Things I Can't Forget

Right and perfect, even though we’re anything but right and perfect. But being with him smells better than salt on the breeze first thing in the morning at the beach. It tastes better than homemade vanilla ice cream. It feels better than dragging a paintbrush across canvas.



“What did you think of my email?” I ask.



“I understand…let’s just keep talking and I’ll try not to be an ass, okay?”



My email to Matt said I don’t believe in sex before marriage, and that if we share a bed, I’m afraid I’ll end up doing everything with him because I can’t help it. I told him that I want to do everything with him, but I need time, and I need his support while I figure things out.



I love you, I told him in my email. Can you trust me? I want us to work.



“I think God wanted me to find you again,” I tell him, stepping close enough to wrap his shirt in my fingers. He stares down at my fists, then up into my eyes, giving me that wicked smirk of his.



“I know God wanted me to be with you,” he replies, pressing his forehead to mine. His mouth meets mine and we kiss gently.



“Wait—no way,” I mumble, stopping him from kissing me again. “You’re totally in the doghouse for not answering my email promptly.”



“How do I get out of it?” His lips graze my cheek, leaving me dizzy.



“I’m open for suggestions.”



“Ahem.” I peek up to find Mom standing there next to Vincent Moose.



Matt and I break apart and smooth our clothes, as Mom goes back into the kitchen. I caught a smile on her face.



“Come onto the porch with me,” Matt says, taking my hand.



“Why?”



“I want to get out of the doghouse.”



When I step out the front door, I totally wish I had put on a bra and real pants. At least fifty guys are crowded on my street, catcalling and screaming at Matt.



“You pussy!” one guy yells.



“Nooooooooo,” Nick, the guy I met at Chili’s, cries.



“What’s going on?” I ask Matt. I’m bewildered, and maybe a bit scared, but very curious.



He reaches into his shorts pocket—



“You’re not proposing, are you?” I gasp.



“What? No!” He throws his head back and laughs.



“Good. If you didn’t ask my Daddy for permission he’d bring out his shotgun and then you’d be tacked up on the wall with Vincent Moose.”



“Asking your dad for permission to marry you would be easier than what I’m about to do.”



I raise an eyebrow and look from his frat brothers to him. “Why’s your frat here?”



“They’re my friends.” He looks into my eyes with such a fierce intensity, I know I can never ask him that question again. Regardless of what they made him do with a banana, he cares about them. They are something he believes in.



He loves his frat.



“So when you’re not at camp, do you always travel with this entourage?” I say with a laugh.



He smiles. “Not usually…”



Some guy in the street yells, “Brown is an über douche!”



I ignore that lovely sentiment.



“The guys came with me for a reason,” Matt says, nodding over his shoulder.



“Are you doing a carwash for the ASPCA? For the puppies and kittens?”



“Is that your way of saying you want me to take my shirt off?’



I pinch his bicep. “You behave.”



He grins. Then he reaches into his shorts pocket and pulls out a silver chain. A charm reading ΔTK hangs from it.



“Will you wear my letters?” he asks.



He cares about me more than his frat? My eyes fill with tears.



“That means—”



“That I love you more than them,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at all the heckling guys. “I want you to know I can wait…whatever you need, we can work it out.”



A few months ago, I couldn’t even comprehend love or what it meant to be in an adult relationship or how important it is to follow my instincts.



Maybe I can have my beliefs and have the guy I love too.



“I love you more than those guys too,” I say with a laugh.



“Thanks, I think.” He wipes the tears off my face and we kiss while being heckled.



“What’s a girl like that doing with an asshole like you, Brown?!”



We break apart, and he slips the Greek letters over my head. And not even ten seconds later, a roaring mob of guys storm my front porch and carry Matt away. It looks like he’s body surfing.



“I love you, Matt!” I yell, then gaze down at the Greek letters. He could’ve put Megan’s godforsaken whistle around my neck and I’d care about him all the same.



Three guys are shoving Matt onto the bed of a truck now. I smile, thinking about how lucky he is to have a bunch of guys who love him enough to come over here and make a big deal out of his love for me.



“Don’t you dare tie him to a tree or anything crazy!” I yell at the guys.



I kiss the ΔTK charm and head back inside to call Emily.



I’ll never understand why she did what she did.



But if Matt can wait for me—can respect my beliefs—maybe Emily and I can work out our differences too.



The door to Foothills Diner swings open. The bell dings. Emily appears. She’s not wearing makeup and her auburn hair is pulled back into a messy bun.



She slides into the booth across from me and cracks her knuckles.



