Speechless(143)

                Sam is so earnest it hurts, and he’s staring at me with this                     kindness in his eyes, the kind you can’t fake—there’s an innate goodness in him,                     like deep within his soul or something, and you don’t even have to hear him                     speak to feel it. It just radiates.

                “Do you know when you’re going to start talking again?” he                     asks. “I only ask because—well, I like to be on speaking terms with the girls I                     make a habit of kissing.” He leans forward so our foreheads touch for a moment                     before backing away with a smile.

                I want to remind him that it isn’t a habit yet since we’ve only                     done it once, though it’s nice to see where his mind is at on that subject.

                “I know you can’t answer me right now,” he says quickly, “and I                     know you have your reasons, however fuzzy they may be. I just think… I don’t                     know, maybe it’s time to start…moving on. I feel like this whole thing is                     wrapped up in all these ugly feelings, and it can’t be good, carrying all that                     around inside you. You know?”

                I nod, because everything he’s said is true, but I don’t know                     how to explain to him that I’m holding on to this because it’s all I have. There                     are things I can’t put words to, and if I even try, I’ll screw it up, and I                     can’t afford to mess this up. This is too important. Sam is too important.

                His eyes flicker over my face. “I really want to kiss you right                     now,” he blurts out. “If that’s okay.”

                He leans toward me, slowly, inch by inch, leaving me plenty of                     time to move away from him. I don’t. Instead I close my eyes and hold my breath                     as I wait for his mouth to meet mine, the anticipation tingling all the way from                     my stomach to my throat. I can feel him coming closer, his breath warm against                     my cheek in contrast to the freezing air, making me shiver.

                Just as his lips hover over my own, we’re interrupted by the                     telltale bloop of my cell phone; I push back from                     Sam and wiggle it out of my pocket. A new text message, from Dad, asking me to                     come home. He says it’s important. I pass the phone to Sam and reluctantly hop                     off the picnic table. I may be willing to risk possible hypothermia for a                     make-out session, but after all I’ve put my parents through, I’m trying to be a                     better daughter and actually do as they say. In a timely manner, no less.