Page 31 of My Best Years
He gets all moody and jealous if another guy texts or flirts with me. And every girl at school could be staring starry-eyed at Callum, but he’s only ever looking at me, intently gazing down at me like I hung the moon.
Last weekend, he showed up to my house before the suncame up. Even though I was still asleep when he arrived, he waited to see me. When I finally woke up, he was sitting on the front porch with my dad, sipping a cup of coffee. I sneakily took a picture of the two of them on my phone before I made my presence known. It was a beautiful moment, starring two of my favorite humans.
When I asked Cal why he came over so early, he replied, “Because I couldn't wait to see you, Birdie. It’s all I could think about last night.”
I didn’t think my heart would recover after that morning.
There was something so sublime about Callum’s need to see me. But seeing him enjoying a cup of coffee with my dad was even more special. Nothing means more to my dad than sitting on the front porch with good company while enjoying a cup of joe.
It will forever be one of the sweetest mornings.
I’ve been infatuated with Callum Pierce since I was eight years old. Enamored by his heart, smile, patience, humor, and undying friendship. Everything about him consumes me.
And for the first time, I’m starting to think that he might be just as obsessed with me.
Right as the sun turns in for the night and the sky dims from lilac to dark blue, Callum stops running. I follow suit, slowing my feet until I’m standing beside him. He lifts his arms, threads his fingers behind his head, and tries to catch his breath.
The short sleeves of his T-shirt bunch up around his shoulders, and I can’t help but ogle at the cords of muscles stretching along his biceps. With his shirt raised, a tan sliver of his flat stomach peeks out below the cotton. A dark patch of hair trails from his navel, disappearing beneath his shorts. I lower my gaze when I feel my cheeks heat, trying like hellnotto think about what lies beneath Callum’s clothes.
I bend over and place my hands on my knees, breathing heavily as my heart rate begins to even out.
“You good?” Callum pants, placing a warm hand on my back.
A spark shoots down my spine where his fingers are touching me.
“Yeah,” I exhale. I lift my head and flash him a soft smile.
“Let’s sit,” he mutters as his hand slips from my body. “Take a breather.”
We both take a seat in the sand and stare out at the dark sea. Soft waves roll in, acting as white noise and filling the silent space between us. We just sit there—less than a foot apart, not speaking as our minds run wild with unspoken thoughts.
There are many types of silences. There’s angry silence, awkward silence, comfortable silence, and so on. But this stillness between us feels heavy. It feels uncomfortable and inevitable, as if the noise can’t be suppressed much longer.
When I can’t take the quiet any longer, I decide to bring up something we’re both comfortable discussing.
“You played great last night,” I murmur, referring to his tennis match. “The other team didn’t stand a chance.”
Callum started playing tennis in middle school and became obsessed with the sport when the coach saw a natural talent in him. Now, he’s a junior and one of the best athletes on the Myrtle Beach High School tennis team. Last year, he won the Most Valuable Player award at the men’s championship tournament. I watched with a wide grin stretched across my face as he retrieved his trophy, more proud of him than he was of himself. I do my best to be there for all his matches, especially since his parents haven't shown up to one.
I know almost everything about Callum except for thedynamics of his home life. He says his parents work a lot, but I know something else is going on. I can just feel it.
But I can’t ask Cal about his parents without him shutting down or ignoring the question altogether. I just don’t understand why they are so absent in his life. He’s such an amazing person, and it breaks my heart that his parents don’t see how hard he works.
“Thanks,” he replies, scooting next to me until his shoulder brushes mine. “It means a lot to me, you know? That you always show up for me.”
“Of course,” I beam, smiling up at him. “I love watching you play. You’ve worked incredibly hard, and it shows. I’m proud of you, Cal.”
His cobalt eyes dart between mine before flicking down to my lips.
“I love you, Birdie.”
My heart.
“I love you too,” I reply without missing a beat.
He always tells me this, and to others, it may seem weird. But for us, it’s like our second language.
Even if Callum and I end up going our separate ways and living across the country from one another, we willalwayslove each other. There’s no question about that. We love each other in a way that transcends a romantic relationship.