You've Reached Sam(76)

I turn around and take him in—dark eyes a shade lighter than his hair, slender lips that curve gently into a smile. I can’t help myself. I bring my hands up to touch his face so I can remember every detail. I take in the contrast of our skin, his golden cheeks against my pale fingers. As I run a hand through his soft wisps of hair, he pulls me in for a longer kiss, and my mind erases everything else in the world except us.

When Sam pulls away, he takes my hands. “So, what do you think of the place?”

I can’t stop smiling. “It’s perfect.”

Sam looks around, his eyes bright with ideas. “I know. Just needs a little work, that’s all.”

Across the floor are boxes still waiting to be unpacked. In the tiny space that makes up the kitchen, a kettle is simmering quietly on the stove beside a teapot. I note the warm smell of ginger and lemongrass. In an hour or so, I can make something for dinner. We’ll pick up groceries because eating out is expensive, and we prefer a home-cooked meal anyway.

The piano music skips suddenly, interrupting my thoughts. Then our record player cuts out.

Sam looks at me, frowning. “I can fix that later…”

I let out a laugh as he pulls me to the other side of the apartment that makes up the living room.

“So this is the living room,” he says with a sweeping motion of his hand, bringing it to life. “We can put a couch right here, and a little coffee table—and maybe a painting on the wall.”

I point at the other side of the room. “Shouldn’t the couch go there?”

Sam looks over, his brows furrowed. “Even better,” he says. “I knew you had an eye for this.”

I watch as he circles the room, taking everything in as he imagines our new home. “We can put a desk here, against the wall, for you to write. I can build you a bookshelf. Since you brought boxes of them. We can put it right there. And we’ll need some plants—”

His excitement is contagious. I can’t help seeing everything, too. It’s a blank canvas for us to paint over. A new beginning to our story. A chance to start the page fresh. Once we fix up the apartment, we’ll look for jobs.

We’ll start saving some money. I’ll focus on my writing and reapply to Reed College in the fall.

Sam takes my hands, and our fingers lace together. “So you love it, right?”

“More than you could know,” I say, smiling at him. I glance around the room. “I just want everything to be perfect. Like we always planned.”

Sam kisses me on the cheek. “You know, Jules, you can’t always plan out every detail, though. There will always be things we can’t prepare for,”

he says. “You have to live in the moment sometimes. Let life surprise you.”

I don’t say anything. I just take this in.

“Listen,” Sam says, his eyes glistening. “How about we go out tonight?

Somewhere with music. It doesn’t have to be anywhere fancy. We’ll get something small and share it. You know, find one of those places that gives out free bread.”

“But we have so much unpacking to do,” I remind him.

“Don’t worry. We have all the time in the world for that.”

All the time in the world … the words echo through me as a breeze comes in through the window, rolling across my skin. I glance at the clock above the doorway. I didn’t notice it there before. The hands are missing.

Outside, there’s still nothing but shimmering clouds. Now that I think about it, how long has the sun been setting out there?

“Is something wrong?” Sam’s voice pulls me back to him.

I blink a few times. “No. I mean, I don’t think so.”

“Then what do you say about going out?”

I purse my lips, considering this. “I guess it is our first night here.

Maybe we should celebrate it.”

“Perfect.”

“As long as we get some unpacking done first,” I add.

“Deal.” Sam kisses me on the cheek again, and then picks a box off the floor. “Where does this go?”

“The bedroom. But it’s fragile. So be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name.”

I give him a look as he slow-walks away, disappearing down the hallway.

Once he’s gone, I scan the living room again, deciding what to start next. There’s a small box in the corner, illuminated by the light from the window. For some reason, it isn’t marked like the others. Sam must have forgotten to label it. I bring it onto the counter and open it first. It’s Sam’s things, randomly thrown inside. I take out a few of his shirts and fold them on the table. There are other things in here, too. A few records, some photographs, a bunch of birthday cards and letters, and something else that makes me go still. One of the bookends he gave me. I stare at it for a while, along with his things I set on the table. There’s something familiar about having all of them together. Like pieces of a puzzle. As I go through them again, the pieces come together, and the image hits me like a brick. This can’t be possible, can it? There should be something else in this box. I don’t have to look to know what it is. I reach inside slowly and take it out.

Sam’s denim jacket. I stare at it for a long time. This is in the same box I threw out weeks ago.

As I stand there, running my hand over it, the record player suddenly comes to life, making me jump. A song comes on that wasn’t playing before, something unfamiliar to me. When it starts to screech, and rise in volume, I hurry over to unplug it. As soon as I lift the needle from the record, I sense the candles blow out behind me as the room goes silent.