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While the rest of the committee argues about granola bars in the RV, Jeff decides he needs some air. It’s only seconds later he hears the door open behind him.
Annie follows him, quietly, to an open patch off the side of the road with a baby-blue blanket draped over her shoulders. Luckily, her phone battery was deemed low enough to merit something regular-sized. She’s still freezing but doesn’t want him going out alone.
They sit on a large, flat rock with years etched through it like mountain peaks. He’s got that godawful purple blanket from Elroy folded over his forearm and lays it on her lap when he notices how cold she is. The stars would be beautiful if he wasn’t so distracted by the things he’s got to say; needs to say. They rarely have much time alone these days. Things are shifting and it’s palpable.
“What do you think happens after this?” he asks.
“After this? I’m going home to take a hot shower and probably call out sick tomorrow,” she says.
Jeff looks over at her. She’s got gooseflesh and smells like the peach smoothie she had for lunch. It scares him half to death to say these things out loud. Annie told him once she didn’t want things to change, but now things are changing and there’s nothing he can do but lay it all out there. There’s no more time to buy.
“I mean after, after this. I love being at Greendale with—everyone. But I feel like things are changing.”
“I know what you mean,” she says. “Everything has been feeling more urgent, somehow.”
“What if we can’t control when it all ends?” he asks, heart pounding. This conversation is getting away from him. He’s not being brave enough to say what he really wants to say.
“Maybe it’s not about control,” she says. She leans her head against his arm and holds it. “Maybe it’s about letting go.”
Jeff pulls a bit of blanket from her to cover himself and she scoots closer, sharing body heat. He could sit like this forever, out in the middle of nowhere, nothing but the sound of crickets and their hushed voices.
But he can’t control when she leaves, and he wouldn’t want to.
She’s right.
***
When Annie’s internship ends, she is offered a permanent position exactly twenty-seven minutes later. Her phone pings as she sits on the edge of a water fountain, deep and wide, glittering in the midday DC sunshine. Whether or not she accepts isn’t even a question; her thumb slides over the buttons faster than any message she’s ever sent. This is the beginning of a fulfilling career with plenty of distance between her and her family. It’s all she ever wanted.
Almost.
She texts Jeff, Troy, Britta, Abed, Frankie, and her brother. Three “congratulations!” texts appear in rapid succession with varying amounts of balloon and confetti emojis. Two versions of “awesome, that’s great!” and one typing bubble.
Two hours later, Jeff replies with, “sorry, was teaching a class. I’m so proud of you.” Clapping emoji. Superwoman emoji. Black heart emoji.
He doesn’t tell her it’s great news or send cartoon confetti, but he’s proud of her. It means more than anything else would’ve, anyway.
Cherry blossoms swirl around her feet. It’s March, and the city is beautiful. Everything is falling into place; even her apartment is a nice, homey place bracketed by a Soulcycle and a frozen yogurt shop. In a few months, if she saves up, she can rent it on her own. DC is nothing like Colorado in all the best and worst ways.
But… it’s hers. She hasn’t had very many things, and this one is the best by far. Even when she’s lonely. So maybe she’ll get a dog when her roommates move out. There are so many variables in her life that are yet to be decided, and for once, she doesn’t mind.
“Ant Man” plays in theaters that summer. Her new friend group invites her, and she doesn’t go.
***
Jeff teaches summer classes at Greendale and hates every moment of it. What he thought would be at most mildly fulfilling and at the very least amusing turns out to be soul-crushingly lonely. Any woman who approaches him for more than after class tutoring is immediately put off by his moping. Any idiot can see that he’s unhappy, bored, and dying to go and run after the one person he couldn’t tolerate leaving him here.
“Jeffrey, you’re obviously miserable,” Craig says one day, standing in the doorway to Jeff’s classroom. “You really want to chase after your little shenanigan buddy, don’t you?”
Jeff crosses his arms over his chest. “You really think you could get along without me?”
“No,” he says reflexively. “But I can’t stand to see you like this, either. You haven’t done a single sit-up in your office in weeks.”
Jeff nods. “That’s kind of you. And creepy.”
“Go on,” Craig says, as though he’s telling a loyal stray dog to scram. He chokes up. “Get going.”
“I have another class in two hours,” Jeff says.
