For Christmas, I am on the couch. His dad picks up his sister in the morning - we get her for half of the day. When our time with her is up, we will drive her back to her mother.
He sits beside me for most of the day. When he is not there, our dog is. She puts her head in my lap, and watches me with her warm brown eyes.
For Christmas, I give him new snow shoes. I give his dad a study book that he'd always wanted but could never manage to excuse buying. I give his sister my favorite book, a Klutz book on making friendship bracelets. The whole time she is with us, she sits beside me and I teach her how to make art out of string.
That night, he gives me a ring. It's small, and it's beautiful.
"It's a promise ring," he tells me, and the way he presents it makes it all the more meaningful. His face is flushed, his eyes wide open, his voice nervous. He thinks I will not like it, but I do. I do.
"I love it," I tell him. I kiss him on the lips, and he pulls me on top of him. I straddle him, sitting on his hips, and he slides the ring onto my right ring finger. It fits perfectly - how did he know my size? - and seems to bring out the feminine features of my hands even more. My knuckles suddenly don't seem so big.
He kisses the ring on my hand, kisses the palm of my hand, kisses me.
"I love you," he whispers into my skin.
I tilt his chin up, meet his eyes. I think of my mother. I love you to the moon and back. I love you most. I love you more than anything in the whole wide world. I tell him, "I love you more than you can ever imagine."
This is another one of the nights we spend tangled in each other.
YOU ARE READING
Orange Sunday
Teen FictionGrief can be a blur, a loss of sensation, a nightmare you can't seem to escape. But sometimes, it can wake you up. --- I wrote this when I was mourning a relationship. I'm publishing it now to close the door on those feelings.
