Page 69 of The Goode Girls of Maple Lane
He drags a hand down his stubbled face while his eyes stay locked on mine, their warm caramel-colored centers ringed by mossy green. Fall-colored eyes for a fall-sweater boy. I don’t know why I think that in this particular moment, at the critical fulcrum ofWhat’s next?But my thoughts are a million places at once right now. My emotions are even more fractured. There’s such a weirdenergy between us, a softening of edges but a distance yet to be bridged.
“I can’t guarantee I’ll get everything right all the time,” Everett says. “I’ll make more mistakes. A lot more, probably, but I do at least learn from them, so I think I can safely promise you I won’t make the same ones twice, not the big ones, anyway. If I know I’m doing something that might hurt you, I’ll tell you right away. Even if I really,reallydon’t want to.”
I nod, considering, as I sneak a glance at Aggie over on her bed. She’s lying on her belly with her head lowered between her front paws, still watching us intently. I wonder how much she understands about what’s happening right now. She must sense the tension between us. If she didn’t, she’d be over here with a ball in her mouth or angling for a pet.
Happiness. Trust. Forgiveness, I think. And alsodeep, lifelong, unreserved love.
“And I won’t put off having hard conversations,” I say. “Even if I’m really,reallyafraid of what they might mean. I’ll also try to be better about accepting help when it’s offered.”
The first hint of a smile pulls at the corners of Everett’s lips.
“Does that mean I can buy you dinner tonight?” he asks.
A familiar snap of resistance straightens my stance and forces my lips to purse. But I heard what he said, and of all the issues on the table, this seems like the most easily solvable.
“Yes. Thank you,” I say with noticeable effort. “But we should finish the cookies first.”
“Forget the cookies,” Everett says through a sharp exhale. “Just let me hold you.”
With those five simple but beautiful words, the tension between us breaks and we collide into a fierce embrace, one that feels like we’re squeezing the life out of each other, or squeezing the life back into each other. Fingers curl into clothing. Arms tighten into vise grips. Knees bump. Cheeks brush. Hearts pound together. Chests rise and fall as one.
I love you, I think as all other thoughts vanish.I love you. I love you. I love you.
He draws back far enough to meet my eyes as something beyond joy sparkles in his.
“I love you, too,” he says.
My chest cracks wide open at the sound of those words, as though he spread my rib cage and spoke directly into my squishy, beating heart, where I most needed to hear them.
And then thetooregisters, making me scrunch up my face in embarrassment.
“I said myI love yous out loud, didn’t I?” I ask.
Everett beams at me, with his glasses glinting and his soft curls begging to be tousled.
“It’s one of my favorite things about you. Direct access to your brain.” He tips his forehead against mine as if to illustrate. Or maybe to get closer. “Also, thank god you did say it because I’ve been waiting to say it for months, afraid you’d think it was too soon.”
I scold him with a look, but a half-hearted one I undercut with a smile I can’t repress.
“No more being afraid to tell me things,” I say.
“I’m working on it.” He nuzzles my nose with his, softly, sweetly, gently, Everett-ly.
“I’m working on it, too,” I say, knowing I was also afraid, knowing I will be again, and he will be again, but maybe we’ll belessafraid next time. It’s enough. It’s more than enough. So I close the last inches of distance between us and kiss him, falling into the warmth of his lips, the slide of his tongue, the strength of his arms, and the countless murmuredI love yous he showers on me between kisses, each one embedding itself in the forever section of my memory.
Not never. Not sometimes.Always.
We’re going to be okay, I think, or maybe I say it out loud. It doesn’t really matter if I do. It’s the truth either way, and one I believe more now than ever, because the world may be full of disposable things, but that doesn’t mean we should let something die if all it needs is a little care and attention. Care, attention, forgiveness, an occasional mustering of bravery, a lot of love, an impossibly soft sweater, an impossibly soft boy, and the sound of a perfectly timed thumping tail over on a dog bed, ensuring we know she’s on board for whatever the future holds.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The rest of the term flies by and before I know it, we’re three weeks into May and I’ve completed my second year of Cornell’s veterinary program.
Something clicked into place after I helped Minh Ha with Pilot, a rightness in being able to offer useful assistance while knowing that with my degree, I’d soon be able to do so much more. Also, what she said to me that night—that I was better with people than I thought I was—made me realize I’ve attached too much of my identity to a single personality trait. Sure, I have a history of struggling with dating and making friends. I gravitate toward solitary spaces, speak before I think, and get anxious in large public settings. But when given a task, whether randomly baking or helping a neighbor feel less alone, I do okay. Something I think my parents know, deep down, even if they couch their love and concern for me in too many lessons about what I should do differently, building insecurity when they’re meant to do the opposite.
Funny thing, doubt. All it takes is a seed. The watering comes all too easily.
Everett and I throw a party in his apartment on the last day of my exams, celebrating my new resolve to finish my degree, his promotion to associate creative director, and Aggie’s recent weigh-in at seventy-five pounds, marking an astonishing fifty-pound loss since I first met her at the shelter last September. Several of Everett’s coworkers attend, a few of my classmates, Sam and Sariah from Ruff ’n’ Rescue, Georgia from Aqua Paws, and everyone on the sixth floor of the Maple Lane Apartments, including Felicity, who pops by to say congrats and that she can’t stay long, only to end up talking with Regina about fashion for two solid hours.
