When You Were Mine (11 page)

It takes us about ten minutes to get there, and the entire time we’re driving with the windows down, music playing and the salt air settling onto our skin, he has his hand on my knee. It’s just resting there, like it fits. Like we’re these two puzzle pieces that have finally been put together.

We pull into the parking lot, and Rob cuts the engine. It’s quiet—so quiet I can actually hear the wind whistling through the grass outside. Rob takes his hand gently away and then gets out. This time I wait for him to come around, and when he does, he opens my door easily, on the first try.

I hug the Stanford sweatshirt closer around me.

“Come on,” he says, taking my hand.

We walk through the grass to this place at the end of the cemetery where there are two big rocks that are so close to the edge of the cliffs, it feels like you’re literally hanging over the water. I’ve always been afraid of heights. I was that kid who refused to go on the monkey bars and hated gymnastics. I still don’t even like to fly. Being high up freaks me out. All of that space. All of that possibility for complete and total catastrophe. One wrong move, and everything changes.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Rob says. It’s the same thing he’s been saying for years. Every time I get close to the
rocks, I just sort of freeze up. I can’t help it. It is a long way down into that water. If I knew anything about math or geography, I’d probably put it around way too many feet.

“I know. Just give me a minute.”

“Okay.” He stands on one of the rocks, arms spread out like he’s flying. “Check it out, Rosie. No hands.”

“Please stop.” My heart is racing and my blood is pounding so hard, I can hear it in my ears. It feels like it’s going to thump straight out of my body.

Then Rob trips and his arms flail out, and he’s literally inches from the edge, his torso so far forward I swear he’s going to topple over. In one tiny, terrified moment I start screaming.

Rob rights himself effortlessly. “Relax, Rosie. No problem.”

He tries to take my hand, but I yank it away. “It’s not funny.” I know I sound petulant, like a little kid, but I can’t help it. “I hate when you do that.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, softening. He brings one hand to my waist and puts the other underneath my chin, tilting my head up toward him. “I’m sorry,” he says, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that he means it.

I grumble, “Okay,” and let him lead me over to the rock just behind the one he was standing on, where we settle down next to each other.

He points to the sky. The stars are brilliant, so specific that it
feels like if I tried, I could count them. And from our spot on the rock it looks like they are all around us. Even underneath us. Like we’re in a universe composed entirely of stars.

“What’s that?” I ask, pointing up at a circular constellation. Rob has moved just a tiny bit behind me so my back is resting half on his chest and half on his shoulder.

“I’m not sure. I was never too good at astronomy.”

“Me neither.”

He runs his hand down my arm and then secures it around me. My heart starts to speed up again, like a runner in the last mile of a marathon. Just when I didn’t think it could go anymore, it takes off again.

“This is funny, huh?” he says. He clears his throat. “I just mean, you and I.”

“Funny?”

“Well, no, not
funny
. Just different.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, usually we’re not sitting like this.” I gesture to his arm that’s still resting on my side.

“No, usually we’re not.” He doesn’t remove his hand. Instead he presses me closer.

Something is bubbling up and out of me, and even though I want to keep it inside, rest my head on Rob’s chest and just enjoy how nice it feels to be near him, I know I have to say it. I turn around to look at him.

“I’m worried,” I say.

“About what?” He takes his other hand and brushes some hair out of my face the way he did at prom last year.

“You’re my best friend,” I whisper. “What if this doesn’t work out?”

“You’re already planning our demise?”

“Not demise.” I exhale. “I’m just worried, is all.”

He takes my hand in his and presses his thumb into my palm. His hands feel strong and soft. “I know,” he says. And then, with his thumb still in my palm, he adds, “But I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

I drop my eyes down to the rock, but I know without looking at him that he’s staring at me, and when he releases my hand, puts both of his on the sides of my face and lifts my head up, I see that I’m right.

He leans in slowly. So slowly it feels like we’re in slow motion. And then his lips are on mine. They are so soft and warm, and it’s not until he pulls back gently that I realize how much I’ve wanted him to kiss me. How it’s really the only thing I’ve wanted.

“We’ll figure it out, Rosie,” he says, stroking my cheek. “I promise.” And then he’s kissing me again, and it feels so good to be close to him, his hands on my back, his lips on mine, that I can’t believe there was a time before we were doing this at all.

When Rob drops me off, we’re holding hands across
the front seat, my palm lightly resting in his.

“Should I come in?” he asks.

I glance from our intertwined hands to my front door. “No,” I say. “Why don’t we shelve that conversation. Just for a little.” There wouldn’t be anything strange about Rob coming in—Rob and I have been out a million times, and he always comes over after—but I’m not sure how much my parents know, and how much I’m ready to tell them.

He smiles and cuts the engine, releasing my hand and leaning over in his seat. He plants a kiss on my temple, one above the bridge of my nose, and then one gently on my lips.

“Okay,” he says. “Sleep sweet, Rosie.” It’s the same good night
he’s been giving me since we were kids, but this time it makes my heart rattle in my chest.

“Sleep sweet,” I whisper. I stumble out of the car and into my house, dizzy from his lips.

Our front door opens into our kitchen. My parents are always hanging out in there, drinking tea and reading the paper in their bathrobes until midnight. I swear if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s dark out, you’d think it was morning.

Tonight when I come inside, they’re not there, though. Instead they are in the living room with Rob’s parents. They’re talking so loudly, they don’t hear me enter.

“I don’t know what to say,” Rob’s mother says. She’s sitting on the arm of Rob’s father’s chair. He has his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. My mom is standing, holding a glass, and so is my father, which is strange, because neither of them ever drinks. They don’t even like wine with dinner.

