I slept hard that night. The next day was Saturday, so I knew I could sleep in since I didn't have lessons with the kids. I remember also having vivid dreams that night, but for some reason I couldn't remember them.
My room was bright from the morning sun when I was woken up by a tap on my shoulder. My mind came to, but I did not stir.
"Becca," she whispered, tapping my shoulder again. "Beccaaaaa." She pinched my shoulder now, and this time my eyes popped open, seeing Jo sitting on my bed beside me. I blinked, wondering if I was still dreaming. But it was real—Jo sitting on my bed, her eyes a little puffy from sleep, holding a giant brown box. "Happy birthday!" she exclaimed, trying to hold the box up, but whatever was inside was too heavy for her to lift. Even after Jo reminded me yesterday, I had still forgotten that it was my birthday.
Groggily, I grunted and sat up in the bed, stretching out my arms. Memories from the night before came flooding back to me—the feeling of her hands on my face, her mouth on mine, our bodies pressed together. It brought a hot wave through me that caused me to start sweating under the blankets.
"What's that?" I asked as she hoisted the heavy box into my lap once I was sitting, the weight pressing down on my thighs.
"Well, you gotta open it, silly," she said, turning to me with an air of both excitement and bashfulness. She avoided my eyes and just stared at the box.
On the lid of the large brown box was her scraggly handwriting in black marker. "To: Becca From: Jo." It was simple and straight to the point, just like Jo. There was even a blue bow taped messily to the top.
"Oh," I said, as if I just realized it was a present for my birthday.
"Open it," she said impatiently, resting her elbow on her knee and her face on her hand. Somehow, after our kiss, she looked even prettier than I thought she was before.
Carefully, I lifted the lid from the box and set it aside, moving through a layer of white tissue paper until I revealed the present in the box.
My heart throttled as the tissue paper left my hands, and I could see Jo grinning in the corner of my eye. "Jo..." I breathed, lowering my hands but stopping them, too scared to touch it.
It was the most beautiful little piece of machinery I had ever seen. It was a Royal Signet manual typewriter, its body the creamiest shade of baby blue, and the keypads a soft oval white ivory. It shone under the dim morning glare, and even just staring at it I could feel my fingers buzzing to type at the keyboard.
"I'm not really sure how it works. The girl at the shop gave me some paper to go with it—it's in a stack under it. I didn't test it or anything, 'cuz like I said I don't know how to use it, but—"
"Jo," I stopped her, looking at her with sudden seriousness. "I can't take this." I knew how expensive typewriters were, especially one as pretty and prim as this. It was said to be the smoothest typewriter ever invented, and for that reason it cost a pretty penny, and for that reason I never owned one.
Her face fell all at once. "What do you mean?"
"This is too much." I started shoving it towards her gently. "This must have cost way too much."
Jo rolled her eyes and put a hand on the box, sliding it back to my lap. "That doesn't matter. It's yours. I got it for you. What the hell am I supposed to do with it if you won't take it?"
I slowly let my hands drop to the sides of the box, still too scared to taint it with my fingertips. "Jo..."
"It's yours, Becks," she demanded. "It's your birthday present. Don't be rude."
I glared up at her with a small smile. "I'm gonna pay you back whatever it cost."
"I'll strangle you if you try. Go ahead, feel it. I don't know what a typewriter is supposed to feel like, but the keys are awfully comfortable."
Hesitantly, I brought my fingers to the keys. She was right—they were comfortable and smooth. I could already imagine how fast I could type on this thing once I learned how. All the things I could write, all the stories I could write on real, printed script.
"Thank you," I finally said with grace, smiling up at her. "When did you get it?"
"The other day, after you showed me your writing," she casually said, looking away to poke at her own foot. "I thought it would make the process faster, so you could write even more if you wanted to. I also figured your hand must cramp from how much you write, so maybe this will help with that, too."
She spoke like she was reading lines off a newspaper, which I knew she did when she was shy about saying something she truly meant. Grinning, I leaned forward and tossed my arms around her, bringing her into a hug. She didn't hesitate to wrap her arms around my torso and squeeze me.
