Earlier in the night, I’d sat squished in the backseat between you and your brother, laughing as you fought over my head about one thing or another, always yapping back and forth like the teenage boys you are. Your mom rolled her eyes from the passenger’s seat and turned the radio a little bit higher, drowning you both out with Frank Sinatra singing about the summer wind and how it came blowing in from across the sea.
It was just like this summer when we got back to your house, sitting in your kitchen as the night turned into the morning and your family slept soundly upstairs, tucked into their beds, our voices hushed to keep from waking them. I was lip gloss kisses all over your cheeks and you were soft hands against my hips. I was laughing about how happy I am around you and you were promising me forever. You walked me to my car when I was too sleepy to function and kissed me goodbye, hugging me close to keep me warm against the harsh winter winds. The taste of your tongue lingered on my lips the whole ride home.
