Butterflies dance in my belly. I feel excited and ready. Not just my body; my mind and my heart are ready too. I lean in and brush my lips against his, knowing exactly what I want.
Kai must taste the urgency in my kisses. When I reach down and touch the zipper on his shorts, he pulls away.
“Are you sure, T?” he asks. His voice is husky. “I never want to pressure you. This isn’t what this is about—the hotel room, I mean—we don’t have to—”
“I know.” I pull him down toward me. “And I’m sure. I’m ready. All this time, I’ve been waiting for you, Kai. Waiting for us to happen. Even though I didn’t admit it to myself. Does that make any sense?”
Kai nods. “Perfect sense. I’ve been waiting for you too.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.” Then his eyes slowly widen, and he smacks his forehead. “Crap. This is embarrassing. I totally, um, forgot to bring … ”
Condoms. I remember the white paper bag from the clinic. Where did I put that? I picture it tucked somewhere in between my dresses and sweaters. I’m grateful that I brought my entire suitcase with me today.
I sit up and scramble off the bed. “Hang on. I think I have one.”
“You do?” Kai sounds shocked. “You brought condoms from home? You really were secretly in love with me, weren’t you? Or else you just couldn’t resist my sexy charms.”
I laugh, rummaging through my suitcase. “Both. Er, neither. I didn’t bring this from home.” Ah-ha! I pull out the folded white paper bag and open it up to reveal a small chocolate bar, a pamphlet on safe sex, a travel pack of aspirin, and three wrapped condoms.
I rip off one of the condoms and toss it at Kai. “They gave me this ‘women’s health packet’ back at the clinic, the first day I was here. So don’t thank me. You can thank Aunt Sarah for this.”
Kai squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t bring my aunt into this moment right now.”
“Sorry. Where were we?” I climb back onto the bed, stretching out beside him. My bare feet brush his shins.
“My sexy charms,” Kai says with a grin.
“Oh, yes, right. Of course. Irresistible.”
We smile goofily at each other. Before this week, I never realized that real-life romance isn’t like the movies. Things don’t have to be so serious and intense all the time. You can have intensely serious feelings for someone and be silly with them. You can go from making out to laughing, and back to making out, and that’s okay.
Actually, it’s better than okay. It’s perfect.
Perfect. I’ve always wanted my first time to be perfect. But I don’t exactly know what I’m doing, and I get the sense that Kai is in the same boat. He slips down the straps of my tank top, and we kiss for a solid minute while he tries, and fails, to unhook my bra. Eventually, I smile and reach around to help him out.
“Thank you!” he says with evident relief. “That thing is like a bank vault!”
“I thought the Hulk could bust through bank vaults,” I tease.
Kai swallows. “I guess Hulk’s a little nervous.”
There’s vulnerability in his eyes—no masks, no mirrors, no pretense. He’s all in. I’m all in too. I feel safe and known and whole. There is so much love here between us. We’ll fumble through this together, and it will be imperfectly perfect.
Andrea says that she doesn’t get why people make such a huge deal over sex. She says we’re just a collection of body parts, and it’s really not all that complicated. It is true that I’ve never been as aware of my body as I am right now. Kai makes a slow trail of kisses from my neck down to my belly button, and goose bumps flutter across my skin. I’m hyperaware of my breathing, my flushed cheeks, his hands on my breasts, the ache between my legs. It’s like my body has taken over control, and my brain has quieted down, my thoughts disappearing—for once—into the background.
Only not quite. I’m not just a collection of body parts, and neither is Kai. What’s happening is complicated, and it is a big deal. It matters that Kai’s smile lights me up inside and that his eyes make me feel completely seen. It matters that he knows my favorite shave ice flavor and what the scar on my knee came from and that I secretly love Hallmark movies and all of my other details. It matters that I feel a little nervous and a little scared, but, mostly, what I feel right now is trust. I trust him with my whole being. That matters a lot.
