Chapter 10: Swear on This Life: Chapter 10

By the time I got home, I only had a couple of hours before I had to meet Trevor, so I read and read and read. I had only three chapters left when I finally stopped.

Everything after Jax and Emerson were caught was totally made up. Emerson goes on to live with her aunt but has a terrible experience in California, while Jax becomes a distant memory. Emerson struggles to get over her past and ends up marrying a guy right out of high school who turns out to be an abusive alcoholic, just like her father.

I didn’t know if I should be relieved it hadn’t gone that way, or if I should be even more pissed at Jase for tarnishing the good parts of my story. Those chapters made Jax and Emerson suddenly feel like characters in a book, not fictional embodiments of me and Jase, and it made the dirt road seem far away. Maybe what Jase said at the bookstore was right. Maybe this really was just a book.

I got ready for dinner with Trevor and then rushed past Cara at the breakfast bar. “See ya!”

“Where are you running off to now?”

I paused at her choice of words. “I’m going to dinner with Trevor.”

“You’re not going to tell me about J. Colby?” she asked, her eyes wide with concern.

“I told him hello, it was nice to see him, and that was the end of it. He found success, so good for him. I just want to move on.” In other words: run far, far away from him. “See ya.”

“Wait, what?” But before she could continue that train of thought, I zipped right out of the apartment and down the stairs in ten seconds flat.

I met Trevor at a tiny Italian restaurant we went to often. He was sitting at a small two-top table in the middle of the dining room, facing the front door. I walked up and pulled my own chair out and sat down, leaning over the table to kiss him as I shrugged my sweater off. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said. “Are you in a better mood?”

“I’m okay.” I searched his eyes. “I read some more of the book and realized it’s really not about me.”

“It’s not?”

“Nope.” Trevor looked relieved. “I have a couple of chapters to go, but basically it’s rounding out to be your run-of-the-mill unrequited love story.” I huffed.

“Romeo and Juliet, huh?”

“Something like that.” No, nothing like that.

“Hmm. So, earlier, when you said you had all those deep feelings for him . . .”

I looked away. “I don’t know. Seeing him brought up a lot of feelings, but I think it was just my ego getting the best of me. I felt rejected by him, you know? He broke my fifteen-year-old heart.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry for that, Emi.”

I looked into Trevor’s blue eyes, so light you could barely tell what color they were. “I bet you broke some hearts in your day too,” I said.

He laughed. “I’ve been with you most of my adult life.”

I swallowed. “Do I hear regret in your tone?”

“No. No regrets.” He lifted his linen napkin, revealing a red ring box. I gasped. He stood from the table, came to my side, and dropped down on one knee, revealing a gold band at the same time. “Will you marry me, Emiline?”

Holy crap. Was he really serious with that parking-lot proposal?

Twenty seconds went by as I stared at the ring, stunned.

Trevor swallowed. “I’m on the floor of a restaurant. Are you going to say something?”

“I can’t,” I blurted out.

“What do you mean? You can’t say something?”

“No. I can’t . . . marry you.”

He looked wounded. “What? Why?”

Nothing about the moment felt right, but I didn’t want to crush him. “Trevor, I’m not saying I won’t marry you someday. I’m just saying I can’t get engaged to you right now, not after everything that just happened. I wouldn’t be saying yes in the right spirit. Please get up and sit.”

He closed the box, threw it on the table, and sat down. He was clearly angry. With his arms crossed over his chest, he leaned back and scowled. “I don’t understand you.”

“I know I’ve been acting strange lately, but just bear with me,” I said.

“Isn’t that what I’ve been doing? Bearing with you?”

I stared at him for several seconds, then I went to stand up.

“Don’t run away from me, Emiline. You know I don’t deserve that.”

I sat back down. “I don’t know what to do. I know you don’t deserve this, Trevor. But I also don’t deserve to be guilted into an engagement.”

