November 9 Page 8

  "Love you, too, Mom."

  When I hang up the phone, I catch Ben staring at me again.

  "I can't believe you haven't introduced me to your mother yet," he says. "We've been dating for ten hours now. If it doesn't happen soon, I'll start to take it personal."

  I'm laughing as I shove my phone inside my purse. He reaches over and takes my hand in his and holds it the entire way to the airport.

  We're fairly quiet the rest of the drive. Aside from asking my flight information, the only other thing he says is "We're here."

  Rather than pull into a parking garage like I was hoping he would, he pulls into the drop-off lane. I feel pathetic that I'm disappointed he didn't offer to walk me inside, because he drove me all the way to the airport. I can't be greedy.

  He unloads my two suitcases from his trunk and I grab my purse and my carry-on from inside the car. He closes his trunk and then walks over to me. "Have a safe flight," he says as he kisses me on the cheek and gives me a quick hug. I nod and he makes his way back to his car. "November 9th!" he yells. "Don't forget!"

  I smile and wave, but internally I'm confused and disappointed by the lack of emotion in his goodbye.

  Maybe it's better this way, though. I was kind of dreading having to watch him drive away, but that not book-worthy goodbye somehow made it a little easier. Maybe because I'm kind of pissed about it.

  I inhale a deep breath and push it out of my head as I watch his car move away. I grab my suitcases and head inside with not much time to spare before my flight. The airport is still buzzing despite it being so late at night, so I maneuver my way through the crowd and to a kiosk. I print my boarding pass, check my luggage, and make my way to security.

  I try not to think about what I'm doing. How I'm about to move from a place I've lived my entire life to a city where I know absolutely no one. The thought of it makes me want to call a cab and go straight back to my apartment, but I can't.

  I have to do this.

  I have to force myself to make a life before the one I'm not living swallows me whole.

  I pull my driver's license out of my purse and prepare to hand it to the security agent as I wait in line. There are five people in front of me.

  Five people is enough time to talk myself out of moving to New York, so I close my eyes and think about everything in New York that I'm excited about. Hot dog stands. Broadway. Times Square. Hell's Kitchen. The Statue of Liberty. The Museum of Modern Art. Central Park.

  "Faaaallooon!"

  My eyes flick open.

  I turn around and Ben is standing at the revolving door. He begins running toward me.

  In slow motion.

  I cover my mouth with my hand and try not to laugh as he slowly stretches out an arm like he's reaching out for me. He's yelling, "Doooon't goooo yeeeet!" as he moves slowly through the crowd of people.

  People from all directions stop to see what the commotion is all about. I want to dig myself a hole and hide but I'm laughing too hard to care about how embarrassing this is. What in the world is he doing?

  When he finally reaches me after what seems like forever, a huge grin spreads across his face. "You didn't really think I was just going to drop you off and leave like that, did you?"

  I shrug, because that's exactly what I thought just happened.

  "You should know your own boyfriend better than that." He takes my face in his hands. "I had to create angst so I could try to make this kiss a ten." He presses his mouth to mine and kisses me with so much emotion, I forget all the things. Everything. I forget where I am. Who I am. There's a guy and I'm a girl and we're kissing and the feels and the knots in my stomach and the chills on my skin and the hand in my hair and my arms that feel too heavy and now he's grinning against my lips.

  My eyelids flutter open and I didn't even know kisses could really make eyelids flutter open. But they do and mine did.

  "On a scale of one to ten?" he asks.

  The room feels like it's spinning, so I suck in a huge rush of air and try not to sway. "A nine. Definitely a solid nine."

  He shrugs. "I'll take it. But next year, it'll be an eleven. Promise." He presses a kiss to my forehead and releases me. He begins to walk backward and I'm aware of everyone in our vicinity staring at us, but I can't help but not give a shit. Right before he reaches the revolving door, he cups his hands around his mouth and yells, "I hope the entire state of New York laughs at you!"

  I don't think I've ever smiled so big. I lift a hand and wave goodbye as he disappears.

  It really was a ten.

  Second November

  9th

  Her tears and my soul, they live parallel lives.

  Run, ache, burn.

  Repeat.

  Her tears and my soul, they live parallel lives.

  --BENTON JAMES KESSLER

  Ben

  When you swing upon a memory

  So dark and far away

  You get caught upon a mystery

  That guides you through the day.

  Although you're standing weak

  And don't know your way around

  I will always be there

  For you when you're down.

  I wrote that piece of shit poem when I was in the third grade. It was the first thing I ever showed anyone.

  Actually, I don't even think I showed it to anyone. My mother found it in my room, which is how I came to respect the beauty of privacy. She showed everyone in my entire family and it made me never want to share my work again.

  I realize now that my mother wasn't trying to embarrass me. She was just proud of me. But I still never show anyone the things I write. It's almost like saying every thought out loud. Some things just aren't for public consumption.

  And I don't know how to explain that to Fallon. She assumes, based on our agreement last year, that I'm writing a novel that she'll one day read. And as much as she claims it's fiction, every sentence I've written in the past year is more truthful than anything I'd ever admit out loud. I'm hoping after today I can start rewriting it in order to give her something to read, but the last year of writing down my fucked-up life has been kind of therapeutic.