“Are you sure?” Kai asks one last time, right before, and I know that I could turn back now—I could change my mind, tell him that I don’t want this—and it would be okay. He would understand.
But I am sure. I do want this.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Kai’s eyes find mine. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so connected to another person. I’m naked in more ways than one. My walls have all been stripped away, and what’s left is me, just me, at my essence.
“Are you okay?” Kai asks. “Is this okay?”
“Yes.” I kiss him, and he kisses me back. We move together, forward and back, forward and back, and all those clichés are right, it is sort of like waves gently rocking a boat. It is both simpler and bigger than I thought it would be, both ordinary and extraordinary, both completely normal and completely amazing.
And I don’t feel scared. Not at all.
Afterward, Kai collapses on top of me, and I wrap my arms and legs around him, wanting to keep him this close a little bit longer. Eventually, he rolls over, and we curl up side by side.
“Whoa,” he says.
“Whoa,” I say back.
Kai’s hand cups my knee, his fingers gently tracing my scar.
Wait. My scar?
I sit up and hug my knee to my chest, bending down to examine it. My scar is definitely back, the familiar dimple winking at me as if it never left. I turn my wrist, my fingers brushing the delicate skin under my arm. Yep—that scar is back too. What is going on?
Part of me is relieved to see my scars again. It was eerie to have them gone, like bits of my life had been erased. But another part of me is dismayed that my scars have returned. Maybe this is happening because I’m so close to The End.
“What’s wrong?” Kai asks, his brow furrowed.
“Nothing. It’s fine.” I shove my arm toward him. “My scars are back. They completely vanished all week, and now suddenly they reappear. What do you think it means?”
Kai’s voice is hopeful. “Maybe it means we’re not in the dream world anymore. Maybe somehow we made it back to reality … ” His voice trails off, but we both know the words he’s not saying: Which would mean tomorrow isn’t the Last Day.
I look down at my chest; the tattoo is still there. Only a little bit of sand remains in the top half of the hourglass. Still, it’s worth a shot …
I slip my T-shirt and shorts back on. I don’t care what universe this is, it seems wrong to call my mother when I’m naked in bed with a boy. As I dial the familiar ten digits, my heart hammers in my chest. Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up …
I have never wanted anything more in my life than I want my mom to answer the phone in this moment. I want it so badly, and I can imagine her voice so clearly, it feels as if I can will it into existence.
But the phone rings. And rings. And rings. That same hollow ringing.
I count eight rings, and am just about to hang up, when—
“Hello.”
I’m so startled to hear her voice, I nearly drop the phone.
“Mom! Mom, it’s me—”
“This is Marie Rossi. I’m sorry I missed your call.”
Not Mom. Voice mail.
“If you leave your name and number, I’ll be happy to return your message as soon as possible. Thank you!”
There’s a mechanical beeeeeep.
I fumble for words. “Hi, Mom, it’s me. I’m in Hawaii right now, with Kai. We’re having a great time. It’s so beautiful here. I really miss you, though. I can’t wait to come home and see you
.” There’s the lump again, filling up my throat. “I guess I mostly wanted to say thank you, Mom. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. You’re the best mom I could imagine.” The tears are burning my eyes now. I wipe them away with the back of my hand. “Oh, and Mom? I love you. I love you infinity. Okay. Goodbye-for-now.” I hang up the phone and let it drop onto the bed.
“Voice mail.” I sigh. “This whole week, I’ve never gotten her voice mail. What do you think it means?”
Kai shrugs. “I don’t know, T. Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe she’ll call back! Or you can try calling her again later.”
“Yeah, okay.” But in my heart, I know she isn’t going to call back. And I’m willing to bet that I won’t get her voice mail if I try calling again. I think it was a one-time gift from the universe. A chance to say my last words. To leave nothing left unsaid. I’m pretty sure that the voice mail, and my scars, are simply more proof of what I don’t want to believe:
Tomorrow is Sunday.
