Page 118 of Rise & Fall
I anticipate seeing her at the grade deck for school drop-off this morning. I texted her good morning and told her I’d see her soon and she sent me a winky face.
Are butterflies in a man’s core a thing? Because if so, that’s what I’ve got. It’s the only way to explain the way she makes me feel right now.
I pull my truck up into the lot and find a parking spot. I jump out, grab Aria from the backseat, and we head toward the front building.
I see Dakota’s Jeep parked a few spaces ahead and my heart flips. I feel like a fucking teenage boy going on his first date.
We get to the deck, and Emsley stomps her little feet in a heavy run as she races toward us, her beautiful brown hair is in a mess of an attempted braid, and I can’t help but smile out of amusement.
“I tried, leave me alone.” Dakota’s quip gives me life as we pull each other into a hug. It’s like second nature, but I can tell she feels the sudden gaze of nearly everyone surrounding us, and she pulls herself back almost immediately.
I rub the back of my neck sheepishly, but I know her rejection isn’t malicious, it’s cautious. It’s something we need to talk further about.
“Sorry,” she admits. But I don’t need her to apologize to understand what she’s saying sorry for. I get it. It’s newish territory for us, to be displaying our relationship out in public.
“Don’t be. But I was wondering if I could take you somewhere?”
“Now?” She questions, and I see the confusion lace her eyes. After everything that happened yesterday at her mom’s, I just wanted to share a little part of my life with her. I know it’s abrupt, but so is everything else right now. And I think with as much time as we spend together, it’s important that we do things to benefit our relationship. Baby or no baby.
“I can follow you to your apartment to drop off your car and then, yeah…now.” I look at the girls who are giggling as they make their way to the line by the door of their classroom.
“I mean, I don’t have anything planned so I guess that’ll be fine.” She smiles at me as the bell rings and the teachers come out to collect their kids.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes then.”
“You know, it kind of feels weird being a passenger in your truck without a blindfold on,” Dakota deadpans as she rolls the window down to let a breeze filter in.
She’s beautiful as ever, her face is glowing with her smattering of freckles and her green eyes are the brightest they’ve even been. She’s wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a black tank top. It’s the simplest thing I’ve seen her in, and yet I can’t keep my eyes off her.
A few loose strands from her messy bun fly free in the wind and swirl around her face.
“I think I’ll reserve the blindfold for more…needy situations,” I quip seeing her breath hitch as her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip.
“Where are we going anyways?” she asks.
“Well, it’s nothing you might think,” I admit. “I honestly don’t want you to think this is weird, but it’s been a while since I’ve visited my mother’s grave, and I really thought it’d be a good idea to take you with me.” I hold my breath and wait for her to laugh in my face or tell me that she wants to turn back around, that taking a girl to a dead woman’s headstone is not an ideal date, not that this is a date considerable to me by any means.
But she doesn’t protest. Instead, she weaves her hand through the fingers of mine and squeezes as she stares at my profile. I feel her support and approval in the way she rubs her thumb over my knuckles.
She’s literal perfection.
We pull into the lot of the cemetery, the big black iron gates on either side of the drive as we enter the main road. I drive up the way a little bit, take a few turns and park in front of one of many fields of headstones.
Some big and decorated with early fourth of July decor. Some are still housing Easter items. Some headstones are covered in flowers and teddy bears.
But hers is small, molded with the ground and bare as I approach it.
She wasn’t a cluttered person, she liked everything simple and clean. So I honor that still to this day. Though it’s been a few years since visiting her burial site.
Dakota follows me hand in hand as we reach the foot of my mom’s headstone.
Loving Mother. Beautiful Angel.
The words on her stone are engraved in a script of some kind, following her name, Iris Leanne Steele, and the dates of her birth and death.
Steele was her father’s last name; we never knew our dad so we kept hers.
The air is crisp, it’s not too hot and there’s no signs of rain. The wind whistles between the trees as Dakota pulls herself in closer to my side.