Fifty Years Ago

Fifty Years Ago

"I don't want to be apart," Liam said.

"Well, I would hope not," she said.

It was the night before he was leaving for college. They were in Cory's bedroom, lying on the floor—her hand on his stomach, her head against his bare chest, against his heart. Her bed was covered with books. They hadn't even waited to move them. The floor was good enough for them, being alone good enough for them. Her mother was teaching a night class at the college. Her father was out with friends. They had at least a couple of hours more. They had right now.

"I'm serious about this, Cory…"

"I thought you weren't taking anything with you from Midwood."

"Things change."

"Not that much they don't," she said.

"New Haven isn't that far."

"For someone who has been planning his escape from Midwood for his whole life, you maybe should have thought of that."

"Cory—"

She sat up and reached for her dress. It was its own small injury, how easily she moved away. How cold the air felt without her.

"You told me yourself that you can't wait to leave this place behind. If we stay together, you'll resent me. I have no desire to be something or someone you resent."

"I'd never resent you."

She turned around to face him. "So maybe that's just an excuse. Maybe I just don't like you very much."

"I'm serious."

She pulled her dress over her head, Liam sitting up so he could zip it for her. "So am I," she said. "I know how this goes if we try to stay together."

"What do you know?"

"I know you. And this time tomorrow night you're going to be in a different state, sharing a dorm room with Charles Theodore Hearst III, who can't wait to introduce you to the guys he went to boarding school with in Maine. And isn't that funny, he likes football too. And you should come with the guys to Mory's for a beer. The Whiffenpoofs are singing later, and there's this girl he thinks you may like—"

"You think I'm that easily swayed."

"I just refuse to be something else that makes you feel trapped," she said. "Or to put myself in a position of being someone you feel like you have to lie to. I want to be the person you never lie to."

"I can make you that deal."

"Except you're going to want to go to the Cape for fall break or on a road trip with your roommate for Christmas. You're going to want to do all sorts of things that have nothing to do with coming home to me… which will make you feel badly and then you will lie about that, so I don't feel badly too. I'm not interested in any of that."

"I have no intention of lying to you about anything," he said. And he meant it.

"Great," she said. "So that's settled."

He tilted his head, looked up at her. "I don't think we just agreed to the same thing."

"Can we not spend the night this way? You understand what I'm telling you even if you don't want to understand what I'm telling you."

He didn't say anything. What was there to say? She saw right through him. She saw right through most people. She'd figured out how to do that, early on. She'd learned it as a coping mechanism, as a way to survive in her house. It was one of the reasons arguing with her was so difficult. She was wiser than he was. She knew better. But what good was her knowing better, if that meant he was going to lose her?

"You're my favorite person," he said. "That isn't going to change."

"Then we have nothing to worry about, do we?"

She straightened her dress and stood up. He looked up at her. He had never known anyone like her. He suspected, even in this moment, that he would never know anyone like her again.

"Let's go downstairs and I'll put on some pasta. I need sustenance if you want to continue pretending tomorrow is going to go another way."

"New Hampshire," he said.

"What?"

"Charles Hearst III went to boarding school in New Hampshire. Not Maine."

"See?" she said. "We're already growing apart."

"What if I want more?"

She bent down, looked into his eyes. "Well, on the day that I believe you're capable of that, maybe we'll be more."