Sunday is my Last Day.
It’s almost time to say Goodbye.
Not Goodbye-for-Now. Goodbye-for-Ever.
“Watermelon, pineapple, or mango?” Kai asks.
“What about cherry? I always get cherry.”
Kai looks pained. “The man said they don’t have cherry anymore.”
“Oh, okay. That’s fine. I’ll, um, try … mango.”
“Mango. Great. Be right back!”
Kai heads toward the other side of the pool, where the Popsicle cart has set up camp for the afternoon. I stretch my legs, savoring the sunlight filtering in through the trees above our lounge chairs. We found the perfect mix of shade and sun. Behind us, the ocean waves thump the shoreline. In front of us, the bright-blue pool sparkles. Right now the pool is crowded; Kai and I are hoping it might clear out in an hour, during the lunch rush. I watch a group of laughing kids spray water guns at each other. A few grown-up couples float around on inflatable rafts, hands linked to keep them from drifting apart.
I’m embarrassed by my disappointment that they no longer have cherry Popsicles. What was I expecting? It’s been, like, a decade since Kai and I got Popsicles as kids. We’re lucky they still sell Popsicles here at all.
What was it my grandma used to say? Things change. Change is the only constant of life.
“One mango Popsicle, my lady.” Kai bows with a flourish, holding out my wrapped Popsicle like an offering.
“Thank you, kind sir.”
Kai settles on the lounge chair beside me. We unwrap our Popsicles and watch the kids splash in the pool and the adults float around together. It is like we are watching a tableau of our past selves and our future selves. The mango is sweet on my tongue, less tart than the cherry flavor was. But it tastes good.
Despite what I said to Kai yesterday—about how he should embrace new experiences and leave the island and give CalArts a try—the truth is, I’ve never really liked change. I guess it’s one more thing I’ve been secretly afraid of, and a big reason why I never let my feelings for Kai emerge. Maybe because of my grandma’s death or my parents’ divorce, I associated change with negativity. Things are humming along great, and then a big change happens and shatters everything to pieces.
But something I’ve realized this week is that change can actually be wonderful. I mean, I knew that on some level—I was excited for the change of going off to college. When it came to my dreams and goals, I embraced change because it meant that I was moving forward. But in my personal life? No, thank you. Change was moving backward. Change meant loss. I didn’t like moving into a new place with Mom, while Dad got a separate apartment. I didn’t like any of Andrea’s boyfriends, because she suddenly had zero time to spend with anyone else.
Then this week happened, and I guess I’m changing my mind about change. Even when your life is already humming along great, big change can come along and make things not worse, but better. Kai and I were awesome as friends. But being in love with him is a million times sweeter than what we had before. I used to spend so much energy frantically protecting our friendship boundary because I was terrified that things would fall apart if we went any further. Oh, past self. Loving him is way worth the risk of things falling apart. I know that now.
Even if change doesn’t make things better, it can at least give you some variety. Like this mango Popsicle. I still like cherry best, but this one is a close second.
“What’s your joke say?” Kai asks after we both swallow our last bites.
I turn my Popsicle stick sideways. “Huh. I don’t think they’re printing jokes anymore. It looks more like … advice.”
“Interesting. So what advice does the universe have for you, T?”
I read the stick aloud: “Make each day a masterpiece.”
Kai smiles. “We’ve been doing that this week. A masterpiece week.”
“Yeah. It sure has been.” On the pool deck, a little boy chases a little girl. They cannonball into the water, one right after the next. “What does yours say?” I ask.
“Fortune favors the bold,” Kai reads. “I think I’ve read that quote somewhere.”
“It’s Virgil. One of my favorites.” I nudge him with my elbow. “Maybe it’s telling you to go to CalArts.”
“Maybe.” Kai doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he sighs. “I wish I’d been bolder before this week. With you.”
