“Yes.”
So there we were. That completely obnoxious pair of teenagers making out in the doorway of a major department store, eliciting stares and curses from passersby and not caring one bit.
“Happy anniversary,” I said, pulling back.
“Happy anniversary,” she said, pulling in.
Then, hand in hand, we plunged into the night.
We still had four days until Christmas, and it was time to fill them with the right story.
Monday, December 22nd
Christmas can go fudge itself, because I already have what I want: Dash.
I could feel the faint light of morning sun on my face, but before I opened my eyes, I wanted to enjoy the rise and fall of his breathing against my chest, his warm body pressed against mine.
Yesterday, arguably the best day of my life not including any Star Wars movie opening days, Dash and I had declared our love for each other. When Dash took me home last night, we cuddled by the fire, gazing at our beautiful tree-baby, Oscar. I told him how much I loved him. “I love your obscure books and moody music and even your terrible cookies. I love your kindness. I love you for loving Christmas, despite yourself. For me.” I’d been holding it in for so long, and needed to talk it all out. “When did you know you loved me?” I asked Dash.
He said, “There wasn’t an actual moment. Don’t look so disappointed. It was more a gradual realization. A knowing of how much sweeter my life was for having you in it. Sofia telling me how much lighter and happier I seemed since knowing you.”
I wasn’t jealous of Sofia at all anymore. At least, not in terms of Dash. I’d never not be jealous of her Euro-elegance and her un-American, rational relationship with sugar foods. “Did you tell Boomer and Sofia you loved me before you told me?”
“Didn’t need to. Apparently everyone else knew before I did.”
“We have an anniversary! I love us for that! I love you for telling me you loved me on it!”
“You didn’t remember, did you?”
“I didn’t,” I confessed. My December mind has traditionally been so caught up in Christmas it hadn’t even occurred to me that my own romance could now be included in important holiday dates. “Which Nicholas Sparks book do you think we as a couple are the most like? Say The Notebook!”
Dash’s dreamy blue eyes turned icy blue-gray. “Don’t even joke about something like that.”
I hadn’t been joking.
I asked, “Am I ruining the moment by overtalking it?”
“Yes. Let’s talk it out silently.”
And we did, through many, many kisses, before we fell asleep on the living room floor—fully clothed, fully exhausted.
For now, there was waking up next to each other to savor. Drool dribbled onto my arm and I fluttered my eyes open. Darnsicles! It was Boris I was spooning, and not Dash. My waking disappointment was silly. I was actually doubly blessed. I already had what I wanted, this year and last. Dash, and a dog. My red Moleskine runneth over.
Dash lay on the other side of Boris, half-awake. Dash had already gotten what he wanted for Christmas, too. His mom went away on her annual holiday vacation, and she didn’t insist Dash stay at his dad’s while she was away, so Dash didn’t need to lie to them by saying he was staying at the other’s apartment. What Dash wanted most was to have his home to himself. He could have that, later. For right now, he was all mine.
My heart was still exploding with exhilaration. I loved a boy! He loved me back! He baked me cookies! That hadn’t made me sick!
I knew I had serious competition for his affection. Dash greedily eyed the bookcase next to Oscar. Instead of saying “Good morning,” I asked him, “Why do you love books so much?” It wasn’t a hostile question, like I was jealous of those firm, colorful spines that beheld so much wonder between their…pages. I was genuinely curious.
Dash said, “From the time I was a baby, my mom took me to the library at least once a week. Librarians were like Mary Poppins to me. They always knew how to match a book to my mood or to whatever I was going through at the time. I could always find peace in books.”
“And escape?”
“Escape, sure. But it wasn’t so much about getting away, as going to. You can go anywhere in a book. Books are adventure. Knowledge. Possibility. Magic.”
I couldn’t believe my beloved snarly Dash had spoken such blasphemy. I propped myself halfway up from the floor and looked down at his amazing face. (And beheld Boris’s amazing smoosh face next to Dash’s, too. I was such a lucky girl!) “You believe in magic?” I said to Dash. Those two faces. My boyfriend and my dog. They were my magic.
“Yes,” said Dash. Then, solemnly, he added, “But please don’t ever tell anyone I said that.”