Jude Christopher Brahm,

You moved your hand today. The doctors quickly dismissed it as a muscle spasm, (because as you know, nothing has a positive meaning to the medical community.)

They said it meant nothing, but it still made me smile.

You're alive, Jude.

They can't tell me that doesn't mean something.

~ ~ ~ 

It was June, I think. Yes, it was June.

You were coming over to meet my parents, and I was so nervous. I guess it's stupid that I was nervous -- if you couldn't accept my parents, you obviously weren't meant to be mine, but God, was I nervous.

I let Mom do my hair because my hands were shaking so bad.

"Miss Blaire, you shouldn't be stressing this much about one boy." Her words scolded but her voice soothed. The light coming through my bathroom window caught in her dark, dark eyes.

That was part of why I was nervous, you know. Some people aren't comfortable with biracial marriages. (It sets my blood to a boil. Humans are humans, dear. The color of your skin is only a light show.)

"One boy," I repeated after her, the air leaving my lungs. "Yes, I guess you're right."

She smiled, and I did, too. "His name is Christopher?"

My mother has a thing about calling people by their middle name. She never calls anyone by their first name if they have a middle name.

"Yes," I said, pressing my lips together. Her hands worked quickly through my thick, kinky curls.

The doorbell rang right as she finished with the second tight french braid, and I ran to the door after giving her a big hug.

I knew it was you before I even opened it.

You smiled, and I returned the look, holding the door wide open. 

"Why hello, Aurora."

My soul smiled, and warmth traveled through my veins to every inch of me. I was lost, it was official. And I was afraid.

(Before you say I'm ridiculous, remember that this was our eighth meeting. We had lunch twice, right? And I had pretzels every day for an entire week.)

My mother came up behind me and smoothed her hand over my arm, then held her other hand out to you.

If I remember correctly, you took it without any thought, that wonderful smile still spread across your face. "Mrs. Fisher, right?"

"Please," Mom said, "call me Lilly."

My mother's name is Maria, but you didn't know that. She never goes by her first name.

"It's great to finally meet you. I've figured out where your daughter got her beautiful smile," you said, and I nearly rolled my eyes because it sent my ridiculous stomach spinning.

Mom laughed. "Oh, sure. Come on in, Christopher. Phillip isn't home yet, but I'm working on dinner. Do you like fajitas?"

You nodded, following her. "Yes ma'am."

You followed her, I followed you. 

My nerves were leaving faster with every step I took. "So."

You turned and looked at me, pushing your glasses further onto your nose. "Yes?"

I laughed almost-nervously, but then I shook my head. "Nothing."

You smiled. Reached out and touched one of my braids. "Your hair looks really pretty this way."

"Thank you."

My mother filled in the smiling silence that might have followed. "Christopher, do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Yes, I do. Two sisters--one older, one younger, and a younger brother."

She smiled at you. "I was just wondering because my baby Blaire is an only child." Then she smiled at me.

"She's mentioned that," you said, and I thought...

Well, I'm not sure what I thought. Maybe I didn't think anything at all. (Looking back, there were too many feelings and thoughts to sort out. And dare I say it, too many hormones.)

"What are their names?" she asked.

"My oldest sister's name is Aurora, my younger sister is Elaine, and my brother's name is Samuel."

"Do you have any nieces or nephews?" Mom was never one to allow quiet where there could be conversation.

"Rory has two kids. Little boys." You smiled fondly, thinking. "They're a pair of hurricanes."

"Twins?"

"Irish twins, actually."

Mom nodded, smiled.

I grabbed your hand. "I need to show you something," I said, swallowing down my uncertainties until they curdled in my empty stomach.

You squeezed my fingers as if you knew, and I smiled.

You followed me through the house, the fingers of your right hand entangled in the fingers of my left. (I remember this because your class ring was clinking against my promise ring, and it made my stomach try all sorts of stupid tricks.)

I pulled you out the back door into the yard and let go of your hand. My bare feet carried me over to the swing set, and I sat down.

You sat down in the swing next to me and smiled up into the leaves of the old maple that shaded us. "You have a nice yard."

I laughed softly. "It's the best yard I've ever had." The ground crunched under my feet as I pushed off, setting the swing into motion beneath me. "What do you think of my swing set?" I grinned. "Fitting for a legal adult, don't you think?"

