I look at him and I feel my face grow warm. He hesitates for a second, leans in like he's going to kiss me again, but then he dives lower and grabs my hand. His fingers are cool as he lifts up my hand and briefly touches his lips to it.
"You're a confusing guy, Daniel," I say softly. "Why now?"
His is a smile that reaches the eyes where a cloud of of hunger rendering his face too dark is immediately replaced by a spark of humor.
I'm grateful because he understands what I'm asking. He brushes something away from my face, a stray strand I assume, my stomach flips.
"You're available now. You weren't before."
"Available? How?"
"You're finally sixteen."
My heart quits pulsating for a moment, I'm a tad confused, but when it starts again, it thumps with an overwhelming intensity. It takes half a second for me to understand what he's saying. My brother had, clinging to my hand as his breaths grew wider and longer apart, made me promise not to kiss or share my bed with anyone, romantically, until I turned sixteen. What a strange thing to ask, I don't, and probably never will, understand why he'd wanted me to wait. I'd told Daniel about Amos's last wish.
Daniel had been listening. He always listened. The reason he rejected me when I'd tried to kiss him at his birthday party, in front of my family and his, and our friends, wasn't because he didn't find me attractive enough but he didn't want me to break the promise I made to my brother. This is the reason we've been a couple for something close to a year and we've never shared a kiss. This is the same reason Mama has always been sceptical about him, she often says he's too... innocent, too... clean. Her sharp eyes are always on the look out for any kind of debauchery but Daniel is mature far beyond his age. He doesn't do pot, nor drinks, he doesn't even smoke; something the cool kids at school do all the time (And he's a cool guy too). He even holds down a weekend job at the local Newspaper; Daily News, where he writes angry political columns and sometimes snorts a line that betrays his Islamaphobic desires. He's great with words, often writes me poems with words I can't pronounce (And yes I have to look at the dictionary to know what they mean).
His eyes flash to my face and away. They are filled with a blinding sadness. "Don't forget me."
I laugh a short, bitter sound, not a cheerful laugh at all. It's the most miserable sound, judging by the grimace on Daniel's face, my boyfriend has ever heard. "As if that's possible."
He steps nearer to me, slow and yet urgent, and stands so close that I feel the electronic hum that passes from his body to mine. This doesn't take me by surprise. I'm used to this feeling. In fact, it's one of the things I'm going to miss about us. About our relationship. He reaches for my hand again and takes it, small and cold, compared to his. It feels comforting. I give his hand a tight squeeze. He squeezes me back and eventually settles with running his thumb over my palm. This is nice. Too nice. It's familiar.
It's one of the things we do when we're among our friends, sitting around a game of harmless poker. He usually takes my hand into his lap under the table. This, too, I will miss. Another thing we have in common is bad vision. Although his is not at all as bad mine as mine. He can often do without glasses. When he wears his glasses he looks... dope whereas I look ridiculously nerdy. Ugh.
He brings his lips to the tip of my nose, while his fingers trace over my lips and trail down to my collarbone, the barest of touches, that, nonetheless, has my heart skipping like a distraught rabbit. He lets out a gush of air and says, "You're my prayer, my everyday dream, my life. I can't fathom how I could've lived without you for as long as I did." When the thickness in his throat subsides, he continues. "I've never seen anything as beautiful as you, it just doesn't exist, I'm certain of it. I will love you until the end of time. That is a guarantee."
"I—" I hesitate and he places a finger against my lips.
"You don't have to say anything back. I know how you feel. You've shown me you love me since I was ten years old. But there's one question I want you to answer."
His seriousness and nervousness is very sudden. I watch as he grimaces, the moonlight flickers off his eyes and for a second they resemble the ocean in twilight. I frown at him.
"What's that?"
He looks me in the eye then and I realise his palm is sweating. He wipes his hand clean on his jeans and takes my hand again. When he speaks his voice doesn't sound like his own. "I can't promise we won't fight. I can't promise we won't want to get out of this but I promise you love. I promise to try harder to make us work. I promise I won't regret this; will you be my wife?"
If I wasn't so distracted by the unimaginable pain of his departure I might have suspected something big was going to happen. The clues, now that I care to reflect back and pay attention, were all there. The constant reminders that he loves me, the smug way our friends and family were looking at me as if they knew something I didn't, the evasiveness of his one word answers when I asked him what he'd like to do for my birthday this year and most importantly the way he'd held me tight this morning and said something that is foggy now however I think I heard; wife, mother of my children, grand kids, planning our future all in one sentence. It's beginning to make sense now.
"Daniel, I—" I cut short because there's something in my throat. I clear it and try again. Because I have to say this. I want to say it. For a moment I can't quite see right because of the tears, remaining unshed, hanging low on my lashes. "You're the only man I'll ever love. And besides, I have nothing better to do with the rest of my life."
His face breaks into my favourite smile. The tears on his cheeks show a guy besotted with happiness. "That's a yes?"
"It's a resonating—"