“Hi,” I say, clearing my throat. I close my sketchbook and drum my fingers on it.



“Hi.”



A waitress appears, holding a notepad. She pulls a pen from behind her ear. “What can I get you?”



“Rhubarb pie,” Emily and I say at the same time. We smile sheepishly at each other.



“I’ll take a coffee,” I add.



“Me too,” Emily says, and the waitress goes to ring in our order.



“Thanks for coming,” I tell Emily. I left a voicemail, inviting her to meet me here. It surprises me that she showed.



She pulls two packets of Splenda from the sugar caddy and places them in front of her.



There’s an uncomfortable silence until the waitress comes back with our coffees. More silence as we fix them. Half and half with no sugar for me. Two Splendas and skim milk for Emily.



I curl my fingers around my mug. “I, uh, wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”



She studies my eyes.



“We don’t have to believe the same things to be friends,” I go on. “I’m sorry I put pressure on you. You didn’t need that, considering everything else.”



She sips her coffee and makes a face. She grabs another Splenda and stirs it in. “I’m sorry too,” she says slowly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more grateful for how you helped me. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”



I sniffle. “Jacob sent me a text, asking how you are.”



Her gaze meets mine.



“Have you talked to him?” I ask. “He really wants to talk to you.”



“I can’t.” She chokes on her words. She pulls a napkin from the little rusty dispenser and holds it to her nose.



“I think you should tell him,” I say. “He loves you. Maybe he’ll understand…”



“How could he?”



“Either he’ll forgive you or he won’t…Don’t you want to risk it?”



She looks down at her lap, dabbing her nose with the napkin.



“You have a boyfriend now?” she asks.



“Yeah, his name is Matt.”



“He’s cute.” She glances up, flashing me a small smile.



“Do you remember him from when we were little? The guy at camp who was always writing songs? He wore glasses?”



“Shut up! That’s your boyfriend?”



“Yep.”



She bangs her fist on the wobbly table. “The one you made out with behind the art pavilion?”



“It wasn’t making out!” I laugh.



“Not then, anyway.” The side of her mouth quirks up. “You’re serious with him?”



I scrunch my napkin. “We’re serious, but not that serious.”



She nods quickly. “I’m happy for you.”



“I’m happy for me too,” I say with a laugh.



“Because damn, he is hot.”



I laugh again. “He’s not just cute?”



She waves a hand, shushing me. “I under-exaggerated before. He’s hot.”



The waitress drops our rhubarb pie off at the table and we grab our forks.



“So how did you and Matt get together?” Emily slices into her pie and listens as I tell her all about him.



Sketch #402



What happened last saturday night, october 20



On Thursday night, I walk into the Belmont dining hall and, after pouring myself a bowl of Rice Krispies, I grab a seat and open my backpack. I push aside my Planned Parenthood volunteer folders and pull out my sketchpad.



The Purdue game is on all of the TVs. It’s getting tons of coverage ’cause Jordan Woods is standing on the sidelines in her uniform. I smile up at the screen, knowing there’s no way she’ll get to play today because she already said so on Facebook. But her standing on the field with her team is huge, and I can’t stop grinning.



During a commercial where some SUV is driving through craters on the moon, I start drawing the tent Matt and I shared last Saturday night. I dot the paper with the stars sprinkled above us.



He took me camping at Old Stone Fort, and I grilled burgers for dinner and he fried doughnuts for breakfast. We played this game where we made up new names for the stars in the sky. My favorite was Shamu. Matt wanted to zip our sleeping bags together to create a queen-size sleeping bag, but I kissed him and told him to stop being such a troublemaker.



“I’m a guy,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll never stop trying to get into your bed.”



We pushed our sleeping bags as close to each other as they would go and I hugged him all night long, trying to ignore how much I want all of him.



Next weekend we’re borrowing Matt’s mom’s van and road-tripping with Ian and Carlie to Chicago, so Matt can run the marathon, barefoot. And I can’t wait for the following Saturday, because Matt’s taking me to his frat’s formal at the Opryland Hotel, where I’ll finally get to wear the silk dress Mom bought for me.



I’m shading his dirty blond hair when Emily shows up and grabs the seat next to mine. I shut my sketchbook, slip my pencil behind my ear, and listen to her talk about orchestra practice.



“I think I might have a shot at first chair,” she says, wrapping the necklace Jacob gave her around a finger.



I steal a French fry off her plate and smile at my friend.



She touches my wrist. “Tell me what your professor thought of your painting already!”



So I do.