He nodded. “I agree. I’ll give you six months to think about it, to get him out of your system. When you give me your answer, promise me that it won’t have anything to do with him. This should just be about us.” He pointed out the window, but I knew exactly what he meant.

I nodded in agreement because, right now, I wasn’t sure why I was saying no. Yes, it didn’t feel right, but what if Trevor was being serious about all of this? If Jase hadn’t come back into my life, would I have wanted to marry Trevor? Or would I have run from this proposal no matter what?

We finished dinner in amiable silence, but my mind was adrift. Every few minutes we’d look up at each other. I would make an effort to smile, but Trevor remained serious. When he paid the check, he said, “I’m gonna watch the game at a bar. Do you want to come with me?”

I looked at my phone and saw that Aunt Cyndi had texted me to say she was at my apartment, and that Cara had let her in. “Hold on,” I said to Trevor before texting her back.

Me: Make yourself at home. I’ll be there in a little bit.

Cyndi: No rush, we’re busy reading your journal.

Me: I don’t have a journal.

Cyndi: Well, you should, you’re a writer.

Me: I’ll be home in twenty.

I checked the clock on my phone. It was nine p.m. I had no intention of going to meet Jase, but I couldn’t help thinking about him waiting for me at George’s in an hour. I snuffed the thought out.

“I need to get home. Cyndi and Sharon are there. You go and watch the game. I’ll text you later.”

“Okay. You want me to come up with you and say hi?”

“You don’t have to.” Aunt Cyndi never said so, but I knew she didn’t think Trevor and I were right for each other. She spent way too much time trying to set me up with guys in the writing program at Berkeley. She firmly rejected the notion of opposites attract. Plus, Trevor rarely made an effort with her. The obligatory offer to come up and say hi was his usual MO. I wanted Trevor to want to come up and say hi, but I knew he felt out of place.

I left Trevor at the front of the restaurant with a quick peck on the cheek. “I love you,” I said.

“You too. I love you too,” he said stiffly, as if he were speaking a foreign language.

I WALKED THROUGH the door of my apartment and was greeted instantly by Cyndi and Sharon, who insisted on smothering me every time I was in their presence.

“She’s here!” Cyndi said as she and Sharon crushed me between them.

“Can’t . . . breathe . . .”

Cyndi and Sharon were in their late forties. If you saw them in a restaurant, you would think they were just friends. Cyndi looked like a less glamorous Julia Roberts, and Sharon resembled her slightly thicker, more stylish sister with blonde hair. They looked and acted like buddies, so when they did partake in public displays of affection, people sort of looked on in shock. I thought it was cute.

“Have you been eating? You’re skin and bones,” Sharon said as she tugged at the skin on my hip. Needless to say, they loved their parental roles. I never really had parents, and they never really had kids, so it was great for all of us.

I smiled wide. “Actually, I had a Big Mac for lunch, but then I puked it up.”

They looked at each other, horrified, and then they scanned me from top to bottom. Cyndi put her hand on her hip and gave me her best concerned face. “Bulimia is no laughing matter.”

“I’m not bulimic. I just had a weird day. A horrible day, really.”

“Tell us everything,” Sharon said, pulling Cyndi onto the couch. “We’re certainly not going to read it in any journal of yours.” They both stared up at me, gripping each other’s hands like they were about to watch a movie about the Holocaust.

“Well, I decided to go see Jase at his book signing here in town and ask him why he lied about what happened between us in his novel. And then I saw him and he looked like a fucking supermodel. And then Trevor showed up and asked me to marry him. And then Jase wrote me a note. And then I read it and threw up. And then I had dinner with Trevor and ordered an arugula salad, which gave me a stomachache. And then Trevor asked me to marry him again. And then I said no.” I glanced up to see two sets of wide, unblinking eyes. “And then I kissed Trevor good night, and then he acted like it was hard to say I love you, even though he had just proposed to me. Twice. And now here I am.”

Cyndi shook her head. “Wow. Terrible diction, sweetie. What did they teach you in that writing program of yours?”

