Senior Semester: All The While Part 27

The cab ride to our hotel, situated in the heart of Copley Square, is quick. Along the way, I can't stop staring out the window as we pa.s.s new structures, old, brick buildings, and Fenway Park. Adrian would have loved to see the historic baseball field. He would have clamored for us all to do a tour and would have posed for photos in front of the banners announcing all of the Red Sox World Series wins.

Our hotel is in a perfect location, walking distance to all the major attractions and also really close to a subway/T line. When we enter the bedroom, Zack drops our bags in a heap in the corner before toeing off his shoes and digging through his suitcase for winter boots and extra socks. I take in the room, my eyes immediately zeroing in on the king-sized bed. Suddenly, I feel nervous, shy. I'm on an actual getaway with a boy. And not just any boy, but my boyfriend, a guy I really care about. A guy I'm falling in love with. A man I hope to build a future with.

And here we are, sharing a hotel room, sharing a bed, like some couple who has been together forever. Comfortable in each other's presence, relaxing into the silences that stretch between us, sharing our darkest secrets, our deepest fears.

I perch on the edge of the bed as Zack comes toward me. He leans down placing his palms flat on either side of me and kisses me. I moan into his mouth automatically, startled that he elicits this type of reaction from me without even trying, without even really touching me. Whenever he's near, it's like my body senses him, is tuned in to him, and hums with a desire that borders on necessity. Now that I've had him, he's all I can think of. Zack Huntington consumes me and heals me all at the same time.

"Come," he says, pulling back and extending his hand to me. "If we don't leave now, we'll spend the whole day in bed." He laughs. "Not that that would be a bad thing, but we've got a city to conquer and crab cakes to eat."

I laugh and let him pull me up. Wrapping a heavy scarf around my neck, I pull my hair out and zip up my jacket. When we're both completely bundled, only our eyes, noses, and mouths visible, we take the elevators to the ground floor and step out into the freezing, biting cold, even though on the inside I'm burning up from Zack's touch, his glance, and just from being near him.

Chapter Fifty-Five.

Zack

Walking around Boston with Maura's hand tucked in my own is incredible. Every now and then, I glance over at her, enjoying all of her faces and reactions as she takes in the historical sites I point out. After only thirty minutes outside, we duck into a coffee shop and Maura orders a hot chocolate with the sole purpose of keeping her hands warm.

Going to Boston in December is just plain stupid. But I don't care. And I don't think Maura does either. One day we'll look back on this stretch of days and laugh at our craziness, our desperation to just be together, to do something new. One day, we'll tell our kids or grandkids that this is where we finally admitted the truth to ourselves, to each other. That we're in love.

I definitely don't expect to hear her say the words first. But that's what happens. We're standing in line at Mike's Pastry, waiting to order cannolis and cappuccinos for lunch before we tour the entire city and dine on New England clam chowder and crab cakes at the Atlantic Fish Co. for dinner.

Anyway, we're standing just inside the pastry shop, the cold wind blowing through the door each time a patron enters or exists. Maura's hand is clenched in my own, both tucked in the pocket of my thick Canada Goose jacket. Her hot chocolate cup is still in her other hand, and she keeps blowing on it even though it has to be cold by now. Her eyes are scanning the long list of cannoli flavors on the wall behind the counter. Suddenly, she turns toward me, her dark eyes wide and bright, her black hair failing around her shoulders in soft waves. "I love you. Do you know that?" she says so bluntly I'm surprised.

But then, not really. Because this is Maura we're talking about, and she never says anything I expect her to. Never responds that way I think she will.

I bite the inside of my cheek as I stare at her, etch every single detail of her face into my memory. The surprise and seriousness of her stare, the way she keeps working her lower lip between her teeth, how her head tilts slightly to the left as she waits for me to say something. Nodding, I squeeze her hand in my coat pocket. "Yeah. I know. And just so you know, I love you more."