Craig starts to cry big, fat crocodile tears; his best friend is smiling, though, and that’s as much as he can hope for these days. Over his shoulder, he shouts, “text me!”
He will, of course.
Jeff breaks his lease the next day, writes up a very grateful letter of resignation, and begins pricing plane tickets. If things don’t work out, he can’t come back here. If they do, he hopes he’ll have the guts to follow through this time. After a few drinks and some angry texts from his landlord, he realizes that hope isn’t enough. He’s got to have the guts to follow through, or he’d better not show up at all.
He clicks ‘confirm’ and buys a ticket into Dulles International.
Thirty-seven minutes later, he gets a text from Annie.
“Did you know that a ticket to Ant-Man is twelve dollars?” Toilet emoji. Flying money emoji.
***
The flight from Colorado to DC is uneventful. He watches some awful episode of an NBC drama and chases it with twelve dollars worth of alcohol. He’s too wired to sleep but too tired to be awake, so he closes his eyes and imagines over and over what he will say.
It's late when Jeff finally reaches her apartment and two things happen simultaneously: he raises his fist to knock on her door, and she pulls it open with all of her might. She drops the bat in her hands and they share a quick look. He’s thrown off and isn’t sure what to say for a second.
“I told Abed about my seventh season and he called my character arc a circle.”
“Jeff, what did you—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, the tips of his ears pinkening.
“You flew all the way here,” she says lamely.
“Yeah, funny story,” he says. A silence he hadn’t predicted begs a reply without explicitly asking for one.
“Jeff—”
“I know I’m probably too late. I know. But I don’t think this is over.”
His eyes are bright and wide; a muscle in his jaw twitches with resolve.
She looks down at her shoes. Waves of brown hair cascade against her cheeks as she does so.
“Everything’s so different now.”
He turns his whole body, just a bit, and betrays his emotions with a sharp exhale of breath. He wants to tell her that different is good; different is the only way they could ever make it, anyway.
“Can I at least give you the cheesy Winger speech? I practiced it for…” he wants to say ever but lets the words die. The truth is, he practiced it for months in Colorado, and on the plane, and in the Uber ten minutes ago. He practiced it until it became something that burst out of every inch of him like sunshine; like hope.
She looks up at him and wants him to say something, anything that makes enough sense for them to grab hold of one another and stumble backward into her apartment like they might do in any of those movies she loves so much. So she can finally be rid of the one ache in her chest she can’t soothe. So she can invite him in to stay for as long as they could ever possibly last.
There have been versions of this speech playing in her mind for years. Somehow, he never looked like this, never seemed so vulnerable. When she looks up at him, she dashes a tear from her lashline and nods.
He crossed the country for her.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course you can,” she says, and then with as much levity as she can muster, “Give it the old college try, Winger.”
He shifts his weight. There’s nothing he’s ever wanted more than this and it terrifies him.
“Annie, every version of my future has you in it. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, all I know for sure is that I want to be the person who loves you. Not because we’re stuck in a classroom together or because we’re jealous of other people. And not because I thought I had to make the truly terrifying decision to let go of some lonely idea of freedom. I thought I had to be better than who I am before I could show up for you, but you’re the only person who makes me want to be better than who I am,” he says, as slowly and clearly as his heartbeat will allow. “I never asked you what you wanted. You didn’t ask me to let you go, but I did. I was... wrong.”
Her expression would be defiant if she wasn’t vibrating out of her skin with the thought of everything they could be. It all flashes before her eyes, the good and the bad both, before she can even take a deep breath.
“If you,” she reaches an arm toward his chest and pulls it back immediately, tucks it against her side. “If you make me wait one more second, Jeff, I swear—”
“I’m at your door and it’s still open,” he says. “You gotta take the last step. Just one.”
So she does. She takes one step forward and nearly launches herself against him. He wraps his arms around her back to pull her as close as possible and she’s grasping at his shoulders like her life depends on it. The feeling washing through her as they press their lips together is pure relief. Happiness.
They don’t stumble backward into her apartment. He’s waited too long to love her with his whole heart (which, despite its supposed interchangeability with the penis, does matter more), and she’s the one treating him with kid gloves for once. Everything is too fresh, too raw. They stand in the hallway, swaying minutely with gravity’s pull, simply holding. Existing together in a brand new space, two equals, is more thrilling to either of them than the promise of sex.