“Valid point, honey,” Sharon said, “but, Emi, what did the note say?”

I sighed. “He asked me to meet him tonight.”

“Well, did you?” they both asked in unison. I swear to god, it was like they shared the same brain sometimes.

“No. He wants to meet at ten, but I’m not going to. I don’t care what he has to say; I’m not subjecting myself to all that.”

They stared at each other, as if they were communicating telepathically.

“We think you should meet with him,” Cyndi said.

“I do too!” came a voice from the other room. Cara peeked her head out of her bedroom and then walked into the living room. “Emi, please tell me you finished the book.”

“No, I didn’t,” I said with a hint of irritation in my voice. “Why?”

“Come, sit,” Sharon said, scooting over and making room for me in the middle of the couch. “Cyndi and I read it on the way down here, and we think—”

“It’s not about Jase and me,” I said bluntly.

“Of course it is. And you should go talk to him,” Cara said from the kitchen as she scanned the contents of the refrigerator.

“It’s not like us to give away the ending,” Cyndi said, “but I think you should finish the book.”

“Why is everyone being so cryptic?” I asked.

“Just go meet him! He’s so hot!” Cara shouted from across the room.

Without taking her eyes off me, Sharon said, “I like her.”

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten. “Fine.”

“Oh goody!” Cyndi exclaimed. “At the very least, he can give you a few pointers on word choice. That young man is a very talented writer.”

I rolled my eyes and then hurried into my bedroom, with Sharon, Cyndi, and Cara trailing behind. I gave myself a once-over in the full-length mirror. “Why is everyone so eager for me to go meet him?”

Sharon furrowed her brow. “You can’t go like that.” I looked at my uncombed hair, sneakers, and pilling sweater. I was a wreck.

Like a flash of light, Cara took off for her room. Ten seconds later, she returned with a black slip dress, a cropped denim jacket, and black booties with a short heel. “Here. You’ll look hot, but you won’t look like you’re trying too hard.”

“Again, why is everyone so eager for me to go see him?”

“It’ll be good for you. Might give you some closure,” Cyndi said noncommittally, though I could sense she wasn’t telling me the whole truth.

My clothes went flying in every direction, and then I pulled the new outfit on. As I ran to the door, I applied lip gloss and pulled on my boots at the same time. “Look at her: she can multitask. She gets that from me,” Cyndi said to Sharon as they followed me onto the landing.

“We love you!” they shouted as I jogged down the stairs.

“Love you!” Cara yelled from inside of the apartment.

I waved over my shoulder to them and slowed my pace once I got to the street. I walked the two blocks to George’s, past the boutique stores that I normally window-shopped, and tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. I patted the pockets of my jacket several times to make sure I had slipped my keys, wallet, and phone into them before rushing out the door, and I nervously smoothed my curly hair as best as I could. I was sweating, but I was too afraid to do a BO check. My bootie heels clicked against the sidewalk in rhythm with the steady beat of my thoughts. What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing?

When I got to George’s, I checked my phone. Ten p.m. I went up to the hostess stand and paused.

“Welcome to George’s. Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asked.

“No. I mean, yes. Well, not me. I’m here to see Jase? I mean, Jason Colbertson.” Wow, I seriously needed to get my shit together.

She nodded and then led me into the restaurant and then out again to a table at the edge of the terrace, under a heat lamp. Jase looked up as I approached and immediately stood to pull my chair out for me. Before I sat, he put his hand on my hip, leaned in, and kissed my cheek. I sucked in a deep breath and held it when his lips touched my face. In that moment, it felt like my heart stopped. I at least stopped breathing.

“Took you long enough,” he whispered near my ear.

“Huh?” My brain was short-circuiting.

“Never mind. Sit,” he said, gesturing toward the chair.

I sat with a clumsy thud while he gracefully slid back into his seat. He was wearing the same well-tailored, charcoal-colored suit and white shirt he’d had on earlier, but he had ditched the tie. The top button of his shirt was undone, and for a moment I imagined undoing the whole long row of pearly buttons beneath it.