  And even though I've been busy with school and what I now call my "writing therapy," I still found time to complete the homework she gave me. And then some. I've read twenty-six romance novels, only five of which Fallon recommended. What she failed to tell me is that two of the novels she suggested were firsts in a series, so of course I had to finish the series.

  So far in my "research" I've concluded that Fallon is absolutely right. Kisses in books and kisses in real life aren't exactly the same. And every single time I read one of these novels, I cringe when I think about the few times I kissed Fallon last year. They absolutely were not book-worthy, and even though I've been doing a lot of reading this past year, I'm still not sure what makes a kiss book-worthy. But I know she deserved better than what I gave her.

  I'd be lying if I said I haven't kissed anyone since I kissed Fallon last November. I've been out with girls a few times since then, and when Fallon jokingly said she wanted me to compare every girl to her, she got her wish. Because that's exactly what happened with both the girls I kissed. One of them wasn't nearly as funny as Fallon. The other was way too self-absorbed. And neither of them had good taste in music, but that doesn't count since I have no idea what taste in music Fallon has.

  It's definitely something I had planned to find out today. I have a list of things I need to know in order to work on the real novel I promised her. However, it looks like that list will go unanswered and the entire last year of studying romance novels and writing about our first November 9th together was for naught.

  Because she didn't show up.

  I look at the clock again to make sure it matches the time on my cell phone. It does.

  I pull the slip of homework out to make sure I got the time right. I did.

  I look around me once more to make sure this is the same restaurant where we met last year. It is
.

  I know this, because the restaurant changed ownership recently and has a different name. But it's still the same building at the same address with the same food.

  So . . . where the hell are you, Fallon?

  She's almost two hours late. The waitress has refilled my drink four times. And five glasses of water in two hours is a lot for my bladder, but I'm giving myself half an hour before I go to the restroom, because I'm worried if I'm not sitting here when she walks in, she'll think I didn't show and she'll leave.

  "Excuse me."

  My pulse immediately quickens at her words and my head jerks up. But . . . she's not Fallon.

  I immediately deflate.

  "Is your name Ben?" the girl asks. She's wearing a name tag. Tallie. Tallie is wearing a Pinkberry name tag. How does Tallie know my name?

  "Yeah. I'm Ben."

  She exhales and points at her name tag. "I work down the street. Some girl is on the phone there and says it's an emergency."

  Fallon!

  I impress myself with how fast I'm out of the booth and out the door. I run down the street until I get to Pinkberry and I swing the door open. The guy behind the counter looks at me strange and takes a step back. I'm out of breath and panting, but I point to the phone behind him. "Someone's on hold for me?" He grabs the phone, presses a button, and hands me the receiver.

  "Hello? Fallon? Are you okay?"

  I don't immediately hear her voice, but I can tell it's her from her sigh alone.

  "Ben! Oh, thank God you were still there. I'm so sorry. My flight was delayed and I tried calling the restaurant, but their number was disconnected and then my flight was boarding. I finally figured out the number by the time I landed, and I've tried calling several times but I just keep getting a busy signal, so I didn't know what else to do. I'm in a cab now and I'm really, really sorry I'm so late but I had no way of getting in touch with you."

  I didn't know my lungs could hold this much air. I exhale, relieved and disappointed for her but completely stoked that she actually did it. She remembered and she came and we're actually doing this. Never mind the fact that she's now aware I was still waiting at the restaurant two whole hours later.

  "Ben?"

  "I'm here," I say. "It's fine, I'm just glad you made it. But it's probably faster if you just meet me at my house; the traffic is a nightmare here."

  She asks for the address and I give it to her.

  "Okay," she says. She sounds nervous. "I'll see you in a little while."

  "Yeah, I'll be there."

  "Oh, wait! Ben? Um . . . I kind of told the girl who answered the phone that you would give her twenty bucks if she took you the message. Sorry about that. She just acted like she wasn't going to do it, so I had to bribe her."

  I laugh. "No problem. See you soon."

  She tells me goodbye and I hand the phone to Tallie, who is now standing behind the register. She holds out her hand for the twenty dollars. I pull out my wallet and hand her the twenty.

  "I would have paid ten times that for her phone call."

  *

  I pace back and forth in the driveway.

  What am I doing?

  There is so much wrong with this. I barely even know the girl. I spent a few hours with her and here I am committing to writing a book about her? About us? What if we don't even click this time? I could have been having a manic episode last year and was just in an exceptionally receptive and good mood. She might not even be funny. She could be a bitch. She could be stressed out over her flight delay and she might not even want to be here.

  I mean, who does that? What sane person would fly across the country to see someone for one day who they barely know?

  Probably not many people. But I would have been on a flight without hesitation today if we were supposed to meet up in New York.

  I'm rubbing my hands down my face when the cab rounds the corner. I'm trying to mentally psych myself into believing that this is perfectly normal. It's not crazy. It's not commitment. We're friends. Friends would fly across the country to spend time together.

