The Sun, The Moon, and Their Stars

24 : Cold

Kimberly

That dinner was awkward.

They served pasta with a white sauce, and I never tasted something like that before. My family isn't food explorers, and my parents are traditional in that regard, so I don't know much about variations in food. It took me a few servings before I realized that the Alfredo they were talking about was the name of the sauce. But Benjamin was right, his mom can cook.

His parents engaged me in conversation. They also asked about our project and some school stuff. The sad part of me came partially alive again after I realized how different it was compared to how we eat dinner at home. My father almost always just gives his monologues on the dinner table, and most of the time, those things weren't even called for. But the happy part of me felt the warmth this family shared with me here. And I want that part of me to stay.

Benjamin tells me to wait, so I'm standing here by the front door. I hear a door closing from upstairs. And he's coming back down now, wearing his grey hoodie jacket and holding another.

"Here," he hands me a black one, "it's a bit chilly out now."

"Thanks."

He watches me as I wear the jacket, and I intentionally look away. I don't think I can ever see him the same way again after I saw him shirtless earlier, which was quite a sight, to be honest. Then he leads our way through their garage and opens the gate for me.

He's so thoughtful, gentle, and mannered. I don't know why someone is stupid enough to reject him. He doesn't have to say so, but I know that's the point he implied earlier at the beach.

It's a bit chilly outside. It's early December, after all.

I hide my hands in the pockets of his jacket while we walk in silence in the middle of the street. His hands are in his pockets as well. I'm looking straight ahead, but I can notice the houses on our sides seem ready for the holidays.

I'm not one who looked forward to Christmas. I've never really felt the December air as something festive, or the whole thing as merry. They're just climate and tradition. Perhaps that's just because of the sadness that I've been nursing inside for the past couple of years.

But this time, I inhale the cool air and feel it in me. I let my eyes get attracted to the Christmas lights of the houses we pass by. I look up, and there are stars. I breathe in, and I breathe out. And for the first time in a long time, I feel the way I did as a child on a Christmas morning. I can see the colors and the lights; hear the music and the silence; feel the cool air touching my face. I'm feeling happy again.

I stop in front of a lamppost and face him, who stops walking as well. We're standing here staring at each other's eyes, with both of our hands hidden in pockets. And I somehow gather the courage to break the silence.

"Thanks for today. I really appreciate it."

He nods. "Did you have fun?" he asks with a smile.

"Yes." More than he'll ever know.

"I'm glad you did. I...I had fun too." His voice sounds softer and mellow.

We continue walking in silence, and we're moving at a slower pace.

I keep my gaze transfixed at the dimly lit ground ahead of us, at the shadows in front. We look taller and bigger at night.

But the worst thing about the best day of your life is that it still has to end.

We're on the last few steps before the conclusion of this day. And I wish I can magically stretch the street further so we can have more, even if in this strange and cold silence. But there's no such thing as magic.