A smile breaks out across her lips, brightening her whole face. She rocks toward me and stands on her tippy-toes. I bring my right hand up to cup the side of her face just as her lips collide with mine.

A few whistles ring out from the waiting customers standing in line with us, and we pull back, laughing.

"You're crazy," I tell her.

"You're weird," she counters.

And I kiss her again, never able to get enough of her.

We finally make it to the front of the line and order cannolis (chocolate chip, Nutella, and ricotta) and cappuccinos. Carrying our pastry box to Faneuil Hall marketplace, we sit on a bench in the middle of the town square and s.h.i.+ver together, eating pastries as our fingers freeze, immersing ourselves in the warmth of each other's kisses.

We smile at each other as if we can't believe it's for real. That this moment and all the moments leading up to now are our reality. Falling in love is like that. It's everything at once and even though most of the time you can't tell which way is up, it's so good that you don't want to. It's sweet and crazy and challenging and hilarious. It sneaks up on you and suddenly you don't want to pa.s.s another day without that person by your side. Some people, they can pinpoint the exact moment they fell in love. Others don't know exactly when it happened, just that when it did they never wanted to lose it.

For me, I think I started falling for Maura that day we went mini-golfing. I didn't admit it at the time, but since that morning when she walked to my SUV and lifted her fingers in a wave, I was hooked. Secretly, I think I knew she was for me the whole time, always meant to be mine. In fact, I think I knew it all the while.

Chapter Fifty-Six.

Maura

Telling Zack I love him is one of the scariest, most exhilarating, best moments of my life. I can't believe the words pop out of my mouth until they do but in the instants that follow, I couldn't take them back even if I wanted to. Because they're true. I love him. I'm in love with him. And that feeling, taking that giant leap into a gallant freefall, is too sweet not to cherish. So I tell him. And when he says it back, it's like being hugged tightly after taking the giant leap. It's everything.

We walk around the city for hours after consuming an absurd amount of calories from Mike's Pastry. Zack shows me Paul Revere's house, the Cheer's pub, the cemetery that holds Sam Adams. We meander around the MIT and Harvard campuses, duck into random coffee shops for hot chocolate refills, and spend hours in the Boston aquarium. Walking up Newbury Street, we window shop and randomly buy winter gear like extra scarves and hats and gloves to keep us warm from the freezing cold.

We act like tourists, giddy and laughing and joking about nothing. Or maybe we act like college kids in love for the first time. Either way, my cheeks ache from my constant smiling and my heart feels lighter than it has in a long, long time.

At night, after a delicious meal of clam chowder and Zack's prized crab cakes, we snuggle beneath the covers of our king-sized bed. I press my cold toes against the warm skin of Zack's legs and he laughs, drawing me into his arms. We lose ourselves in each other's touches and kisses until the early morning light draws shadows on the walls. Lying there, with my head sharing Zack's pillow, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breath rising and falling, I finally allow myself to revel in the certainty of a future I ignored for far too long.

Now, my future is intertwined with Zack's. And that, that makes all the difference.

Chapter Fifty-Seven.

Zack

"Merry Christmas!" Dad's voice rings out, interrupting Mom's singing as she hums along with the radio, as he pa.s.ses out the Christmas presents scattered under the tree.

Nicole rolls her eyes, taking the box from his hands. "Another one for me!" She sticks her tongue out in my direction, placing the present in her pile of gifts.

"Sorry, dear, that one's for Maura," Mom says gently, removing the gift from Nicole's pile and adding it back to the presents nestled next to the manger.

I laugh at Nicole's expression, and she reaches over to punch me in the arm.

"I swear you two still act the same as you did when you were eight and nine years old on Christmas morning." Mom attempts to scold us but her face beams with delight. These are the moments she lives for, and who are Nicole and I to get in the way of that?

"Thanks, Dad." I take the gift he offers me, noting the expertly tucked and taped wrapping. "Mom really needs to be a grandmother so you better get on it," I whisper to Nicole, holding up one of the boxes that is covered in ribbons and bows.

