on her wall and gave her a box of pins to mark all the places she’d go.” He shrugs and carries the glasses to the table, and I watch Mrs. Greene stir whatever she’s got in the stockpot. “You should have known she’d never stay put,” she says, more to herself than to him.
I picture the map that hung on Anna’s wall, briefly wonder if it’s still there, and before I know it I’m closing my eyes and opening them in her bedroom. Her room is dark and I have to blink a few times as my eyes adjust, but then I spin slowly in place, taking everything in.
The dimensions are the same, but nothing else is. Anna’s shelves are gone, and with them, the trophies and CDs they held back in 1995. There are no more race photos or numbers, and no more travel guides peppering the surfaces of her furniture. The map is gone and so is the box of pins. All the things that mattered in Anna’s sixteen-year-old life aren’t important in her twenty-six-year-old one, at least not in this house.
The bed has been moved to a different wall and it’s covered with a different bedspread. I slowly walk over to it and sit down, running my hand across the surface, wondering if they share this room when they visit. He probably doesn’t have to sleep on the couch like I did. I bet he gets to linger here with her in the morning, not sneak out before the sun comes up. Do they unpack their clothes and hang them side by side in the closet? Does Mr. Greene pour him coffee in the morning?
Coming to this room was a bad idea.
I stand up and close my eyes, returning to my spot under the kitchen window. I wonder why it’s taking so long for them to get here.
As soon as I open them, I hear tires slowly crunching their way through the snow, so I peek around the corner and then creep over to the tree, just like I did last time.
The headlights are still a few houses away, but Mr. Greene must have heard the car too, because the front door suddenly opens and he steps out onto the porch. He heads down the front stairs and waits at the edge of the driveway, fidgeting with the buttons on his sport coat.
My pulse is racing as the front of the car comes around the hedge and two streams of light illuminate the snow-covered lawn.
I think I yell.
I feel my stomach knot up tight and my head feels like it’s going to explode. My eyes are burning, and without even thinking about it, I squeeze them shut. And when I finally peel them open, I’m standing right where I was when I left—smack in the middle of my bedroom in San Francisco.
I stumble over to the bed and sit down. I’m shaking and sweating, but when I look around and realize what just happened, I start laughing loudly and uncontrollably. It makes the headache a hell of a lot worse, but I can’t seem to stop.
I’m back.
I’m shaking and sweating and laughing and…back.
I stand up, touching my face, my legs. I stomp the Evanston snow off my feet and watch it collect on my San Francisco carpet. I turn a three-sixty in place.
I’m back.
I was
And there’s only one reason that would happen.
Anna is part of my future and I’m part of hers. And that’s all I needed to know, even if there are a million big and little things that could go wrong between now and then.
My backpack lands on the bed with a bounce, and I rip open the zipper, down a bottle of water as quickly as I can, and then dig to the bottom. When I find Anna’s photo album, I toss it on top of my bedspread where Mom or Dad could easily find it if they happen to come in while I’m gone. There’s no reason to hide it because Anna won’t be a secret here anymore. I’ll keep most of the promises I made to my parents—no more sneaking around, no more lies—but that “no more traveling” one isn’t going to stick after all.
The Doubleshot makes me grimace as I gulp it down and I chase it with another bottle of water. I return to the center of the room and shake out my arms. My legs still feel wobbly as I close my eyes.
36
Anna’s house is the color it should be in 1995.
Without giving myself time to process any more information than that, I race around the corner, fly up the front steps, and knock hard on her front door. My mouth is still dry and my head is a little foggy. I can feel the sweat on my brow even though my shoes are covered with fresh snow. But when the door swings open and I see Anna standing there, I forget everything else.
My heart is pounding hard in my chest. “Hi,” I say, combing my fingers through my hair.
“Hi.” She steps onto the porch and pulls the door closed behind her and I take a few steps back to give her room. She stands in front of me, looking confused, like she’s trying to register the expression on my face but can’t. She wraps one arm across her body and grips her elbow.
I don’t know where to start. I have absolutely no idea what to say right now. All I can think about is that ten years from now, the two of us will be in the same car, driving back here, walking up these steps and onto this porch, together. I look at my feet because I can’t look at her and piece the right words together at the same time.
“Please say something,” Anna says, letting out a nervous laugh. “You’re killing me here.” Her voice catches.
I lock my eyes on hers. “I was wrong,” I say, and tears start sliding down her cheeks, one after the other. “I was convinced that I wasn’t supposed to be part of your future but I think now…that I am.”
Her lips are pressed tightly together and she nods quickly as she brushes her hands across her face. “Of course you are,” she says. And then she looks at me, tears still streaming down her cheeks, and smiles.
I take two steps forward and throw my arms around her neck, lacing my fingers through her curls and breathing into her hair. I feel her bury her face in my T-shirt and wrap her arms around my waist. She squeezes me so tight, pressed in as close me to me as she can get. We stand like that for a long time.
I don’t know if I was wrong. I might be wrong now. But my gut feels right for the first time in over a month and apparently I’m going with it, ignoring the risks and the questions and the consequences. Again. How can I
The wind is biting and when I finally step away from Anna, I discover that her cheeks are as red as the sweater she’s wearing. I kiss each one. And then I take her face in my hands.
This kiss feels completely different from all the others. It’s not like the one at the track the other day, when I was trying not to give her false hope. And it’s nothing like the one when I first came back to town, back when I was all euphoric and full of conviction, certain we could make this work regardless of the considerable odds stacked against us. I’m kissing her like I’ve just returned from a long trip and I’m deliriously happy to be back home.
I rest my forehead against hers. I can’t hold back my smile.
“What made you change your mind?” she asks.
I give her the only answer I have. “You. In a bunch of different ways.”
We kiss again, and this one feels a lot more familiar. I picture her room upstairs, looking like it’s supposed to, and I can’t wait to be alone with her there.
When Anna pulls away, she hardly leaves any distance between us. “It’s freezing out here,” she says, brushing her lips against mine. “Come inside.” Another small kiss. “Besides, you have presents to open.”
Presents. Plural. I only brought her one thing. “Presents?” I ask.
She kisses my cheek. “I got you something. My parents got you a couple things too.” I pull back a bit more. Her parents? It didn’t even occur to me to buy them gifts. “Don’t worry,” she says, reading my mind. “They don’t expect you to get them anything.”
Anna moves toward the front door and I trail behind her, but when she opens it and steps inside, I stop