There is a promise and it lingers.
***
It’s six in the morning when Annie blinks her eyes open. It takes her a moment to adjust to the polar blue light filling her bedroom. Beside her, Jeff is on his side and curled ever so slightly, a warm hand resting solidly on her hip. He’s close enough that her breath catches; at a distance gentlemanly enough that she would have to bridge the gap herself to make their bodies flush. How they should be.
How she wants them.
She maneuvers herself onto her back and gently pulls his hand to rest it on her stomach instead, tucking her head under his chin. The cold air, his briefs and heather gray tee, her quickening breath beneath an oversized flannel shirt—after all this time, all this build up, it suddenly feels ridiculous that they would keep any distance at all.
“Jeff,” she whispers, too softly.
Annie turns to face him and his arm falls between them. She holds his hand in one of hers and tangles their fingers loosely; lets the soft graze of her lips brush against his unshaven cheek. His jaw. His chin. When his eyes finally flutter open, his mind works to gather its bearings in the early morning silence. Annie pulls back just enough that the tips of their noses touch, warm puffs of breath against lips, and she feels his fingers slot between her own.
He doesn’t know what to say, so he settles on “it’s early” and immediately there is a glassiness to her eyes visible even in the dim light.
“I want—I need you. This is too much.”
She means the tacit agreement of a slow start. Lying together without holding, barely touching. It takes everything in him to understand this deeply enough to finally trust her with her own want. Her own need. This intimacy, sex, all of it was always kept in the back of his mind behind even the ideas of love and commitment.
Jeff knows there is nothing cutesy or awkward left to sidestep; no longer a forbidden, shame-spiraling fantasy for him to jettison in order to somehow protect this woman who is now looking up into his eyes and asking for something they both want so desperately. They’ve been these people long enough. They’ve grown separately and together. They’re just two people who love each other now. And isn’t that the biggest relief in the world, after all that time spent pushing one another away?
He tilts his chin and removes his hand from hers so he can curl his fingers into her hair. When she inches forward, they settle into a slow, deep kiss. Bodies pressed together, shifting with the soft swish of sheets beneath them, it becomes more than a kiss.
She’s got a firm grasp on his bicep and he has a knee between her legs. They’re an excellent team in many respects, somehow even better at kissing than they were that night so many years ago. This is infinitely better. There is no rush save their own urgency, slowly blossoming like the blush on Annie’s chest and high on her cheeks. When Jeff begins to hike her shirt over her stomach, she helps him along. A pause in the silence and he removes his, too, realizing only afterward that she is bare-chested now, wearing only lilac cotton underwear.
He kisses her sternum. Her hands find his hair.
Through a haze, she registers the hardness against her thigh and leans into him. When a deep, appreciative noise escapes his throat, there is no slowing down or going back. She wants him in a way she never could’ve imagined even when imagining Jeff Winger in her bed was a full-time hobby.
“I have—” she twists away from him to pull open her bedside drawer. He’s kissing a trail down her stomach, below her navel, to the soft fabric of her underwear.
It doesn’t surprise him that she has condoms. It surprises him that he isn’t surprised.
“Anything you want, Annie. As slow as you want,” he says.
“Mm, no,” she replies. He retrieves the condom from her open hand and she’s shimmying out of her underwear. “I can’t do slow anymore.”
Jeff swallows. His heartbeat is in his ears. The way she trusts him is humbling. The way she wants him feels as visceral and necessary as breathing.
He props himself up on an elbow to tear open the foil and she’s helping him out of his briefs. It takes one clarifying moment to realize that she’s pushing him backward toward her headboard and it is easy to comply. Their mouths meet again, frantic this time, and she’s straddling him, hovering over him ready to take him in. Together they smell like a mixture of mint, laundry detergent, and sweat.
His hands find her hips; hers rest on solid shoulders. As Annie guides him in, lowering herself, the world goes silent. The soft, goosebumped flesh of her inner thighs press against him and she’s moving, slowly and then fast, faster, using her grip on his shoulders as leverage. He can’t slow his hips from thrusting to meet her and his fingertips dig into her sides just enough to ground them; this is real. This is real.
