thought a lot about us and the choices we’ve made, specifically my choice to not see each other this past year. I know it was for the best. I needed to be there for my mom, needed my focus on her when she’d wake up noxious after chemo. Or get the chills. Or get angry. My dad could’ve handled it on his own, but I wanted to be there. Still, the place in my heart that Sam occupies has grown. Exponentially. I’ve changed. We’ve changed. If faced with another family trauma, my choices will change, too.
Me: Simple. I’m more in love with you than I was a year ago. No matter what happens with our families, we have to be together when we deal with it. I won’t be apart from you again.
It’s scary to say it, to put it out there. But it’s true. I stare, unblinking at the screen, until: Can I get that in writing?
Me: You just did, smart guy. Now PLEASE GET OVER HERE.
Sam: I still like watching you. You wore my favorite skirt.
Now he’s being difficult. For the fun of it.
I’m no longer nervous. There are a plethora of colorful words that better describe my current mood. Incensed. Vexed. Wrathful. Lascivious. I doubt he wants to deal with my oversexed self, hyped up to the point I’m more starved than when Mom put me on that stupid juice diet to cleanse the toxins from my body.
I want my man. I want him now. And I know how to get him.
Me: Baby, I’m so turned on, I might have to lie down in the grass and use my hands to ease the ache.
The bush to my left comes to life, the crashing, rustling, and breaking twigs a sure sign I’ve fished my wish. One-syllable Sam comes stumbling out of the leaves and stops a foot away. His chest rises. Mine stills. The air barely stirs. His gaze travels over every inch of me.
“You’re really here,” he says.
I bite my lip, suddenly shy. “Someone invited me.” I can’t blink.
His shoulders are fuller, his eyes brighter, his curls a little messier. But he’s my Sam. In front of me. Perfectly messed-up legs and all.
His honeyed eyes flash. “I’m going to attack you now.”
I nod, heart thundering. “Yes, please.”
He lunges for me, and I’m up and in his arms, being crushed to that chest. I drop my purse and phone, my hands trying to grab onto something Sam. Anything Sam. His fingers dig into my ribs. He pulls back to kiss me, and I, of course, inject a dose of ludicrous into this otherwise perfect reunion.
Our noses bump, our teeth clash, and I butt his head. “Shoot,” I mumble as I twist awkwardly in his arms. Then he’s tripping to the ground, still clutching me around my waist, his other hand breaking our fall. He lowers me gently down. Curls. Scar. Shoulders—broad and cut in his white tee. I see nothing else. Nothing but Sam.
Our hearts race in time as he presses closer. “Glad you haven’t changed,” he says, his nose brushing mine.
I shrug. “Still hurricane Pininfarina.”
“Good thing I’m a storm chaser, then.” He leans in to kiss me, deep and slow.
And I feel whole again.
I hum against his soft lips. “What if I’m like a category five hurricane?”
“I know exactly who you are, Pininfarina. And I’m all in.” He rolls onto his back and tucks me into his side, the thick branches and shimmering leaves dancing above us.
I wrap myself around him and squeeze tight. I know who I am, too, thanks to One-syllable Sam. I’m weird and quirky. A little bit crazy. More accident-prone than a blind three-legged dog. I’m Pininfarina Gabri, disaster-magnet, future chef, and lover of all things Sam. I am me—the good, the bad, and the ridiculous—and now Sam and I get to discover us.
The Public Speaking Incident
I haven’t eaten for thirty-six hours. Not a pea. Not a crumb. Not a bite. No nutrition has passed my lips. Light-headed, I lag a step behind Becca as we make our way through the cafeteria. Chatter and laughter echo off the tall ceilings, shoes squeak on the polished floor. A sharp bang pierces my ears, metal clanging against metal, waking me from my daze.
But not from my nightmare.
In one hour¸ I’ll be standing in front of the entire school, poem in hand, to open our Thanksgiving assembly. Hell is more appealing. Or Chinese water torture. Or death by piranha.