Jesse nods, clearly a bit overwhelmed.
My mom hugs him and then pulls away, holding him out at the end of her arms and squeezing him on the shoulders, and then she shakes her head. “Never been so happy to see a person.”
Marie gives him a sincere and kind hug, catching Jesse off guard.
I watch as Jesse smiles and tries to politely extricate himself from the situation. He is uncomfortable and desperately trying to hide it.
“We just wanted to stop in and say good-bye. We should probably be on our way,” I say.
“Where are you going?” Marie asks. I assumed my dad would fill everyone in, but apparently not. I’m surprised just how slow gossip travels in my family.
“Jesse and I are headed up to Maine for a few days,” I say. I say it as if it’s perfectly natural. As if I don’t have a fiancé. Actually, maybe I don’t have a fiancé. I really don’t know what I have anymore.
“Oh, OK,” Marie says, her tone matching my own. “Well, I hope you two have a nice time.” She holds my gaze for just a little too long, looks at me just a little too intently. The message is clear. She wants details soon. No doubt because she cares about me but also, I’m going to guess, because this is starting to get juicy.
“Thanks,” I say, and the way I look at her out of the side of my eye makes it clear I will make sure she is the first to know anything there is to know.
And then Sophie and Ava come bounding down the stairs together, holding hands. Sophie is in a set of sea green thermal pajamas, desperate to see what all the fuss is about. Ava is in mismatched yellow and orange, being dragged along.
They get about three stairs from the bottom when they stop. Ava plops down. Sophie has one hand shielding her eyes from the light and she’s squinting ever so slightly.
“Hey,” Marie says gently. “You two know you’re not supposed to be up.” I look at Jesse as he watches Marie sign every word she’s saying.
My father stands up. “I’ll put them back to bed,” he says. “I’d like to spend some time with my grandbabies.”
Jesse watches as my dad signs the words “bed” and “children.” My dad then scoops up Ava and takes Sophie’s hand and disappears up the stairs.
“All right,” I say. “We will see you all later.”
Jesse waves good-bye to everyone as I take his other hand and lead him out. But when our feet hit the street, Jesse appears lost in his own thoughts.
“Everything OK?” I ask.
Jesse snaps out of it. “What?” he says. “Yeah. Totally.”
“What’s on your mind?”
I assume he’s going to ask about the sign language or their cochlear implants. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even mention the fact that they are hearing impaired. Instead he says, “I don’t know . . . it’s just that . . . wow.”
“What?”
“Those are my nieces.”
My appetite came back just before we hit the Massachusetts border. Jesse and I drove through a fast-food place and now we’re pulled over on the side of the road.
I’m eating a hamburger and french fries.
Jesse ordered a bacon cheeseburger and a Coke but he hasn’t had much of either.
“I think we’ve actually stopped here before,” Jesse says.
“At this exact one?” I ask him.
Jesse nods. “After the senior prom.”
I laugh. The prom feels like a lifetime ago. We told our parents we were staying over at friends’ houses but escaped early and drove up to the very cabin we’re leaving for now. Olive and I had gone to Victoria’s Secret the week before. She was trying to find a bra to fit under her dress but I ventured toward the more adult lingerie and bought a black strappy G-string, saving it for prom night. It was the first time I had really tried to be sexy. Jesse didn’t even notice it that night. All he cared about was that we were alone, no one to hear us or stop us.
“Sometimes when I think about what I wore to prom, I wonder why you and Olive didn’t try to stop me. Remember I had those temporary butterfly tattoos all over my body?”
He laughs. “Honestly, I thought that was hot as hell. Remember, I was eighteen.”
“I don’t think you’re remembering just how trashy I looked.”
“I remember it like it was yesterday,” he says. “You were the hottest girl there.”
I shake my head and finish my hamburger, balling up the wrapper and throwing it into the bag.
“Hold on,” I say. “I think I have a picture. I need you to truly remember what I’m talking about. I need you to admit that I looked incredibly cheesy.”
Jesse laughs while I turn around and grab the duffel bag I put in the backseat. I pull it onto my lap and shuffle through it, grabbing the envelope I took from my apartment and searching for the picture I’m talking about. I can’t find it at first, even though I know it’s there.
I toss the bag back into the backseat and dump the contents of the envelope onto my lap.
“Whoa,” Jesse says. “What is all of this?”
“Just stuff of yours, ours,” I say. “That I kept.”
Jesse looks touched. “Wow,” he says.
“I never forgot about you,” I say. “I could never forget about you.”
He looks at me briefly and then down at my lap, to the photos and papers I’ve saved.
He doesn’t acknowledge what I’ve said. Instead, he grabs a picture from the pile. “Is this from New Year’s Eve in Amsterdam?” he asks me.
I nod my head.
That night, we kissed other people at midnight because we were in a fight. At 12:07 a.m., we made up in the bathroom of a dingy bar in De Wallen and made out sitting on top of the sink. The photo is a selfie from the wee hours of the morning, when he and I were sitting out on a bench by the river.
Jesse picks up a candid photo of us on top of a mountain in Costa Rica and a picture of him on a beach in Sydney. You can tell I am the one taking the picture. You can tell, just from the smile on his face, how much he loves me.
“God, look at us,” he says.
“I know,” I say.
“Do you remember when this photo was taken?” Jesse says, showing me the one of him on the beach.
“Of course I do,” I say.
“That was the day we decided we were never going to make a backup plan, so that we had to pursue our dreams,” he says. “Remember? We were going to take jobs that allowed us to see the world.”
“I remember.”
I riffle through a few more pictures until I find another envelope inside. It’s addressed to him in my handwriting. It is the letter I wrote him before I went out on my date with Sam. I push it aside, allowing it to make its way, without being noticed, back into the larger envelope it came from.
And then I find the photo I’m looking for. Our prom. Me with my butterflies.
“All right,” I say. “Look at this picture and tell me the truth.”
We are standing in front of a large glass window, overlooking Boston. You can see city lights in the background. Jesse is in a cheap tux with a wayward boutonniere that I pinned on him in my front yard as all of our parents watched. I’m right beside him, turned slightly to the side but looking at the camera. I am standing in a bright red dress, with way too many clips in my hair and a series of already-faded and splotchy fake butterfly tattoos down my back.
A victim of early-2000s fashion.
Jesse immediately starts laughing.
“Oh, my God,” he says. “You look like you have some sort of skin condition.”
I start laughing. “Nope, just fake butterflies.”
“I remember thinking that those butterflies were the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.”
“Oh, I remember thinking I was the coolest girl at the prom,” I say. “Just goes to show things aren’t always the way we remember them.”
Jesse looks up at me, trying to see if I meant anything by that. I decide to ignore how much it resonates.
“But you,” I say. “You nailed it. Handsome then. Handsome now.”
Jesse smiles and then turns back toward the steering wheel, getting ready to get on the road.