Page 42 of The Truth About Love

But it does eventually as all things do.

And once we’ve returned our skates and I’ve regained the ability to walk on solid ground, he takes me for Pistachio ice-cream that we eat on the seafront. Together, we sit on the warm sand, me situated between his legs with my back to his chest. He tells me about his dreams for college, to go to Florida State on a football scholarship and study Psychology so he can learn how to help his Mama. And I tell him that I’m hoping to go to FSU too.

There on the beach, with our pinky fingers crossed and our ice cream melting in the small plastic pots at our sides, we make an oath to go to Tallahassee and make a life for ourselves there. Together.

With the promise of forever floating heavy in the air, the afternoon drifts slowly away. I must fall asleep, because I wake up cradled against Auden’s chest as he carries me to his truck, the way a groom would carry his bride.

An hour into the drive home, we stop for dinner in Florida City, where we share a plate of dirty fries and sip from enormous glasses of strawberry milkshake.

It’s early evening and the sun is beginning to set, the sky bleeding as night closes in. I watch the colours blending above us, my feet tangled with Auden’s underneath the table, as I bathe in the comfort of our silence.

Perhaps that’s why everything has always been so easy between us, because of our ability to be quiet together.

We don’t need words to fill the space. We’re happy just being in each other’s presence, breathing in the same air. We understand each other, I guess. Always have done. From the moment he sat beside me on the beach all those months ago, it’s been that way. Like our souls knew each other long before we did.

Auden wraps his fingers around my wrist on the table in front of us, drawing my attention from the sunset to his face.

“Have you had a good day?” he asks, almost anxiously. It’s important to him that this day is special for me and he’s made that clear every single step of the way.

“The best.” I grin.

And I have.

I’ve never had a birthday like it.

Even when I was a child, I don’t ever remember my parents going to the effort to make the day especially noteworthy. Once, when I was about four or so, they hired a bounce house for a party where they’d invited more of their own friends than mine. One particularly unpleasant guest of my Father’s had used it to snuff out the ashes of his cigar, burning a hole in the plastic and deflating the entire structure, all before most of my kindergarten friends had even arrived.

That same friend had groped me on my fourteenth birthday, ten years later.

But I’d have a thousand more of those birthdays if it meant being able to live this one again.

“Good.” Auden’s smile takes up his entire face. “I got you something. A gift.”

My mouth falls open. “But I didn’t get you anything for your birthday.”

The look he gives me is a scathing one and I snap my mouth shut instantly. “You coming to the bonfire was more than enough.”

“As is everything you’ve done for me today.”

“Baby, will you just shut up and let me give you your gift?” He reaches into the satchel beside him and pulls out a small present wrapped in bright red paper with an obnoxiously large bow, thrusting it towards me. “For you.”

“Should I open it now?” I ask, my cheeks flushed and heart fluttering.

He nods wordlessly, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth to chew on nervously while he watches me finger the gift wrap.

Trembling, I untie the bow and pick at the tape binding the paper together. The busy sounds of the diners around us fade to nothing as the gift is unveiled. All I can hear is the thudding in my ears and the slight shake in Auden’s breath.

It’s another literary postcard. Framed this time. And while I loved every single one in the bundle he gave to me for Christmas, the words on the card in front of me provoke a reaction that the others didn’t. My cognitive function, the beating of my heart, my entire fucking nervous system is plunged into total chaos.

I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you

Till China and Africa meet,

And the river jumps over the mountain

And the salmon sing in the street

“It’s W H Auden,” he whispers.

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