Page 80 of From Square One

“So you say.”

“We would’ve been sleeping in your truck.”

It’s been a couple of weeks since Aaron and I made up. Since then, more of my memories have been slotting back into place, though it’s mostly flashes and sensations. I’m less worried about retrieving all of them. Even if they don’t come back, what matters is that I’m lucky enough to create new ones.

I try to make time to see Aaron as often as possible. Once, I let my family fend for themselves so I could go out to dinner at our favorite restaurant, and I only felt slightly guilty. I’ve spent the night at his place a few times, in which our recreational activities span from movie-watching to baking to talking to fiery kisses and wandering hands. Sometimes, he comes over when my family is in bed and vaults through my window because he’s dramatic. I told him I don’t care if my parents notice the alarm was deactivated, but he likes the tree-climbing thrill.

“And I look sexy doing it,” he claims, which is valid.

Aaron told his dads about the state his mother was in when he last saw her, and they’ve taken on the responsibility of stepping in. Aaron has been in the dark about the details, but it sounds like they’re trying to get her help, and hoping to catch whatever habit she’s fallen into early. It’s been on his mind, but he’s also recognized that it’s out of his control and not his responsibility. He seems more okay with admitting when he’s feeling low about it. I’m proud of him for approaching everything so maturely rather than responding to it by trying to get his adrenaline dose in.

I wonder if I’ll ever get to meet her. If that would mean anything to him.

I don’t forget what he did. What matters is knowing he won’t keep anything from me again, now that he’s seen the pain his secrecy can cause me. It’ll take time for me to get it off my mind, but I still trust him. I do. Some people might think I’m naive, but he’s proven he can change. He’s proven that his love for me extends beyond pity.

We get an early check-in at our hotel and drop our luggage off, bringing nothing with us but a backpack. From there, we wander the gridded streets hand in hand, scattering pigeons and needling through groups of tourists and enjoying the incessant breeze whistling between the skyscrapers. We visit the Field Museum first, where my favorite exhibits are ancient Egypt and the Cyrus Tang Hall of China. I’m basically hopping between displays, vibrating in my shoes as I drag Aaron around by the wrist. I explain how the mummification process required removing every organ but the heart and that jade stone discs were buried with high-ranking people in the Neolithic era. Aaron pretends to be fascinated, and it makes me embarrassingly happy.

He takes me to a certified gluten-free restaurant afterward, where we indulge in Chicago-style pizza. I tell him we’ll have to try New York City’s to compare, and his eyes sparkle with excitement.

We visit the Art Institute of Chicago, which is another museum on my bucket list. Aaron has no complaints in pausing at everything so I can read the placards. I wonder if he’s listening when I prattle on, or if he’s too busy staring lovingly at me. I decide I’ll give him a pop quiz later to test him.

We catch an Uber to the hotel, and by then, we’re wiped. But I’m giddy, eager, and fulfilled.

“This is the best trip you could’ve planned,” I say when he exits the bathroom after his shower, dressed in a fluffy towel, his black hair slicked back and his lean body on full display. I’ve already washed and changed into my leopard-print flannels, because I freeze at night even in the summer. Other than a bedside lamp, the lights are off, and the curtains are partially open to grant us a view of the staggering buildings.

He crawls under the sheets to join me. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he says, tucking my damp hair behind my ear. “How are you feeling? Rate your discomfort.”

“Mm…a three,” I suggest.

“So like a five,” he says, flicking my nose. I scowl and bite at it.

“It’s just my legs. My calves are whining about all the walking,” I admit. “But other than that, the rest of me is okay.”

Aaron gives me a probing look to ensure I’m not downplaying my pain, and I return it with a sweet doe-eyed stare and a flutter of my lashes. Because I remember what works now. Sure enough, the apples of his cheeks redden, and he groans, slamming his face into his pillow. “You do it on purpose,” he mutters.

“Do what?” I ask.

He glares sideways at me, face partially buried. I blink innocently at him, and then he’s suddenly lunging at me. I squeak in surprise and try squirming away, but it takes five seconds for him to wrestle me beneath him and tickle me. I screech with laughter, shoving his chest as he bends down and nibbles the arch of my neck, the words little shit ghosting over my ear.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again!” I cry out, tears of mirth flooding my eyes.

“Is this rough enough for you?” he asks, jabbing his fingers into my sides, and now I’m laughing harder for a different reason.

“Th-that was for massages…Please have mercy…”

He stops digging his fingers into my skin but only so he can slide his hands under my flannel shirt and massage my waist. I’m panting at this point, a faint smile etched onto my lips. The city lights slant sideways through the room, pouring through the parted curtains, bathing Aaron in a silvery-white glow. His unblinking eyes are more luminescent than the moon, and it warms my ears.

“What?” I ask self-consciously.

“Nothing. I just love to hear you laugh.” He bends lower, brushing his lips against mine. I can’t stand how good he looks with his hair pushed back. “Can I spoil you tonight?”

My body temperature soars. “Don’t just ask me something like that out of nowhere!” I plead.

“We’re in bed. In our own hotel room. On our first vacation together. And I’m naked. How is this out of nowhere?” he asks amusedly.

“The least you can do is set the mood!”

“Sorry.” He gives me a slow, achingly deep kiss that makes me fluttery, then pulls back with a lip-smacking noise, and says, “Your answer, then?”