He's five years old and asks a lot of questions. His mother is annoyed, drinking her spiked iced tea to dull her headache.
"Momma! What's that big truck next to our house? Who are those guys? What are they doing?"
He's so cute, but she can't stand the questions.
"Honey, we're getting new neighbors. The truck holds all their belongings from their old house and those nice gentlemen are gonna put it in the new house for them."
"Why?"
She groans and strides from the kitchen to the living room where he is looking out the window toward the house next door. One of the movers catches her eye and she absentmindedly fluffs her beehive.
He watches the movers unload the truck, until the silver car pulling into the driveway distracts him. A man and woman get out of the car. He thinks the man looks important, thinks the woman is kind.
The woman opens the back seat door and pulls out a smiling little girl. His eyes widen, and then his face upturns. The little girl sees him. She smiles wider and he steps away from the window.
"Come with momma to meet the neighbors, darling."
His face is still covered in distaste for the little creature he saw through the window. They all gather on the lawn.
"Hello," his mother drawls in her awful Virginian accent, "My name is Constance and I live next door. This is my boy, Tate."
The man speaks. "I'm Ben Harmon and this is my wife-"
The woman cuts him off. "Vivien. So nice to meet you. Hello, Tate. How old are you?"
"Five," is his shy reply.
"Wow! Five? That's wonderful!" She looks to the little girl hanging on her hip who has yet to be introduced. "This is Violet. She's three. Would you like to say hello to Tate, Violet?"
The girl gets her feet on the ground and doesn't hesitate to invade his personal space. "Hello, Tate."
She's mousy and the way his name sounds coming out of her mouth softens his opinion of her.
"Tate, why don't you show Violet your swing set? Give the grownups a chance to converse."
He walks down the path on the side of the house they're on and she follows. He opens the yard gate and lets it swing back before she gets there.
She struggles to reach the latch; she's just shy of it. She jumps, hits it and pushes.
His jaw is on the floor, she skips passed him and settles on his favorite swing.
"Push me."
"No."
"Please, Tate?"
He crumbles.

She's eight and trying to prove to him that she can ride bikes with him and the other ten year olds.
"But I just learned how without my training wheels!" She digs her bulky boot in the open part of the petal, her oversized sweater hem catching in it.
"You're not steady, pipsqueak. You won't be able to go fast."
"Don't call me that!"
"I always call you that."
"I don't like it."
"Too bad, pipsqueak."
She punches him in the arm, harder than he thought she could, and he loses balance, falling over on his bike.
"Asshole," she huffs and rides away, long and ashen hair flying behind her.
He knows she doesn't understand what she calls him, but he shakes it off and follows her.
She's at the park down the street and sitting on the spinney thing when he finds her. Tears coat her face. He sits beside her and says nothing. She puts her head on his shoulder and apologizes. He tells her what she called him and she starts laughing. He wipes her face.
"You can come with me next time we ride bikes."
"Okay."
"I'll stop calling you pipsqueak."
"Thank you."
"Sure thing, little girl."
She sighs and rests back on his shoulder. It's better than pipsqueak, she decides.
They ride home together and he waits till she's inside before he goes in. He runs up to his room and pulls his curtain. She's already waiting in her window for him. He throws it up.
"What?" he calls.
"Can I try something?"
"Sure."
She climbs through and sits on her ledge. His heart falls into his stomach, the sick fear of her falling snakes through him. He's amazed when she jumps and lands on her garage. She grabs some of the branches of the big tree that separates their yards and climbs. She's steady when she gets to his window and reaches out. He takes her hands and pulls her in.
"Cool," she breathes, "Okay, bye."
She's out the window and in the tree again. Then on her garage and climbing back into her room.
"How did you think off that?" he yells over.
"Dunno. Figured we could put the tree to good use. I can sneak over and read your comic books when you're not home."
"Don't you touch my Superman comics, little girl!"
"Oh, I will!"
He glares.
"Goodnight, asshole!" She sings and shuts her window.
His heart thumps at her devilish grin.
The next time he goes out on his bike, she's there. He beats up one of the other kids for teasing her about the layers she wears. She feels protected.

