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Their first picture of them, together -- he three, she two -- was taken in Leia’s shoe closet. They’d been caught playing doctor.
Click.
The next picture of them, together -- he six, she five, was at her fifth birthday party in Maz’s tiny formal living room. They’d been grinning at the camera, side-by-side faces washed white by the flash, maybe four front teeth between the two of them.
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The next picture of them, together -- he nine, she eight, was on the diving board at the end of his new pool. He’d been teaching her how to jump in. Now he was prying her fingers off the end of the board -- shouting at her to be brave.
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The next picture of them, together -- he twelve, she eleven. He was smiling big for the camera while she watched. His braces had just come off and he was so proud and she was horrified. Her best friend was handsome. What the hell was that about?
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They posed together. She held a trophy. He held a grudge. The next summer the school offered a girl’s basketball camp.
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The next picture of them, together -- or, where they should have been together -- they weren’t. It was just him, in a ridiculous-looking tux posing for prom pics with his girlfriend of five months. Rey hated her.
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The next picture of them, together -- or, where they should have been together -- they weren’t. She was behind the camera taking a picture of him with his parents on his high school graduation day. They didn’t talk but she did wave. And he waved back.
Click.
The next picture of them, together -- he was helping Han load her things into the back of her old Subaru. They both smiled for the camera - but they were on opposite ends of the car. Afterward, he sidled over and put a heavy arm across her shoulders. Not too close. Not too near. Way too awkward.
Click.
The next picture of them together -- they were at Maz’s retirement party. He was twenty-seven and she was twenty-six. They weren’t looking at the camera. They were looking at one another, her neck straining up -- his lowered to hear her speak. They had eyes for no one else that evening.
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The next picture of them together -- He’s still twenty-seven and she’s still twenty-six, and he’s proposing but he’s so goddamn tall on one knee, it looks like they are slow dancing.
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The next picture of them together -- He’s still twenty-seven and she’s still twenty-six, and they are driving away from the justice of the peace’s office with empty saltine boxes and empty cans of ginger ale tied to the back of their new Volvo. They would have done it anyway. No time like the present. No joy is greater than Leia expecting a grandbaby.
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The next picture of them together -- all three of them are together. Ben is twenty-eight and Rey is twenty-seven, and little Rose is only a few minutes old. She’s a dark-haired-red-faced angry little puckered thing who has no idea she’s given her mother a second-degree perineal tear, or that her giant of a father spent the greater part of their twenty-nine-hour adventure sympathy barfing in a bucket.
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There are many, many more pictures of them together but the cutest of all has to be three-year-old Rose playing dress-up in Grandma Leia’s closet, cuter still because she’s sitting on the neighbor-boy, forcing him to be still while she puts piggies in his hair. He’s three. He’s mad. His name is Armie and he doesn’t like anyone. Except for Rose.
Click.