Annie is at a loss for words, and so she lets her head fall to rest against his, their cheeks pressed together. His stubble does something to her that feels almost inhuman. The sheer want is overwhelming even as he’s inside of her.
“Don’t leave,” she says, breathing hard. “Don’t go back to Colorado.’
Jeff is hanging on for dear life, his heart hammering a steady beat. He could come every time her knees dig into the mattress; every time she pushes herself up just enough that he thinks they might lose contact. He could come now, holding the woman he loves.
“I’m not leaving,” he says, voice soft yet unwavering.
Annie squeezes her thighs against him and wraps her arms around his neck. His lips find her clavicle and his teeth graze the tender skin taut against the delicate bone.
He feels the pulsations around his cock and a bright explosion of adrenaline rushes through him. Her hot, sharp breaths against him push him over the edge. He comes so quickly after her that their orgasms briefly overlap, and the way they grasp one another suggests a house on fire. The end of the world. The beginning of something already so far in progress that the suggestion of a beginning is absurd.
She waits until their breathing is slow and even until she gently removes herself from his lap.
***
When she wakes to the late morning sun on her face, he is still asleep, arms slayed at different angles, one leg drawn up lazily. His hair is mussed in a terribly unflattering way. He stinks of body odor, frankly. It’s perfect.
“Jeff,” she says. She turns to face him and places a hand on his chest. “Wake up.”
“Hmm? What?” he groans. One eye pops open.
“You need deodorant.”
Of course, he forgot his on the bathroom counter of the apartment he no longer rents.
Within an hour of waking up, they’re walking to Target together, Annie gesticulating wildly toward her favorite places to eat. He takes mental notes, deciding to propose a proper date later. The prospect fills his chest with warmth. It isn’t just the doe eyes, and it isn’t just the sex; he watches her guide him around DC with the confidence of a tour guide and memories flood over him like high tide. He’s in love with her.
“So anyway,” she says, “there aren’t that many big box stores around here, but that’s kind of the charm, too.”
“Mhmmm” is all he can manage in reply.
He comes to a stop as they reach the automatic doors and she motions for him to follow as if he’s completely lost. The double doors open and close once, twice.
“Jeff? What’s up?”
I want to live here with you. I don’t want to look back. I want everything we said last night to be true right now. This place is beautiful. You’re beautiful. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I’m scared in the best way, like I don’t know what’s coming next but I don’t mind.
“Hoping they have my brand,” he says, and they fall back in step.
The air conditioning in the store chills them a bit after the morning sun’s warmth. She places bread, eggs, a jug of cold brew, and pink safety razors in the cart. He grabs a few peanut butter protein bars, a pack of socks, and spends an inordinate amount of time with a stick of deodorant in each hand.
“Icy Mountain Blast or…” he turns one over in his left hand, showing her the name. “Dude Breeze?”
“Whatever you were wearing last night smelled… good,” Annie says. She actually blushes. “It was kind of woodsy? Like when—”
“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he says abruptly. “If that’s what you want, too.”
She’s still blushing when she plucks a deodorant from his hand, the scent irrelevant. They share a soft, chaste kiss in the deodorant aisle and something shifts. Annie doesn’t know what to say except Of course, so she does, and can’t help but notice that one of those new Taylor Swift songs is playing over the speakers. It’s like her best dreams back at Greendale, but better, because this isn’t some fantasy. It’s deodorant and bread and awkward starts. It’s real.
***
When they go for their morning runs, they tend to avoid the crowded paths of Embassy Row and drive down to the Mount Vernon trail by the Potomac. It’s hard to miss the Colorado mountains while jogging between Jeff Winger and the most gorgeous fall leaves in North America.
They rarely talk on these runs; he prefers the sound of his own breath in time to his heartbeat while Annie’s got her airpods. When he asks her what she’s listening to on their runs, she tells him it’s soft indie guys like Lord Huron, and sometimes it is, but mostly it’s cheesy pop songs about love and boys. It’s about time she indulges that part of herself.
It’s a surprise when he points out a massive Husky on their trail, and with an abrupt stop, Annie trips over a root and lands awkwardly on her side.
“Annie! Shit. Are you okay? Let me help you up,” he says, still breathing heavily.
She feels a sharp, throbbing pain in her ankle. As he pulls her up, and keeps her weight on one foot and holds onto his arm for balance.