“I wish I’d been bolder too. But we can’t go back and change the past. All we have is this moment.” Now I’m talking in Popsicle-stick quotes.
I reach over and grab his hand. He squeezes my palm. We sit in our lounge chairs, holding hands like the couples on the rafts in the pool. Not wanting to drift apart.
“Hey, T?” Kai says after a little while. “Can I ask you something?”
I shift my body toward him. “Of course. Shoot.”
“What if this whole week is some crazy dream? What if, come Monday morning, you wake up in your own bed, and you’re back in your old life—we’re both back in our old lives—and it’s like this week never happened? We’re still in the middle of that stupid fight, not talking, and we just … go our separate ways?”
“That would never happen, Kai. We wouldn’t stay in that fight forever. You’re my best friend. I couldn’t stand to lose you.” I bite my lip, regretting my choice of words. After all, Kai is going to lose me. Tomorrow.
“You’re my best friend too. But at the time of our fight—” He shakes his head, looking down at the plastic weave of his lounge chair. “It was getting so painful to be, you know, just friends with you. I don’t know how much longer I’d be strong enough. To keep pushing down my feelings like that.”
I remind myself that none of these hypotheticals matter. Because I’m not going to wake up in my own bed on Monday morning. I died in a train accident. Tomorrow is my Last Day. But still, panic hits my gut to think that, in another world, Kai and I might have lost our friendship. That would have been the capstone experience for my change-is-always-bad philosophy.
“Kai, look at me.”
He meets my eyes. I can tell that what I say next will matter a lot to him. I wonder how long he was thinking about this hypothetical before he brought it up.
“Kai, I love you. I couldn’t stand to be just friends with you either. Not after everything that’s happened this week.”
“But that’s exactly it, Tegan. What if you don’t remember any of this? What if this week is a dream that fades away to nothingness as soon as you wake up?”
“That wouldn’t happen. Of course I would remember.” I would remember. I would remember. I think about waking up in the lava tubes on Monday, with no recollection of how I got there or what had happened. When trying to remember was like trying to read words on a blank piece of paper. What if Kai is right? What if I don’t remember any of this? What if, in real life, I’m too scared to leap off that cliff into the unknown, and I never admit to myself that I love Kai, and our lives become two divergent paths w
andering away from each other?
Is any of this even real at all? Does anything that’s happened this week count?
Reality is a matter of perception, Okalani had said. You perceive this to be real, so yes, it is real.
A little girl wades into the pool wearing a snorkel mask. As I watch her duck her head below the water’s surface, a new thought hits me. “Maybe it’s like snorkeling,” I offer. “Or riding a bike.”
Kai’s eyes are confused.
“What was it you said to me the other day, before we went snorkeling?” I ask. “When I was afraid that I had forgotten how to do it?”
Kai smiles. “I said, ‘The body always remembers.’”
I lean over and kiss him softly. “The body always remembers. And my body would never forget this. Not in a million years. I’m sure of it.”
Eventually, the pool does clear out a little, and Kai and I jump in and swim around, chasing each other like we used to do as kids. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he carries me like a monkey. We float on the rafts side by side. The water on my skin dries just in time for me to jump back in and get wet again. We eat hot dogs and curly fries. We people-watch from our spot in the shade. We apply and reapply sunscreen. We go snorkeling and see a lot of beautiful fish, but we don’t find our sea turtle friend.
I hold tight to Kai’s hand and to his smile, to our laughter, to the sunshine and the fresh breeze and the salty-air smell. I run my fingers through the soft grains of sand and think about how even if we lived for a billion moments, we would never have enough time to count it all.
The sun wheels through the sky. The light changes. The kids climb out of the pool, and the parents gather up towels and sand buckets and water wings. Daytime slips to afternoon slips to dusk.
Kai prods my foot. “Ready to go back to the room?”
“Not really. But I know we should.”
“I made dinner reservations for tonight.”
“You did?”
“But we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
The Best Week That Never Happened Page 21