I'm back & this story is completed! Chapters 42 to 61 being posted this weekend; epilogue soon.

(Elle)

After looking forward to this trip for weeks, I can't believe it's already time to head home. Noah and I went back to BU campus this morning for breakfast at my favorite diner, and afterward I convinced him to take one last long walk back across the bridge. It's hard to explain why I've missed walking along and across the Charles so much, maybe more so than I've missed any of our campuses, but I have. I loved being out on the river so much that I actually tried going out for crew sophomore year, until it became glaringly obvious that I was neither tall enough to row competitively nor tiny enough to cox. That, and it turns out crew practices are ridiculously early. Noah laughed at that reason for dropping my flirtation with crew and going back to soccer, but these things matter. Five am wake-ups are just unnatural... unless you're pregnant, apparently, but thankfully that wasn't relevant back then.

Seeing my BU friends last night was awesome. Questions about the baby did dominate the conversation at first, but after I filled in a few details beyond the basics that had been in my announcement email I managed to get everyone talking about themselves instead. It's fun jumping ahead three years in everyone's story—finding out which gung-ho premeds finally realized that was their parents' dream, not theirs, and which slackers turned out to be total superstars; which perfect couples exploded messily, and which unlikely pairings doggedly went the distance. I'm not quite sure where Noah and I fall in those categories. My friends here seem to think we're neither, that we're some kind of exception, but I think we might honestly be both.

Mindy, the friend hosting our get-together, is currently living in my last dorm as residence staff, and I couldn't resist making a visit to my old room before leaving last night. It's where we'd spent that last perfect summer, Noah staying over most nights to be closer to his internship, but it's also where I got Brad's call, where I sat frozen on my bed while Noah somehow organized flights and packed while juggling calls to his parents, to Lee, to my relatives, to both our deans of students, to his coach, to everyone else we needed to alert. After three years it finally feels like I've moved past that day, like the promise and potential I'd started to imagine that summer are finally back within our sights.

I had planned to fly back with June and Matthew, but they've decided to extend their stay in Boston and I manage to talk Noah out of switching to my flight. I mean, obviously the time together would be nice, but not at the cost of him getting home that much later, and I've got work to do on the flight anyway. Besides, what exactly would having him there accomplish, if something did happen? Unless he's been secretly attending medical school, it's not like he could do anything if anything went wrong. Which it won't, other than in his wary imagination.

I'm trying hard not to think of the last time I waited in this airport for a flight home. Today, though, Noah does not follow me down the jetway when my flight boards; he just walks me to the gate and whispers Friday before giving me a quick kiss and heading to his own flight's gate. Which is another reason why it would have been ridiculous for Noah to fly via LA just to spend the flight with me–we're going to see each other again in all of five days, when I fly up for a last visit before he moves.

But before I can get on that flight to San Francisco on Friday, I have a final to take, a term paper to hand in, and assorted loose ends to wrap up for my other classes. So I jam on my noise canceling headphones as soon as I'm seated and block out everything around me as I settle in for what needs to be a very productive flight. Taking off to Boston in the middle of finals period was perhaps not the wisest decision, but no way was I going to miss Lee's graduation or the chance to say goodbye to Boston.

I do take a few breaks from working, and it's hard then not to think about my last flight west. For once I let myself wonder if it could have worked—if I'd let Noah stay, way back when. I've been so convinced it never could have, and I needed to be convinced of that or the regret would have destroyed me. But if after everything we've still managed to get it together now, surely we could have made it work then? But maybe not. We both did some growing up, we both changed, and maybe that made the difference. And if that wasn't it, maybe it was being forced to do without each other for a while that got our heads and hearts straight. Still, now that we're back together and the what if is less painful, I can't help but idly wonder about a universe in which Noah stayed, we stayed together, and ... what, exactly? We play house and take care of Brad? When Dad comes home, does Noah move out? Do I go with him? Do we both transfer to UCLA? Or do we go back to Boston? The oddest part is my brain's insistence on adding Dinah to these scenarios. Maybe I'm getting to a point where I can't imagine our story without this plot twist.