Nicole rolls her eyes. "You may beat me to that." She jokes.

I turn my attention back to Dad. I'm not even going to touch that comment. Saying goodbye to Maura when she dropped me at the airport nearly a week ago was a lot harder than it should have been, than I thought it would be. I miss her. A lot. And even though I'm happy to be celebrating Christmas with my family, I'm also counting down to New Year's Eve, to when I see Maura again.

"When is Maura flying in, Zackary?" Mom asks me, essentially reading my mind.

"On the morning of the thirty-first."

Mom nods. "Should we all go to pick her up from the airport?" she asks, excitement coloring her words.

"That's a great idea!" Nicole echoes, cutting me a look. She keeps her mouth straight but her eyes are laughing.

"That's okay," I say quickly, looking to Dad for help.

"Meg, let the boy have a moment to greet his girl in private," Dad says, putting an arm around Mom to soften the blow. "We all know you'll get your hands on her the second she walks through the door, and Zack may have to fight you off to get his kiss at midnight."

Nicole's laughter bursts forth.

Mom blushes.

"Thanks for your help, Dad," I say dryly.

"Anytime," He answers, my sarcasm going over his head. "Now, the presents have been pa.s.sed out."

"Not counting the gifts from Santa that are at Nana and Pop's house," Mom adds.

Oh my G.o.d. She's serious.

"You're right," Nicole whispers, her eyes still wide with laughter. "We need to start growing this family. Or convince Cam to start sleeping here on Christmas Eve."

"Let's open these gifts!" Dad continues, ignoring Mom and Nicole's comments.

I shake my head, tearing into the paper of my first present just like the eight-year-old Mom mentioned earlier.

Christmas morning in my house has always been a series of traditions. Family rituals. Nicole and I waking early to find the overwhelming number of presents resting underneath the Christmas tree, the fireplace already lit and crackling, Christmas music playing from the speakers. We always drink hot chocolate with lots of marshmallows and whipped cream and eat bacon and eggs for breakfast. We argue with Mom about attending church, but somehow we always end up in the first pew. Our tree is always decorated in silver and gold, with an angel perched at the top. Every few years, Dad pulls out the train set from his childhood and sets it up to run circles around the tree. Candles light each and every window, and Mom changes out the throw pillows on the couch to reflect the Christmas spirit.

And even though it seems ridiculous and childish and incredibly traditional, all of us Huntingtons sitting beneath the Christmas tree in our pajamas, Dad pa.s.sing out gifts, Mom snapping photos on her camera, I can't help but love it. It's a comforting reminder of my childhood, a familiar throwback to simpler times and happy occasions.

Watching my family now, as Dad slaps a bow in Nicole's hair and Mom kisses Dad adoringly on the cheek, I can't help but aspire for this one day. With my own family. With Maura. Sure, I still want to go to graduate school, to live in Manhattan, to secure an awesome job with a big firm; I'm not in a rush or anything. But eventually, one day, I want this.

Even though I started the semester appalled that anyone would want to live in Nebraska and own a home and raise a family, I think if I was doing all of that with Maura, it would seem more like a miracle and less like a burden. It's crazy really, how much can change in four months' time. How much two people can grow and learn and develop, as individuals and as a couple. Maura and I are just getting started, and I'm excited to see where our relations.h.i.+p will lead. For now, I'm happy to count down the days to New Year's Eve and kiss my girl at midnight.

Chapter Fifty-Eight.

Maura

"Welcome aboard." The flight attendant smiles at me as I enter the plane.

"Thanks." I reply, fisting my boarding pa.s.s as I make my way down the aisle and locate my seat. Ten A. I stow my carry-on bag in the overhead bin and slide into the seat, plugging my headphones into my iPhone and slipping in my earbuds. Selecting a playlist on Spotify, I lean my head back and close my eyes.

