by Rachel Auld
The smile lingered on her lips but she turned to continue walking, linking her arm through mine. We strolled along, neither of us eager to part ways after reaching her house. Main Street was lined with decorative old-fashioned street lamps that flickered to life as we walked. I had to admit that the town was growing on me, despite my residual anger at how Sara had been treated before my arrival.
As we turned down Sara’s street, the sound of children shrieking with laughter as they soaked up the last few moments of daylight hit our ears and a wistful smile tugged at Sara’s lips. “This is my favorite time of day,” she confided, leaning her head against my shoulder as we walked the last fifty yards to her house. “Makes me feel like I’m in a dream, almost.”
Every moment with you makes me feel like that, I thought, afraid to speak the words aloud. I understood what she meant, though; even the sound of those kids playing couldn’t burst the bubble of contentment around us. The fading light made it feel like we were alone in the world, sheltered from the harsh realities that daylight revealed. The sun had dropped below the tree line but the orange sky painted Sara’s hair with rich copper and bronze highlights.
Mrs. Matthews' little blue car was parked in the driveway and a few lamps glowed through the lacy curtains in the front window. Sara breathed a sigh as we wandered up the walkway to her front porch. She climbed the first step and turned to face me, the difference in our heights significantly reduced. She was quiet for a moment, listening, but the house was quiet. I hoped that meant our goodbyes wouldn’t be interrupted.
Sara seemed to harbor the same sentiment and combed her fingers through my long hair before pulling my face to hers. Our first goodnight kiss, I thought before my mind went blank at the softness of her lips. Don’t blow it! My body turned to autopilot, kissing her with a tenderness that filled my heart to bursting. All of the stress we’d both felt leading up to this afternoon seeped away, leaving behind a simple, joyous longing.
When it ended, we were both breathless and dazed, gazing into each other’s eyes until our heartbeats finally slowed to normal. I brushed my thumb over her lower lip before pressing one last kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight, Sara,” I breathed.
The smile that spread across her lips was staggeringly beautiful. “Goodnight, Travis,” she whispered back, her hands dropping reluctantly from my hair and she stepped back. “Sweet dreams.”
I gave a hoarse laugh, knowing full well what would occupy my dreams tonight. “Sweet dreams to you,” I replied, watching her unlock the door and throw one final look over her shoulder as she entered the house. I took a step back as the door clicked shut, closed my eyes to relive the whirlwind of sensations that had filled the evening, then forced them open as I started off toward home. It was only after I’d passed the bookstore again that I was hit by the cool wind and realized I’d left my jacket with her.
The image of her wearing it over her cute yellow sundress warmed me enough to not mind one bit, and I made my way back home.
CHAPTER 12: Friday
The following days passed in much the same way; Nelson and I would hang out with Sara for an hour or two after school before he left us to spend the evenings together. I walked Sara home each night, hand in hand or arm in arm, savoring each sweet goodnight kiss until we feared her mother might chase me off the porch with a broom. When I expressed that particular concern, Sara nearly fell over laughing.
On Friday, though, my parents had asked me to join them for dinner at a little Italian joint east of town. Sara waved off my apologies, determined to convince me that she believed spending quality time with my parents was important. Her mom would be working at the store on Saturday, she said, so we could have the whole day together. Nelson had a history project due Monday and would be spending the weekend on that, leaving us to ourselves.
As I walked home from school, my stomach knotted with a weird anxiety that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I hadn’t really told them about Sara, but I had a feeling my mom suspected there was a girl in the picture. They had said nothing against my after school activities this week and I was almost positive that they would have no objections even if they knew I was spending that time with Sara. My last relationship had been so casual and so fleeting that I thought maybe my sense of dread was simply fear of the unknown; just how awkward a conversation might arise tonight, I wondered?
My mom was in the back yard sketching when I got home, her pencil moving with a precision that seemed entirely at odds with the frenetic pace of her hand. I had an honest appreciation of art, stemming from a childhood spent at galleries and museums as much as from the intimate knowledge of how much work went into each piece, but I had not inherited any of my mother’s artistic abilities when it came to drawing or painting. My dad had happily handed down his old camera to me at his last upgrade and it was only then that I felt like I’d found some degree of artistic talent inside of me. I remembered Sara’s stern command regarding a portfolio and felt a little guilty for not having picked up my camera since Sunday. After calling a quick hello to my mom through the kitchen window, I took the stairs two at a time and tossed my backpack on the bed. I sat at my desk and set about uploading my pictures from the creek to my laptop, studying each image as it came up on the screen. I’d gotten a few quality landscapes, a couple of interesting close-up shots of plants and wildlife, and half a dozen breathtaking pictures of Sara in the morning sun. I created a new folder titled “Portfolio” and saved my favorite nature shots to it, then studied each picture of Sara with a clearly less than objective eye.
My favorite was one that captured a dreamy expression on her face as she looked off into the distance. The wind had caught a few of her curls and tugged them across her delicate cheekbone. She looked like some kind of forest fairy, wild red curls shining in the sunlight as sapphire eyes drank up the beautiful view from her perch.