“I wasn’t going to come,” I said.

“That’s a shame.” He blinked impassively.

“Don’t you want to know why?”

“No. You’re here now.” There was nothing left of the timid Jase I once knew. He was in full command here.

I looked out to the ocean. “Quite a view, isn’t it?”

His eyes were fixed on me. “Yes. It is.”

Our table was so small that I could easily reach across and touch him if I wanted to. Which I did. I just didn’t have the courage.

“A bottle of wine, perhaps?” he asked.

I nodded. “Sure, you choose.”

“Red okay?”

I nodded again. I was rapidly losing any mastery I had over the English language.

He summoned the server and ordered an expensive bottle of pinot noir, like he had done it a million times.

“So . . .” I said after the server left to get the wine.

“You didn’t finish the book this afternoon, I take it?”

“I read some, but I was busy.” The server returned with a bottle and two glasses. She poured the wine as Jase continued to pierce me with his gaze.

“Thank you,” he said.

I took a sip and smiled. “It’s very good.”

He sipped from his own glass and looked out to the ocean and then back at me. “God . . . I missed you so much, Em.”

My smile faded. I tried to fight the tears sprouting into my eyes. “Don’t, please.”

He looked away again. “So . . . Trevor, huh? Never pictured you with a jock.”

“It’s not like he’s an abusive alcoholic,” I said defensively.

“Is that all it takes?” he said with a wry smile.

“No, I mean . . .”

“I’m just playing with you.”

“You’re still exasperating, Jase.”

“You’re still beautiful, Em. Even more so than I remember.” His eyes traveled over my shoulders, my breasts, down the length of my black slip dress.

“When did you become such a pig?”

“I was just . . . appreciating how much things have changed,” he said, flashing a grin before he took another sip.

“Please.” I rolled my eyes. “We’re not children anymore.”

“We weren’t children then. If memory serves, we grew up pretty fast.”

“Regardless, I’m still mad at you,” I replied.

“I can tell.” He smirked.

“Stop fucking smirking at me.”

“Okay.” His lips flattened, but he couldn’t mask his cocksure expression.

A few moments of silence went by as we sat, sipping our wine and enjoying the view. Far from feeling strange, the tension between us seemed to relax.

“I’m so glad to be here with you,” he said, finally sounding earnest. “Crazy, huh?” He looked out at the moon glistening over the ocean. “California, like we always said. Can you believe we’re here, together?” I remained silent. “So, tell me, Em, what has your life been like? Because from the outside, it seems like you’ve got everything figured out.”

“Not at all, actually,” I mumbled, looking down into my lap.

He looked at my lips and then back up to my eyes. “Trevor is a good guy, I assume?”

I nodded. “Yeah, he is.” And I meant it. Trevor, for all his flaws, had been a dedicated and loyal boyfriend for years.

“And you’re an adjunct writing professor now?” Jase asked.

“More like an underpaid instructor,” I corrected him.

“Well, I know you’re so much more than that.” The look on his face was like the look I remembered from when we were young. Few people in my life were as truly open-hearted as Jase. Though he could be cocky and stubborn, he could also be intensely sincere.

“Those who can’t do . . . you know . . .” I shrugged. “I’m figuring out what to do next. I never really had your writing chops.”

“I doubt that’s true. You’ve always been so hard on yourself.” He reached across the table and took my hand in his. I instinctively gave in to the moment of intimacy, my urge to run dissolving from moment to moment. “Why did you come here, Em? Why are you so torn?”

I looked up at him. “I came here because I would do anything you asked me to.” My voice trembled.

He smiled. “Anything?”

I nodded.

“Then break up with him.”

I withdrew my hand. “You ruined me that night, and you’re ruining me again with this book.”

“I thought I was saving you.”

I started to cry.

