I brush these thoughts aside when I realize Levi is probably already dressed and ready to go. So I grab the bag and untie the bottom, and out spills the edge of the dress—no, it’s a gown—and another, smaller bag. Hyperventilating, I grab the smaller bag and open it up first.
Inside there’s a small piece of paper that reads, My mom says you’ll need these. I didn’t look. Swear on my life. Laughing—and realizing too late that he can probably hear my laugh and oh gosh what if he thinks I’m laughing at the dress—I pull out a strapless bra, a pair of silver heels, and a small box. I lay the bra on the counter and the shoes on the ground, and I open the box.
Inside is a dainty necklace, made of thin metal and pearls strung at intervals. I immediately think of Suzie, and how she must have slipped this in from her own collection. It looks like something she would wear.
I hardly know what to do. I’m numb and surprised and overwhelmed as I lay the necklace on the counter and switch out my old bra for the new one (my boobs do not like strapless bras, but I will survive). Then, heaving, I finally pull the dress all the way out of the bag.
It’s blue—that’s the first thing I notice. It’s blue like midnight, my favorite blue. It’s strapless, draped in tulle that wraps across the bodice. The bottom half is also tulle: one side dropping to the ground, the other side open to just above the knee to show off a little bit of leg, wrapped in such a way that will hug my hips.
But what gets me is the fabric from the knee down. It looks as though it has been dipped in glitter of all different sizes, and I’m suddenly thinking of the stars that drift above our heads, and every conversation we’ve ever had about the constellations.
Bee, don’t cry, you ninny. Thankful I haven’t put makeup on yet, I unzip the side, careful not to pinch the tulle, and pull it over my head. I can tell from the moment it is around my chest that it will fit like a glove, so I pull the zipper back up, put the shoes on, and wrap the necklace around my neck.
It isn’t until I look in the full-body mirror that I have to remind myself to breathe. Just the dress alone makes me look five years older. My hair sits in uncharacteristic waves around my face, and the necklace is dainty, and the shoes are sexy. (Am I allowed to use that word right now?) I stare and stare and stare, and it only makes me feel stranger and younger and older all at once, and my heart is beating so hard I can’t breathe.
Is this what Levi sees, when he looks at me? Is this what he wants to see? Is this the way he wants me to dress? I turn, my right leg showing through the slit up to my lower thigh. I look beautiful, but something about it feels strange.
A knock at the door startles me, a squeak strangling my throat as Levi says, “Bee?”
I heave a breath. “Coming, just a minute.”
“Okay.”
Oh, gosh, he sounds so cute, waiting for me to come out and show him, all nervous and cooped up and one-hundred percent handsome. I should want to get out there and grab his hand, to thank him and kiss his cheek. But all I can think is that this—the hair and the shoes and the strapless bra and the dress—this is all Bee.
This is not Bernice.
I close my eyes, but I still can’t breathe. I don’t know how to do Bernice. It’s like Bernice is hidden deep, and I’m pretending to be this girl, Bee, who laughs and flirts and creates and plans, but who isn’t really like that at all.
I blink hard, swallowing. There has to be another time to think about this, when Levi isn’t waiting for me and there isn’t a party downstairs and I can cry if I need to. I take a deep breath, and then another, and head toward the door.
In the bedroom, Levi stands by the glass door, lace curtains on either side of him, looking out over the ocean. His hands are in his pockets, and his hair is sticking up straight, as if he’s been tugging on it in nervousness. He turns, saying, “I heard you laughing and—”
He sees me, his smile plastered to his lips like he doesn’t know how to fix his mouth, like he doesn’t know what to do. I can’t find the words or the breath to say them. He’s not even looking at the dress; he’s looking at my eyes and my lips, and I see his desire. He is a reflection of me.
He crosses the room, hair beautifully askew, hands still pocketed in his gorgeously chic suit. It’s light gray, contrasting perfectly with my dark look. I panic and say, “I love this dress.” I mean it, even though I still feel queasy with nerves.
But then he’s stopped in front of me, and he’s actually looking, eyes crossing the length of my body. I’ve never felt so hot and cold and everything in between, all at once, like it will never end and I never want it to. “It’s incredible, Bee,” he says, his voice quiet.
I look down at the dress, at the starry, glittering edge, and I whisper, “It reminds me of the constellations. Did you plan that?”
He smiles with one corner of his mouth. “Would you break up with me if I lied and said that I totally did?”
We laugh, but it’s stilted by whatever’s happening inside both of us right now. He touches one strand of hair lingering on my cheek, his finger grazing the corner of my lips. Then his mouth is suddenly very close. His warm breath mingles with mine. There’s a moment of us breathing together and not touching anywhere and just being, before he takes the next step and presses his body to mine and his lips are a whisper.
But they’re there. They’re an agony I’ve never experienced before.
Levi walks me backward until I’m against the wall and his hands are all palms against my stomach and hips. I shiver. He presses his lips to my cheek, sweet and gentle. A huff of breath escapes his nose, and a helpless noise at the back of his throat makes my knees wobble.
I tilt my head back, so he can see me, that I’m ready, that I can’t breathe and neither can he and we’re both starving for each other so he might as well just do it.
This is the kiss that means everything, I think.
And then his lips are on mine, awkward at first and so uncertain. I’m not sure what to do either, with my breath whooshing out of my chest and my hands splayed in the air because I don’t know where to touch him. Our noses brush, his lips so foreign on my skin—and yet, I want them there. I want them there until they’re no longer foreign, until we’ve memorized each other so thoroughly that my lips are imprinted on his and his on mine.
Then, he stops.
“Levi,” I say, eyes still closed. When my lips move, I can feel his right there, just above mine, waiting.
“I want to do this right,” he answers.
This time when I say his name, it’s a whisper, a tiny moment of breath, and I put my hands on his cheeks. “Levi, Levi, Levi.”
As if my touch has given him boldness, his arms encircle me so that I am completely against him. My chest arches into his. He takes it slow, tasting my lips eagerly but gently, waiting for me to let go. The second my body softens and my arms slide around his neck and my mouth opens, he kisses me furiously, warm and strong and all kinds of delicious.