There’s just something about moving into your own apartment for the first time. I hadn’t seen it before moving in—the apartment is in Chehalis, Washington and Tim and I hadn’t stepped foot out of Brownstown, Indiana until two mornings ago. We had packed up our two-door Honda with bedding and pots and pans, photo albums and cartons of my books. God, there were so many books.

Tim had backed away from the car, crossing his arms over his chest. “We don’t have enough room,” he said.

“I haven’t finished packing my books,” I had said. I had just lugged another crate out—this one was full of my favorites. The Grapes of Wrath, a book of poetry by William Carlos Williams, Of Mice and Men, Brave New World.

“Holly. Look, I love you but I can’t magically create more space in the trunk,” Tim had said. He looked tired and I had stepped closer to him with the crate pressed to my side, took his hand in mine and squeezed. The barely noticeable lines around his eyes faded a little bit and he grinned. “Okay. Let’s give it a fair shot at least, right?”

He had taken the crate, set it down and began cramming books into all the empty spaces he could find. “I love you, too,” I said. He knew how important my books were to me and I loved him more than anybody in the world for that.

“You know…there’s something taking up a pretty good chunk of space in the trunk,” Tim had said.

“Hmm?” I leaned over the trunk. “What?”

Tim pulled out my wedding dress and handed it to me wordlessly. I held it close. Tim and I had gotten married a month earlier. I had walked down the aisle in my beautiful wedding dress towards the man that I couldn’t live without. “When I wore this dress, I was the happiest I’ve ever been,” I said, letting the lace edging at the hemline brush the back of my wrist. I had remembered how perfect and solid and dependable Tim had looked at the end of the aisle, waiting for me in his black tuxedo. Waiting, waiting, waiting and I was walking towards him and we were going to be together forever and I was so sure of my future.

Tim looked up from the trunk and his eyes softened when he saw me stroking my wedding dress. “There’s going to be so many other happy moments in our life together,” he said. “But you know, I can find room in there if you want. It’s up to you, Holly.” He held up my copy of The Color Purple and I caved, setting my beautiful dress down on the driveway. I sat on top of the dress, feeling the satin wrinkle underneath me and I wiped away my tears. I had felt so dumb—crying over a dress that I would never wear again.

Tim put my book in the trunk and sat down next to me on my dress, folding his long legs underneath him. He took my chin in my hand and turned my face towards him. He kissed my wet eyelashes and he kissed the tip of my nose and he kissed me, deep and wonderful and I knew it was going to be okay. I didn’t need a dress to know that my future with Tim was going to be good, no matter what.

Tim had gotten a job managing a grocery store way out in Washington State, in this town called Chehalis, which he told me was pronounced Shu-hay-lis. I was along for the long haul, of course. For thick or thin, right? We had found an apartment online in our price range and had plunked down the first month’s rent, last month’s rent and a deposit, besides. Our new apartment was on the third floor of an apartment complex, which was apparently the tallest building in Chehalis.

I was eighteen. Fresh out of high school. My mother hated the fact that I got married two weeks after graduation but she was grudgingly accepting of Tim, mostly because he had graduated right alongside me. He had been valedictorian, Mr. 4.0, Honor Roll and all that jazz. I was the girl who disappeared into the peeling beige wall at the back of math class, I was the girl who could sit at any table in the cafeteria—not because I was popular or because I had a wide group of friends, but because I had no friends, really; because nobody noticed me sitting at the end of the table, chewing my sandwich silently.

Tim was the first person to notice that I existed. I was a junior and it had been a rainy Thursday after school in February. I was sitting in my little two-door Honda (the same car that we were cramming full of our possessions currently). It wouldn’t start. I swore at the car, tried again and then when it clearly wouldn’t start, I got out and popped the hood.

The tangle of wires and cords made me nervous. I had no idea where to start. It started pouring again and I kicked the tire, frustrated, slipped and landed in a puddle.

I heard a snort of laughter and looked up to see a tall dark-haired guy smiling down at me. He was Tim Holden, the smartest kid in Brownstown High.

“Need some help?” he offered, holding out a hand.

I ignored it and stood up on my own. “No, I don’t,” I told him pointedly, crouching over my open hood.

“Really? You know what you’re doing in there?” Tim asked, impressed.

I nodded, hoping he couldn’t see how puzzled I was by the terrible intricacies of my own car. “I got it,” I said. I could feel him holding back laughter as he looked over my shoulder.

I took a deep breath and reached in and touched a wire. It gave me a tiny electric shock and I jumped back, hurriedly.

Tim couldn’t hold it back anymore and burst out laughing.

I turned to glare at him. “What’s so funny?” I said. “You think you could do any better?”

“No, but at least I know when to give up,” he said, grinning.

