White Noise

29

People speak about love like it's something you're supposed to just know. You know, when you know, you know.

It was hard to believe I was supposed to know I was in love, when I felt like I didn't know anything.

I didn't know if my mom had been going to work as regularly as she said she was.

I didn't know if the electric bill had been paid for on time when all the lights in my room went out while I was studying my Calc notes late at night after having spent the entire afternoon with JD.

I didn't know if Caroline was still mad at me, or just preoccupying all her time with work or Blake.

I didn't know if Emily was actively avoiding me after our last conversation or just being her usual aloof self.

I didn't know if Lauren and Austin were actually acting more flirtatiously toward one another, like Bridget would hint at during break or lunch, because I was never around enough to see it myself.

I didn't know if Jack's side-eye glances at me during History were anything more than the friendship we once had.

I didn't know if Mac's wide smiles were genuine or mischievous—always a joint in his hand when I saw him, more often than not extended out to me.

I didn't know if Haley's pointed looks in my direction were born of curiosity or concern—her red nails always digging into my knuckles just a tad too hard every time we saw one another after JD picked me up from school and took me to her place, or Mac's, or Travis', or some other one of their Buckley friend's houses.

I didn't know if the way JD intertwined his fingers with mine every chance he got, the way he placed his free hand on my knee while driving us around in his Range Rover, the way he constantly peppered kisses across my forehead, cheeks, jaw, neck... I didn't know if it was just affection or something resembling that thing you're just supposed to know.

I didn't really know. But, with him, I felt a freedom in knowing that I didn't have to know.

I just knew I was with him. And when I was with him, I wasn't quite as worried all the time.

The way he looked at me, with that piercing blue stare, made me feel seen.

The way he spoke for me, like he could read my mind and then articulate it in a way that had me questioning even my own thoughts, made me feel heard.

The way he took care of me, always resting his strong hand on some part of my body like a comforting anchor, reminding me that I was worth something.

The way he made it so easy to see the world through his eyes.

I felt seen. I felt heard. I felt taken care of.

I felt, for once, not entirely clueless.

And so even though the fresh gash on my knee from the night before still stung a little just from the movement of JD pulling my body closer to his, I couldn't help but almost embrace the pain.

"Pain is a part of life, Katie," Dad said, tucking me into bed. We'd just gotten home from the hospital after I'd fractured my wrist sliding into second base during a game of softball in PE. I'd been holding back tears all afternoon, trying to be strong even though I knew I'd completely embarrassed myself in front of all my seventh-grade classmates. "They call it growing pains for a reason."

"What are you thinking about?" JD whispered against my hair, his arm tightening around me as if to squeeze me back into the present.

We were cuddled up on a knit blanket in that serene clearing he and his dad went to together when he was younger; the place he showed me the first time he picked me up from school. When we both really opened up to each other about our parents—our lives.