This is when Mickey would tell me to snap out of it and quit torturing myself with pointless hypotheticals. Since she's not here, I'll settle for reminding myself that my paper is due in two days and that I'd really like to graduate, and I dive back into my laptop for the remainder of the flight.

The next few days pass in a blur and suddenly it's Thursday afternoon and I'm done—totally and completely done: not just with this quarter, but with all of college. My plan had been to relax and catch up on sleep tonight, but as I walk out of my exam it occurs to me that I can do those things just as well in San Francisco. Well, maybe not the catching up on sleep tonight part, but I can always sleep in after Noah heads to work tomorrow. By the time I've walked back to my apartment, my flight is rescheduled and Mickey laughs as I whirl around the apartment haphazardly packing a bag. I haven't decided yet whether to tell Noah or just show up. It feels like he's earned a surprise appearance after all of his, but I'd hate to show up at his door and discover he's out with friends. Ah, except I know those friends, or at least one of them. Adam assures me Noah will be home all evening with a stack of finals to grade, and that he'll talk him out of any attempt to change those plans.

The surprise is almost ruined when I turn my phone on after landing and there are messages from Noah asking why my phone is going to voicemail and why I'm not responding to his messages, but he seems to buy it when I tell him Mickey and I were at the movies. We trade messages as my cab makes its way to his apartment and I go out of my way to tease him with plans for tomorrow until he finally threatens to block my number if I don't stop torturing him.

I'd debated a number of snarky or flirtatious comments to make when Noah opens the door, but when he actually does I forget every last one, along with my ability to speak in general. Which is fine, because neither of us seems particularly interested in conversation. I'll give him credit for reacting to the surprise appearance with less flustered confusion than I ever did, though I do feel some satisfaction to for once catch him in sweats while I'm nicely dressed. Any difference in our attire rapidly disappears, of course.

"You remember calculus, right?" Noah asks me quite a while later, just as I'm debating whether to let myself fall asleep in this satisfied haze.

I can't help a mad burst of giggling before managing to respond. "That's got to be in the top five of questions I never expected to be asked naked in bed, but yes, mostly. Why?"

"See, there's this stack of finals I was supposed to finish grading tonight, but I seem to have gotten sidetracked."

"That was foolish of you. You should work on your time management."

"It's just, if I don't finish them tonight I'll have to work on them tomorrow, and my girlfriend's visiting then. And she's very unreasonable about letting me get work done when she's around."

"Can't you tell her you were busy with me?"

"Then I'll be dead and the finals really won't get graded."

"Hmmmm. She sounds horrible."

"You have no idea."

"Fine. But if I'm getting roped into this, there's going to need to be snacks."

"One step ahead of you. Look next to the fridge."

Now I'm intrigued, and after pulling on clothes I make my way back to the kitchen. There's an assortment of my favorite junk food stacked at one end of the counter, and I tear into a box of cookies with glee.

"Just make sure you leave some for my girlfriend. She gets even more unreasonable when forced to eat real food."

"If you keep this joke up, I'm going to have to ask who I am in this scenario."

Between the two of us we get through the grading relatively easily, although at one point Noah does ask me to make my handwriting a little less girly. I wasn't aware it was, but after that I start dotting my i's with little hearts. What are they going to do, fire him for outsourcing his grading to his girlfriend? Joke's on them—he already quit for me.

I sleep through Noah getting up the next morning and a couple hours beyond that, but I do have an alarm set for eleven; Noah has promised to come pick me up so I can have lunch with him and his friends. His friends seem less unknown and intimidating to me now than my last trip up here, but it's still a little odd thinking that he has this whole gang I've barely met. At least Adam will be there.

