The Growing Pains of a First Love

“Grow up.” Slam.

The echo of the front door crashing into its frame shook Noa more than the door itself rattled from her forceful exit. She was the cause of the blow, but she, it seemed, was easily the most shaken. She tumbled down the wooden steps onto the twisting pavers pushed into the grass, leading straight to the driveway; straight to her getaway. Her keys pressed into her clammy hands as she pushed herself into the driver’s side and then another door - slam. 

As she maneuvered her car into reverse, Noa glanced up to find the light from inside flooding out onto the paint peeling porch as the door swung open. Tate stood there in its frame, just staring at her through the glass of the windshield, motionless. It felt grossly ironic to her that this was how she was leaving Tate - him standing in the doorway of his childhood home as she sat in the front seat, prepared to leave for the four minute drive back to her own house - as a memory hit suddenly, bringing her back to a moment in time as sweet as this one was strikingly bitter. It made her remember; it made her want to forget. 

Noa looked away as the car slid quickly down Tate’s driveway and onto the street. She pressed the pedal down forcefully as Tate’s house faded into the dark. As she pulled away, she fearfully realized she couldn’t drive fast enough to escape the movie roll that had begun playing in her head; the dark road ahead of her stretched out like the local theater’s still darkness before the start of the show. Her eyes stung with tears she wouldn’t let out - couldn’t let out - as her memory played back that night, with the image of Tate standing on that porch flooding the screen of her mind. Not a picture from tonight, however - the night when it ended. But instead, one from the night where it all began.

—

Tate and Noa. Noa and Tate. Never one without the other, a package deal. It was how it always was and how it always would be. End of story.

The very day that tall new boy from Jefferson, Texas showed up in Ms. Clover’s fourth grade class, Noa had a feeling that the world as she knew it was about to change. She had had gut feelings like this a few times before in her ten years of life: like locking eyes for the first time with her baby sister Daisy and feeling confident and conflicted in her new role as big sister, or last summer when she made the neighborhood swim team and swam backstroke in her first July meet, beating that nasty Hasel Westen by a solid five point four seconds. Or like the Saturday before school had started this year, when her dad’s truck, packed tight with all of his things, rolled out of the driveway for good this time and her mother squeezed her hand so tight it burned. She was familiar to her normal being rattled, but even still, the arrival of this unfamiliar boy to her class felt magically different. He was seated swiftly to the left of her in an open seat and as soon as Ms. Clover turned back to the rest of the class, Noa turned her attention to him. “I’m Noa,” she whispered.

“Tate,” he said softly. 

Noa grinned widely and he smiled back before turning to Ms. Clover and the sea of numbers she was writing on the board. They spent the rest of math paying attention the best they could before a break was announced, when they could finally talk to each other. Noa could ask all the questions she had spent the last hour thinking up for the newcomer - like, where even is Jackson, Texas anyway, and what’s with the camera patch on his blue backpack, and what bus was he riding on later and would he like someone to sit next to?

That day sealed their fate as the best of friends; Noa and Tate were immediately inseparable. They bonded quickly over their love of bike rides and movie theater popcorn. Tate told Noa all about Texas, his dad’s travel photography, and his dreams of growing up to be just like him. Noa taught Tate all about their sleepy, swampy neighborhood, showed him all the best bike trails in Shellman Bluff, and shared the ever-pestering Daisy with him, as Tate never had a sibling of his own. The days of getting to know each other spun into weeks of bonding that glided into years of friendship as the two grew up beside one another. Swim team, school dances, fights with their moms: the two were consistent through every crush, every B+ paper, every thought they ever had about the world swirling around them. They shared dreams of college and life outside of town and were there for every milestone. Noa was there to hold Tate’s backpack as he stumbled on crutches when he broke his leg during his short-lived skateboard obsession in the ninth grade. Tate was there to comfort Noa at the first swim meet of sophomore year when the tears finally hit and cemented the reality that her dad had actually left them. By the end of their junior year of high school, Noa couldn’t remember a day where Tate wasn’t intertwined in every bit of her memory, and she loved it that way. 

