Page 269 of Falling Backwards
After everything, here we are.After the mistakes, the years, the animosity, the pain.
Through the kisses I’m treasuring one by one, the heart-swelling thoughts keep coming back to me, oddly gentle despite the overwhelming gratitude they bring.
Every time I think I finally understand peace because of him, he gifts me with a new facet of it.
His lips are the perfect press and pull with mine; I all but sink into this hug we’re wrapped in while I think, too, about howI’mthe perfect match tohiskisses.And how he belongs in my arms just as much as I belong in his.And how his,‘I love you,’was so, so much more than words.
It was a painstakingly discovered truth he couldn’t keep in.A bright joy he had to share.A warm promise he wanted to make.
It was all Luke.Heart and soul in the snowy darkness aftereverything.
Just like my echo of his words was all me—uncontainable, joyous, full of promise.
A perfect match, indeed.
The wind blows a harsh gust, throwing snow in our faces and making us slip out of our kisses with bigger shivers than what have already been upon us.We try to resume for just a little longer, but the frigidity whips through again and all we can do is groan into laughing.Then our teeth set to chattering now that our mouths aren’t so busy.
I brush my nose against his.As he reciprocates, I catch a flash of a grin on his lips.
After a moment, he hums.“Hot chocolate?”he asks.
I nod and ask, too, “And TV?”
“Yes.Let’s go.”
On one hand, I abhor putting space between us.It lets the super cold air wash over me even more and it gets in the way of how much I love having his body close to mine.
On the other hand, I get a full view of the weightless radiance in his eyes, visible in the gold of the light pole; add it to his smile and the snow in his mess of dark hair, and this is a sight I’m blessed to get to see.
My fingers have pretty much gone numb by now, but I still make them work enough to lace with his—and I still manage to feel his settle in tight.
“Let’s go,” I agree.
Oh, how weightless and radiant and smiling I am, too, as we walk together out of this night but not out of this moment.
I can’t wait to carry it with us into all the days ahead.
L U K E
It does turn out to keep snowing.We’re surprised and delighted by that, as well as by Mr.Polk deciding to close Lucent until things clear up, out of an abundance of caution for employees and guests alike.I wasn’t kidding when I talked about people around here not knowing how to act when it snows since we’re unused to it; Mr.Polk seems to agree.
Even though I wouldn’t say we geta lotof snow this time around, Maggie and I don’t get out and try to drive in it.We spend our time either playing in the fresh powder or being comfy and kissy and lazy indoors—except‘lazy’still involves doing our dumbbell exercises and, for some dumbass reason, cleaning my apartment.Not that I think keeping a clean home is unimportant; I know it is, and she remembers that from quite some time ago when we played our version of Twenty Questions at the park.During snow days, though?Cleaning is boring.I will admit to letting her do a little more than her fair share of it because of that and because I’ve learned it’s easier than me doing what I consider to be sufficient work only for her to still go behind me and adjust something.I bicker with her about it at first, but then I give up because she shoulder-drops me and I decide I don’t care if she wants to dry the inside of my shower after I’ve scrubbed and rinsed it.Besides, she’s really notwrongabout the area staying cleaner longer if you don’t let water droplets sit everywhere after you’re done in there.
But I still make her pay for the little bit of bossiness by tickling her.
Her laughter filling my home while she wears my sweatpants and one of my t-shirts, her soft body under my fingers, her hair fixed in a messy bun that lets me easily steal a grinning kiss from the scar on her neck….God, what a life I have.
I take it back: I do wish the snow would hang around until Christmas.
—
“Do you wanna meet my parents?”Maggie asks beneath the noise of Jim Carrey’s goofy Grinchness.
I look away from the TV and across from me.I see her carefully creasing the festive paper at one end of the box she’s wrapping.If it weren’t for the pink in her cheeks, I would think I imagined her question, would think she was too focused on her task to have said anything.
Those pink cheeks, though.And those eyes glancing up to me beneath her bangs, shy and hopeful.And those words playing back in my head, echoing a very real invitation.
