Jennifer Smith - The Geography of You and Me

There was a smile in her voice. “And we’ll get you an I♥NY T-shirt.”

“The T-shirt is optional,” he said, which made her laugh.

“And then what?” she asked, though this time the words were quieter, smaller; they were heavy with things unspoken: questions without answers and promises without assurances.

Owen wanted to say this: “And then we’ll be together forever.”

Or this: “And then we’ll live happily ever after.”

But he couldn’t. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the empty sky, feeling his once heavy heart go floating off like a balloon.

“And then we’ll have to go home,” he said eventually, because it was the truth, and after everything they’d been through, it was the only thing he could give her.

They were both silent for a long time. She twisted at a piece of his T-shirt, then let it go and laid her palm flat against his chest, right over his heart, and he could suddenly feel it again: the steady thump of it drowning out all his other thoughts. It was more drumbeat than countdown, more metronome than ticking clock, and he felt himself carried forward with each muffled beat, as if hope were a rhythm, a song he’d only just discovered.

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. “But it’ll be okay,” he promised. “We’ll keep writing. And we’ll figure out a way to see each other again.”

“You think so?”

“I do,” he said, the words thick in his throat. “We’ll make it happen. Maybe I’ll come to London. Or you can come to Seattle. Or we’ll meet up somewhere else entirely.”

“Okay,” she said after a moment. “Let’s make it somewhere exciting then. Like Saint Petersburg. Or Athens. Or New Zealand.”

“Or Alaska,” he suggested. “We could wander around the tundra.”

“Like a couple of penguins.”

“Exactly,” he said with a laugh.

“Or maybe Buenos Aires.”

He nodded. “Or Paris, so you can show me the exact center of the city.”

“And you can make a wish, too.”

“What was yours?” he asked. “To go back again someday?”

“Not exactly.”

“What then?”

She lifted her head to look at him. “To come back here someday.”

He smiled. “The only problem is, I think we’re about fifteen yards off,” he said, pointing at the spot where they’d sat the last time, where he’d made a star appear in the unlikeliest of places. “I’m pretty sure the exact center of the world is just over there.”

“I don’t know,” she said, and he could see that she was smiling, too. “I think this might be it.”

This book would not have happened without the guidance, encouragement, and support of so many people, including Jennifer Joel, Elizabeth Bewley, Farrin Jacobs, Megan Tingley, Frankie Gray, Stephanie Thwaites, Sophie Harris, Binky Urban, Hallie Patterson, Sam Eades, Libby McGuire, Jennifer Hershey, Josie Freedman, Liz Casal, Pam Gruber, Clay Ezell, and Jenni Hamill. I’m also very grateful to my pal Owen Atkins for allowing me to borrow his name, and to my family: Mom, Dad, Kelly, and Errol. Cheers to all of you.