“I think I twisted it,” she says.
They’re between a copse of red-yellow trees and the river. Other runners make lazy laps around them, no one in a particular rush early on a Saturday morning. He knows where Georgetown hospital is, and has a pretty good idea of where their car is if they go back the way they came, but she won’t be able to walk that far. He watches her wince, eyes watering, and makes an executive decision.
“Jeff! No,” she protests.
He scoops her up in one fairly easy motion. “What’s the point of having a big, strong boyfriend if he won’t carry you when you twist your ankle?”
“But… people are watching.”
“So?” he says. “Look, it’s already swelling.”
Her ankle is turning a very rude shade of plum, and while she hates to admit it, she really couldn’t walk most of the trail all the way back to her Subaru.
Instead of responding, she throws an arm around his neck and relaxes her body, which actually makes it easier on him. He adjusts her position against him and they settle into a rhythm, the pounding of his steps somehow both calming her and jostling her ankle. It’s been everything she’s wanted so far, having him here. It’s well into October and she wants to ask him if he’ll put his name on the lease. Her last roommate moved out in August; it hasn’t escaped either of them that they call it “our apartment.”
When they arrive at the emergency room, it’s nearly empty. They’re seen within half an hour of arriving, and the doctor tells her right away that she’s sprained it. She sits with a pack of ice and a lapful of paperwork to fill out. Jeff retrieves it from her and nabs the pen from the clipboard’s clasp.
“Okay… emergency contact? Me,” he says, glancing at her for a perfunctory nod. “Relationship? Boyfriend. Or ‘partner’? Is ‘partner’ more adult? Address… phone number…”
As Jeff fills out the form, she rearranges the ice pack, the dull throb subsiding after tossing back some extra strength Tylenol.
“I was thinking,” she says. “About our living situation.”
“Yeah, me too, actually.”
“Oh? That’s good.”
He’s still engrossed in the forms. There’s a long stretch of silence before he says, “our next place should be bigger, I think.”
There’s a lump in her throat. “Yeah, totally. Totally bigger.”
“So we can get a dog,” he says.
“A dog,” she echoes.
Her face is completely blank, much like her mind. She’s picturing everything all at once: a house, a dog, several dogs, a nursery, maybe a nursery?, a mailbox, one name on the mailbox, just one name on the mailbox. She needs to take a deep breath.
He finally looks up at her.
“I know you like cats, but we could have both. I’ve just always wanted to get a dog. Not even a big dog. Maybe a Border Collie? My friend had one growing up, and… what?”
Annie realizes she’s staring at him too intensely. She’s still not speaking.
“We could always wait,” he says hesitantly. “On the dog.”
“No! No,” she replies instantly. She intentionally relaxes her body before she speaks again. “As long as it’s a rescue.”
He smiles and tension drains from his face. “Yeah, of course. Adopt don’t shop, right?”
They listen to some of those slow, lowercase Taylor Swift songs on the way home. The house from her mental image begins to take shape around the edges.
***
Jeff’s on his phone while they watch a show about cake. It’s been a low-stress holiday season for them both; neither traveled back to Colorado, but both managed to gift one another something perfect. And cheap.
Annie handed him a cordless electric razor on Christmas morning as he made them pancakes, and he managed to find her the exact sweater she’d been wanting from Etsy. It was waiting for her on the chair by their bed on the first night of Hanukkah. Simple but thoughtful. The obscene amount of sex they’ve had could count, too, but they’re both a little more invested in this holiday than they’d admit.
Saving up for a house, it turns out, requires cutting lots of corners. Almost all of the corners, really. Jeff’s savings won’t last forever, but he’s got a few promising leads at firms just over the DC border in Maryland. Luckily, Annie’s salary is fairly eye-popping.
“There are a couple one-bedrooms in Baltimore we could afford,” he says. “And a two-bedroom in Hanover that looks nice. We could save another few months, maybe. Or I could sell a kidney.”
She’s too engrossed in the show to react properly, or think about her response. Someone just dropped an entire three-tier wedding cake on the studio floor. A woman in an apron, covered in glitter, is crying hysterically.
“I’m happy wherever we’re together,” she says, distracted. “Why don’t we just stay here until we get married?”
