Page 133 of Road Trip to Forever
“Your heart,” he says. “Your mind. Your body and soul. You. That’s my list, Lola. That’s all my list is ever going to be.”
I don’t know why I’m crying when he’s saying something so nice, so romantic, so special and uplifting, but I am. Because it’s me and because it’s him. We were tied to each other long ago, drifting through the years until we finally,finallyfound each other.
I can’t believe this man is mine. He’s always going to be mine, the kindest, most gentle soul and fiercest protector of my heart. I know we’re going to have hurdles to face when we get back to reality, readjusting to our lives at home and our different priorities.
School for him. Traveling and opening a business for me.
It doesn’t matter. Those differences between us that once seemed like a roadblock are now an opportunity. A chance to learn and grow and be together. To listen and communicate, ask and answer. To help and give. To love and love andlovewith so much of it I think I’m going to be sick.
I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be out of your mind with infatuation for someone. To be embarrassing and loud and boastful about it. Kissing in public on the middle of the sidewalk on a busy Monday morning. Pinkies linked together. Silly, stupid, obsessive gazes across the table, itching to touch even though you’ve hardly stopped.
I wasn’t sure if I’d be lucky enough to get to experience that level of love in all its beautiful, heartbreaking, ugly, and devastating glory, fear almost keeping me from the greatest gift I’ve ever been given.
And now that I have it? Now that it’s mine, I know it’s the best feeling in the world. I understand why my friends flaunt their relationships. I want to flaunt mine too. I’m going to show Patrick off, my best friend and my soulmate, owner of everything I have.
“Would it be stupid to say I love you again?” I ask. Patrick reaches up, his thumb wiping away my tears.
“No, honey.” He smiles, and it’s the one specifically for me. His I Love You smile. “You can say it as much as you’d like.”
“I love you,” I say again, and I really, truly do.
THIRTY-EIGHT
PATRICK
It’s beena week and a half since we got home from Florida, and Lola and I have fallen into an easy routine. I spend my mornings at school. There’s planning, interviews for the open fourth grade teacher position, a deep clean of the cafeteria’s stove, and a hundred other tasks I’m trying to accomplish before the kids start classes up late next month.
Lola’s been just as busy, working on logistics for her store and handling the administrative side of owning a business. She’s planning to hire two full-time employees and three part-time employees. She’s also looked at eight different properties and gotten approved for a loan. The winnings from the fashion show don’t cover the total cost of owning her own space, but they put a nice dent in her estimated monthly payments to make a space affordable.
Despite working opposite hours—I leave the apartment by eight, she sleeps until ten and stays up sketching until past midnight—our new normal has been easy. There are no arguments about me waking with the sun or her slipping into bed when I’m deep into a REM cycle, my hands finding her even in a dream. We’re making it work.
We stayed up late on Friday night, watching a movie on the couch and sharing a bowl of popcorn. We went to a breakfast diner on Sunday morning, splitting a stack of pancakes and a chocolate milkshake. In the afternoon, I did the crossword puzzle while she flipped through a magazine, smiling at each other from across her coffee table.
We’ve found our rhythm, the pieces of our lives slotting into the others without disturbing or hindering. I wake up to coffee loaded in the machine and a sticky note with a heart over the power button. Lola runs interview questions with me over dinner, pretending to be a teacher fresh out of college who’s eager for a classroom of their own.
While I’ve loved the bubble we’ve created between our apartments—some nights we stay at my place, other nights we’re at hers—tonight I want to take her out for real. Our first official date.
I’m nervous as hell.
“What do you have planned?” Lola asks.
She angles her body in the passenger seat so she’s facing me. Her yellow sundress rides up her thighs as she crosses her right leg over her left, impossibly distracting tan skin on display.
I hum and turn down the radio, the rock and roll song we were bopping along to fading out through the speakers. “A few things.”
“You’re taking me to a fraternity house, aren’t you?” Her eyebrow arches, and I can’t help but laugh.
“That’s one of the stops, yes. I know how much you love a college rager.”
“Hopefully we’re going to buy a bedframe after. I’ve been in the market for a new one.”
I glance over and find her smiling at me. Her beam is bright and her eyes sparkle in the light of the setting sun. She’s been smiling nonstop these days, a constant turn to her lips and a lightness in her step. Whenever I ask why she’s grinning, what’s bringing on that glee, she shrugs and says, “I’m just happy.”
Happy.
That might be my new favorite word.
I like to know I’m the one making her that way.