He's fifteen and sitting at the desk in his room. His project partner, a pretty blonde haired, blue eyed girl with a few advanced body parts from his class, sits in a spare chair beside him.
They're doing something for history, she's giggling at everything he says and bats her lashes. The girl leans over and kisses him just as she is coming through the window. Her little tween heart cracks at the sight, him locking lips with the girl and her fingers in his shagging blonde curls, and retreats, he doesn't even know she'd been there.
He finds her later in her back yard on the ledge. It's oddly chilly, she's fine in her layers, and she's blowing puffs of hot breath like cigarette smoke. Her hair is fallen around both sides of her face; he can't see her expression, the hurt in her eyes.
"Why didn't you come over?"
She puffs some more before she answers.
"You had company."
"She left hours ago."
"So? Your room probably still smells like convenient store lip balm and slut."
"What is your problem, little girl?"
"Right now? You, asshole."
"Whatever, Violet."
He turns to go inside, fuming at her crudeness towards him. She speaks.
"What did she taste like?"
His blood runs cold. He stiffens. To her surprise, he actually answers. "Strawberry."
She hops down and closes the gap between them. She yanks him around, pulls his face down, and kisses him.
He thinks he's gonna fall over, she feels warmth spread inside her body.
It's over in seconds and she takes a step back. He stumbles forward to pull her close to him.
"You like blueberry better," she quips, and goes back into her house without looking back.
His lips are raw, he licks them. She's right, blueberry tastes better, and he wants more.

She's sixteen and climbing through his window at three in the morning. Her shoes are missing and he's fast asleep.
"Tate," she whispers. He stirs. She jumps on the bed and he snaps up. She giggles.
"Vi, what the fuck?"
"Ask me."
"Violet," he glances at the clock, "it's three am and I've gotta be up at seven to get ready for a college interview. What are you talking about?"
She pouts and he can't stand it, his dick is immediately hard.
"Taaaaaate," she whines, high and impatient, "ask meeeeee."
It clicks.
"Vi, I can't. I'm taking Steph, remember?"
Her chest puffs. "Tate."
"Violet."
She pouts again and he wants to pull her on top of him and pound her senseless.
"Dump that hooker. I saw her at the beach tonight hooking up with someone. I walked all the way home to tell you."
He sighs.
"Tate," she squeaks. He looks at her.
Seconds later she's crawling across the bed and straddling him. He's trapped under the sheet and curses.
"Tate," she moans, rocking against him. She can feel him through the thin material.
"Vi," he hisses.
She leans forward and kisses his neck. "Fuck me."
He catches her lips and she sighs in his mouth. She rocks again and he's right with her. She moves the sheet, he's only in boxers and she has no tights under her mid-length skirt tonight.
"Tate, please fuck me."
He growls. "Strip."
She obliges. First her shirt and tank top, then her skirt. She pops the bra off and he holds himself together. He's wanted to see her like this since the first time she kissed him, and every time she's been on his bed in the cover of night after that.
She shimmies out of her panties and looks at him, waiting. His boxers come off, she stalks over him again.
Her legs are on either side of him, he can feel she's wet already and guides her. She pushes his hands and sinks down, like she knows exactly what she's doing. But she doesn't. He's her first and that's how she's always wanted it.
He can't take the feeling around him. She isn't what he imagined in dreams, showers, and nights alone, she's more.
She picks a pace, steady until the dull sting is gone. He gets impatient.
Suddenly, he pulls her flat down against his chest, wraps his arms around her and slams. He fucks her like he's always wanted to and she's moaning so loud, his mother would be awake if she hadn't downed a bottle of whiskey before supper.
She yelps when she comes, riding out the feeling she can never quite get when she plays alone thinking of him. He keeps going though, never stopping or changing pace. She keeps coming. He finishes and she's raw inside.
"I love you," he breathes.
"I've always loved you," she confesses.
Three weeks later she's wearing a stunning black lace gown and he's all smiles. He leaves for school in a month and it doesn't faze her.