“You know what? I don’t need your help.” I slammed the hood shut, narrowly missing Tim and slid back into my car. I put the keys in the ignition, turned, but the engine just made a terrible sort of noise. Tim still hadn’t moved so I shut my door and folded my arms over my chest. Let him stare and later tell all his friends, I decided. I don’t care. I just wanted to get home. I was starving and I had a bunch of books I had checked out from the library that I was dying to read.

Tim tried to open my door but I locked it before he had reached the door handle. Ha, I thought. I pretended not to notice him motioning for me to roll down my window but I finally did it, hoping he’d say whatever he was bent on saying and then leave me alone.

“What do you want?” I said.

“Geez. You’re pretty friendly, aren’t you?” Tim asked, leaning in over my window conversationally.

“Look, I just want to get out of here.”

“Holly, right?” Tim asked.

I looked up at him, surprised. I didn’t think anybody really knew my name. “Yeah.” I felt a little less annoyed with him and so I rolled down my window the rest of the way.

“You want to go get a burger or something?” Tim asked. “You know, as an apology for laughing at you when you got shocked. And when you fell in the puddle.”

“You were watching when I fell in the puddle?” I asked. “And you laughed?”

Tim smiled and opened my door for me. “Come on, Holly. My treat.” I got out grudgingly but Tim touched my arm, right at the inside of my wrist and a jolt ran through me. My second electric shock of the day.

He drove us to the diner a few blocks away and bought me a cheeseburger and a chocolate shake. I was ravenous by that point and tore into my burger. I looked up a minute later to find him staring at me.

“What now?” I asked.

“Nothing.” Tim looked at me for a beat longer then added, “You’re cute.”

I took a long, long drink of my milkshake. I didn’t know what to say. The only other person to tell me I was cute had been my mother.

Tim was eating French fries slowly. A bite at a time. “So. Where’s your favorite spot in the world?” he asked.

I blinked. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, Holly. You’re pretty quiet but I know you have a lot going on. The quietest people always have the most interesting lives.”

I stared at a smear of ketchup on the table but Tim didn’t say anything else and finally I said, “A tree house.” I looked up and he was looking at me and he looked interested—really interested, I mean, not just being polite, and there was this dot of mustard at the corner of his lip and suddenly I knew I could trust him. “It’s an old tree house on my grandparents’ property,” I said. “It’s all busted up but there’s these little planks of wood nailed into the tree so you can still get up there. And I used to go up there as a kid all the time and there was this big map on the wall, all waterlogged but you could still make out cities and stuff. It was a map of the United States and I used to close my eyes and spin in circles and then point at the map. And then I would pretend that I when I climbed down from the tree, I’d be in whatever city I was pointing at.” I took a deep breath. “It’s stupid. I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” Tim said softly. “Do you still go up there?”

“Well. Kind of. The map was ruined after that big rain a few years ago. And I always feel too old to go up there, but it’s nice, you know? It’s really quiet and you can pretend that you’re anywhere, really.”

“It sounds really nice,” Tim said. “I’d like to see it sometime. If you don’t mind.”

I didn’t say anything. Instead, I sucked down the rest of my milkshake.

The next day, I saw Tim in the hallway at school but he was talking to some girl and didn’t notice me. It doesn’t matter, I told myself, he was nice to me because he felt bad.

But then at lunch, I was sitting at the end of the volleyball girls’ table (not that I played volleyball), unwrapping the wax paper from my turkey sandwich when I felt a tug on my braid. I turned around and Tim was standing behind me. He was taller than I remembered but maybe that was because I was sitting down and I had to look a long way up.

“Hi, Holly,” he said. “Want to get out of here?”

It was one of those moments that you know will change your life forever. I didn’t ask any questions but crumpled my sandwich back into its wrapper and left the whole thing sitting on the table. I followed Tim out to the parking lot and we got into his car.

“I thought we could go to your tree house,” Tim said.

I gave him directions. My grandparents both worked during the day so I knew they wouldn’t be home.

“I’ve never skipped school before,” I said to Tim once we were pulling into my grandparents’ gravel driveway. “Won’t people notice if you’re gone, though, Mr. Honor Roll?”

“Let them notice,” Tim said.

I pointed out the tree and showed him how to climb up. You have to just let your toes rest on the planks of wood. Once we got up there, Tim looked around. “You weren’t kidding,” he said. “This is really something else.” And then he noticed the stacks and stacks of books I had lugged up there. They were under a plastic tarp, for safekeeping from the rain and snow of Indiana. “Jesus, Holly,” he breathed. “You’re a reader, too, aren’t you?” He picked up a book, ran his fingers through the pages, and then another one, his fingers tapping against the spine of the book.

I watched him as I sat awkwardly cross-legged against the sloping wall of the tree house. “So, why are you here? Why me?” I finally asked him.

Tim looked up and said, “I can’t stop thinking about you.” He sat down next to me. “Since yesterday, every time I close my eyes, I see you. And I keep wanting to do this—” He leaned over and kissed me. Deep. I closed my eyes, out of disbelief, more than anything.