On that cloudy May afternoon, the two had just left Shellman High on their last day of eleventh grade, hungry for summer break. Unlike every other eager sixteen year old,  Noa had waited until seventeen to get her license and had just gotten her freedom two weeks prior. She purposefully took the long way back to Tate’s house, winding in and around the fish camp town with the windows rolled down and the radio blasting; the two of them coasting through the Spanish moss lined streets as the true picture of high school summer break. Tate had gotten his license on the normal sixteen year old timeframe, so they had decided it was only fair to let Noa drive them to school for the last few days in her mom’s old powder blue Honda, although Tate’s car was newer and sleeker and he was, by far, the superior driver. She knew he tried to soften his wincing as Noa breaked a little too suddenly to let Mrs. Mathson cross the street or when she’d hit a curve in the road at full speed singing at the top of her lungs, and she was grateful for his attempts to quiet his comments. But that was just Tate - he always made her feel more than accepted just as she was, bad driver and all. 

On a normal day, once they got to Tate’s house, they’d proceed to roll out their typical home-from-school schedule. First, through the front door and into the fridge for the sweet tea pitcher. Second, a quick click through the home phone’s voicemail to listen for Tate’s mom’s daily message on how late she’d be staying on call at the hospital that evening, detailing where the money was for pizza. There was always the chance for the occasional call from Tate’s dad, detailing how to best get ahold of him wherever he was and asking Tate to call back as soon as he could (he would, almost immediately after the beep every time - this would always lengthen their routine by at least an hour). Finally, after debating between ordering pizza or walking into town for the local fish camp’s finest, they’d grab their second glasses of tea and head out to the front porch to sit and talk through the parts of the day when they were apart. 

But today was not a normal day, even beyond the exciting start of their summer break. When they finally pulled up to Tate’s house, Noa knew, and had known for a while, that this would finally be the day she told Tate how she truly felt about him. The reality of this made her want to throw the car into reverse and speed away for good as soon as Tate stepped out of her car. But this had gone on long enough and with anything Noa conquered, once she had set her mind to it, it was as good as done.

Noa had begun to realize her romantic feelings for Tate had probably always been there, somewhere locked deep in the back of her mind. But Tate was Tate and Noa was Noa, and the bond the two shared was protected so strongly in her mind that she unconsciously never let herself think too long about how his teal green eyes mimicked her favorite colors of the ocean or how she wanted to run her fingers through his curly mess of  brown hair. She was naively unaware of these feelings until they were unleashed wildly a month ago, when on a Saturday spent at the neighborhood pool, Claire Barkley made an unlikely stop right in front of the two sprawled out on pool chairs. She raised her sunglasses to her hairline and waited for Tate to look up before she spoke.

“Hi, Tate,” she smiled. “Are you going to Raylee’s party tonight?”

Tate, squinting up at the blonde above him, held his hand out in front of his face to shield his eyes from the sun behind her. “Uh… no, probably not.” Noa knew about Raylee’s and had laughed to Tate earlier in the afternoon about even the possibility of the two joining their peers at the party. It just wasn’t their scene. Noa peeked over her book to see if Claire was looking at the two of them together, but found her mascara clad eyelashes batting directly at Tate in a way that made Noa’s stomach twist. The feeling surprised her and left her jilted as she poked her head back into her book.

“Bummer,” Claire pouted, jutting out her pink bottom lip. “I was hoping to see you there. I guess I’ll see you in Algebra on Monday. You’ll definitely be missed.”

Tate, still hidden behind his hand, offered a shrug and a smile as Claire’s flip flops slapped the concrete as she made her way back to the snack shack where the rest of her friends were crowded around the senior boy attending the booth. Noa sat up in her seat as a wave of nausea flooded her stomach. Claire was perfectly fine - every interaction Noa had with her was uneventful and pleasant. But today, the thought of Claire had her seeing red and to her surprise, it had everything to do with the way she looked at and spoke to Tate. 

“You guys have Algebra together?” Noa asked coyly, masking her newfound jealousy. Tate nodded as he stretched into a yawn. “You never mentioned.”

“Why would I bring up Claire? I have Algebra with like, thirty other people.” Noa shrugged at his response. 

Later that afternoon, Noa left the pool early with a fake excuse that she promised Daisy to watch some Disney movie with her and spent the entirety of the bike ride home in a daze. Why did she care if Claire Barkley talked to Tate like that? It was just Tate. Tate had liked girls before, even girls prettier and older than Claire. Noa had even dated some - her very first boyfriend used to tag along with her and Tate wherever they went, like a puppy trailing behind on a leash, until Noa ended it out of sympathy for his third-wheeling. This had never happened before - what made Claire any different from any of the rest? She tossed and turned in bed that night, weighing every possible option for her jealousy. Then, that next morning, after dreaming of every inch of Tate Calhoun, she woke up fully facing the reality of the situation - she liked Tate and that ruined everything. 