He's twenty-four and on his way to his mother's house from graduation. Four years was a long time to be away from her. They started out keeping in close contact, but they both drifted. He had girlfriends, she had boyfriends. He didn't come home for holidays.
He's single now, the girls never being exactly what he wants because they aren't her. He pulls into his mother's drive. He's glad the stay will be temporary. He put a down payment on a one bedroom apartment the second he got into town.
When he gets out, he sees her. She is not the sixteen year old grunge girl he left behind. She's a woman. Still in her layers of dresses, shirts, cardigans, and tights, but the body underneath is unmistakable. He can find her curves and she smiles while he takes her in. He's older too, fully squared and manly looking.
She's holding a box wrapped in black paper and silver ribbon. "Congrats, grad."
He sticks his tongue out.
"Open it."
He obeys. Paper and ribbon clutter the drive. In the box is a picture of the two of them from when they were children. On the back of the photo she's written:
Take a look and you will see, I've loved you since I was three.
Love, Vi
"Cute poem, little girl."
"I thought you'd enjoy it, Mr. Hot-shot poet. That's better than anything you've ever come up with."
"You're damn right it is."
"Let's go grab drinks. Your little girl isn't so little anymore," she reminds him.
He looks at the picture then back at her.
"Yeah. I know."
They're drunk and she tells him her parents are in Florida. She's on summer break from UCLA. She stumbles up the steps with him close behind and they fall into her bed.
She shows him what she's learned to do with her mouth while he was gone. He lets her in on the things he's discovered with his tongue.
The complete each other, no one else is good enough.

She's twenty-seven and working at a publishing company as Chief Editor, the youngest of her time. She sends his poems through her office to get approved. He's constantly writing things, they're usually about her and she can't help but feel smug.

He takes her to fancy dinners and parties; she's always the most stunning woman in the room. He's prideful. She attends his book signings and galas, never complaining about the event because she knows a night of endless head and fucking follow them.

She gets home from a late night at the office, he soothes her. He lays her down, licks her sweet treasure into oblivion until she's relaxed. He doesn't ask her to return the favor. She knows she'll pay him back another time. He's okay with that. They sleep snuggled against each other in their Boston loft, listening to the winter howls as it blizzards.

In the middle of the night, she's up and vomiting in their bathroom. She tucks hair behind her ears and it snags on both her engagement ring and wedding band. "Bitch," she mutters, then pukes again. He lies with eyes opening listening, waiting for her to call on him. She does.

"Tate?" it's a whisper, she feels so weak.

He gets up and sits on the bathroom floor. He holds her locks. It goes on for an hour before they can go back to sleep.

She gets up before him and digs in the cabinet under the sink. "Where are you, you little fucker?" She's locked herself in and is making a mess. Finally, she finds the box, reads the directions, and gets to it. She didn't realize how long a minute was until now. She screams.

"Vi! Vi, let me in!" he's jiggling the handle.

"Give me a minute!" she doesn't mean to snap, he knows.

The door finally opens and there she stands in the middle of all the shit on the floor. He looks concerned, she holds out the stick. He takes it, makes a face when he realizes it's still a little wet.

"What does it mean?"

"It means you knocked me up."

"So?"

"So get dressed and take me to the doctor."

He's frozen. She pushes him and puts on clothes. He follows suit. They get to the doctor and she tells them congratulations, they're scared to death.

He's thirty-nine and sitting at his desk in their study. She waltzes in, their daughter on her heels. The little girl is ten and bouncing, just like her mother used to.

"Are you gonna finish up?"

"Yes, hon."

"Daddy, now please?"

He looks up and the little girl is peaking over the front of the desk. She's ten but so adorably short. She has his eyes and he's proud but afraid. They capture him, just like his have captured hers for so long and she knows that. She lets the little girl use it against him.

"Okay, Eva." He saves his work and stands. The little girl is already grabbing his hand and pulling. She laughs at the child's eagerness.

"Zoo! Zoo! Zoo!" Eva chants all the way to the car, and all the way to the zoo.

They watch her amazement. He looks at her watching their baby and falls in love again.

"I'm glad that after all this time, you can still look at me that way," she comments, pecking him chastely.

"I could never look at you any other way, Vi."

She shifts and leans into his chest. They're in the reptile room and Eva is enchanted by the snakes. "When did you first know you loved me," she wonders. Together for years and she waited until then to ask him. He doesn't hesitate.

"When I first met you."

She laughs. "Tate, you were five."

"Yes, and do you remember what happened?"

"I think I asked you to push me on your swing, right? You've told me this story before. I was only three."

"Well I told you no. But a second later, I was yours. You had me at 'Please, Tate?' I was a fucking goner."

"You're such a mush."

"Well, when did you know?"

She sighs, answering as quickly as he had. "I loved you're friendship before I loved you. But, the day you followed me after I called you an asshole. I knew you cared and that I loved you more than ever."

"Mommy! Daddy!" Eva halts their conversation, they attend to her. The little girl leads them all around, telling them everything she's learned. This child is proof of their childhood fondness of each other, a product of how they bloomed together, a symbol that love can begin when one is five and the other is three.