I inhale deeply, breathing the familiar scent of her shampoo and perfume. Absorbing how it feels, having her back in my arms.
Maeve clings to me, and it’s the first thing to alleviate my nerves all day. It’s a confirmation I needed, knowing she’s missed me these past few weeks as much as I’ve missed her. It’s one thing to exchange those words on the phone or via text. It’s another to feel them seeping out of someone.
We stand like that for a while, before Maeve loosens her grip enough to tilt her head back and make eye contact.
“Hi.” She smiles, and I tug on one of the curls in her usually straight hair in response.
“Hey, Stevens.”
“You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
There’s an unsaidfor nowat the end of both of our sentences. It hovers like an invisible cloud signaling storms to come.
Maeve and I have never had a plan beyond being together. After we officially started dating in the middle of our senior year of high school, we were happy to sneak off and spend time together alone.
College decisions were difficult. Lincoln made the most sense for me, and Arlington was where she wanted to go. We were undoubtedly the only two with any confidence we were strong enough to spend four years going to school hundreds of miles apart. And we wavered too, especially the summer after freshman year.
And now, a month after graduating college, we still have no plan.
I’m moving to San Diego next week to get settled before training camp begins. Maeve moved home after graduation and is applying to jobs. Her degree is in education. She’s hoping to teach and to coach soccer—somewhere. Ideally, San Diego. But I haven’t asked, and she hasn’t offered.
California is farther than I was hoping for. About as far from Connecticut as you can get. But I didn’t have much say in the matter. The excitement surrounding the draft was quickly drowned out by the flurry of finals and goodbyes and graduation and moving. Maeve and I haven’t had a chance to talk—really talk—in weeks. Nothing about my future is certain. I could get injured the first week of camp. Traded at some point. I’m not so much asking Maeve to consider a life in San Diego; I’m asking her to mold her life around mine, to make her decisions fit with my goals. It’s selfish, and it’ll directly affect the one person I want to support, not limit.
That’s the reason my stomach feels nauseous with nerves and the tiny box in my pocket feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. Because I know this is a commitment I’m ready for, but I’m not sure if Maeve is. We’ve spoken of our future in absolutes, but vague ones. She changed her major twice before deciding on education. I had no guarantees when it came to football until my name was called. Not wavering on wanting to be together is one thing. The logistics of having that remain a certainty are another.
“You look tired,” Maeve says, brushing a finger across my cheek.
I lean into her touch. I’m more than tired—I’m exhausted. The bone deep kind fueled by stress and uncertainty, not just the physical toll of long days and little sleep.
“I am,” I agree.
“It’s too bad the timing with your mom’s trip wasn’t any better.”
“I’ll be fine.” I’m basically running on pure adrenaline, anyway.
Today was the earliest I could leave Michigan, after packing up the off-campus house I shared with four football teammates. Tomorrow, my mom is leaving for a river cruise in Italy with Dean, her boyfriend. He seems like a decent guy, based on the limited time I’ve spent with him. I’m not sure if it will ever not be weird, seeing my parents with other people, though.
For all the judgments of my mom for staying with my dad despite his repeated infidelity, I never fully considered what them leading separate lives would look like.
From an objective standpoint, it’s reassuring and inspiring. They’re both happier and healthier for it. But as the little kid who watched his parents laugh together, I’m not sure it will ever feel right.
I don’t know if I believe in soul mates or destiny or fate. But it’s been easy to entertain the possibility, since I met Maeve.
Her hand drops from my face, brushing my neck and then sliding into my hair. I got a haircut for graduation, so the strands are shorter than usual. “I can drive, if you want.”
“Nuh-uh.”
Maeve huffs. “Is this about the bunny? Because I—”
I cut her off with a kiss. She melts into me, not even attempting to finish her sentence. The last time Maeve drove my car, she nearly swerved into the guardrail trying to avoid a rabbit. We laughed on an adrenaline rush and then I told her she wasn’t allowed to drive my car anymore.
Any thoughts or worries flee as our kiss deepens. Maeve has always had a calming effect on me. The first time I met her, I shared a secret I’d never told anyone else.
Around her, I feel lighter. More relaxed. Stressors seem like manageable problems.
Maeve’s hands slide from my hair to wrap around my neck, pressing every inch of our bodies together. I pull her bottom lip between mine, and she lets out the throaty little moan that never fails to affect me.