“Have you spoken to them?” Rob’s father asks.

My father shakes his head. “I left a message with his office, but no one has gotten back to me.” He looks at my mom. “I don’t even have their home number.”

“Why call?” Rob’s mother asks. “Isn’t it best to leave things as they are?”

“This is a small town, Jackie. You know that. We’ll run into them sooner or later,” my dad says.

“This is a nightmare,” Rob’s father says. He looks angry, which is new for him. He’s got four boys, and he rarely ever even raises his voice.

My mom takes a sip of her drink. “Why come back now?” she says.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Rob’s mom says. They all look at her intently, their backs erect. “They want revenge.”

The floorboards choose that moment to creak under my feet, and all four heads swivel to look at me standing in the doorway.

“Rosie,” my mom says. She turns around and must send my dad some kind of look, because in the next instant he sets his glass down and comes over to me.

“Sorry for all the ruckus,” he says.

“Hi.” I wave to Rob’s folks.

Rob’s mom smiles weakly, and his dad chirps up, “Hey, kiddo. How was dinner?”

My cheeks flush pink. “Good,” I say. “We had Italian.” Everyone nods.

“Sounds delicious,” Rob’s dad says.

“Everything okay?” I ask. Asking your parents if everything is okay is a little like asking your math teacher is she’s really going to give that pop quiz. You already know the answer.

“Oh, yeah,” my mom says. “Just politics.”

My dad smiles to second what she said.

“Well, I’m gonna hit the hay,” I say. “AP Bio in the a.m.” I give them a look like,
You know
, although no one seems to.

“Good night, cookie,” my dad says. The living room erupts into a chorus of good nights, and I turn from them, perplexed, and climb the stairs. But I don’t want to think about Juliet’s family or guess how Rob’s parents are involved in whatever went wrong. Tonight is about me and Rob. I just want to fall asleep remembering his kisses.

“I’m
coming,
” I yell. Charlie is laying on the horn
outside, and I’m frantically running around the kitchen, grabbing toast and saying good-bye to my parents. They both look a little worn this morning, and they’re hunched over their mugs, sipping slowly.

“Have a good day.” My mother yawns. I consider asking them about Juliet, but I don’t have time. Later.

I run outside, toast in my teeth.

“Hey, hot stuff,” Charlie says. “Have fun last night?”

I roll my eyes and climb inside. Olivia is in the back, which is different. The three of us haven’t carpooled since Olivia got
OLIVE16
.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“I wanted to hear about your date,” Olivia says. “Also, Ben has my car.” Charlie makes a huffing sound, but Olivia doesn’t seem to notice. She hooks her elbows around both of our seats and leans so far forward, I can smell the strawberry on her. Olivia has been wearing the same perfume since I’ve known her. One time we were all shopping and she went to buy more. It turns out, it’s a house spray. Like the kind of stuff you spritz on your couch to cover up the smell of wet dog. We pointed this out to her and found it hilarious, but Olivia refused to change.

“That’s like using Clorox as hand soap,” Charlie said.

“I don’t care,” Olivia said. “I like it, and I’m sticking to it.” That’s one of the things I really love about Olivia. If she’s happy, she doesn’t really care what other people think. She still wears these pajamas she had in the fifth grade. They are way too short and way too big in the waist and have horses on them, but she says they’re soft and help her sleep. I bet if Ben slept over, she’d even wear them around him.

“So what happened?” Olivia says. “Details.”

“We went to dinner.” I glance back at Rob’s house as we screech out of the driveway, but we’re moving too fast for me to catch a good view.

“Bo-ring.” Charlie taps her hand on the steering wheel like she’s counting. “Get to the good stuff.”

“I mean, we kissed.”

Olivia starts wailing, and Charlie starts honking. She makes like she’s just lost control of the car and swerves right. I cover my ears and sink lower in my seat.

“Can you guys please calm down? I’m going to go deaf here.”

Olivia keeps repeating, “Oh my God, oh my God,” until Charlie sends her a look in the rearview and she shuts up.

“Was it good?” Charlie asks.

“Sure.” I’m blushing, and I turn away. When I used to tell them about kissing Jason, it was always just sort of situational. “We were at this party” or “He tried to suck my neck.” (True, by the way. It was awful.) We’ve never talked about whether I liked it or not. Or how it felt.

“‘Sure’?” Charlie slides her sunglasses up on her head and gives me a look like she’s never been so disappointed in her life.

“It’s
Rob
,” I say.

“We know,” Olivia says. “But that doesn’t really answer the question.”

“It was good, okay?” I hike my knees up against the dashboard and keep my eyes fixed ahead. “It was amazing.”

“I knew it!” Olivia squeals.

“Well, obviously,” Charlie says. “I mean, it’s Rob. Clearly it would be.”

“I am
so
into this,” Olivia says.

“Yeah,” I say. “I know, but I’m just kind of worried.” About a
million things. Like does this mean we are together? Should I ask him? Is he going to kiss me this morning? Has he told his friends?

“Clearly he likes you,” Olivia says. “What is there to be concerned about?”

“He’s my best friend.” It comes out harsher than I mean it to, and immediately I feel Olivia sit back and Charlie glare at me. “You know what I mean,” I say. “My best
guy
friend. My oldest friend.”

“The best romances totally develop out of friendship,” Olivia says.

“Okay, Hallmark.”

“It’s true,” Charlie says. “I mean, look at Jake and me. We can’t stand each other, and we’re definitely not friends. God, Jake.” She pummels the back of her hand against the steering wheel.