Page 38 of Yours

“Is everything all right? Your father’s health is okay?”

I shouldn’t be surprised that she remembered, but I am. “Yeah, he’s doing better.”

“Good.” She pauses, and I picture her short, wavy hair and red bifocals. “I’m teaching Intermediate Workshop in Poetry next term, and I hope to see you there.”

“Er, okay,” I say, though the thought of returning to that campus seems remote, diffuse.

“Congratulations, Darcy,” Dr. Atwood says.

After the call, I lean against the kitchen counter and think about what it will feel like to pick upPloughsharesand see my poem inside its prestigious pages. I clamp my hand over my mouth to catch the giggle.

I tell my dad when he comes home. “Come here, honey,” he says, and pulls me into the biggest hug. I relax against him, taking in the smells of the shop that are embedded in his skin. “I’m so proud of you,” he says.

I sneak off to call Brian and tell him the news. “That’s awesome, Darce. Sounds like you’re going to be famous,” he adds, and I can hear the grin in his voice.

“Darcy, I’ve been thinking,” he says. “We need to come clean with your pop.”

I freeze. “Why?” I ask, then wish I could take it back.

He sighs. “Sneaking around ain’t my thing. It was hard enough holding it inside while you’ve been gone,” he says. I imagine him shaking his head the way he does when he’s decided on something. “But now that you’re back, now that I know you’re mine, I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

“Oh,” I reply. I know he’s right, but I’m still scared. What if my dad doesn’t approve? What if he gets mad and decides not to sell the business to Brian?

What if he suddenly sees that I’m no longer his good little girl?

“When?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“How about tonight? We can celebrate your news, and I can talk to him, man to man.”

“Okay,” I say. When we hang up, I relive the thrill of hearing his words:now that I know you’re mine. Is it true? Do I finally belong?

I’m setting the table a little while later when Brian knocks on the door. My heart drops into my belly when I see his sparkling eyes and clean-shaven face on the stoop. He’s wearing a blue flannel and stone-gray chinos, and he smells wonderful. In one hand is a bottle of whiskey and in the other is a small, black box wrapped with a red ribbon.

I step back, and he wipes the slush from his feet and enters, sliding out of his boots.

“My dad’s not supposed to drink,” I scold, nodding at the whiskey. Just seeing Brian is making my skin feel warm. I’ve been thinking about him all day, about everything we talked about last night and what it means, and what he’s planning to tell my dad. The news about my poem still doesn’t feel real, but I know a little part of me is glowing.

“He gets a pass tonight,” Brian says, and I see that he’s nervous. He leans in to kiss me, then pulls me into a soft embrace. “This is for you,” he says, handing me the small box.

I scold him with my eyes. “It’s not Christmas yet,” I say. My dad and I are going to the city next weekend, so I’ve put off my shopping until then. Besides the pair of socks I knit for Brian, I don’t have any idea what to get him.

“This is just a little thing,” he says with a grin. “There’s gonna be more for you under the tree.”

The idea that he’s already bought me gifts sort of blows my mind, and I lean over to kiss him again. “Thank you,” I say.

“Open it,” he urges, nodding at the box in my hands.

I pry open the lid. Inside is a delicate, gold necklace with a small heart pendant. I inhale a surprised breath and lift the necklace from the box. The heart is open in the middle and slightly off-center, as if it was drawn by someone’s fluid hand. It’s lovely and so perfect.

“I know it’s not Valentine’s Day or anything,” he says. “But it just seemed right.”

“Oh, Brian,” I say, jumping into his arms. “I love it!”

He holds me tight, and his strong frame feels so solid, like my own personal set of armor. “Let’s put it on,” he says, releasing me.

I turn around, and he lifts the necklace over my head. I pull my hair aside for him to clasp it at the back of my neck. Just feeling his fingers on my skin sends shivers through every part of me. Through the turbulence of my thoughts is Brian’s steady guidance. He’s showing me that I can be truly myself, with my own desires and dreams. It’s a freedom that’s more exhilarating than anything I’ve ever felt.

I spin to him, my fingers reaching for the pendant. He watches me with smoldering eyes. “Later, we’re going to see how it looks without the rest of this,” he says in a low voice, tugging at the hem of my sweater. I close my eyes as he leans in for another kiss, and this time I feel his hard bulge press against my thigh. My skin shivers because I can hardly wait for this too, and my mind runs rampant, causing an instant ache so strong it’s almost painful. How does he do this to me?

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