We stayed up there for eight hours that cold February afternoon. Kissing but mostly talking. Unlike anybody I had known, Tim wanted to get to know me. We talked about how I got kicked out of ballet as a five-year-old because I accidentally kneed my male ballet teacher in the nuts. We talked about our favorite books. We talked about how feeling embarrassed for somebody else is often so much stronger than feeling embarrassed for yourself.

He kept pausing to kiss me and press up against me and touch me.

We got married a year and a half later and a month later, we moved.

And now, I am standing in my very own apartment—well, mine and Tim’s—and I am touching the walls and looking in closets and running up and down the hallway because I’ve never had a place of my own before.

Tim is bringing in all the boxes from the Honda methodically. I brought in a few, dumped them unceremoniously in the living room and Tim said gently that he had better bring in the rest. So now I’m exploring. I love it but all of a sudden, I feel like I’m not in Washington but on a different planet.

My family is all back in Brownstown. Nobody ever leaves Brownstown. Until me, I mean. Me and Tim. It’s just the two of us out here. It’s scary in a big, unidentifiable way but I know it’ll be okay.

“Yoo-hoo!” a guy is poking his head in our front door. He has thick square-rimmed glasses and he’s holding an 8 by 11 pan.

“Hi,” I say uncertainly.

The guy walks into my apartment and I’m a little alarmed. Tim is still out by the apartment and I don’t know how things work in Washington yet. Should I scream?

I’m debating whether to run out the back door, or scream or punch the guy in the face when he says, “I’m your downstairs neighbor. I’m Jonah.” I’m still not sure if he’s an okay guy but then he adds, “Two oh one.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about and I’m about to yell for Tim but then I realize that 201 is his apartment. We’re in 301.

“I’m Holly,” I say. “Come in. Sorry there aren’t chairs or anything. We just got here half an hour ago.”

“Well. I brought you some brownies, Holly,” Jonah says, holding out the pan. I take it from him and set it on the counter. When I look back at him, he’s staring at me and I have to smile. He’s waiting for me to offer him some of his own brownies.

“We have plates somewhere around here,” I say, digging through the nearest box.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jonah says, crossing the room. He lifts out a giant brownie and takes a bite. He settles himself on the countertop, swinging his legs against the side. “So, is it just you here?”

“No, my husband’s unpacking the car actually,” I say, carefully pulling a brownie out for myself. I bite into it; it’s good, really good and I remember that I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday.

“Husband? Wow. You look twenty, tops,” Jonah says. “No offense.”

“I’m eighteen, actually,” I say.

“No kidding, huh. Married at eighteen. I’m twenty-one. I live in the apartment downstairs with my roommate.” He takes a second brownie for himself and hands another one to me. “Where are you from, Holly? Seattle area, or further north? Bellingham?”

“Indiana, actually,” I say. It’s the first time that somebody has asked where I’m from.

“The Midwest. Wow, I guess that explains the marriage thing, huh?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I demand.

“Nothing. Sorry,” Jonah says, dusting brownie crumbs off his shirt. “I don’t know a lot of married eighteen-year-olds, that’s all. It’s not a bad thing,” he adds quickly. “It’s actually kind of cool. Mostly people just casually date around here. I don’t think I have any married friends, actually.”

I shrug. “We’re normal people, too,” I say.

Jonah laughs. “I’m sorry. I’m acting like an idiot, kind of.” He stands up. “I should really let you guys settle in. It’s just when I saw you standing around in here—this apartment complex is mostly the sixty and up crowd. My roommate and I are the youngest guys here by a good forty years, so it was really good to see another unwrinkled face.” He’s heading out the door but turns back and says, “Maybe after you guys settle in, you could come downstairs and we’ll order pizza or something. In a few days. Whenever.”

“Sounds good,” I say, watching him leave. I don’t really know what to think about my new neighbor yet. All I know is that in Indiana, we spy on our new neighbors from behind curtained windows for about a week or a month before we work up the nerve to go over with a casserole and say “hello.”

I’m eating another brownie when I feel a line of kisses trail down my neck. Tim is back inside.

“Mmm, brownies!” he says. “Don’t be such a pig, Holly, and share with me.” I shove another brownie in my mouth and chew open-mouthed at Tim. Tim throws his head back and laughs. “I love you, Holly.”

I’m laughing too and choking on the brownie.

Tim thwaps me on the back. “So, I met Jonah,” he says, drawing out the name until it sounds like Jooooooooooooooooooooenah. “He seems pretty cool. He said that he works at the grocery store downtown, too. I told him that I was coming as the new manager and he said that was great. Apparently the old guy was a huge douchebag, in his words.”

“I can’t believe that we’re actually here,” I say. I have to hold on to something tangible, something substantial so I know that I won’t just float away. I grab Tim. He looks slightly confused but he holds me close. We know it’s just the two of us, now.