Isla and the Happily Ever After (34 page)

I hang up his shirt and pants beside his coat to dry. Over my head, his socks and boxers go flying onto the shower floor. I laugh. He’s wrapped himself up inside my quilt, and only his face is peeking out.

“This doesn’t mean you can take advantage of me,” he says.

I laugh again.

Josh sweeps out a hand across the surface of my bed as a gesture for me to sit beside him, but the quilt catches on the manuscript. It knocks over on to the floor in a loud, crashing, never-ending nightmare. We freeze in horror. We listen for Nate. Nothing.

We smile at the miracle that has been granted to us.

I sit beside him. He scoots in towards me, but I pull back my head. “Don’t you want to know what I thought about your book first?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” He laughs nervously. “Do I?”

“You know it’s good. You know it’s really,
really
good.”

His face disappears as his entire body slumps into the mound of blankets. “You can’t even begin to imagine how relieved I am to hear you say that.”

“I’ve always known you’re brilliant. And you’ve just proved it to the world.”

A hand pokes out from underneath the quilt. I squeeze it. “For what it’s worth?” he says. “You’d make a great editor someday. Everything you yelled at me was true.”

I look away from him in shame. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“No. I am. I’m sorry about so many things. And I’m especially sorry for…using your ex-girlfriend to fuel my own stupid insecurities. I want you to know that I don’t love this” – I gesture towards his manuscript, scattered across my hardwood – “because there’s less of her in it. Or more of me. I want you to know that I love it because it has
you
in it – the good parts
and
the ugly parts. I love you. I love
all
of you.”

He grips my hand harder. “Thank you.”

“The praise is a long time coming.” I rub my thumb against his index finger. “And I have so much more of it to give.”

“Tomorrow. Right now, I only want you.”

But my heart grows heavy again. “You mean
today.
Did you find out when your train leaves?”

“Isla.” He looks surprised. Like I should already know this. “I never bought a ticket.”

My breath catches. “What?”

“I’m not going to the Olympics. I came here for you.”

“Does…does that mean you’re staying?”

He scoots in closer. “Two weeks. Through the end of the games, if you’ll have me. But then I’m stuck in DC until June.”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll have you!”

Josh smiles impishly. “Oh, you will?”

I shove him through the blankets. He topples over onto his side, laughing, pulling me down with him. He stares into my eyes. His smile fades. “I’ve missed you so much.”

I rub my arms against the chill. “I’ve missed
you.
”

“You’re cold.” He holds open the quilt. “Come here.”

I scoot forward into the blankets and sheets and pillows. Into him. The quilt falls against my back, enveloping me against his body. I press my cheek against his bare chest. He tightens his grip around me. We lie very, very still. The world is silent except for the steady beat of our hearts. After several minutes, I look up at him.

Josh stares back. His heartbeat quickens.

I slide upward until our noses are pressed against each other. I kiss the corner of his mouth, and I feel him smile as he kisses the corner of mine. His fingers trail down my back as he unzips my dress. He pulls it all the way down, past my ankles, and lets it drop onto the floor. He removes my bra and then my underwear.

He removes my compass necklace last.

Our kisses are soft. Teasing. Restrained. Our skin is clammy, and then warm, and then hot. Our kisses grow longer. Our breathing gets faster. I fumble for a condom. He presses against me, and it feels so good, so intense that I cry out. He meets my gaze to make sure that everything is all right, everything is
more
than all right, and my hips arch against him in response. His eyes close in rapture, and he’s guiding my body, and we’re finding our rhythm, and we’re together again, at last.

We can’t say the words enough.

I love you.

They’re a chant through the night as we move together slowly. Then quickly. Slowly. Then quickly. We don’t fall asleep until the break of dawn. Josh’s body curls around mine. Our hands clasp together over my heart. We’re still in this position when my alarm rattles us awake an hour later. I roll over and turn it off, groaning with deep annoyance, and then roll back into him. I resettle against his chest. I sigh happily.