“Don’t cry.” He wiped the tears from my face. “You know me, I was trying to be valiant.” He laughed. “Guess my plan didn’t work.”

But it had. He had slain me with his words. I knew what he was trying to do, but so much time had passed. Wasn’t it too late? Why had he waited so long? I had spent seven years with Trevor, almost the same amount of time Jase and I had been friends growing up. I squared my shoulders, collected myself, and sat up.

“Are you sleeping with your agent?” I said out of the blue.

“Are you sleeping with Trevor?”

“Are you?”

“No, Emiline, you’ve been the only woman in my life since I was fifteen.” One side of his mouth turned up. The mood felt lighter.

“Don’t be a smart-ass.”

“Andrea and I are, hmm, how do you say it?” He looked up and cocked his head like he was thinking. “We’re fucking. Yeah, basically, we’re fucking. Is that okay with you?”

“Do you love her?”

“No.”

“Does she know that?”

“Yes, she does.”

“Why are you being so blasé?”

“I don’t really understand this line of questioning, but if you must know, yes, Andrea and I are colleagues with benefits.”

“That’s unprofessional.”

“We’re grown-ups. She was in an eight-year relationship with some dumbass. She’s not looking for a boyfriend.”

“That’s what you think, but you don’t see how women view you.”

“How do women view me?” he said, taunting me.

I took a sip of wine and rolled my eyes. “I met one of your superfans earlier, and she called you gorgeous and smart and so tuned in to women.”

“What do you think?”

“What do I think of you? Right now, you’re a bit of an enigma to me, but if I were meeting you for the first time, I would say, arrogant, self-aggrandizing, self-absorbed . . .”

“Ouch,” he said, although he didn’t look the least bit wounded. “You really think I’m selfish?”

“I spent years in therapy trying to forget all of the shit we went through. Now you’ve written a book and found success by telling my story to the whole world.” I waved my hand in his direction. “And then you show up looking like this?” I shook my head. “I wish I weren’t so angry with you right now, because I want to hold on to the good memories. Because there were so many good memories.”

“I want to hold you,” he said quickly. “But I can’t because I’m too late.”

“You can’t do this to me after all this time. I have a life now.”

“Don’t be angry with me, Em.” I saw a boyish spark in his eyes as he spoke. “As for the book, read the rest of it if you want. Work it out for yourself—don’t do it for anyone else.” He shook his head then abruptly looked up and called to the server, “Check, please!”

“Already? That’s it? In the book, you made it seem like this was all my doing. But I didn’t turn us in—you did. You’ve been too late for a long time now, Jase, and you only have yourself to blame.”

“Everything I wrote in the book was for a reason. I hoped that you would understand it . . . understand why I changed how that day ended. I hoped writing it from her point of view would help you get inside of Emerson’s head and understand her choices, but it seems like you’re still too resentful.”

“You’re acting as though you wrote it for me,” I said.

“I did,” he said quietly. “Don’t you remember that Vonnegut quote? You’re the one who said it to me. When I was writing the story about the ant family . . .”

I shook my head no, but I did remember.

“Something like, ‘Write for just one person’?”

The waitress brought the bill and Jase handed her a credit card without looking at it.

“But most of your book wasn’t about us at all. Everything that happens after that night is pure invention.”

“I didn’t say ‘about,’ I said ‘for,’ but let’s just leave it at that.” He scribbled his signature on the receipt, stood, and reached a hand out to me. “I’ll walk you home.”

“That’s not necessary.”

He took my hand and gently pulled me along. “Come on.”

We walked shoulder to shoulder the two blocks back to my apartment. I knew we were both thinking the same thing: how good and right it felt to be walking beside each other once again.

“How’s your mom?” I asked.

“Good. Clean. She lives in Philly. That’s where we moved after I turned Nick in.”

Nick was Cal Junior in the book. I hadn’t known that Jase had actually gone through with it. That explained the demolished house when I had returned to Ohio.

“Good for you, Jase. I’m happy to hear that.”