You traced over the metal skeleton of the swing set with your gray eyes. "I think it's pretty sophisticated, yes." The corners of your mouth turned up into a grin.

"My mom is pretty friendly, isn't she?"

"I like her," you said. "She seems like a really cool mom." You pulled your glasses off and swiped at the lenses with the hem of your t-shirt. But instead of putting them back on after cleaning them, you turned them over and over in your hands.

"She is," I replied, watching you. Then you looked up and smiled.

I couldn't decide if you were cuter without glasses or not. It was a very close win, if either look suited you better.

But without the glasses, I could see your eyes better. I liked that.

"How are your eyes?" you asked suddenly, looking back down at the glasses.

"My eyes?" But I knew what you meant. "They're fine. Or at least, they seem fine."

"I was only wondering," you said, smiling with one side of your mouth, "because yesterday I was wondering what you'd look like with glasses."

"Like a 'just' Aurora with glasses." I grinned mischievously and poked your arm.

You grinned back, looked down at your hands and your glasses. Then, without warning, you reached over and propped them onto my nose.

I crossed my eyes at you.

Your grin only grew.

"They look really good, actually. You look better in them than I do."

I snorted. "Excuse you."

You grinned, and I rolled my eyes, laughing to hide my butterflies.

"Jude." I set the square frames back on your nose, and pinched your cheek lightly, teasing. "Stop it."

You raised your eyebrows, wrinkling your nose. The glasses shifted, dangerously close to falling.

"Jude Christopher Brahm! Stop with the flirtatious facial expressions right this minute!" I was giggling and I couldn't stop.

You were making faces at me and didn't stop. 

I closed my eyes and doubled over, partially because I was laughing too ridiculously hard and also to hide the heat in my cheeks. (They were probably redder than candied apples.)

"Aurora," you whispered, leaning close. I was hiding my face, but your breath against my ear still made me squeeze my eyes tightly shut.

The butterflies were attacking and my defenses were poor at best.

"Jude," I whispered back, peeking out at you between my fingers.

You grinned, and I couldn't keep the smile off of my face even though I tried. (It was a valiant attempt, though in vain.)

Then, you groaned and leaned back away, shaking your head.

I straightened, studying you in confusion. "What?"

You waved me away, a grin staining through the look of irritation you wore.

"What is it?" I cocked my head, braids shifting on my bare shoulders.

"You're making this very hard."

My stomach dropped. My words, when they came, were deathly quiet and I sounded almost as afraid as I felt. "I'm making what hard?"

You shook your head.

"Jude," I whispered, swallowing. "If this is... about us," --I said the word like some kind of secret, sacred oath-- "then I guess you should know that... I like you."

I hid my face right after I said it like some kind of shy, awkward elementary-school kid, and took a few shuddering gulps of air.

Looking back, I was melodramatic. And afraid. And a former homeschooler. (That translates: I had only ever had one boyfriend, and that one was in sixth grade. We didn't even go so far as to hold hands.)

Needless to say, the thought of liking you was almost as terrifying as the prospect of getting mugged, even though stuff like that didn't happen in our quiet little North Carolina town.

After a silence that felt like forever, you spoke. "I like you, too." You voice was just as quiet as mine had been.

I looked up, saw your nervous face, and smiled uncertainly.

"Are we going to leave it at that?" you whispered.

I swallowed, looking down. "We can. I don't mind. There's always time to change it, after all."

You laughed softly. "True. So, mutual like it is, then?"

"Sure." I smiled at you, and when you smiled back my stomach melted like a snow cone left abandoned on a picnic table.

Then, the moment ended.

"Blaire, your daddy's home!"

You smiled at me again, eyes laughing. 

"And he wants to meet your friend!"

~ ~ ~

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we hadn't confessed our 'mutual liking' on that day.

Would this ring be on my finger right now? Would you be in that bed? And if you would be, would it matter as much to me as it does?

Looking at you right now, I can't imagine caring any less. Because you're my Jude.

But I guess my perspective is limited, as is the perspective of every human on this earth. I'm a 'just' in that aspect, Jude Christopher Brahm. Not even I, your adventure, could escape the stereotype of 'limited perspective'.

It's interesting to think about, isn't it?

I love you. (And I'm holding your hand, if you can't feel me here.)

You're precious to me.

Sincerely,

Aurora

P.S. The doctors don't know anything.

P.P.S. I love you to Polaris and back.