Moments pass and I wait for her response. It never comes. I inhale a sharp breath and muster all the courage I need to finally face her, but her curtains are closed and she’s gone. I check my phone—she’s still connected. “Becca?”

Then there’s a knock on my door that echoes through my phone and I practically run out of my room and down the hallway—tripping over my own feet to get to her. I end my magnificent display or overly-excited clumsiness by crashing my shoulder into the wall. I recover quickly and brush down my clothes, attempting for a look of “casual-calm” when I open the door. But it doesn’t matter how I look because when she rises to her toes and plants her lips on mine—phone still to her ear—whatever calmness I’d faked is replaced with everything good and right in the entire fire trucking world.

She pulls back, a half-smile playing on her lips and holds her hand to my chest. “Sweet dreams, Skater Boy.”

I watch her jog back into her house and I can’t contain my grin as I close the door. And when I drop my gaze, my eyes catch on a piece of paper on the floor by my feet. I quickly pick it up and turn it over. It’s the picture her grams had taken earlier that night. Tommy’s sitting on her lap focused on blowing out the candles… and behind him Becca sits, her eyes open and her smile full force, but she isn’t looking at the cake, she’s looking at me, just like I’m looking at her and even through the picture I can tell how badly the boy’s falling for the girl, just like the girl’s falling for the boy. I sigh/laugh—the kind of reaction you have when something unexpectedly phenomenal happens. That’s a Hunter term, FYI, and I’ve never understood it until now. I carry the picture, along with the healed heart, to my room, and set the paper against my lamp on the nightstand. And I fall asleep with a smile on my face and my heart in her hands.

13

-Becca-

joy

dʒɔɪ/

noun

a feeling of great pleasure and happiness.

“Happy toomuffvenessee,” Tommy yells, flowers in his hands and big goofy grin on his face.

I open the door wider and look from him to Josh who’s wearing the same goofy grin.

“What’s this?” I ask, taking the flowers from him.

Josh leans over Tommy and kisses my cheek. “What he was trying to say is Happy two month anniversary.”

My jaw drops and so does my stomach. “I didn’t get you anything,” I whisper.

Josh rolls his eyes. “You mean you forgot?”

“I didn’t—”

“I’m kidding,” he cuts in. “I was just being lame.”

“No!” I mouth, then pout while I sniff the flowers. Grams comes up behind me, sees the flowers, sees Josh standing in front of me, and does what I didn’t know I wanted—she takes Tommy and shoves me out the door, right into Josh’s arms. Josh waits for her to shut the door behind us before taking a few steps back and leaning against the porch railing, his hands on my waist, pulling me between his legs. Then he grabs the flowers and throws them over his shoulder.

My jaw drops, again, and my eyes widen in shock.

He shakes his head. “I don’t even know if it’s our anniversary, and I picked those flowers from the neighbor’s yard. I just wanted an excuse to ask you to go out with me—like, on a proper date. Dinner, movie…”

Without meaning to, I scrunch my nose.

He tilts his head back and looks down at me. “Or a helicopter ride to my penthouse mansion, maybe?”

I scoff and laugh at the same time. Something he calls a scaff, and it’s something I apparently do a lot.

“So that’s a no to the date?”

My lips purse tight.

His smile widens as his hand rises—his thumb brushing against my lips. “I think I’ve gotten pretty good at reading your facial expressions but I don’t know what this one means.”

I place my hands flat against his hard chest and look up at him, and I just stare at him for a while because really, who wouldn’t want to? I clear my throat, my mouth dry. “I like what we do,” I tell him, and it’s the truth. The last couple of months we’ve spent every spare second together, even after Tommy goes down. He tells me about his work and what jobs he’s doing, and what Tommy’s up to. Sometimes he’ll apologize for talking too much but he really enjoys having someone to talk to, and the truth is, I really enjoy listening to him talk. I mean, one of us has to, right? I add, “I don’t really think we need to go out and do anything fancy.”

“But you don’t want to… I don’t know.” He shrugs. “You can get all dressed up, I’ll get dressed up, we’ll go out…”

I lean closer and undo the top button of his work shirt, then press my lips to his chest. “I’d rather you dress down,” I tell him.

He engulfs me in his arms, holding me to him. Then lowers his mouth to my shoulder. His breaths warm against my ear, he says, “I’m so lucky to have you.” Slowly, he releases me but I don’t go far. He adds, “I just don’t want to fail on all my boyfriendly duties.”

I try—unsuccessfully—to suppress my grin.

“What?” he asks, giving me a crooked smile I’ve come to love.

“Boyfriend,” I whisper.

He nods slowly. “Well, yeah. Am I not that?”

Returning his nod, I smile full force.

“Your only boyfriend, right?”