Seeing Noah at work is a trip. The campus looks nothing like Country Day overall, but their lunchroom does remind me of ours, and a few times when I look up and see Noah in his half-rolled sleeves and loosened tie I briefly forget where and when we are. And then I look down again and notice that not only am I not in uniform, but I definitely wasn't rocking this belly in high school. Besides, I'm not sure we actually ever ate lunch together in high school, at least not in public.

I know Noah told his friends the truth about this year, and I've braced for questions about it, but the lunch crowd turns out to be more eager to tell me stories than to interrogate me. The stories all boil down to the same recurring themes: the number of their friends they tried and failed to set up with Noah, his insufferable attitude this winter, and his reportedly hilarious transformation this spring. Given the eye rolls these comments elicit from him, I'm going to guess this isn't the first time he's had to put up with this teasing, but hey, I'm loving it.

I also discover, to my horror, that the initial story circulated by the students who caught us kissing that night we walked around campus was that I was a student at their rival high school. I guess that's one of the risks of looking perpetually sixteen. Thankfully, Adam caught wind of that rumor and squashed it before it collided disastrously with that week's other hot news that Flynn had a pregnant girlfriend. Apparently this is also the first Noah's heard of that version of the rumor, and it's a good thing those guys were seniors and already done with classes, because based on his expression I think they'd be about to get an interesting talking-to.

"They only started that rumor to get their own girlfriends to stop talking about Flynn, you know," Gwen leans over to tell me, noticing my horrified expression.

"I'm not sure that makes it any less disturbing."

Also disturbing: hearing him referred to as Flynn again. I need to get to his future new coworkers before he does and make it clear his name is Noah; I make a note to myself to call Natalie and enlist her help. There are a lot of Flynns in my life, and soon to be more, so Noah can't just monopolize the name and make everything confusing.

"No, but I thought you might like to know how very jealous you've made quite a few of my students," Gwen laughs.

"Still horrifying. But it explains some of the looks I'm getting from them right now."

"Yeah, well, don't worry. Their dreams were hopeless long before you appeared on the scene. Well, reappeared. I called this, by the way."

"Called what?"

"When Lee visited and we finally got the backstory on that girl in Flynn's old pictures he never wanted to talk about, I figured you'd reappear at some point. Flynn clearly wasn't over you, and if you were Lee's best friend he wasn't going to be able to avoid you forever."

I love how many people are convinced they predicted this all along. Because, let me tell you, it didn't feel that certain to work out from my perspective these last few years. But I definitely don't mind hearing from yet another of Noah's friends that he never seemed like he was over me. I just wish all these friends had shared their conclusions with us a little earlier rather than letting us slowly figure it out on our own.

Adam ends up being the one to drop me back off after lunch, as he's got the hour following lunch free. He's got a million questions for me, and he seems a little concerned by how much baby prep we've got left to do.

"You haven't met June, have you?" I ask him rhetorically. "I promise you, she's on top of it, and we're better off just staying out of her way. And anyway, we've got another six weeks. That's plenty of time."

"Your due date is in six weeks. That doesn't mean you have six weeks left. My middle sister had both her kids two weeks early."

"Ugh, don't jinx me. I don't want to hear it." I'm well aware of this, but I prefer to ignore that possibility.

"Then again, it could be eight more weeks. But you probably don't want that. My youngest sister went late, and she seemed pretty miserable."

"Like I said–I'm not listening to your jinxy jinx talk. Six weeks. It'll be fine."

"Fine, stay in denial." Adam laughs. "Here, before I forget, my sisters wanted me to give you their numbers. They got a little worried when they heard you guys were asking me about baby stuff, so they said to tell you to call or text any time."

"Thanks, that's really sweet of them."

I look at the paper Adam just handed me, then burst out laughing.

"Wait—your sisters are named Annie, Alex, and Adele? Seriously?"

"Oh yeah. And my parents' current dog is Alfie. They're really into themes."

"So if you'd been a girl... ?"

"Agnes." Adam shudders.