"Thank you," I whispered again into her blonde hair, feeling it tickle my eyelashes. "Thank you, Jo."
"Hey, don't mention it," she said, her hand slipping down to my lower back before gently sliding back up. She pulled away but kept her arms around me, looking down at me with a twitching smile. Her hand came to move some of my messy morning hair away from my face, and then it stopped on my cheek, holding it gently. "You're pretty."
I never thought two words could make me blush so.
Feeling too overwhelmed to speak, I took the courage to reach up and kiss her again. I was afraid maybe she'd changed her mind since last night. Maybe this time she didn't want it, and she'd push me away and smash the typewriter over my head. I was letting my imagination get to me too much.
Jo smiled into the kiss as she moved her lips against mine. It felt like we were two children kissing for the first time, which maybe we were. We went breathless so fast. Her hands trailed up to the back of my head and ran through my hair, her tongue slipping out once just to graze across my lower lip. Our faces were hot against each other's, and her hands were growing more adventurous, slipping down to my hips and curling around to my abdomen.
I'd never had a birthday so sweet.
Holly had also planned something for my birthday, and she was upset when she found out Jo had gotten to me first. She had made me a few drawings of us together—swimming in a pool, sitting at the tea table, riding horses. She said it was all her favorite moments with me, though I never swam in the pool with her and only watched from the chairs.
Marty even ordered me a cake, a big pink one that Holly had chosen the decorations for, hence it being pink. There were flowers and hearts and butterflies with the words Happy Birthday Rebecca written on it in white icing. Naturally, when we were sitting at the dinner table eating, Jo took a piece and shoved it in Judd's face. Then Holly got involved, and even Marty, and we were all covered in cake when Katie screamed at us to stop. I'd heard her whisper to Marty at some point during cake: "Is this really necessary?"
Jo spent the evening with me learning how to type on the typewriter. We typed a bunch of random letters on a page, slowly but surely, and even figured out how to use the backspace to white out mistakes. She sat at my desk with me, leaning close to me, watching with amazement. We kissed again.
Then I didn't see her for two days. Usually, it wasn't out of the ordinary, but something felt different this time. She didn't say she was leaving. She had seemed so fine on my birthday, the happiest I'd ever seen her. I started to worry. Had I upset her somehow? Was she partying again? Was she okay? I had hoped that after our kisses, she would stick around more.
It started to worry me so badly that I went to Marty's office after dinner on the second night she was gone.
"Oh, hey, Becca," he greeted me when I came in, showing me the Donnelley grin. He had been writing in some notebook, and I suddenly felt silly for disturbing him.
"Hey, Marty. I was wondering if you knew where Jo was? I know she's gone a lot, but I was just curious where she went this time." My hands fiddled together as I spoke, standing tiny in the large doorway of his office.
"Oh," he said, his grin fading. He looked around for a moment before he set his pen down and sighed. "She's over at the Manor Farm. Richard called us the other night and told us that Willow's not doing well. He thinks... well, she was a good horse. She's lived a long life, but Jo was pretty upset."
My heart heavied upon this news, remembering how much love was in Jo's eyes around Willow. "Oh, no... Do you think she's there now?"
Marty looked at me for a moment, his eyes glistening. "You're a good friend, Becca." I think he knew what I was trying to get at, because he gave me a sort of sad smile before he walked to a row of keys hanging on the wall. He took one of them and tossed it to me, and I barely caught it.
"You can take the Pontiac," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and smiling at me.
I stared at the car keys in my hands, my eyes widening. "Marty, I can't take your car."
"I want you to," he said. "I've got an important business opportunity I'm working on, so I can't be there for her. But I don't want her to be alone. And if she wanted anyone around, I'm sure it would be you." His eyes softened, and I grew a little nervous. Did he know about the kisses we shared? How she touched my back and my hips?
Surely not. Surely he would have fired me if he did.
"Go, it's already late. Do you remember how to get there?"
I nodded slightly. "I think so."
"Then go, be with her. She needs you, Becca," he said with an air of finality before he sat down on his desk, expectantly looking at me to leave so he could get back to work.
The metal of the car keys buzzed in my hand. I thanked him, and then I left.