Part 38 (1/2)

”No!” Baker laughs, kicking at Hannah with her arms still poised over the mixing bowl.

”I think you are.”

”I'm going to fling this batter at you.”

”No you're not,” Hannah says, hugging her from behind. She squeezes Baker's middle and drops her head onto her shoulder. ”But anyway, I'll be back for lots of visits. I figure we can come home for at least one night.”

Baker releases the mixer, letting it fall back against the gla.s.s of the mixing bowl. She spins in Hannah's arms so they're facing each other.

”You got it,” she says, and she kisses Hannah.

It's hard, that second week of August. It's bittersweet. Hannah's stomach is anxious when she wakes in the morning. She thinks of how far she and Baker have come, and she wishes they could go on forever, growing and learning together, without the impending separation that college will bring.

She stands in the middle of her childhood bedroom, with sticky old stuffed animals lumped together in the corner, with pictures of her friends adorning the walls, with Baker's sweats.h.i.+rt strewn over the bed, with piles of clothes that she has already set aside for Emory.

And all she can see, as she stands in the middle of this room, is Baker asking her to dance.

”What are we doing?” Hannah laughs, her heart rate accelerating as Baker steps away from Hannah's music speakers.

”Dancing,” Baker says, pulling Hannah into her. ”Like we should have done at prom.”

The song is soft, rhythmic, mesmerizing. Baker sways Hannah from side to side, her head resting against Hannah's, their hair mixing together, brown into blonde. Hannah turns her head into Baker's neck, and Baker's left hand holds Hannah steady at the base of her back while her right hand grips Hannah's shoulder like she never plans to let her go, and the music drifts over them, a song that exists only for them.

”You looked so beautiful at prom,” Baker says.

Hannah wraps her arm tighter around Baker's waist. ”So did you.”

Baker kisses the side of Hannah's face, right where her skin meets her hairline. ”I didn't feel like I did,” she says. ”But I do now.”

Every time Hannah gets into her car, she sees Baker in the pa.s.senger seat next to her, wearing her brother's faded old LSU baseball cap, laughing around the straw of her Sonic milkshake.

”Let's go out to dinner,” Hannah says, reaching across the console to trace a finger over Baker's palm.

”Dinner?”

”Yeah, like on a date. We can dress all fancy, and I'll pick you up with a bouquet of roses or something, and I'll take you to dinner.” She pauses. ”If you don't like it, we don't have to do it again.”

Baker's eyes tick over to hers. ”How could I not like that?”

So they go on a date. Hannah wears her prettiest dress and her favorite perfume. Baker steps out of her garage with her navy sundress on, her hair pulled half up, the bobby pins glinting in the evening sunlight.

”I don't know why you brought that,” Hannah says, eyeing Baker's clutch as they drive down Perkins. ”You know I'm gonna pay.”

Baker raises her eyebrows. ”Not if I fight you for it.”

They go to Parrain's. The hostess seats them on the porch outside, and it's crowded and busy in a good way. They order sweet tea and boudin b.a.l.l.s, and Baker asks, ”So-since this is an official date, does that mean we have to talk about different things than when we were just best friends?”

”No,” Hannah laughs, ”I'm just gonna make fun of the way you fidget with your napkin, like I always do.”

”Don't,” Baker laughs, her smile shy. ”I'm fidgeting because I'm nervous.”

”Why are you nervous?”

”Because this is the first date I've been on where I actually like the person,” Baker says, and Hannah blushes all over.

They drive to City Park afterwards and sit in Hannah's car, and Hannah thinks of all the times she came here late at night and wished for something better for them. ”Did you know,” Hannah says, surprising herself, ”that being around you is my favorite thing in the world?”

Baker answers by kissing her. It's sudden, but soft. They let the kiss linger, and Baker raises a hand to Hannah's neck, and they kiss again.

”Holy s.h.i.+t,” Hannah says afterwards. ”I don't know how I ever thought kissing anybody else was good.”

Baker smiles, her eyes lit with magic, and says, ”Yeah? I'm that good?”

”Stop,” Hannah laughs, tugging on her wrists. ”Don't act like you don't like it too.”

Baker kisses her again and says, ”No, you're right,” in a breathless voice.

They hold hands and listen to the radio while they drive back to Baker's house. Hannah pulls into the driveway and turns the car off, and they turn to look at each other.

”Did you want this?” Baker asks, holding up her empty to-go cup of sweet tea, her voice silly. ”Maybe as a souvenir of our first date?”

”Nah, wasn't that memorable,” Hannah says.

Baker lunges across the console to tickle Hannah's side. Hannah squirms away from her, her laughter high-pitched and joyful.

”That was hurtful, Hannah,” Baker says. ”You shouldn't say things like that to your girlfriend.”

Hannah heats all over when she hears the word. She stills with her back against the window, her hands still held up to ward off Baker's tickling. ”Girlfriend?” she asks. ”Really?”

Baker's eyes become hesitant, but then she says, in her brave voice, ”Yeah-isn't that what we are now?”

Hannah feels brand new. ”Yes,” she says. ”Yes, we absolutely are.”

Baker leans across the console and kisses her. ”I'll see you in the morning, right?”

”Right.”

”Night, Han.”

Hannah guides her in for one more kiss. They hold their lips together and Hannah breathes in Baker's scent, and then Baker squeezes her hand and climbs out of the car.

When Hannah lies in bed at night, all she knows is the feeling of Baker waking her up on the 22nd of July, her hands warm on Hannah's shoulders, her mouth dropping kisses to Hannah's face like pennies into a fountain. ”Wake up, Birthday Girl,” Baker says, her voice in that halfway place between whispering and speaking.

Hannah smiles without planning to, the way she used to smile as a kid when her mom would wake her on Christmas morning.

Baker takes her to Zeeland Street for breakfast, and they sit in their favorite booth, and Baker pulls one leg up on the bench like she always does. They feast on eggs and bacon and grits and hash browns, and Hannah looks across the table at Baker, sitting there in her tank top and shorts with her hair pulled back from her face, and she cannot remember ever being happier.

They eat spice cake with Hannah's family that night. Joanie cuts the slices for everyone, her voice proud as she brags about how this is the best cake she's ever made. Hannah's mom and dad sit at the far side of the table, both of them wearing content smiles, Hannah's dad laying his hand on the table for her mom to take.

”Can't believe we have an 18-year-old,” Hannah's mom says.