I can't help wincing. "Don't mention that to Noah. That's exactly the kind of weird grandma name he'd go for."

"See, I hear you're the one with weird name ideas." Adam smirks.

"Whatever. Noah thinks anything with more than two syllables is weird."

"Just wait until she's born. Pretty sure he'll be too in awe to argue with whatever name you want."

"That's the plan."

"But if he's still being difficult then, just let me know. You're going to let me visit, right? I love newborns. They smell nice. It's like new-car smell but for people."

"That's a little weird."

"Nah, you'll see what I mean."

"Ugh, I wish you weren't going to be so far away. It's nice seeing Noah have someone he actually talks to."

"You do know this is recent, right? I mean, we hung out before, but Noah was never one to talk about anything personal. Not until you showed up."

"Well, I'm glad you guys did become close. You're good for him. And I like you."

"Ah, but see, that was the genius of being friends with me. Anyone else he picked, he'd be worried they'd fall for you, too. Because I can tell you he is incapable of imagining anyone not. But with me... he knows I'm impervious to your charms."

"Are you really?" I ask him with an exaggerated pout.

"What can I say, you're just not my type." He grins at me.

"Oh yeah, so what is your type?"

"Noah."

I can't help choking on the sip of water I'd just taken, and Adam's deadpan expression quickly cracks up.

"Sorry, I had to. Your face—I should have gotten a video. But no, not really. I mean, no offense to him, or to your taste in men, but I like my men a little less Clark Kent and a little more Peter Parker."

"Good, because things were about to get awkward. And thanks for that, uh, visual."

"I promise, I have no designs on your boyfriend. As if anyone could get his attention off you, anyway. Man, we are going to miss teasing him about you at lunch times."

"I wish I weren't making him leave all this behind."

"Are you kidding me? How he is now and how he was before... there's no comparison. Trust me when I say leaving here isn't even going to register for him compared to being with you. If that idiot had just mentioned what the hell happened in October instead of silently brooding, I would have shoved him into my car and driven him to LA months earlier. And not for his sake, for all of ours, to not have to put up with his miserable attitude any longer."

I have this sudden vision of Adam sitting at a bar with Lee and Mickey, the three of them trying to outdo each other with stories of just how terribly Noah and I handled this winter. On the one hand, Lee should win easily, since he had to deal with both of us. On the other, Mickey and Adam had to put up with me and Noah live and in person on a near-daily basis. Too close to call, probably.

Adam drops me off, promising to call later to work out the last details of the farewell party he's throwing us tomorrow, and now I have a few hours to kill. I may as well get something useful done rather than sit around waiting for Noah to get back. He's already started packing for the move, and the contrast with Lee's half-packed apartment last week makes me laugh. Lee's apartment looked like it had exploded, drawers and shelves spilling their contents everywhere, the floor an obstacle course of half-filled boxes and unsteady piles. Noah's apartment is also in relative upheaval, except for him that means a few open boxes sitting next to orderly stacks of sorted items ready to be packed, and finished boxes neatly stacked in one corner. I once theorized that it was all those years of rigid practice schedules and memorizing playbooks that made him so organized, but then he asked what my excuse was, given I'd spent almost as long playing soccer. I guess we're about to find out what happens when Noah has to live with someone a little more relaxed about messiness.

I figure books are the safest pick for something Noah won't need in the next week. I quickly get through the shelves within my reach, then pull a side table over to stand on so I can reach the higher shelves. Noah would flip if he saw me, but it's perfectly safe—the table is wide and stable, and I checked it would hold my weight. I've nearly cleared the top shelf, moving its contents a few shelves down to where I'll be able to reach them after climbing back off the table, when I get to the last few books and rediscover the photo albums I'd made him. Except, unlike my last trip up here, this time they're all here. The high school pictures, the college pictures, the football pictures, and now the fourth book, our pictures, is out here too. So he had kept it. I'm not that surprised, but I am glad, and I wonder when exactly the fourth book rejoined its mates. Which reminds me that I have my own box, stuffed in a corner of my closet at home, of Noah stuff I couldn't deal with seeing these last few years, and that I should remember to retrieve it when I pack up my room.