There is no deafening silence or moment of terror. She doesn’t realize what she’s said until it’s out of her mouth and too late to take it back. She’s not sure she’d want to take it back even if she could. Annie remains silent, pretending to watch a very frantic man reshape fondant roses.
Jeff slides his free hand across the couch cushion and rests it on her thigh. Another moment passes in which they don’t speak, but she’s not afraid anymore. They aren’t the same people they were at Greendale. This distance and independence has really forced them to grow up. Both of them.
“Not a bad idea,” he says coolly. “I’ve, uh… I’ve heard weddings are expensive.”
Annie smiles.
***
“Is one line positive or two? It’s two, right? Or would it be a plus sign?” he asks. His tone is surprisingly calm, though he’s pacing the five steps from the bathroom sink to the door back and forth like he might tear through the bathmat.
It’s very early Spring and still frozen outside. He’s used to Colorado weather and doesn’t mind; she tends to use his body heat to keep warm in the mornings (which he also doesn’t mind). The District is buzzing even at seven thirty in the morning, readying itself for a day of important work.
Annie sits on the edge of the tub, knees together, test stick balanced atop them. Her hands wring her hair, which has grown nearly to her waist in the past year. She’s having fifty thoughts at once: what if he doesn’t want kids? What if I don’t want kids? Why didn’t we talk about this sooner? Can I sue the condom company if it’s positive? What if this baby has his elfin nose and my giant eyes?
“You got the one with the plus sign,” she says.
Annie must seem nervous because she senses the pacing stop and watches as he bends down, takes a seat on the floor before her, and props his elbows on his knees.
“And if we see a plus sign, would you be… happy?”
When she meets his eyes, she’s a bit watery.
“I don’t know. Maybe? I mean, I’ve never thought about it while taking a test. It’s never felt real before,” she says.
He reaches for the test and closes his hand around the clear window in the middle.
“How do you feel now?”
She exhales, big and loud and full of mixed emotions.
“I think I feel okay either way,” she says. “Safe. With you. Either way.”
When Jeff places the test back on her knees and removes his hand, there is no plus sign. His eyes meet hers again and she nods at him as if to cement her response: okay. So this is okay. It hits him right in the gut that even though she doesn’t know exactly what she wants, she wants him. Feels safe with him regardless of a positive or negative test. There is a home in their future, and maybe the home has two bedrooms. Maybe they just figure it out as they go along.
“Jeff? Can I ask you something?”
He leans forward to press a kiss to her knee. “Anything.”
Her hand finds the back of his neck and her fingertips brush back and forth against the cropped hair there.
“Can we get two dogs?”
***
Annie’s phone buzzes incessantly on the kitchen table.
“Called it.” Champagne toast emoji. Champagne toast emoji. Champagne toast emoji.
“Monogamy is an outdated concept but I’m really happy for you!!” Man wearing wedding dress emoji.
“Six seasons and a wedding? The ratings will be huge.” Wedding cake emoji. Thumbs up emoji.
“This is Frankie. I’m away from my phone right now so you’re getting an automatic response.” Smiling emoji.
The single voice message is from Craig, a combination of loud sniffles and questions about the dress code he has no intention of following in the first place.
Her brother actually calls and leaves a message; it’s deeply disconcerting and sweet at the same time.
“You know it’s going to be a total disaster getting this gang back together, right?” Jeff says. He drops a few strawberries into the blender and starts to chop a banana.
“And the best thing ever,” she says. She’s sitting at the breakfast nook looking over her notes for the day, smiling despite his concern. He’s absolutely right, but so is she.
“As long as we’re prepared.”
“When are we ever prepared?” she asks.
“Good point.”
Sun filters in through the kitchen window. One of the dogs nudges at her calf for a bite of egg and she scratches the top of his head. The blender whirrs, and a few thousand miles away, people love them with big hearts and good intentions. They’re college graduates with good jobs in the fields they’ve chosen, in a place that feels like home, in a relationship that only ever had a chance anywhere but Greendale Community College. It’s where they found each other, though, and they love it for that.
“We don’t need a dress code at our wedding, right?” Annie asks.
Jeff shrugs.
“Probably not, right?” he says. “We can’t control everything.”
He drops a kiss to her forehead and settles into the nook, one arm around her and the other reaching for Oliver, who is making his best attempt to eat the eggs right off of Jeff’s plate.