He moves my tentacle arms away from his body. “Mm, no you don’t,” he mumbles.

I give a tiny whimper.

“School,” he says.

“But you’re here. That’s not fair.”

He hugs me, despite himself. “I have to pick up my suitcase. It’s still in Meredith’s room at the hostel. And I wanna say goodbye to everyone before they leave.”

“Can’t I do that with you?”

Josh nuzzles his nose against my cheek. “I’ll be here when you return.”

“I fixed my door. You’ll need a key.”

“I’ll take good care of it.”

“What if I won’t give it to you?”

“Then I’ll break the door again.”

“This dormitory makes me feel so safe.”

He smiles and pushes me from the bed. “Gooooooooo.”

I force him to get ready with me. The building is loud and active now, so we can move around without tiptoeing. We shower and brush our teeth and dry our hair, and everything seems twice the miracle that it did in Barcelona. Because this time we know it can’t be taken away from us. This
will
be our future.

His clothes are still wet, so I dry his pants with my hair dryer and give him back the T-shirt that he gave me over Thanksgiving. It’s tucked inside one of my pillows. When he sees it, he looks sad and happy and amazed. “I thought you probably threw this away. I still sleep with the scarf you gave me.”

“I want that back, you know.”

“The scarf?”

I smile. “That shirt.”

Josh returns my smile as he pulls the shirt over his head. “I’ll give it back with extra me-scent.”

I hug him, tucking my head against his chest. “Do I really have to go to school today?”

“I’m
not
getting you in trouble again.”

I look pointedly at my closed door. And then back at him.

“Okay.” He grins. “Maybe I’m willing to throw you under the bus for that one.”

When Kurt hears that Josh is in my bedroom, he insists on sneaking back to the dorm with me for lunch. I’m proud of him for breaking another rule, but I’m worried about what will happen. There’s not the slightest hesitation when they see each other. Josh greets Kurt with the same genuine and enthusiastic embrace that he gave St. Clair.

“I hope those are tears of happiness,” Kurt says, when he looks at me.

“They are,” I say.

“I’m glad you’re back together,” Kurt tells Josh. “And I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me, too,” Josh says.

“I like Isla better when you’re dating. I didn’t think that would be true – I thought I liked her more
without
you – but that wasn’t the case at all.”

Josh laughs. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“She’s been miserable company,” Kurt says.

Josh laughs harder, delighted for this news, as I whack Kurt’s arm. But I’m grinning, too.

“Will you be staying here?” Kurt asks Josh.

Josh and I immediately tense. I’m sure he’s reliving the same memory – Kurt, unable to lie. Barcelona.

“I am,” Josh says. “I don’t want to get Isla in trouble, but I’m good at keeping quiet.”

“I won’t say anything to anyone,” Kurt says quickly. “And if Nate corners me, I’ll tell him you’ve been staying at a hostel. Not here.”

I can tell that Josh is as surprised as I am. “I appreciate that,” he says. “But I won’t let you lie for me. If we’re caught, we’ll deal with the consequences ourselves.”

Kurt ponders this for a moment. “You’ve changed.”

Josh smiles. “So have you.”

“Oh,” Kurt says. “You guys should tell Hattie this time, though.”

“Definitely,” Josh and I say together.

We stay together happily and quietly. Josh doesn’t let me skip any more school lunches or break any additional rules. Only the big, obvious, boy-in-my-room one.

It’s wonderful sharing a space with him.

While I do my homework, he draws. We each have our own space inside of this shared space. I imagine that our apartment next fall might feel like this. The thought fills me with more joy than I thought possible. I borrow Hattie’s television, and from the opening ceremonies onward, the games are never turned off. The spirit of the events – of being in the host country – is thrilling. But, even better, the sound of the television is
incredibly
handy when it comes to muffling untoward noises.