Pretty soon I've run out of books to pack, and I rest for a while with a snack from that special Elle-placating junk food stash. I consider making us something for dinner, but the refrigerator turns out to be nearly empty. It occurs to me I have no idea how we're going to split up cooking and laundry and all those other practical details once we move in. We've never actually lived together, not unless you count Noah staying with me most nights of our last summer in Boston. I mean, he's been living on his own for two years, and I basically ran the house while Dad was recovering, so it's not like I'm worried we're incompetent, but it's another of those conversations we probably should have had already. Then again, it's not like talking about who's going to take out the trash would have changed any decisions, so I guess we'll just have to figure it out as we go. Although, if he's going to insist on claiming I live off junk food, I think that makes him responsible for cooking whatever it is he thinks responsible adults eat. I'll, like, do the dishes or something. I'll be sure to inform him of this division of labor... at some point.

I wander through the apartment looking for more books and find another few dozen to pack in the bedroom, then decide I've done enough for the day. Afternoon sun is streaming through the window and I curl up in Noah's bed with the novel I started reading on yesterday's flight, but either it just isn't that interesting or Noah's bed is too comfortable, because suddenly I'm waking up to the sound of him laughing.

"So you slept until just before I picked you up for lunch, ate, and then came back here and napped? You truly are a cat, Shelly."

"Shut up. I'm pregnant and I didn't get enough sleep last night, both of which are your fault."

"I seem to recall you rescheduled your flight for the exact purpose of not getting enough sleep last night," that smug jerk smirks at me.

"Still your fault. And for your information, I packed a crap ton of your books before taking this nap."

"I noticed, actually, and thank you. Do I want to know how you got to the high shelves?"

"Nope."

"Were you planning on hibernating all day, or can we go get dinner?"

"We're going to have to, because your fridge is practically empty."

"You remember I'm moving in a week, right?"

"I not only remember it, I look forward to it. But that doesn't solve today's lack of food."

"The plan was to pick you up at the airport in—" Noah checks his watch—"just about an hour from now, and take you to dinner."

"Yeah, but now we're already home. We could be lazy and order in."

"Elle, how many Friday nights do you think we have left before going out for dinner gets a lot more difficult?"

I hadn't thought of it that way. "You make a terrifying point." I admit.

"That, and it's our last Friday in San Francisco."

"It's also exactly my second Friday in San Francisco, so you'll have to pick the place. Whatever restaurant you'll miss most after leaving."

"The hole in the wall barbecue place by Adam's apartment that serves ribs on newspaper and beer in mason jars?"

"Eww, no. Fine, whatever restaurant you'll miss most that you would take a date to. Wait, strike that. I don't actually have any interest in knowing where you've been on dates. Pick somewhere you haven't taken anyone."

"But there's nowhere left, then."

His innocent smile is obnoxiously smug and I fling a pillow at him with perhaps more force than necessary.

"Yikes, Shelly—I was kidding. I guess this means Adam hasn't mocked my social life to you."

"Oh, he has, in great detail, repeatedly. But you still deserved that for making the joke."

In the end I decide I need Thai food, because I always need Thai food right now, and I pick a place based entirely on its name amusing me. Between Noah's comment about how few easy Friday nights we have left and Adam's earlier reminder that Dinah might not actually wait six more weeks, it's hard not to feel like we're entering some kind of final countdown, but I do my best to ignore the calendar and just enjoy being out together. We've had so much to figure out and discuss and plan for these last few months; we've earned at least one weekend of just relaxing. I'm turning twenty-three on Monday, and somehow the prospect of starting a new year is reassuring. Twenty-two was... an interesting year. Twenty-three seems destined to be as well, but hopefully I can stay on the right side of interesting this time.