And there they were, an entire month later and Noa was pretty sure Tate was well unaware of the absolute crazy about to unfold before them. As they got out of the car, Tate started rummaging through his backpack for the front door key. “It’s about to rain, so no chance of me walking for fish fry tonight, not even if you beg,” he laughed. Noa stood frozen at her car door watching him bounce up the steps of the porch when her own voice startled her - “Tate, I need to say something.”

Tate stopped and turned to her, relaxed. “You always have something to say,” he smirked.

Noa wasn’t humored. “Tate,” she sighed. “I like you.”

Stillness, for a moment, before he replied. “I like you too.”

Noa rolled her eyes and walked closer to him on the porch, annoyed at his relaxed response - did he not realize the reality of this situation? “No, Tate, not in a ‘I like you as my best friend since the fourth grade’ kind of thing, an ‘I like you as more than a friend’, in a ‘I can’t stop thinking about you’ kind of -”

In a second, Tate had bounded down the first two steps of the porch to pull Noa in, stopping her with a kiss. And not just a kiss - an earth shaking, world altering kind of kiss that would leave anyone dazed and breathless. When they pulled away as the first raindrops hit their faces, Noa’s eyes widened, taking in this new, unfamiliar image of her best friend. She had kissed Tate and it felt truly magical.

When the night rolled to a close after sweet exchanges of new feelings and excitement, Noa kissed Tate at the door goodbye and bounded down through the rain to her car. Once she got there, she sat stiller than ever, but her heart was racing a million miles a minute. She looked up to see Tate standing in the door frame, just staring at her through the windshield of her car. Slowly, they both smiled at each other like they were both in agreement of what just happened was good - really good. He offered up a wave before turning into the house and shutting the door. As she pulled away from the house and everything that had happened that night out on the porch, Noa had a feeling that the world as she knew it was about to change for good - and she couldn’t wait.

—

And it did change, fast. A summer love spiraled into senior year of high school. Noa remembered that it felt more like a true first day of school than any of the ones before, because this year, Tate wasn’t just her best friend anymore, he was now her boyfriend. The change of his title was both completely strange and perfectly normal all at once - for not just Noa, but for everyone around them. Their teachers laughed quietly to themselves at the sight of Tate and Noa finally holding hands in the hallways and their friends gave them a hard time for how long it took for the two to realize their feelings. Their moms would wipe tears as they took their prom pictures and would dream together about their wedding day, and Daisy would ask Noa questions every night about how it felt to be grown up and in love. It was perfect and sweet and in a blink of an eye, they were graduating from Shellman High. So what next?

Noa knew all along what was next but facing that truth was harder than the day she realized her true feelings for Tate. Bubbling under the surface was the reality of his impending start date at NYU for photography - this had always been the plan. His dad had been so proud at Tate’s acceptance to his alma mater and his mom cried every time at the thought of him pursuing his dreams. Noa was happy for him, truly happy, but held happiness and heartbreak in both hands as she knew her path led elsewhere - to the University of Georgia that same fall.

That’s what led them here, to the fight that ended things on the same porch where it all began. Just two days out from Tate’s move, the night had started out normal - painfully, ignorantly normal, until she just snapped. Unanswerable questions and fear fueled their passionate conversation of ‘what ifs’ and ‘don’t knows’ and ended with Noa storming out the door. It was over - end of story.

Noa took the long way home, remembering it all. As she pulled into her driveway, she noticed a figure on the front porch and immediately tensed when she noticed the bicycle leaning against the garage door. She got out of the car, walked up the steps, and sat down beside him. Tate rubbed his eyes and sighed, letting things hang heavy in the air between them for a moment. There they were like always, side by side, but this time, equally miles apart.

“Noa?” 

She sat still, truly silent for one of the first times in her life.

“I don’t know how to grow up if I’m not next to you.” 

The dam had burst. Hot, heavy tears, like the rain that fell that May evening, the night when everything changed. Tears that cemented the truth, like that day at the swim meet - Tate was truly leaving. Noa used the back of her hand to unsuccessfully dry her cheeks as the other slipped beside her body to reach for Tate’s. They found each other and pulled, separating the space between them as they collapsed into each other.

“I know,” she whispered. “Me too.”

It’s always beautifully tragic, the sweetness and sting of first love. The growing pains of a life spent together and a new world apart. And as he left later that night, after tears and goodbyes, Noa had a feeling that the world as she knew it was about to change for good.