Page 27

Sunrise

Fifteen Years Old, Virginia

Beck bounced back from his wisdom teeth removal quickly, motivated by a desire to enjoy the holidays, his need to lift five times a week, and the promise of hanging out with me.

Our families celebrated Christmas Eve together anytime we were living in the same zip code. That year, we met up at the Byrnes’ house. By nine o’clock, we’d eaten homemade pizzas and dozens of cookies and played a few rounds of Pictionary. While Bernie and Connor tucked the twins into bed, my parents selected Settlers of Catan from the Byrnes’ game collection and arranged the board on the dining room table. By the time Connor and Bernie came back downstairs, they were giggling. Bernie whispered something that made my parents laugh too. On holidays, Dad and Connor like to pretend they’re reliving their fraternity days, but with microbrews instead of Natty Lights. Mom and Bernie let the wine flow. And so, it was easy for Beck and me to sneak downstairs to his room.

“I have something for you,” he said, closing the door .

“I have something for you too.”

We sat facing each other on the bed. I handed him a rectangular box wrapped in silver paper. I’d gotten him a pair of noise-canceling earbuds, using a chunk of the money I’d earned babysitting his sisters over the last couple years. He drew a pleased breath when he opened them, and I was relieved. He and I had given each other silly gifts over the years, as well as gifts picked out and purchased by our mothers, but it was a first to formally exchange presents the way we did that Christmas.

He passed me a small package wrapped sloppily in red and green. Knowing that he’d sat down with paper and tape rather than asking Bernie to help raised a lump in my throat. He watched, drumming his fingers on his knees as I unfolded the paper. Inside, tucked into a layer of tissue, was a ring: white gold, set with two stones, each a shade of blue.

“Our birthstones,” he told me.

I touched the aquamarine, then the sapphire, and breathed, “Wow.”

“Right? There’s this jeweler in Georgetown who makes custom stuff, special order. I found him online last year.”

I lifted my eyes to his. “Last year?”

His cheeks flooded red. He was an easy blusher, a deep blusher, and I’d always loved the way this strong, confident boy wore embarrassment plainly on his face. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’s when I bought it. I was gonna give it to you for your birthday, but—I don’t know. Formal. Raiden. The timing felt off. So I held on to it.”

“And now?”

He shrugged, eyes alight. I thought he might lean in to kiss me—our first kiss; I’d been beside myself, imagining it—but instead, he said, “Now the timing’s right. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah. I do.”

He fit the ring onto the third finger of my right hand.

I was sure that someday he’d slide a ring onto the third finger of my left hand.

***

The next morning, Christmas, my alarm blared early. I rolled out of bed and into Uggs, plus the downiest jacket I owned. Tiptoeing past Mom and Dad’s dark room, I lit the tree that stood in the living room’s bay window, moved the cinnamon rolls from the fridge into the oven, where they could rise, then filled two travel mugs with hot cocoa—the good kind. Beck pulled up in the 4Runner, and I slipped out the door to meet him.

The drive into DC was quick, and parking near The Mall was, for once, a breeze. Beck took a blanket from the backseat, then we walked to the Lincoln Memorial. We climbed all the way to the top of the empty steps, paid our respects to President Lincoln, then sat facing the Reflecting Pool, bundled into the blanket. In the distance, the Washington Monument stood proudly, casting its illuminated image into the inky water.

The sky was just starting to lighten.

We sipped cocoa and talked in hushed tones about the coming year, the last half of my sophomore, the last half of his senior. He’d applied to several schools on the East Coast, but he had his sights on Commonwealth of Virginia University. It was competitive, academically, but their track and field team was in desperate need of a good thrower.

Beck was an excellent thrower.

“You’ll get in,” I said as the heavens faded from purple to pink. I wanted him to; CVU was close compared with the other schools he’d applied to.

“I hope so.” He took my hands in his, rubbing warmth into them. “You’ll visit, right?”

“Beck, obviously.”

“And you’ll apply too?”

Back then, I was only starting to consider colleges, but I liked the idea of a small school in Seattle or Tacoma, close to where we’d once lived. I pictured myself on a campus like Seattle Pacific’s, or University of Puget Sound’s, someplace intimate and picturesque. CVU is city-huge, with a pulsating Greek row and a football stadium capacity of more than seventy thousand, which is the very opposite of the collegiate experience I was after.

I told Beck, “Of course I’ll apply.”

Because I’m in love you, I could have said. I’ve loved you as long as I’ve known you.

His face shone golden in the day’s first light. And then he said his version of what I’d been thinking, softly, without modesty. “I fucking adore you, Lia. I have—well, forever, I think. But lately…I just really want us to be together.”

Words I’d waited all my life to hear.

Words that steeled my resolve.

