How We Are Meant to Be

“Micah, it’s beautiful,” I thank him in my own, appreciative words as I flip through it in awe. The entire first page is of me growing up, my life prior to meeting Micah. I immediately know that Paris has something to do in this project which makes me feel grateful to have such an amazing older sister.

The next spread is of my family and me over the years, I notice that although we are older, none of the pictures are with the Stevens’ family. I can’t even remember taking that many pictures with just the four of us to be completely honest. As I flip the page, tears hit the inner corners of my eyes and I let out a loud, exasperated gasp. There are pictures of my parents that line the pages. They’re from a lot of different years, I can tell by looking at my mother’s glasses. She got a new pair every two years just to keep up with the fashions and so I know there is a great time length represented here.

“You don’t have any pictures of them, so I had Paris get the originals copied for this. That is the only reason I spent money, to pay her back for the printing costs,” Micah explains as I have to close the book to stop the tears. He kneels down in front of me and takes my face into my hands to stare me in the eyes.

“Micah, it’s so thoughtful of you. It means the world to me that you did this. Seriously, you made me cry, you bastard.” I continue to try to get a grip on the tears, but they just fall into a stream on my cheeks. Micah places the album on the table and wraps his long, hockey weathered arms around me. I respond by burying myself into his shoulder.

For the longest time, he just holds me, even after the tears stop and I just could not push away. Days like this make me wish Micah wasn’t just my best friend. At this moment, I would love nothing more than to call him mine in front of my friends. Even as close as we are, he is not mine. Not how I want him to be anyways.

“You good?” he asks me as I slowly separate us, afraid to stay too close or I might try something we aren’t ready for.

“Yeah, I just can’t believe how great this is,” I reply with a gesture towards the book lying on the table. “Are there more pictures than that? If there are, I feel super terrible since I only made it that far into the book before having a complete meltdown.” I let out a soft chuckle, wiping the stray tears away on my cheeks.

“There are more, but you can look through them at any pace you would like. There’s no rush. Don’t worry about it. And hey, since it’s not a surprise that your sisters are coming, you should probably get dressed since they are set to arrive in about an hour. Aires may attack you if she sees you in that,” he references my battered old Sewickley Slasher’s shirt that I stole from Micah and pajama bottoms. I let out a soft laugh and think about my fashonista/artist sister and the rest of my family in New York. Literally, my entire family besides me lives in New York City. I have always been the independent one, so it doesn’t surprise me, but it surprises a lot of others. When our parents died and Paris decided to move to the East Coast of the States, she brought everyone with her except me because Micah needed a roommate here in Pennsylvania. That’s the reason I started up in photography courses at the University of Pittsburgh. Now I take the professional photographs of the Slasher’s for a paid career. It’s an amazing job, I get paid quite well for not having a finished degree, and I get to see Micah play hockey which is truly amazing. He’s such a natural on the ice and no one in his family ever even tried hockey before him- yet he went professional.

Another special thing about Micah and his career is that most NAHL players are that they usually attend boarding school instead of a regular high school in order to compete in the best junior league hockey programs. Micah never did that yet still went on to be a first round draft pick to the Slasher’s.
“Have I ever told you how much I hate my fashionista sister? She won’t even let me wear sweats and a hoodie at all when she is in town.” I groan as I stand from the chair. Micah stands as well to get out of my pathway.

“At least they come here to see you. I have just as many siblings as you do and I have to go to see them in New York, or worse, Canada.” I shrug before taking the black material bound album to my room. Micah follows me there, not saying anything for the moment. Then he opens his mouth and what he says surprises me. “Do you ever think about how our siblings are all together except us? You know, like, dating?” I have to bite back a cough that I was dying to let go in the comedy of that statement. It isn’t funny like ha-ha, but funny because I’ve been thinking of him like that all day. It began when he lifted me up to get the syrup from the cabinet.

“I guess I have thought about it, but nothing ever comes from it. Why?” I downplay my apparent interest in this subject. He looks conflicted as to whether or not he should even continue.
Apparently, my eyes must make him want to continue as I look hopefully in his direction.

“Well, you and I were friends first which would mean that we are technically the match makers for all of them.” He leans against my doorframe as I move about my small room, tidying up so I don’t look like such a slob in front of my sisters. In the meanwhile, thoughts are flittering across my brain so rapidly that it’s like my dreams rushing across my eyes. “You and I are the most comfortable around each other too,” I glance up to meet his gaze. I see a silent question there in his deep brown eyes. I really like what my eyes are seeing in his, passion.

“What are you saying? You are talking in circles, Micah.” I admit because truthfully, my head was swimming with all the possibilities.

“I guess I’m wondering why you and I never tried the whole dating scene, together. Do you have any clue as to why?” he smirks, pushing away from the door frame to head towards me. He reaches where I stand; he grabs my hands which are suddenly clammy and shaking terribly. He is staring directly into my eyes which make my knees tremble. I have to grab hold of his hands to keep from swooning into the floor.

“None,” I admit as I lose all trains of coherent thought. All I can think of is him possibly kissing me, and then, he is. All so fast his arms encircle my waist while I stand on my tips toes to be closer to his enormous height, still not being tall enough. I just keep my hands clenching his tee that covers his broad chest really well.

There is a knock at the door, across the apartment, and our moment is broken. Seconds later, I can hear my sisters letting themselves in the open door to the apartment’s main hallway that will take them to the kitchen and living space. They shout for us. Micah’s lips leave mine and slowly, I let go of his t-shirt. He looks down at me for a brief second before placing a kiss on the top of my head and letting me go to welcome my sisters who are more than an hour early.