Page 40 of Past Present Future

Beneath the table, I slide my foot over to Neil’s ankle, letting it linger there. “Yes.”

“We haven’t decided on any countries yet,” Neil says, and turns to my dad. “I’d love to check out those books.”

My dad leaps up from the table, eager for a task, and starts perusing our bookshelf, muttering, “I know they’re in here somewhere.”

Meanwhile, my mom goes silent. Neil could personally deliver them a national award for children’s literature and she’d still have doubts about us. Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything else about it.

After dinner, Neil and I get overly competitive with dreidel. He wins a game and then I win a game before we decide it’s probably too dangerous to continue. Then when it’s time for Hanukkah gifts, he gives me a knitted beanie—“to complete your outfit”—and a pastel-covered notebook from a local stationery shop, because he understands that for a writer, a notebook is not a lazy gift. I give him an NYU sweatshirt, because I have a feeling it’s something he’d consider too much of a luxury to buy for himself when he has other sweatshirts.

“Thank you,” he says, holding it close after he unwraps it.

We stay awake after my parents go to bed, watching The Last Jedi on the couch in the living room. We’re half paying attention, half simply enjoying being this close to each other. There are two mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of us, mostly empty, while outside, a light dusting of snow covers our lawn. My parents told us he could stay over if the weather gets bad enough, since he doesn’t drive. On the couch, my mom emphasized.

Right now, at least, the couch feels pretty perfect. He’s lying behind me, head resting on top of mine, our legs intertwined. A blanket on top of us.

I will the creative part of my brain to use this as inspiration, to capture this feeling and put words to it later. Look, here’s your romance. Write about this.

“This is the good part,” he murmurs into my ear. His body is so warm that I think I could fall asleep like this, dozing off while his thumb gently strokes my knuckles. My elbow. My hip bone.

“You’ve said that at least five times.”

“And I meant it every time.”

Even though he can’t see me, I roll my eyes, then watch as Kylo Ren, with Rey in front of him pleading for her life, uses the Force to turn Luke’s lightsaber on Snoke instead—which, he’s right, is a fantastic moment. But what I love the most is the anxious hitch of his breath, even though he’s probably seen this a dozen times. I could watch Neil watching Star Wars for hours and never get bored.

There’s a novelty to the fact that we get to see each other again tomorrow, and next week. That night in New York was a blip—I’m sure of it now. If we haven’t been physical since then, it’s only because we haven’t had the opportunity.

“What’s it like being home?” I ask as his hand slides into my hair. I catch it just in time to plant a kiss on his palm.

“Mmm. Good. Weird.”

“Neil McNair, monosyllabic? Who are you?”

He tugs gently at my hair. “It’s hard to describe. All of it is familiar, of course, but it also feels a bit like being a guest in someone else’s home. Little differences you wouldn’t usually notice, like a new brand of toilet paper, or the way the house smells. Not bad, but then you wonder if it’s always smelled that way, or if you just got used to it.”

“I had some of that too. My parents made the bed in my room nicer than I’ve ever made it, and they had all these towels set out already, but not the towels I used to use. The guest towels.” I nestle more deeply into him. “It’s probably going to be a little more different each time we come back, huh.”

As he nods, my heart twinges slightly. Change is never easy, and I knew I’d be opening myself up to so much of it by going to school across the country. I am already a different person than I was in September, than I’ll be on my flight back home in June.

“But you’re here, Artoo,” he says. “And that makes it so much better.”

“I can’t believe I used to think that name was an insult.”

“Nope, just my way of secretly pining for you.”

“Tonight was really great.” I slide my foot between his ankles, letting his weight anchor me. “Best Hanukkah I’ve had in years.”

“Your parents are still so in love,” Neil says. “You can tell.”

It’s true, despite my lingering annoyance over my mom’s reaction to our backpacking idea. I’m not sure if it’s the holidays or I’m only just now seeing it through his eyes, but they’ve never been shy about their affection for one another. Working together the way they do could so easily be a disaster, and yet it isn’t.

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess they are.”

“Do you think that’ll be us someday?”

I pause the movie as the characters are gearing up for a third-act battle on the salt-covered planet Crait. I already know we’ll have to rewind and watch it again later.

Slowly, I wriggle around to face him. His glasses are off, and there’s such a sweet sleepiness on his face that I wish I could take a photo of him, just like this, though I’m not sure any camera could capture my favorite details. The sweep of freckles along his cheeks, his long lashes. The soft mess of his auburn hair.

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