The Romantics(16)

Gael didn’t want it back. It seemed meant for her. But he took it anyway. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You didn’t.”

She smiled. “It was nice meeting you,” she said again. Cara put her helmet on, lifted a leg over her bike, and pedaled away.

Suddenly, Gael panicked. Was that it? Was he really never going to see her again, this magical girl who had appeared out of nowhere and given him a much-deserved bit of happiness?

“Wait,” Gael said.

(I sent a gust of wind at the flower in his hand, but it was no use, he caught it in no time.)

Cara stopped, and Gael hobbled up to her bike, holding out the flower.

“What is it?” Cara asked, balancing one foot on the pavement.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do. He hadn’t planned this far ahead.

(I wanted so badly to turn him around, to rewind this inopportune encounter, but I couldn’t—all I could do was watch it unfold.)

“You should take the flower,” Gael said, holding it out to her.

“That’s so sweet.” Cara took it and wove it into the handlebars. “There. It’s lovely.” She grabbed the handlebars with both hands. “Well, I’ll be going, then.”

Gael didn’t even know what he was doing. He just knew that he didn’t want her to go, didn’t want her to bike away and leave him to his emptiness.

And so, with a racing heart and a stomach full of nachos, Gael did the most un-Gael thing of all. He put one hand on her shoulder and another on her cheek, turned her face to his, and planted a kiss right on her lips.

And for a moment, his heart lifted as she returned his kiss.

But then Cara pulled back, and he could see that she was shocked. Gael’s face fell for a second. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No,” she said, backtracking. “I’m just surprised.”

“Me, too,” he said. “I wasn’t planning . . . Well, it just sort of happened. I mean, I don’t even know your last name.”

Cara seemed to struggle to find her voice. “It’s Thompson,” she stammered.

“Mine’s Brennan. Can I see you again?” he asked. “I would really like that.”

Cara stalled. “Again?”

“I mean without having to be hit by your bike. Like, you know, plan something? Run into each other on purpose?”

Cara laughed nervously, and for a second, I thought this whole disaster had been averted.

But then Cara’s face changed. “Okay,” she said, a cautious smile on her lips. “You’re on.”

Gael returned her smile, wholly unaware of the girl I had in store for him, the girl who would have been easy to see, if he’d only been looking in the right places. If only I’d worked faster.

I watched, in agony, as his heart lifted just a little.

I was in deep, deep trouble.

And so was he.





how gael became a romantic


As you’ve gleaned by now, Gael was, quite frankly, in love with being in love. And unfortunately for me, his romantic tendencies couldn’t simply be undone. They’d been building for quite some time.

Below, a few of the key moments that made him this way.





Age seven:


A rainy recess in second grade. Gael huddled under the metal slide, seeking shelter. A vision of a girl with auburn hair and freckles, drizzle-kissed curls. Mallory Nolastname (she moved to Ohio in third grade; Gael couldn’t remember it) took a seat next to him on the dry gravel.

“We’re supposed to go inside,” she said.

“Okay,” said mini-Gael. “Do you want to?” He liked Mallory. She always made a point of sitting at his table during art rotation. She had the 120-pack of crayons, the one with exotic colors like “Desert Sand” and “Macaroni and Cheese,” the ones his boring 48-pack didn’t have. She let him use whatever colors he wanted, even if he had to fill in almost the whole page, which used a lot.

Mallory stared at him and scooted closer, so their legs were touching, his OshKosh B’gosh jeans and her fuzzy pink tights.

“I love you, Gael.”

She kissed him on the cheek.

She ran off.

Then the teacher’s aide came out to tell Gael the rest of recess would be held in the classroom, where it wasn’t raining.

Even though Mallory Nolastname told two more boys and a girl that she loved them that afternoon, for those brief moments underneath the slide, rain tapping metal like a steel drum serenade, Gael felt more alive than he ever had before.





Age ten:


Valentine’s Day. His parents never celebrated it. They’d get him and Piper cards and maybe some of those silly candy hearts, but nothing for each other. His mom said that it was a total Hallmark holiday and that it only existed to empty the pockets of those in relationships. His dad said he didn’t like how it made single people feel bad.

Gael was out of toothpaste, and so he went into his parents’ room to get some (don’t worry, it’s not what you’re thinking), and there, on the bathroom mirror, scribbled in lipstick: I love you a little more every year

A secret message, just for his dad. Because no matter how much his mom decried the day, she couldn’t help doing something for the person she loved.