He followed me all the way up the steps and to the door. I turned around and leaned against it and stared at him for a long time. He didn’t look away. I didn’t know what to do or what to say. I just knew I couldn’t let him go again.

“Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“I haven’t been able to say it yet, but I’m really proud of you. I’m really proud that the stuff that happened to us didn’t hold you back.”

“I’m proud of you too. I wish that you could see how amazing you are.”

“You think so?” I said, my face flooding with warmth.

“Yes, I do.”

In a way, that was all I could ask for.

“I’m angry, but I’m trying to get past it, Jase. I want you in my life—I know that now. But I’m still with Trevor.” I looked up at him as he inched closer.

He was staring down at me, wearing a small, tight smile. There was reverence in his expression and something else: resignation.

“Friends?” he whispered.

I nodded. “Will you be in San Diego long?”

“I’m heading home tomorrow and then leaving for a book tour the following day. Twelve cities.”

“That’s wonderful for you.”

“Is it?”

There was so much simmering between us, but not all of it was being said.

My voice dropped. “I was thinking about our day in the shed earlier.”

“What were you doing while you were thinking about it?”

“Stop,” I said playfully.

“I’m kidding. Isn’t it weird that we had nothing at the time . . . but somehow it felt like we had everything?”

“Yes.” He took both my hands in his, leaned in slowly with such grace and kissed my lips softly, sweetly, like he had done the very first time. My eyes were closed. I was trying to hang on to the moment, but his lips were gone too soon.

Cyndi swung the door open and shoved her hand out past me. “Hello, Jason, we’ve heard so much about you.”

“Hello. It’s nice to finally meet you. Cyndi, I’m guessing?” he said as he shook her hand.

“Yes, that’s me, and that’s my partner, Sharon.” Cyndi was giddy. It was weird. I looked over to Sharon on the couch, who was also smiling wide.

“I saw you in a lecture once, years ago,” Jase said.

I jerked my head back to look at him. “Where?”

Cyndi answered for him. “Oh yes, they used to broadcast some of my early lectures on an educational cable channel.”

That made sense; Jase was always watching TV or reading.

“Free college, how great is that?” he said. Cyndi and Sharon giggled. Impossibly, Jase’s earsplitting grin was charming the panties off my gay aunts.

“Well, ladies, I better get going.”

“Hold on.” I ran to a kitchen drawer and scribbled my email and phone number on a Post-it. I handed it to him. “Next time you’re in San Diego, give me a call.”

He took the paper while nodding and slipped it into his pocket. “I will. Have a good night, Em.” He kissed my cheek and was gone. I felt like we were fifteen again as I watched him jog down the stairs.

I heard Sharon say, “He called her ‘Em.’ How sweet is that?”

From behind me, Cyndi said, “We’re not saying anything, but I’m pretty sure you know how we feel.”

I walked aimlessly around the living room with my head down as they watched me process what had just happened.

“You want to talk, sweetie?” Sharon asked.

“No, I think I’ll go to bed.” I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

In my bed, I thought back to that day in the shed, to what had really happened.

Jase came home from school, tired and weary-eyed but smiling. I was waiting for him all day in the shed, picking at my bowl of Cheerios. When he came in I was sitting at the table, staring out the small window.

“How was your day, honey?”

He fell onto the cot like dead weight. “Longest school day ever. I couldn’t wait to get back to you.”

“How’d you do on the history exam?”

“Aced it.”

“Of course you did.”

He kicked off his shoes. “Come lie down with me.”

I was wearing a lavender sweater dress that his mom, Lisa, had given to me. As I walked toward him, he removed his T-shirt. I straddled him and then caressed the muscular grooves of his sides.

He put his hands on my thighs and ran them up, pushing my dress up to my waist in the process. He tugged at the waistband of my flowered panties. “I like these, but I think we should ditch them,” he said.

We laughed, making the cot shake and squeak. “This is going to take some finesse.”

