"Yes?"
"I- I um- well, you- I-"
"Listen, kid, the campers' cabins are on the other side." He points behind him. "Now, move, yeah?"
"That isn't it!"
"Then what is it?" He still has that same bored tone.
Finally, the words I've been meaning to say spi...
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If there was any doubt before, it's clear now. I love Noah.
I love him so much. And everything he did for my birthday times his existence? Are you kidding me? The most I've ever gotten was Pop Tarts from Mason when he was six. While that was the highlight of my year at the time, this is beyond anything I could have ever hoped for.
This is the best birthday ever.
Now he's speeding to take me to get my brother so we can see my mom. How did I land this guy?
My heart is beating out of my chest. I don't know if it's normal to know you love someone before you're even boyfriend and girlfriend, but I want him to know already. I want him to feel the same.
Jesus, I want to cry all over again. I don't know if it's because this has been a generally emotional time or if this is my period's doing, but all I want to do is cry. Sad cry, happy cry—just cry.
It takes us less than the two hours to get to the house. When we get to the house, Mason is sitting outside on the porch, completely dressed.
I frown. We didn't tell him we were coming for him.
He grins really big before running up to my door and opening it to hug me. I squeeze him tight, pulling away to ask the question on my mind. I don't even get to open my mouth before he says:
"I knew you'd come get me."
My next question is how long he's been outside, but he's in the backseat in a flash. I want to ask about Dad. I don't bother, though. God forbid I put anymore energy into thinking about anything him related.
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Throughout the drive, I explain mine and Mason's usual tradition. Funnily enough, we typically do have a picnic.
Because Noah is amazing and wants to make this the exact same as every other year, he stops at a grocery store and comes out with more than I thought he would. How he managed to figure out our local grocery store is open twenty-four hours is beyond me.
I don't laugh when he comes out of the store panting, or when we get to the cemetery with the bag still in his lap.
When he realizes we're a minute late, he turns to look at me and apologizes profusely. It's so cute that he cares. I mean, it's only a minute. And this wasn't exactly planned.
