Page 243 of Across His Line

I’m on the couch next to Rafe.

At one minute, Koda stands up in front of the TV. At thirty seconds, Kylie grabs Nash’s hand. At twenty, Mrs. Waleska gets up and goes to the kitchen and comes back with two pot lids, one in each hand.

Mr. Waleska sees her and says, “Oh, God,” and she ignores him.

Ten.

Everybody’s yelling it. Koda is yelling it at the TV. Kylie’s yelling it. Even Nash. Even Mr. Waleska under his breath from his chair, which I don’t think anybody else notices but me.

Nine. Eight.

I look at Rafe.

He isn’t counting. He’s looking at me. He was already looking at me. I don’t know how long.

Seven. Six.

I don’t look away.

Five. Four. Three.

He doesn’t smile. His face doesn’t do anything. It never does. Just his eyes, green all the way, on mine.

Two.

One.

Mrs. Waleska bangs the pot lids together, and it’s loud.

And Rafe puts his hand on the side of my face and kisses me.

It isn’t big. It’s quick, soft, and in front of everybody, and I don’t care. Nobody’s watching anyway.

Koda jumps and shouts, “Happy New Year!”

Kylie and Nash are not paying attention to anybody.

Mrs. Waleska is still banging the lids. Mr. Waleska has his hand over his eyes.

Rafe pulls back just a little with his hand still on my face.

“Happy New Year, Tess,” he says, looking into my eyes.

I’ve never been kissed at midnight. Until two weeks ago, I’d never been kissed at all. I’ve spent most New Year’s Eves asleep by ten in the sewing room with a pillow over my head, while the TV went in the living room and somebody I didn’t know laughed too loud in the kitchen.

“Happy New Year, Rafe.”

It’s past two when the room finally goes quiet.

Everybody ends up everywhere. The parents went up at half past twelve. Koda is asleep on the rug in front of the fire with his face in a throw pillow. Nash and Kylie are on the far end of the long couch under the same blanket, her feet in his lap, both of them out cold. The TV’s still on, playing old music videos to nobody.

I’m against Rafe at the other end with my head on his chest. I was asleep. I don’t know for how long. I wake up because of the TV.

Rafe is still awake. I can tell without looking. His hand is moving in my hair, absently, and I think about how we leave soon. The break is over soon. This is going to end. I don’t know how to want something and let it end at the same time. I’ve never had anything good enough to practice on.

“Are you staying here,” Rafe asks, and his voice makes me jump. I didn’t know he knew I was awake. “Or are you going upstairs?”

“Upstairs,” I answer.