He gripped my hip with one hand. “Kiss me,” he said. When I leaned over, his other hand went between my legs, teasing me from the outside of my panties. We kissed and kissed, our tongues twisting, his hand rubbing and pressing against me, making me writhe against him. Our breaths became heavy. I could feel him hard beneath me. Jase was never frantic, always smooth, even at sixteen. I didn’t know it then, how perfectly suited we were for each other, because he was all I knew. But later I would learn that no one could ever come close to replicating how Jase had made me feel.

He tugged at my sweater. “Take this off.”

Pulling it over my head, I said, “Don’t laugh.” I wasn’t wearing a bra, so I was on full display to him, sitting atop him in the bright sunlight that was shining through the small window.

His mouth fell open. He just stared and then his hands moved up to cup my breasts. “Why on earth would I laugh? You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He leaned up and kissed my breasts, one and then the other, before moving me onto my side. I wrapped my arms fully around his neck as we lay kissing. His hands were roaming everywhere, and then my panties were off and his fingers were inside of me.

We explored each other, made out, kissed, touched everything. And then when I felt like I was going to literally catch on fire, I reached down and undid the button of his jeans. “These have to go too. Fair is fair.”

He stood up, removed a condom from his pocket, and threw it on the cot. “I stole that from my mom’s drawer. Kind of weird, huh?”

I just laughed. “Gotta do what you gotta do,” I said.

“Yeah this might be a little awkward.”

“It won’t be,” I assured him. He removed his jeans and boxers and walked toward me to where I lay on the cot. It was the first time I had seen him like that and he was beautiful. His skin was perfectly smooth and his shoulders broad for a sixteen-year-old. His longish hair was tucked behind his ears and his eyes were searching mine, looking for reassurance. I reached out and touched him.

He closed his eyes and made a strangled sound. “You might not want to do that.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No. Not hurt at all.”

He rolled the condom on and kneeled on the bed between my open legs.

“How’d you learn to do that?” I was afraid of what he was going to say.

“I saw it on TV.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, cable.” He shrugged.

Jase sat back on his heels between my legs, waiting for something. “Come back,” I said, but he remained where he was. I didn’t feel remotely exposed to him. He knew me. I just wanted him to touch me.

“Are you sure you’re ready? It might hurt,” he said.

I nodded.

“I love you, Emiline. I loved you before I even knew what it meant.”

“I love you too, Jase . . . I’ll love you forever.”

“Swear to me.”

“I swear I want this.”

He was staring right into my eyes. “Swear that you love me and trust me,” he said.

I knew the feeling like my own name. “Jase . . .” I swallowed and then tears filled my eyes. “I swear to god on your life and my own that I love you and trust you.”

And that I’ll love you forever.

That was bigger than any promise I had ever made, but I knew it was true, even at fifteen.

“Don’t cry, please.” He thumbed the tears away, smiled, and kissed the tip of my nose. “You’re absolutely positive you want it to be me?”

I sniffled and laughed at the same time. “Jason Dean Colbertson, that is a stupid question. Have you ever done this before?”

“No.”

“Are you sure you want it to be me?”

“You’re right, that was a dumb question.”

He leaned over and kissed me and then a moment later he was inside of me and we were moving together. Neither one of us really knew what to do, but we were patient, and after a little while, we figured it out and it didn’t hurt anymore.

Afterward, Jase went back into his house and got more condoms. We spent the rest of the afternoon having fun, awkward, love-filled, responsible teenage sex.

We were in tune with each other so much that I didn’t even realize it. I fully expected every sexual experience after that to be just as comfortable, sensual, and sweet, but nothing ever measured up. I remember after I left Ohio, my girlfriends would say sex gets better and how the first time is always terrible, but mine wasn’t because Jase and I had spent years and years getting to know each other first.

In bed, in my apartment, I stared up at the ceiling, lit ominously by a streetlight streaming through my curtains. I wished that I had asked him what his life was like when we were apart. And I wondered if he was in some hotel room nearby with Andrea.