Page 63

The Mall

Seventeen Years Old, Washington DC

After brunch, I take Isaiah to DC.

Because he’s traveled all this way and should see what our nation’s capital has to offer.

Because if I can survive a walk around The Mall, I can survive anything.

Because I owe him an explanation.

I owe him an apology.

We ride the Metro and, after disembarking at L’Enfant Plaza, walk to the Tidal Basin. The day has warmed, and the cherry trees wear baby-pink buds. We navigate the busy paths, cruising around the water and past the Jefferson Memorial, where my throat tightens.

I breathe through the worst of it, and soldier on.

We check out the FDR Memorial, one of my dad’s favorites, before moving on to the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial. Isaiah takes it in, reverent. He’s been quiet—I know he’s not over what happened last night—but I’m grateful to him for indulging me in this touristy walk. I can’t imagine making my first trip back to The Mall with anyone but him.

Somberly, we approach the Lincoln Memorial.

I can do it: I can climb the stairs, all the way to the top.

I’m okay—I know I am.

A few steps up, though, I’m suddenly not okay.

I stop, turning to face the Reflecting Pool, drawing a wheezy breath.

I fucking adore you , Beck told me before we kissed and claimed our fate.

I startle when Isaiah touches my shoulder.

“You good?”

I nod though, no. I’m most definitely not good.

“Want to keep going?”

“You can,” I say.

“Without you?”

The last thing I want is for him to continue on his own, but my body is rebelling.

Lungs: sluggish.

Muscles: trembling.

Vision: spotty.

I nod again, disappointed in myself. Pissed at myself. I sink down to sit on a cold, hard step, and track Isaiah’s progress. He gets halfway to the statue before pausing to peer over his shoulder. Our eyes meet. He lifts his hand in a subdued wave. I smile encouragingly, inhaling full breaths now.

He pivots and ascends.

My attention catches on a family of four, a pair of fathers holding hands, and two children, a boy and a girl who look to be close in age, one a little taller than the other. They’re romping around by the water and the stockier of their dads keeps trying to wrangle them, but they’re full of energy, giggling. They play the way Beck and I used to: freely, jubilantly.

And then, low in my ear: Go, Amelia. Play. Love. Live.

I make myself a promise…

I will embrace my new fate.

Rising, I turn to search for Isaiah, except he’s disappeared beneath the overhang of the memorial.

I don’t even think about it—I dash up the stairs, dodging tourists, focused singularly on making it to the top. When I do, I’m exhilarated, my newfound fortitude solid as the marble beneath my feet.

Isaiah’s one of many surrounding Lincoln’s statue, gazing up at his chiseled face. I walk toward him with brisk, confident steps until I collide with his back and thread my arms beneath his. I feel him startle, but as soon as I clasp my hands into a hug, fitting my cheek in the hollow between his shoulder blades, he exhales, ribs contracting, lungs emptying, before turning to gather me against his chest. I feel the vibration of his heart through his sweatshirt and jacket. Mine’s pounding too. We stand together a long time, silently piecing our puzzle back together.

When at last he draws back to look at me, he says, “What changed?”

“I finally made peace with what I want.”

He smiles, then leads me into the sunshine and down the steps.

Hand in hand, we continue around the Reflecting Pool, stopping when we reach the Washington Monument, where we find a patch of grass and sit to look back the way we came.

He was right: I’ve been careful—with my heart and his.

I’ve been reluctant to trust, both myself and him.

Instead of treasuring the past, I’ve let it control me.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says before I have a chance to share my revelations. “I had no right asking to go to the ceremony with you. I shouldn’t have given you shit about it, but I was jealous. Which is fucked, I know. How can I be resentful of a guy who’s not around to compete?”

“It’s not a competition, though. It never has been.”

“Jesus, I know. He— Beck —will always be a part of your story, and last night I wasn’t respectful of that. I don’t blame you for being mad.”

“I’m not. Not anymore. I need you to understand, though…I’ll never be over him. He was my childhood. My best friend. My first love.”

“I get it. And I’m starting to realize… It’s him I have to thank for who you are today.”

I smile. “He would’ve liked you.”

He turns the ring on my finger in a slow circle. “I’m not sure about that.”

“I am. After he died, I thought I’d lost my chance at happiness. How could I find joy in a world without Beck? He would have liked you because you showed me that my heart’s capacity to love is infinite. It has room to keep memories of him, and room for new memories with you.”

His eyes flicker with hope. “What’re you saying?”

I weave my fingers through his. “I’m saying that somewhere along the way, I fell in love with you.”

He grins. “It was that first day for me.”

I laugh. “When I sobbed all over your shirt, then accosted you while you waited for your ride? You should’ve run fast and far.”

“Then I wouldn’t be here, with a girl who makes the future feel a hell of a lot less scary. I was serious the other day, Lia. My road trip could be our road trip.”

I shake my head. “I can’t. As much as I want to go with you, I need to spend next year living for me.”

“You’re gonna end up on the other side of the world, aren’t you?”

I smile, nudging his shoulder with mine. “Hopefully.”

He opens my hand, then uses his forefinger to draw a heart on my palm. He scoots my sleeve to my elbow before tracing a path of hearts up my arm. When he runs out of room, he says, softly, “What about when the year’s done? When our adventures are over?”

“Then we start a new adventure. Together.”

He leans in to touch my jaw, grazing his thumb along my lower lip before his mouth presses a kiss to the same place.

“Together,” he whispers.