I'm flying into Omaha, Nebraska. I almost laugh to myself. I never antic.i.p.ated I would ever go to the Midwest, but here I am having my second adventure in nearly as many weeks. I'm both excited and nervous about meeting Zack's family but since they've met Adrian countless times, I think the introductions will go smoothly.

The plane is nearly empty, not surprising since Omaha doesn't strike me as a party place to ring in the new year. Still, I'm just excited to see Zack, to stand next to him for the countdown, to kiss him at midnight. After the past week apart, it's a little embarra.s.sing but truthful when I admit that I really do miss him.

Christmas with Mom and Dad was good. We're definitely starting to knit ourselves back into the family unit we once were, minus Adrian. Even though the holidays were definitely trying, especially this being the first Christmas that Adrian's laughing face wasn't present beneath the Christmas tree, it's also comforting to be able to talk about him, share stories of him, and smile. And that's what we ended up doing on Christmas morning.

We were sitting around opening gifts, Christmas music playing in the background, when Mom suddenly burst out laughing. Dad and I looked at her and then at each other with raised eyebrows, but she just moved closer to the tree, reaching out a hand to finger a red and green glitter ornament. "You know Adrian made this for me when he was seven?" she asked aloud to no one in particular.

Dad and I remained silent, our eyes focused on her.

"He had glitter everywhere that day. Glued to his clothes, stuck in his eyelashes, under his fingernails. Oh, it was such a mess. It took me hours to clean the glitter he managed to sprinkle throughout the house from his hair and clothes. Weeks later, the light would s.h.i.+ne a certain way, and I swear there was another piece of glitter stuck in the carpet or s.h.i.+ning from a pillow on the couch." She shook her head. "At the time I was so frustrated but now ... now it seems like one of the best gifts I could ever receive, doesn't it? A beautiful ornament and a story that I can look back on and laugh, even now, even after this year." She squeezed her eyes shut tight, holding in the memory, a look of sadness crossing her face before she smiled again. It was bittersweet. "G.o.d, I miss him," she murmured.

And that was all it took. Those words and Dad and I were right there with her, recounting stories, sharing memories, mingling our laughter until our stomachs growled and reminded us that we hadn't eaten.

It was a moment that felt like before, even fleetingly. But it also made me feel like we all just might come out on the other side of this. That we all may just be able to heal enough for each other to still be the family Adrian was once proud of. And that was probably the best Christmas gift any of us could receive this year.

Packed in my checked luggage are Christmas presents for Zack from my entire family. I think all the Rodriguezes, my tios and tias, my cousins, even the guys who work at my tio's garage are elated that Zack is back in our family fold. And that I'm the lucky girl dating him.

Plus, I have my Christmas present for him: a five-day getaway to Playa del Carmen, Mexico before we're required to be back on our campuses for crew. Mom and Dad bought our flights as their Christmas gift to us. I know he's going to be surprised, and I can't wait to see the look on his face when he opens the present.

The plane starts to move slowly as we wait our turn in line on the runway for takeoff. I stare out the window as our plane starts to gather speed, barreling down the runway and lifting into the air. Below, the houses grow smaller, the cars resemble ants, and people disappear completely. And I close my eyes and think back, reflecting over the past four months. The senior pact, literally running into Zack, the series of poor decisions and late nights out that resulted in my little wonder, the grief and loneliness that finally eased with Zack's presence, his support, his dependability. And even though I never thought I'd have any type of adventure this semester, not in the same way that Emma and Lila and Mia were, I realize that the past four months have been my own type of journey. One of healing. Of acceptance. Of forgiveness. Of love.

And even though I couldn't have known any of this while it was occurring, I'm really relieved that my dark and often desperate path led me to now. I'm thankful that my experiences this semester made me stronger, more empathetic. A more well-rounded version of myself. But what I'm most grateful for is that through it all Zack was there. Sometimes like a shadow, sometimes like a conscious, sometimes like my counterpoint, but still there, all the while.