"Nadjia!" Jonathan stood up, his seat sliding along the hardwood floor of the lodge. Jonathan hurried to her, and they hugged. "You made it!"
Nadjia embraced him, and began crying.
"No tears. Please." Jonathan held her, stroking her thick black curly hair.
Nadjia bawled. "Don't go, please."
"Oh, Nadj. Come on. Come have some cake, and ice cream. It's pistachio. The ice cream, not the cake. It's your favorite." Jonathan gently pushed her away, and took her by the hands. He led her to the table, and put her at his place, pulling the chair to her.
"...this is your seat, Jon."
"No way, Nadj. I've got cake, and ice cream, and gifts for you."
"It's your birthday, Jon." Nadjia shook her head. "You're not supposed to get me gifts."
"Silly A-rab girl."
Nadjia began bawling again.
The other guests at the party graciously ignored her. Most of them experienced it on their twelfth, some of them - most of them the future brides of The Order - spent a long time crying.
Jonathan sat beside her.
"Jon, will you visit me?"
"No."
"Can I visit you?"
"No, Nadjia."
"Jonathan!" Nadjia's voice rose above the music. The guests ignored her, and continued their conversations about the instability in Saigon.
"Jonathan, four years!"
"Nadjia, remember. We're betrothed."
"That's supposed to make me okay with all this?"
"I was hoping you'd open your gifts first."
"I'm supposed to accept I will not see you these next four years, and you're going to marry me, and it makes it alright?
Jonathan nodded, but he looked nauseous. "Not how I expected this to go."
"How could you not imagine this would be any other way?"
"...because there's no choice?" Jonathan's face was bright red.
Nadjia put her palms on the table, and in a mockery of her sweetest voice, "What is your years? I'll get to be Mrs. Nadjia Natalie Walker."
Despite the tension, Jonathan snorted. "Natalie."
"Oh shut up, idiot boy!" Nadjia's face was unreadable. "I didn't choose my middle name."
"I like your name."
"That's besides the point. I'm eleven. You're only twelve, Jonathan. We can't be married."
"...well." Jonathan scratched at the back of his neck. "We won't be, not if I fail."
"If you fail what?"
"My advanced education."
Nadjia carved herself a large piece of Jonathan's cake, and cut out two scoops of pistachio ice cream. "It's all I ever wanted, you know. You to love me."
"Yeah. Love'n'stuff."
"No, Jon." She shook her head once, sharply. "Love. Real love, with a capitol "L". We're not even old enough to drive, but we're supposed to get married? I don't know what I'm going to wear tomorrow, or what music I'll like in a week... and betrothed, Jon."
"You - you don't want to marry me?"
"Oh, God. Stupid, stupid, idiot boy," She put her fork down, and cupped his cheek with her hand. "I would love to marry you, Jon. At least, today. What about tomorrow? What in four years? What if we feel differently?"
"I don't - we're not going to."
"You're handling it a heck of a lot better than me."
Nadjia put her arm around him, and dropped her head onto his shoulder. "I know I should be mad. I am scared, Jon. Four years is a long time. You will be sixteen. I will be fifteen. It's a lot, you know?"
"Yeah." He reached for the back of his neck, and Nadjia caught his hand.
"Hug me."
"That'd be hard from where we're sitting."
Nadjia stood up, pulling him to his feet, and wrapped her arms around him. "Tomorrow is never ours, Jon. There is only today."
"You sound like my mom." Jonathan embraced her.
Nadjia rested her cheek on Jonathan's shoulder. He was taller now; taller than he was at her eleventh birthday. "Promise me nothing will change."
Jonathan was quiet; quietly projecting, predicting, trying desperately not to seem so uncertain. He shrugged a little, and rested his head over Nadjia's. "It's only four years. I'll never feel different than I feel right now, right here with you."
"Do you promise?"
Jonathan nodded. "I'm never going to stop."
Nadjia pushed Jonathan a little bit, withdrawing her arm. She sat down in the chair at the head of the table. She retrieved her fork, and cut a bite from her large chunk of cake. "The cake's good."
"It's your favorite. So is the ice cream."
"It's your birthday.
"You're alive. That's enough for me."
"...but four years, Jon."
"We've got now." Jonathan stood up. "I'm going to go and make some rounds with the other guests. Would you like to come along?"
"Sure. Let's go rub elbows with the nobles."
"We'll thank everyone for their gifts, and thank them for coming."
Nadjia could not force a smile. "...you mean let's go say our goodbyes."
Jonathan shrugged. "It's not goodbye. It's just goodbye for now."
✟ ☧ ✟
"Jonathan?" Nadjia entered his room without knocking. Jonathan sat on the edge of his bed, blank face, staring at the floor.
"Hi, beautiful."
Nadjia felt her pulse quicken. "I wanted you to have something."
"A gift for me?"
"A gift from me." Nadjia knelt at his bedside, setting her backpack at his feet .
"If this is more homework..."
"Hush, idiot boy." She rummaged through her backpack, pausing for a moment, and found what she sought. "Here it is."
Jonathan waited.
"Here, stupid." Nadjia looked up at Jonathan, her blue eyes brimming. She held her copy of The Princess Bride. The cover was flaking, creased, and the binding was split, glued, and taped heavily. Jonathan took the book from her carefully, and flipped through the pages. There were entire paragraphs highlighted, sentences underlined, and small handwritten notes in the margins. Some pages were taped in place, and along the outside edges. There was what appeared to be a diluted coffee stain in the corner of page thirty-seven. There was a highlighted line, circled in two different colored inks, and underlined in pencil.
Jonathan read it aloud. "What she liked to do, preferred above all else really, was to ride her horse and taunt the farm boy."
Nadjia blushed.
"William Goldman knows his stuff, huh?" Jonathan closed the book. "I'm taking it you're the farm boy?"
"Jonathan, cut it out!" Nadjia smacked him on the arm.
Jonathan grinned, waxing Wesley the Dread Pirate Roberts. "As you wish."
Nadjia smiled, just the faintest smile. "I have to change, and go to bed."
"Call me."
"...'Call you idiot boy, maybe. See you tomorrow?"
"Me. You. Driftwood Heights. Flea market."
"It's a date."