Fitz

WE PULL ON our coats afterward and deliver our bags to Prisha’s friend Madeleine’s room. I try to play it cool, like it’s no big deal I just had sex with Juniper in her car. But it’s a really big deal, and I’m not cool about it. It’s possible the permanency of the smile I’m wearing will require medical attention. I know Juniper notices, though she doesn’t mention it—she only keeps throwing me smiles in return.

There’s a hammock strung up between two trees outside, and we bring down a blanket we find in the dorm. The night air is cold, not freezing, and while we still need multiple layers, I consider the temperature a tiny gift from the universe. Wrapped in the blanket and in each other’s arms, we rock in the hammock, staring up into the sky the way we did at Brown.

“I won’t forget a moment of this,” Juniper says.

I press my lips to her temple. “High praise from you,” I reply, repeating our exchange from the rooftop. I know she’ll remember perfectly.

She laughs, and fuck will I miss her laugh. “You said, ‘High praise from the girl who remembers everything.’” Raising her head, she looks me in the eye. “And I meant I’ll cherish every memory.”

It takes the breath from my lungs. I realize right then—none of it helped. The decision not to go home tonight, the “getting goodbyes out of our system,” the knowledge from the start that this couldn’t last. None of it lightens the inescapable pain of us ending in the morning. I reach for the one sliver of hope I can see.

“Maybe this won’t be goodbye forever,” I say. Juniper bites her lip nervously. “I just mean,” I rush to clarify, “if it’s meant to be, maybe we’ll find each other again.”

I’m relieved when Juniper smiles. “Yeah,” she says. “Maybe one day I’ll walk into a pastry shop to buy cannoli and you’ll be in line in front of me.”

“Or I’ll run into you at a party where I don’t know anyone,” I reply. Juniper turns from me, wiping her cheek.

“Serendipity,” we say together.

“Fate,” I add quietly. It doesn’t feel like it could be anything else. There’s a providence to it, a perfection I can’t explain.

We fall silent, just enjoying the rhythm of our heartbeats, the comfort of being close. Finally, Juniper speaks. “What’s the word for this? For this exact moment?”

I run through every word I know, discarding adjectives and gerunds, nouns and antiquated usages. I kiss her when I have my answer.

“It can’t be described,” I say. “Not with words.”

As I look up at the sky, with Juniper’s head on my chest, the truth settles onto me. I’ll be looking into this field of stars from the front porch of my home tomorrow. Except it won’t be the home I left a week and a half ago, and it won’t be the home I’ll know years from now. I hear the word hiraeth in my head, and it’s in Juniper’s voice.

Holding her close, I think of homes unreachable and people, lives, memories that continue anyway.