Page 22 of Ten Years and Then…
That was the one. He could do something with that. An hour with PageMaker on the Mac over in Addison Hall, and he could blow up that tiny photo and make it into something beautiful. More beautiful. And a nice frame to put it in wouldn’t cost much.
If he knew Nora at all—and he really hoped he did—she’d absolutely love it.
Nora, exactly the same time
“I’ve never bought a gift for a boyfriend before. I have no idea what to get him.” There had never been an occasion to buy a gift for a guy before. At two months today, her relationship with Daniel was already the longest she’d ever had.
“Calm down, Nora,” Rachel said. Her aunt said that a lot. To be fair, Nora gave her a lot of reasons to say it. “I think he’ll love whatever you get him, just because it’s you giving it to him.”
That was probably true. “Yeah. You’re right. But it’s the first gift I’ll be giving him. And he’s only had one other girlfriend, and I don’t think she ever bought him any gifts, so it’ll be the first gift he ever gets from a girl. It can’t just be whatever I can find for under $10 at the mall.”
She thought she heard Rachel laugh, but maybe it was just noise on the phone line. “So that’s your budget? $10?”
That was actually pushing her budget. “Pretty much. What can I get for $10 that’ll be special?” Before Rachel could respond, Nora’s eye caught on the photo strip pinned to her corkboard. “Never mind. I think I know what to do. And it’ll blow some crappy little $10 souvenir from the mall out of the water.”
She definitely heard Rachel laugh at that. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“I’m going to make something for him. Something personal.” She talked out the idea with her aunt, and she could picture it taking shape. “It’ll be perfect. I just need some art supplies—never mind, I know where to get those, too. I better get started while it’s all fresh in my mind. Thanks, Rachel! Love you!”
Before any of the details could fade, Nora sketched it all out in a notebook. It really would be perfect—if Lacey Fitzpatrick down the hall had everything she needed. Lacey was an art major, surely she’d have a full set of colored pencils, and watercolor paints, and art glue, and glitter, and—well, she just had to have everything Nora needed, that’s all there was to it.
Daniel, December 17
It ended up taking three hours in PageMaker for Daniel to get the photo perfect. And the assistance of a woman named Kat Miller, who was a professional photojournalist teaching a high-level photography course this semester.
She came into the office, saw what he was doing and asked a lot of questions—really good ones—about the software. Then she’d pointed out that his photo would look very different printed out on the laser printer than it did on the screen; that hadn’t even occurred to him. She helped him adjust the hue and saturation of the photo so it would really pop on paper.
“She’s a lucky girl. Tell her I said so,” she told Daniel when they were finished, and he saw how the enhanced, enlarged photo really did pop when it came off the printer.
“Actually, I think I’m the lucky one.” The words came out almost automatically.
Kat picked up the photo and studied it thoughtfully. “Maybe you both are.”
Nora, December 18
It was almost finished. Nora had used every single thing she’d borrowed from Lacey to create a miniature scrapbook of her and Daniel’s relationship—six 5.5 by 8.5 cardstock pages.
On the cover, on top of swirly pastels in watercolor, was the title:
Daniel and Nora: a story in four photos and way too many doodles
She’d drawn a cheeseburger and milkshake, or at least that’s what they were meant to be; and the neon sign of the Green Lantern Café, which was more clear, probably thanks to all the straight lines involved.
Inside, the first page had the photo of them kissing, surrounded by little hearts in several colors; a barely-recognizable drawing of a computer monitor; and the front door of Morris Hall. Well, a door, anyway, if you looked close enough and you were feeling generous.
The next page featured the photo of them both making silly faces. She’d decorated that page with an attempt at illustrating her Halloween costume; more hearts; and a very sad effort at drawing one of the little miniature figures from the Battleheads game, or whatever it was called. Daniel had tried to explain it to her, and she was very proud that she’d managed to last five whole minutes before her eyes had glazed over.
The page after that had the photo of her making devil horns behind his head. She’d added quotes around that—the funniest things Daniel had said to her so far. Pride of place went to his review of the trashy romance novel he’d heard her reading from at Turn the Page. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever read, and I’ve read Battlefield Earth, so that should tell you something.”
The next to last page held the best of the photos, the one where they were just staring into each other’s eyes as though nothing else existed in the world but each other. That’s how it felt in the moment. If she was being honest, that’s how it felt almost all the time with Daniel.
There were more hearts on that page, in every available color; and the best drawing she’d managed—the two of them, holding hands and smiling like the two happiest people on Earth.
On the last page, she’d used the watercolors again, pastels again. And she’d written, in big letters:
I’ve never said this before except to blood relatives. And I haven’t said it to many of them. But I’m saying it now, and I mean it with all my heart: I love you, Daniel Keller
She added a few more hearts to the last page, then something she hoped he’d recognize as a Christmas wreath.
