I listen to us briefly talk about the Fourth of July, just like I remember we did, and then he moves the camera to the bedside table. That’s when I pull him toward me and he presses his face to mine and we kiss. We’re laughing in between it all, right until I ask him to switch off the camera. He asks if we can keep it on. Seconds later, he scrambles toward the lens and the video shuts off. It ends.
After spending my entire evening hearing what Tyler had to say about me and hearing everything he’s remembered over the past two years, even the smallest of details, he’s managed to reduce me to tears. They’re rolling down my cheeks in warm waves as I stare at the screen. It’s gone black again, straight back to the beginning of the video when it’s the middle of the night, and I can see my reflection looking back at me. I’m not crying because I’m upset. I’m overwhelmed. My entire body feels numb. To really understand just how deeply Tyler loves me, to really feel it . . . I think it’s the most comforting yet frightening thing in the world.
I play the video again, this time skipping straight to the two-hour mark. I jump back and forth for a while within a half-hour time frame, searching for a specific moment. It’s my favorite one from the entire video, the only time Tyler directly speaks to me rather than the camera as I’m still sleeping. When I find it, I exhale, leaning back against the pillows. Hitting the play button once more, I close my eyes, and I listen.
“I don’t know what being in love with someone is supposed to feel like,” Tyler admits with a breathy laugh, “but if being in love means thinking about someone every second of every day . . . If being in love means your entire mood shifts when they’re around . . . If being in love means you’d do anything and everything for them,” he murmurs, “then I am endlessly in love with you.”
27
It’s almost ten by the time I shut down Tyler’s laptop. I’ve been lying here for a while. Just thinking. About Tyler and about the video and about him and me. I wonder where all of this is going. When Dean finds out the truth and when we break the news to our parents, what happens then? What’s next? Will Tyler and I get together? Are we supposed to wait a few months and let everything cool down first? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m growing tired of waiting. It’s been two years and we haven’t gotten anywhere yet. Two years and I have yet to be able to proudly introduce Tyler to people as my boyfriend. Will I ever get to do that? I can only hope and I can only pray that no one looks back at me with wide eyes and shocked gasps.
I’m still sitting alone in silence, comfortable in the dark, when the door slowly opens with a creak. I glance up expecting to see Emily, but instead I see Tyler. His head is hung low as he lingers at the door, his hand resting on the handle. He appears calm now. Not confused or angry, but not quite relaxed either. Just calm.
“Can we talk?” he asks quietly. There’s a nervous undertone to his voice, like he’s expecting me to say no. I might not be able to clearly see his face, but I can tell that he doesn’t want to look me in the eyes right now. He’s staring at the ground.
I don’t reply, only nod once and hope that he can see it. I press my palms down on the mattress and shift my body over to the other side of the bed, closest to the window, and I wait for him to join me in the warm space I’ve just left. That’s exactly what he does. In silence, he closes the door behind him with an inaudible click and makes his way over, gently slipping into the bed by my side. He stays on top of the comforter, putting an arm around me as I rest my head against his shoulder. We both breathe softly for a while, and even though he asked if we could talk, neither of us wants to. We both just look ahead of us to the mirrored closet doors opposite the foot of the bed, staring at the reflections of our outlines through the dark.
After a short while, Tyler decides to finally say something, but he doesn’t move an inch as he clears his throat. “What happened yesterday?” he asks so quietly that it’s almost a whisper. The silence feels too fragile to speak any louder.