  Wait. Are we friends? We don't even communicate, so that probably wouldn't even qualify as acquaintances.

  The cab is pulling into the driveway now.

  For fuck's sake, lose the nerves, Kessler.

  The car stops.

  The back door opens.

  I should greet her at the door. It's awkward with me being so far away.

  I'm walking toward the cab when she begins to step out.

  Please be the same Fallon I met last year.

  I grip the door handle and pull it the rest of the way open. I try to play it cool, to not come off nervous. Or worse, excited. I've studied enough romance novels to know girls like it when the guys are somewhat aloof. I read somewhere those kinds of guys are called alpha males.

  Be a jackass, Kessler. Just a little bit. You can do it.

  She steps out of the car, and when she does, it's like in the movies where everything is in slow motion. Not at all similar to my version of slow motion. This is much more graceful. The wind picks up and strands of hair blow across her face. She lifts her hand to pull the hair away, and that's when I notice what a difference one year can make.

  She's different. Her hair is shorter. She has bangs. She's wearing a short-sleeved shirt, which is something she admitted to never doing before last year.

  She's covered in confidence, from head to toe.

  It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

  "Hey," she says, as I reach behind her to close her door. She seems to be happy to see me and that alone makes me smile back at her.

  So much for playing aloof.

  I literally lasted zero seconds when it came to the alpha-male alter ego I've been practicing.

  I release a yearlong pent-up breath and I step forward and pull her into the most genuine embrace I've ever given anyone. I wrap my hand around the back of her head and pull her to me, breathing in the crisp winter scent of her. She immediately wraps her arms around me and buries her face against my shoulder. I feel a sigh escape her and we stand in the same position until the cab has backed out of the driveway and disappears around the corner.

  And even then, we don't let go.

  She's squeezing the back of my shirt in her fisted hands and I'm trying not to be obvious about the fact that I might be a little bit obsessed with her new hairstyle. It's softer. Straighter. Lighter. Refreshing, and fuck, it hurts.

  Again.

  Why is she the only one who makes me wince like this? She sighs against my neck and I almost push her away, because dammit, this is too much. I'm not sure what bothers me more. The fact that we seem to have picked up right where we left off last year or the fact that last year wasn't a fluke. If I'm being honest, I kind of think it's the latter. Because this past year was hell having to go every minute of the day with her on my mind and not knowing if I'd ever see her again. And now that I know she's committed to this idiotic plan of mine to meet up once a year, I foresee another long year of agony ahead of me.

  I'm already dreading the second she leaves, and she just now showed up.

  She lifts her head from my shoulder and looks up at me. I brush her bangs back with my hand to see more of her face. Despite how frantic she sounded on the phone earlier, she seems completely peaceful right now.

  "Hello, Fallon the Transient."

  Her smile grows even wider. "Hello, Ben the Writer. Why do you look like you're in pain?"

  I try to smile, but I'm sure the look on my face right now isn't an attractive one. "Because keeping my mouth off of you is really painful."

  She laughs. "As much as I want your mouth on me, I must warn you that a hello kiss is probably only going to be a six."

  I promised her an eleven. It'll have to wait.

  "Come on. Let's go inside so I can find out what color panties you have on." She's laughing that familiar laugh as I grab her hand and walk her toward the house. I can already tell I have nothing to worry about. She's the
same Fallon I remember from last year. Maybe even a little better.

  So . . . maybe that means I have everything to worry about.

  Fallon

  I wasn't expecting this when he said to meet him at his house. I was more or less expecting an apartment, but this is a fairly modern two-story house. A house-house. He closes the front door behind me and heads for the stairs. I trail behind him.

  "You didn't bring luggage?" he asks.

  I don't want to think about how little time I'll actually be here. "I'm heading back tonight."

  He stops mid-step and faces me. "Tonight? You aren't even staying the night in California?"

  I shake my head. "I can't. I have to be back in New York by eight in the morning. My flight is at ten thirty tonight."

  "The flight is more than five hours," he says, concerned. "With the time difference, you won't even get home until after six in the morning."

  "I'll sleep on the plane."

  His eyebrows draw apart and his mouth tightens. "I don't like that for you," he says. "You should have called. We could have changed the date or something."

  "I don't know your phone number. Besides, that would have ruined the entire premise of your book. It's November 9th or nothing, remember?"

  I think he may be pouting, but I do recall him being the one to make that rule.

  "I'm sorry I was late. We still have six hours left before I have to head to the airport."

  "Five and a half," he clarifies. He begins walking up the stairs again. I follow him all the way to his room, but now I feel like he's upset with me. I know there were probably ways around flying in and out on the same day, but to be honest, I wasn't even sure he would show up. I thought he probably had crazy, spontaneous days with fake girlfriends all the time and he wouldn't even remember me. I figured I wouldn't be too embarrassed with myself for believing he would show up if I was able to get right back on the plane a few hours later and pretend it never happened.

  But not only did he show up, he was still waiting two hours later.

  Two hours.

  It's extremely flattering. I would have probably given up after the first hour, thinking he stood me up.

  Ben opens a door and motions for me to walk in first. He smiles at me as I walk into his room, but his smile feels forced.