But I think about that day so much, Lily, and I have no idea if that’s what love feels like for everyone, like it’s an airplane that just fell from the sky and crashed right through you. Because most people, they have love seeping in and out their whole lives. They’re born being wrapped in it and they go their whole childhood being protected by it, and they have people in their lives that welcome their love in return, so I’m not sure it hits people like it hit me—in one small moment, in such a colossal way.
You were wearing this shirt I loved. It was too big for you, and the sleeve was always falling off your shoulder. I should have been watching the cartoon, but I couldn’t stop staring at that stretch of exposed skin between your neck and your shoulder. As I was looking at it, I once again felt that incredible pull to say I love you, and the words were there, right on the tip of my tongue, so I leaned forward and pressed them against your skin.
And that’s where they stayed, hidden and quiet, until I worked up the courage to speak them out loud to you six months later.
I had no idea you remembered that kiss, or all the times I kissed you in that spot after that day. Even when I read it in your journal, you rushed past it in a hurry to get to what you considered our actual first kiss, so I had no idea that it even meant anything to you until the moment I saw your tattoo. I can’t tell you what that means to me, knowing that you have our heart placed in the very spot where I once secretly buried the words I love you.
I want you to promise me something, Lily. When you look at that tattoo, I don’t want you to think about anything other than the words I’ve written in this letter. And every time I kiss you there, I want you to remember why I kissed you there the first time. Love. Discovering it, giving it, receiving it, falling in it, living in it, leaving for it.
I’m writing this letter while sitting on the floor of Josh’s bedroom. My experience with Josh tonight is kind of what sparked my memory. He’s sick with a stomach bug. Maybe not as sick as I was the day I first realized I loved you, but very, very sick nonetheless. He caught it from Theo, who had it a few days ago.
I’ve never taken care of a sick person before, so I have no medicine at all. I think I’m about to make a pharmacy run. I might slip this letter under your apartment door on my way there.
It isn’t fun taking care of a sick person. The sounds, the smell, the lack of sleep—it’s actually almost as bad for the person doing the caring. Every time I check his temperature or force him to drink water, I think about you and how you cared for me with such a gentle parental instinct. I’m trying to replicate that in my care for Josh, but I don’t think I’m as good at this as you were.
You were so young, just a few years older than Josh is now. But I’m sure you felt much older than you were. I know I did. We had been through things no kid should have to experience. It makes me wonder if Josh feels his age, or if he feels older than he should because of all he’s been through.
I want him to feel young for as long as he can. I want him to enjoy his time with me. I want him to know what love is long before I did. And I hope that love has been seeping slowly into him so that it doesn’t hit him all at once like it did me. I want him to grow up with it, wrapped in it, surrounded by it. I want him to witness it.
I want to be an example for him. I want us to be an example for him, and for Emerson. Me and you, Lily.
It’s been six months.
Move in with me.
Love,
Atlas
As soon as I finish reading the letter, I set it down and wipe my eyes. If this is how much I cry when he asks me to move in with him, I have no idea how I’ll survive a proposal.
Or wedding vows, for that matter.
I pick up my phone and call Atlas over video chat. It rings for ten long seconds, and when Atlas finally answers it, he’s lying on his living room couch. He’s smiling through his obvious exhaustion from being up all night with Josh.
“Hey, beautiful.” His voice is barely awake.
“Hi.” My hand is curled into a fist, and I’m resting my cheek on it, pushing down my huge smile. “How’s Josh feeling?”
“He’s okay,” Atlas says. “He’s sleeping, but I think I stayed up so long, my brain is too overwhelmed to shut off now.” He puts a fist to his mouth and stifles a yawn.
“Atlas.” I say his name sympathetically because he does look absolutely drained. “Do you need me to come over and give you a hug?”
“You mean do I need you to come home and give me a hug?”