The next showed her laughing, those eyes dancing as she scolded me for ignoring nature to snap another shot of her. Something about the set of her lips, glistening with strawberry gloss as they smiled at me even in protest, made my own mouth go suddenly dry. I forced myself to click through the next few photos, attempting to study each one with a critical eye instead of with my infatuated teenage heart. In the end, I gave up, looking at each photo one last time without giving a thought to lighting or composition.
When five o’clock rolled around, I wandered downstairs and found my dad in the kitchen, washing his hands in the sink and looking out the window at my mother with a look of such love and longing that I felt like an intruder. The feeling faded quickly though, since he had heard my approach and turned with a smile.
“Hey Trav,” he said, drying his hands on a towel. “Hungry? Everyone in this town raves about Mama Rosa’s, I hope it lives up to the reputation!”
My stomach growled as if on cue. “I’m starved. You sure Mom remembers our reservation?” I asked, but before I could glance out the window to see if she was heading in, she came through the back door.
“Oh good, you boys ready to eat?” she called, piling her sketchbook and pencils in the studio. She wore a long, flowery dress and had her blonde hair braided into a crown around her head. We hadn’t been out to dinner as a family in months, I realized, looking away as my dad pulled her into an embrace and kissed her soundly. It seemed as though my feelings for Sara had made me hyper-aware of the incredible love my parents shared; I’d always known it was there, but maybe I’d just taken it for granted that love like that was “normal.” It now felt rare, sacred.
We piled into my dad’s Jeep and I let the flow of their conversation wash over me, murmuring agreement when called for and answering questions when asked, but otherwise lost in my own world of the cramped back seat. I wondered what Sara was up to tonight, then kicked myself for being so pathetically devoted to thinking about her. She was probably curled up with a book, enjoying some peace and quiet, I concluded, then forced my mind to other topics.
The town’s Apple Festival had the kids
at school all atwitter. Most of the towns we’d lived in got all worked up about Homecoming celebrations at this time of year, but Nelson had explained that this festival encompassed all of that and more. There was a friendly rivalry among the classes at school, each determined to outdo the others in the parade float competition. The seniors had won for the past few years and seemed like a shoe-in, but apparently there’d be an upset several years ago when the freshman had taken first place. Each senior class since then had gone to great lengths to ensure that no such embarrassment happened again.
Nelson and I stayed blissfully out of the commotion, offering instead to work decoration detail for the school dance that would kick off the weekend’s activities. We would spend our free periods over the next two weeks painting banners and sorting through dozens of boxes of ridiculous apple-themed decorations to be hung around the school’s gymnasium. Nelson had been suspiciously quiet on the topic of the dance; I assumed Sara would flat-out refuse to attend, and I certainly wasn’t going without her. School functions had never been my strong point.
We pulled into the crowded lot at Mama Rosa’s and parked what felt like a mile away. As we waited for our table, I saw a few groups of kids from school and nodded a greeting to those who offered a smile or wave, ignoring a few cold glares from Bianca’s crowd. Nelson had warned me—away from Sara’s ears—that I should expect to encounter Jay Hallowell during the upcoming festivities. Bianca had been tight with the Hallowells, Nelson said, and I wasn’t likely to find a warm welcome from any of those kids.
A young waitress led us to a secluded table in the back corner of the restaurant and I intentionally sat with my back to the rest of the room. I suspected it was time my parents found out about Sara, but I’d be damned if I spend the evening under my mom’s all-too-careful scrutiny while also surveying the depth of the drama enveloping my school.
My parents discussed their current projects as we studied our menus and it wasn’t until the waitress returned to take our orders that they turned their attention to me.
“So, Travis,” my mom began, “how are you liking it here?”
I gave a genuine smile. “I’m really happy, Mom.”
She beamed back at me. “Oh I’m so relieved, honey. I was afraid a new school for your senior year was going to be just too much. I take it you’re making friends okay?”
Ah, here it comes, I thought. “Yeah, a few,” I replied vaguely.
My dad put his arm around Mom’s shoulders and regarded me closely. “Nelson’s a great kid,” he said amiably, but I sensed an uncurrent of something more serious.
“Yeah, he is great,” I repeated, blinking back at them. I knew where this was headed and was determined to make them work for it.
Mom caved first. “Have you met any nice girls?” she asked, her expression hopeful.
I couldn’t keep a straight face any longer and grinned at them. “Yes, if you must know, I’ve met an incredible girl.”
A delighted smile spread across my mother’s face. “Oh honey, that’s wonderful. Who is she? Is she in your class at school?”
I took a deep swallow of the root beer the waitress had set before me—Sara had gotten me addicted to the stuff—and sat back, lacing my hands behind my head. “No, actually, she’s homeschooled. Her mom owns the bookstore I was telling you about.”
Dad smiled broadly. “When do we get to meet her?” he asked.
The million dollar question. I knew Sara wanted to meet them and I knew they would love her, but this felt like a giant step in our relationship. Until now, it had felt like we were in our own little bubble, safe from the outside world. Nelson had been part of it right from the start, even though he’d been at the outer edges of the bubble until this week, but even the Bianca incident hadn’t managed to burst through. I wasn’t entirely sure I was ready to enter the real world just yet.
