You, with a View

by Jessica Joyce

I love you further than forever.

His gaze lingers on me until I start squirming in my seat. When I wipe at my face, searching for errant crumbs, he smirks. “What?” I mouth. He shakes his head, and I watch, fascinated, as his lips pout around his response: “You.”

“I can’t wait to see you with a camera in your hand tomorrow.” He says it in a rush, then looks down, exhaling slowly. “You’d better be as good as I remember. No crooked photos.”

“I don’t want to be done with this in two days.” As soon as that last confession is out, the relief pours through me like adrenaline. “Tell me yours.” He pulls back. “I don’t want to be done with this at all.”

It doesn’t matter how old I am—seeing my parents sitting together on the couch triggers my fight-or-flight response.