Eva calls Luca to update him on what’s going on. He asks to talk to me, but I decline. I just want to live in this world—?both huge and tiny at the same time—?for a little while longer. Just Eva and me. Luca says we can stay the night on Emmaline, that he’ll explain everything to Emmy, and that there should be some things to eat in the cupboard in the little kitchen.
We find a box of macaroni and cheese and a pan. Eva boils the noodles while I root around for anything sweet, but only come up with a half-eaten jar of peanut butter, which is sort of perfect when I think about it. After Eva squirts bright orange cheese goo all over the noodles, we eat out of plastic Star Wars bowls on the couch.
“I need to tell you something,” Eva says as I grab the jar of Jif from the table and hand her a spoon.
“What?”
She inhales deeply, twirling her spoon between her long fingers. “Maggie asked me if I wanted to live with you guys.”
“What?” I nearly choke. We don’t even have a house. “She asked you this today?”
“No, no. A few days ago. She knew how much Emmy was driving me up the wall and asked if I’d feel more comfortable with her.” She shrugs. “Emmy said no.”
My throat aches, but I swallow it down. This is an ugly twist—?Mom asking Eva to live with us after she nearly had a stroke when Emmy asked the same thing concerning me a few years ago. “That’s what you were fighting about on the Fourth, isn’t it?”
She nods. “I know it was stupid, but it made sense at the time, in my head. I guess I wanted to feel like I belonged somewhere again, had some control. Maggie made me think . . . I don’t know what.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “She’s really good at making people think I don’t know what.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“And I thought I’d get more time with you.”
I can only nod and put the peanut butter on the floor, my appetite sapped. Restlessness simmers under my skin. I flex my hands, then ball them up, tuck my legs underneath me only to unfold them again, and let them hang off the edge of the couch. Next to me, Eva is watching me, her own tension and helplessness as thick as the peanut butter I couldn’t eat.
Then she inhales deeply before letting her breath out in a slow, steady stream. She gets up off the couch and turns to face me.
“What are you—??”
But my question dies as she lifts her arms into the air. They rise up from the sides of her body, her fingertips meeting over her head. She stands so her heels are touching, her feet turned out and toes facing opposite directions.
And then she dances. It’s nothing like the kind of dancing I saw on top of that table at the bonfire. This is ballet, pure and graceful, method and freedom.
I have no names for the way her arms arc gracefully through the air. There’s not much room in the tiny cabin, but even her wrists turn her hands in a beautiful sort of dance of their own. Everything about her is lovely. The muscles in her legs flex as she lifts herself up onto her bare toes, as she moves in the little space afforded her. She makes the most of it, transforming her body into a work of art.
And her face.
It’s tear-streaked and smiling.
When she finally comes down, her arms floating back to her sides like feathers, I can’t stay sitting. I’m on my feet before I’m even aware of it, my hands on her face, my forehead against hers.
“That . . .” I say. “You.” It’s all I can get out. She sniffs a little and trembles in my arms, but she’s still smiling. It’s tiny, but it’s there. “Thank you.”
She nods. “I’m trying to be brave like you.”
“Like me?”
She pulls back to look at me. “Like you.”
We look at each other for a few seconds, and then I back up, holding out my hand. “Come on.”
“Where?”
I don’t answer, just hold out my hand until she takes it. Walking her back to the beds, I give her a gentle push onto the lower bunk. Then I lie down next to her, tangling my legs with hers, pressing my palm against her lower back and pulling her closer. She does the same, wrapping me up with her hands and arms and legs.
I release my lungs, breathing out all the birthdays and purples, necklaces and tips stolen out of my jewelry box.
And when I take a breath in, it’s all Eva. Her soft jasmine scent, the silky slide of her skin, the way her mouth is slightly parted like it’s waiting for me. We stay like that for a long time. Long enough for everything in me to loosen, relax, think clearly. Feel clearly. Eva’s patient. She doesn’t talk or ask me questions. Doesn’t make a move to kiss me. She simply trails her hand over my face, my hair, my shoulders, and my back while we watch each other and my eyelids grow heavy.
Eventually I fall asleep. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out when a crack of thunder wakes me. I startle in the bed, but Eva’s arms are there, tightening around me.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.”
“Did you sleep?”
“A little, I think.”
I nuzzle closer to her, everything about this moment so warm and perfect, scattering every dark thought and fear and worry.
“Was I really your first kiss?” I ask, my lips brushing over Eva’s mouth.
She smiles, gliding a finger down my cheek. “Yep. I had so many other offers, but I was waiting for a blond girl with freckles on her nose. Had to have a blond girl with freckles on her nose.”
“Redheads can’t be trusted.”
“Not a bit.”
I smile, but it fades quickly along with our silly jokes. She fits herself even closer against me, our bodies perfectly aligned.
“Totally worth the wait,” she whispers against my mouth.
It’s that word that wakes me completely and undoes something in me. Worth. Suddenly, everything about this moment feels urgent. Desperate. I can’t even respond with words. There’s no time, because I have to cover her mouth with mine. Like, if I don’t kiss her right here, right now, I might die. Just stop breathing and dissolve. She opens her lips to me, touching my tongue with hers, and I can breathe again.
The boat bobs underneath us, a gentle sway pushing us together. My fingers curl around the hem of her shirt, pulling it up so I can touch her skin, sweep my thumbs over the firm planes of her stomach. Goose bumps break out below my touch, and I smile against her mouth. Soon, she’s reaching out too, her hands on my bare waist. My stomach isn’t nearly as toned as hers, and when her fingers brush the skin there, I suck in.
“This okay?” she asks, pulling back for a minute.
I relax. “Yeah. Is it okay for you?”
She smiles and we kiss until I’m dizzy, until my entire body aches and all I want is more. More her. More us.
I lift her shirt over her head, revealing a Tiffany-blue bra with a little swath of lace over the top of each cup. She’s so beautiful, I can barely see straight. I meet her half-lidded gaze and she nods, gliding her finger up my rib cage. I dip my head to the slope of her collarbone, tasting the hollow of her throat, sliding down to press a kiss to her sternum. My hand drifts up, over her bra and her small, soft breasts. Her breath catches and she arches a little into my touch.