It would have been the obvious reaction but I wanted him to know that it made me happy. So I smiled until my face hurt and hugged him until my arms felt numb. He put his hands in my hair and rested his chin on my head, not letting on once that he minded if I held him too long.
“I take it that you liked it?” It almost sounded like he was chuckling when he said it.
“I more than like it. I love it.”
After thanking him one last time, I went to the guest room, trying in vain to fall asleep. The boy had painted a picture of the two of us and I couldn’t rest, thinking of his eyes and his face and how incredibly sweet he was without even knowing it. It was probably ten degrees outside, but under the covers in that foreign bed, I was sweating. I was hot and bothered and wishing I could sneak into his room. But I still felt weird about the talk with his mom earlier.
It made me feel like I needed a shower.
I huffed and puffed and rolled around until the comforter was tangled around one of my legs and the other leg was hanging off the mattress, along with an arm that had gone rogue in my fit of unrest.
I thought about writing. I thought about listening to music. I thought about
running in place until I couldn’t stand anymore.
Just when I had talked myself into just ignoring it, I heard a sound at the door. It was like one of those horror movies where the doorknob jiggles just a bit, enough to get your attention. I was freaking out thinking about that weird movie where the crazy guy dressed like Santa comes in and slaughters everyone on Christmas Eve . . .
But the door opened and I could see it was, in fact, not a psychotic Santa.
It was Colton.
In just his pajama pants again.
I knew without a doubt what he was there for. But he was sneaking in to see me that time, which made it a thousand times better.
“I wanted to see you,” he whispered.
There wasn’t any hesitation as I shifted the covers and slid my back against the headboard, inviting him in. He simply crawled under the comforter, his skin feeling chilly from the walk down the hall compared to the blazing inferno I had going on between the sheets. His hands on my face gave my arms chill bumps and I was acutely aware of how my body was reacting.
I whispered hello and he smiled in the limited lighting, his fingers sweeping across my shoulder like he was memorizing every inch with his fingertips. Over the tree branches branded into my skin and lower to graze my fingers. I didn’t flinch when he touched me. I welcomed it.
I told him again I loved his present and he kissed the side of my mouth in response.
“I hoped that it was an appropriate Christmas gift. My mom said she thought you would like it.”
“Your mom was right.”
“I’ll tell her that.”
It wasn’t too soon for me to tell him I loved him. I knew it wasn’t. But I was so damn afraid, you see. Because I wasn’t sure how that worked with him.
Instead, I kissed him as softly as I could, hoping he would feel it there instead of me saying it.
Things heated up pretty quickly and soon we were wrapped around each other. We were pros at it by then. Touching. Kissing. Exploring without hesitation. By then almost all of our clothes were off, and even though we’d mostly just done a little stuff and kissed, it almost happened. Because kissing can lead to touching and touching can lead to shorts being tugged and then you’re right there and you’re almost doing it. IT. The IT.
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