I didn’t need to go to school on the West Coast. I didn’t need rocky beaches or rainy skies or a small campus. I didn’t even need a semester in Australia. I had a lifetime to see the world. I could go to CVU and be happy. I would be, because I’d be with Beck.

As the sun crested the horizon, bathing the city in amber light, I kissed him.

He was, at first, surprised, but it took only a second for him to react as I’d hoped. He released my hands and found my face, kissing me back, then kissing me anew. I burrowed into him, asking for more with an insistent palm on the back of his neck. He gave me more. He gave me everything I wanted that Christmas: devotion, warmth, and laughter. A windfall of good washed over me, over us, like the morning sun’s radiant glow.

***

We were inseparable during the week that followed. We went on long drives, ate our combined weight in burritos at District Taco, and holed up in Beck’s room to watch our best-loved holiday movies—anything to keep us away from of his mom and dad, and mine.

We weren’t discreet because we were worried our parents would disapprove. Mom and Dad loved Beck. They always had. And Bernie and Connor loved me. I had no doubt they’d all be thrilled at the news that Beck and I were together. The response to us would be elation. And that was just it: I was in the midst of my own elation. I wanted to share the newness and excitement with Beck—only Beck.

I found out later that our parents had suspected. Bernie guessed something was up the day Beck had his wisdom teeth removed. Connor caught on when his son passed up a Shenandoah hike to help me with my family’s puzzle-in-progress: the elves’ North Pole workshop. During Christmas dinner, as my parents and I dunked soft bread and fresh veggies into a steaming pot of fondue, Mom asked about my ring. When I told her Beck had given it to me, she gave Dad a smug smile. But, to their credit, no one said anything.

On New Year’s Eve, Connor, Bernie, and Beck came to our house, leaving the twins with their second-favorite babysitter, a sweet, grandmotherly neighbor. Dad grilled Prime Rib, Mom boiled lobsters, and Bernie brought her peanut butter sheet cake. We stuffed ourselves full, and then the board games came out. Dad insisted we play Pandemic, which he and Connor love, and Beck hated for all its complicated rules. Scattergories was more fun, and for the first time ever, I managed to beat everyone at Ticket to Ride.

When the games were done, when midnight was nearing, I went to the kitchen to fill a pair of flutes with sparkling wine. My dad had picked up a bottle of cider for Beck and me, but ringing in the New Year with juice seemed too childish for the person I was becoming.

Beck followed, leaving our parents to clean up the games and fill their flutes in the living room. As soon as the door to the kitchen swung shut, he swept my hair off my neck and nuzzled his nose beneath my ear.

“This blows,” he murmured, the tickle of his breath making me shiver.

“Right? I had no idea it’d be so hard to keep my hands to myself.”

He grinned, hooking his fingers in the waistband of my jeans to tow me closer. “Let’s tell them. They’ll be happy—at least, my parents will be.”

I looped my arms around his neck. He was shelter and safety and happiness. He always had been. “Mine will be too.”

He arched a brow. “Your dad?”

“Beck, of course. He loves you.”

“Yeah, ’til he finds out that now I think about his daughter instead of flipping through my nudie magazines.”

I laughed and swatted him. “Doesn’t it feel dramatic, making a New Year’s Eve announcement? That’s what people do when they’re engaged. Or pregnant.”

I expected him to recoil at both scenarios. I wouldn’t have blamed him.

He didn’t even blink. He opened his mouth, expression thoughtful, eyes full of longing, but before he got a chance to speak, my mom called, “Countdown’s about to start!”

We took our drinks to the living room and stood with our parents, watching masses of people in New York City cheer the upcoming Times Square Ball drop on TV. When the clock read ten seconds till midnight, we counted down together, as we’d done in years past. The nostalgia of it, combined with the euphoria I’d experienced since Beck and I’d gotten together, had me blinking back a rush of joyful tears.

He set our flutes on the coffee table, then took my hand. I laced my fingers through his, lost in the moment, and, in unison, we called out, “Three, two, one—”

He dipped me back and gave me my first kiss of the New Year. There was heat behind it—there was always heat behind Beck’s kisses—and when we drew apart, four pairs of eyes gaped at us. Our parents spent a moment in slack-jawed silence. Then Connor whooped. My mom cried, and Bernie did too. My dad looked like he was caught somewhere between genuinely pleased and deeply confounded until Connor clapped Beck on the shoulder and said, “Treat her right, buddy, or Cam will bury you.”

Dad laughed.

Connor laughed.

Even Beck laughed, after nodding solemnly.

He dipped close to whisper, “See? Told you.”

I let the coming year unfold in my imagination: Beck and I dressed up at prom, spring break at the beach, his graduation in June. And then summer. Months of sunshine and freedom. He’d go to college after that, but we’d make it.

We were Beckett and Amelia.

We were meant to be.