The Summer I Learned to Breathe

thirteen

☼ thirteen ☼

It's been a while since I've actually seen Sam. We've remained in contact over the past week through texting, but we've both been busy and haven't spent time together. I've been consumed with surviving awkward encounters with my dad, and I've taken several shopping trips to gather supplies for my dorm in the fall. In addition to the stress of all of that, I've been bonding with Gabe over Call of Duty and catching up on some well-needed rest.

Sam sent me a text today, and I immediately got butterflies with furiously flapping wings inside my stomach at the sight of a text message from him. I obviously didn't hesitate in accepting his evening offer for a meeting over ice cream in town; I needed a break from cleaning, shopping, and sleeping, and I'd love to see him again.

He caught me off guard and arrived at the house five minutes before we arranged to meet up on his driveway like we usually do. He was pleasant around my father and Marie, who both watched us retreat to his car with smiles evident on their faces. They had been in a good mood all day, and both were making valiant attempts to connect with me. Surprisingly, I didn't resist.

It felt different when Sam picked me up. I'm not sure what it was, but it was a good feeling; a feeling that ignited a fire inside me and caused my excitement to amplify. For some reason, it's completely comfortable being in his presence; like it's only been a few hours since we'd been apart. It's always easy being around him. It's incredibly easy to lose track of time when talking with him.

The drive into town was the same as any other: we shared banter back and forth like an intense tennis match, and we laughed at each other's expense. We both wore identical smiles, and we talked animatedly about the week's events in each other's absence. We also both took in the sight of open farmland nestled between thick sections of trees planted in strategic rows.

We ordered ice cream in town, Sam picking a simple chocolate cone while I decided on a cookie dough cone, and he kindly paid for mine. We slid into a booth in the back of the vintage, diner-themed shop, me on one side and Sam on the other.

It's been relatively quiet. I've been licking my delicious treat, finding myself caught up in the incredible flavor and my intricate thoughts. I don't even notice Sam say something, but I do once a hand grips my own and pushes my ice cream into my nose.

"Sam!" I squeal, lifting my hand up to my nose and wiping the cold substance off. I glance at him and admire his laugher; his eyes are shut and he's wearing a large smile. I chuckle a little bit, and I lick the sweet ice cream off of my fingers.

His eyes open and look at me, and he begins laughing again. "You missed a spot!" he says, lifting his ice cream to his mouth to lick it.

"You're right!" I respond sarcastically, causing him to push his eyebrows together because he didn't understand my comment. I quickly reach across the table and grab his wrist, forcing his ice cream to hit his face. He stares at me as I laugh, and he sends me a pout. "I think I got it now," I say.

"Yeah, I think you did," he mumbles sarcastically. He wipes at his face and licks it just as I had, and we share another round of giggles.

"What were you saying when I zoned out?" I ask as I reach for a napkin and rub my nose.

Sam mirrors my actions, and he shrugs. "I don't remember," he admits. "I got a little distracted."

I roll my eyes. "You could say that."

"Can I ask you something?" he asks, changing the mood from carefree and silly to moderately serious. I nod, curious what's on his mind. He hesitates, but he continues and he asks me his question nonetheless. "What's up with your dad? It seemed awkward when he showed up that day we were playing Marco Polo, and you never talk about him like you do Gabe. Then he seemed--off," he pauses, "on the fourth..."