I realized that both my parents were staring at me expectantly and cleared my throat. “Ah . . . whenever,” I finished lamely. The knowing look in my mom’s dark eyes sent heat rushing to my face.
“Why don’t we have her over for dinner this weekend?” she suggested.
A thousand excuses flew through my mind but I forced myself to sip my drink and nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’ll ask her. She’s vegetarian.” I foolishly hoped that would change their minds but should have known better.
My mom clapped her hands together, delighted. “Oh, wonderful! Why don’t I make that Indian dish we had on our last night in Seattle?”
I smiled blandly and my parents turned the conversation to reminiscing about their favorite meals from our many travels. So, I thought resignedly, this is really happening.
The meal ended without further incident. If anyone shot dirty looks in my direction on the way out of the restaurant, I was oblivious. From the safety of the backseat, I texted Sara on our way home.
My parents are cordially inviting you to dinner on Sunday, I sent. They hadn’t specified a day but I’d be damned if I lost my Saturday alone with Sara for an awkward dinner with my parents.
My phone buzzed a minute later. Cordially? How could I refuse such an offer?
I grinned. My mom happens to have a vegetarian Indian dish in her repertoire. If you don’t like Indian food, we could cancel and spend the evening canoodling on the porch.
I could picture her smirk perfectly when her response came. You might be canoodled out after tomorrow.
My pulse kicked up a notch at the thought and I took a few deep breaths before hitting send. Promises, promises.
She sent back a winking emoji and I settled back into my seat, stretching my long legs out at an angle. For a girl who’d been through so much heartache over the years, I was constantly amazed at how unfazed she was by things that turned my insides into a knot of anxiety. In all our moves, I couldn’t remember encountering a teenager with such a level head and the ability to work through every curveball life might throw.
My dad directed a question at me and I forced myself to return to the present, but shot Sara one last message when the conversation died down, telling her I’d see her in the morning. She had suggested I meet her at her house around ten, after her mom had left to open the store. My head knew that we would be spending the day talking or cuddling or going for a hike; my hormones had a hard time getting past the idea of a day alone in the house with her. We’d talked very frankly about not rushing into anything more and I was fully on board with that; it was just hard not to imagine it.
You are a gentleman, I scolded myself. Your father raised you to treat ladies with courtesy and respect!
Suitably admonished, I forced my thoughts to other topics: school assignments, the Apple Festival, the portfolio Sara had demanded of me. I headed straight to my room when we got back to the house, thanking my parents for dinner and kissing my beaming mother goodnight. My dad winked at me over her head and I went to bed thinking that maybe Sunday wouldn’t be nearly as bad as I expected.
And even if it is horrifically awkward, I told myself, at least you’ll have the day with Sara to get you through it.
CHAPTER 13: Saturday
Saturday morning dawned bright but chilly, the air crisp with the smell of autumn. I showered quickly and dressed in jeans and a plain tee shirt, pulling a hoodie on before running my hands through my damp hair. Before I left, I grabbed my camera bag and called a farewell to my parents, who were murmuring to each other over coffee at the kitchen table. I rolled my eyes good-naturedly at them.
My mom had offered up her car for the day, so I drove over to Sara’s place, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel to the song on the radio. I parked in the driveway, grabbed my bag and headed up to the porch. Just as I raised my hand to knock, Sara swung the door open. Her hair was pulled into an adorably curly ponytail, wispy tendrils framing her face, and she wore dark jeans with a wide-necked gray sweatshirt that slipped off one fair shoulder. I thanked my lucky stars that it revealed a black tank top underneath, rather than just that expanse of flawless sk
in.
“Hi,” she said brightly.
I grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. “Hi yourself,” I answered.
A shrill whistle erupted from the kitchen and she pulled me inside, closing the door behind me. “Tea kettle,” she called as she headed back into the kitchen, skipping lightly on bare feet. “Do you drink tea?”
I would drink from a mud puddle if she asked me to; tea sounded cozy and very grown up. “I do now,” I replied, leaving my camera back and sneakers in the front hall.
She gestured to an array of tea boxes on the shelf above the stove as I walked in. “Pick your poison.” I glanced at the names but lost of my train of thought completely when her ponytail swung to the side, revealing that long, graceful neck.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” I managed to say, smiling benignly when she turned and caught me staring. She didn’t blush this time; maybe she was growing accustomed to my constant admiration. Instead, her dancing blue eyes lit with the same knowing smirk I’d seen from my mom a hundred times. Game over, I thought. She’s onto you.
She made a soft humming noise in her throat, opened the fridge to pour a splash of what looked to be some kind of soy creamer into our tea, and handed me a steaming mug that smelled like Christmas. I accepted it with a grin and followed her to the loveseat in the family room next to the kitchen. This room had a huge bay window overlooking the backyard, with half a dozen stained glass suncatchers scattered across it. The morning sun danced through them, sending rainbows across the room. I put my arm across the back of the loveseat as we settled in.
Sara held the mug in front of her nose and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes with obviously pleasure. “I love chai,” she said dreamily.