As always, the women’s figure skating isn’t until the end of the games. The short programme is first, and we’re excited when Cricket’s twin, Calliope, bursts into first place with an acrobatically powerful performance. In the stands, the camera shows Cricket and Lola exploding from their seats with joy, but the announcers focus on Calliope’s curse instead. Predictions are made that she’ll be too scared to pull off her second event.

“Why can’t they let her enjoy this moment?” I say.

“Don’t worry,” Josh says. “Assholes always eat their own words.”

Two nights later, it happens. It’s the free skate. Her gaze is sharp, and her black costume is shimmering and transcendent. Her music is from the 1968 film
Romeo and Juliet,
and she becomes Juliet – in love, in death – before the entire world. She wins the gold medal by a landslide. Cricket and Lola clutch each other and cry. I even see Anna and St. Clair jumping up and down behind them. But Calliope is all triumphant grin.

“Told you,” Josh says, as if he can predict the future. But maybe he can. He’s always known what he’s wanted, and he’s getting everything that he asked for. I haven’t always known. But now I have what I want, too. The rest, the unknown…it’ll come.

And I’m looking forward to it.

The medal programme ends, we turn off the television, and – as we wrap ourselves around each other – we’re faced with the truth that our time together is coming to an end, too. Josh holds me tighter, but it’s not enough to stop the clock. The next evening, the Olympic flame is extinguished. The games are over. And he’s gone.

Chapter thirty-four

It’s midnight. It’s sweltering.

It’s the top of June.

I cross Amsterdam Avenue underneath a clear sky. I’m nervous, but it’s a good nervous. An anticipatory nervous. In the past few months, the last traces of shyness and doubt have been removed from my step. I’ve found the Right Way.

And I’m walking straight towards it.

The golden light of Kismet winks at me.
There.
In the window. Everything about this moment is exactly how I pictured it. His shoulders are rounded down, and his head is cocked to the right. His nose is nearly touching the tip of his pen. He arrived earlier this evening on a flight from DC.

I stop directly in front of the window. The light changes on the surface of his paper, and he looks up. We smile softly.

I touch my hand to the glass.
Hi
, I mouth.

Josh touches the other side.
Hi.

He nods towards the door for me to come in. I open it, and I’m greeted by the warm fragrance of strong coffee. He stands. I walk straight into his embrace. We kiss, and we kiss, and we kiss. He tastes like Josh. He smells like Josh. He feels like Josh.

“You’re so real,” I say.

He touches my cheek. “I was thinking the same thing. I love the real you. I’ve
missed
the real you.” His finger is splotched with fresh ink, and I feel the tiniest wet drop against my skin. He tries to wipe it away, but I stop him.

“Please,” I say. “Leave it. I’ve missed the real you, too.”

Josh squeezes both of my hands with both of his.

“What are you working on?” I ask.

“The last page.” He gestures towards the table, where a pencilled sketch is being turned into inked brushstrokes. It’s a drawing of us, in this café, in this moment.

I smile up at him. “It’s beautiful. But what comes next?”

“The best part.” And he pulls me back into his arms. “The happily ever after.”

This book – and myself – were rescued from the brink on three separate occasions: (1) in November 2011 by Carolyn Mackler and Sara Zarr, (2) in July 2012 by Holly Black, and (3) in daily phone calls with Myra McEntire. I will for ever be grateful for their concern, caring, and counsel. Thank you, you astounding women, you.

Myra, you deserve your own paragraph. Because…TWYLA.

Thank you, Kate Schafer Testerman, for being my rock. My cheerful, encouraging, tough-as-an-Olympic-gymnast rock.

Thank you, Julie Strauss-Gabel, for your unrivalled patience and intuition. For recognizing my three girls as individuals and for helping me craft their worlds. Further thanks to everyone at the Penguin Young Reader’s Group for providing me with support and enthusiasm in equal measure. Exclamation points for: Lindsey Andrews, Lauren Donovan, Melissa Faulner, Anna Jarzab, Rosanne Lauer and Elyse Marshall.