33. Adam
Chapter thirty-three
Adam
I email Herb my spreadsheet of the graphic novels and we wait. Two weeks go by, and we don’t hear anything else, but Nicole’s nervous energy is ramping up, and I’m on edge. Not really because of the graphic novel controversy and not really because of Nicole, but because my daily routine is no longer as consistent as it was. I’ve been stretching and growing my comfort zone on a weekly basis, or so it feels.
I remember my mom’s questions back around Christmas. Is she the type that will get you out of the house? Who won’t let you miss out on life? I’m now out of my house a lot more, much to Joan’s consternation, and life is coming at me so fast, I’d have to be blind to miss it. Apparently, I am now the type of person who makes out with a woman in the library where he works. I’m the type of person involved in defending against book banning plots. I’m a person who buys junk food, not that I really eat it, mind you, but buys junk food just to see Nicole’s shoulders scrunch up, her eyes squeeze shut, and that closed-lipped, satisfied smile spread across her face. I’m the first to admit that I’m happier than I remember being ever, but I’m also tense more often. I’ve traded my loneliness for, like, the entire spectrum of human emotion and it’s throwing me for a loop.
Ever since my overreaction after our meeting with Herb, Nicole watches me more closely as if trying to tune into my emotions and get in front of them. Her anxiety about how I’m feeling adds another emotion to my mix: guilt.
Soon after Nicole shared her depression and anxiety struggles with me, while I was in Naples with my mom, in fact, I started researching. I learned more about the conditions, and found lists of ways I can support her.
I want her to feel secure with me. I want her to rest in my presence, not worry. I want her to want me as much as I want her. I want her to be successful in everything she does at work. I want her to be all of her and feel confident in that. And all the wanting is leaving me exhausted.
Nicole notices. One evening, we’re at my house, lounging on the couch after eating the dinner I cooked for us. Joan is snuggling against one of my sides, and Nicole’s laying back against the armrest on the other, her thighs and knees across my lap. We’re binging Gilmore Girls , which I unabashedly love, thank you very much, and don’t feel emasculated for it at all.
In between episodes, we pause to decide whether to watch one more or call it a night. Nicole sits up, and linking her arm through mine, lays her head on my shoulder. She was not kidding about being affectionate. Other than at work, she always has her hand on my arm, or my shoulder, or wrapped in mine. And I was not kidding about appreciating her affection. When we’re touching, I feel balanced, like she’s the ballast that holds my body steady.
“Adam,” she starts, and I hear the hesitation in her voice. “Is everything okay? Are you still feeling good about us?”
The worry in her tone crushes me, and I recommit then and there to be as transparent as possible with this woman, to communicate with her so she doesn’t have to wonder or worry. She still will, I recognize, but I can at least make sure she knows how I’m feeling.
I kiss the top of her head. “I feel amazing about us. You’re literally my dream woman, Nicole.”
She tilts her head up to look at my face. “But something is bothering you.” It’s not a question.
I sigh. “It’s just uncomfortable being out of my comfort zone,” I admit. “You’ve turned my world upside down, and I needed it, but it’s just a lot.”
She frowns. “I’m a lot?”
I lean forward and kiss her lips gently, leaning my forehead against hers. “No, you’re not a lot. You’re the perfect amount. But just all of this living life instead of just existing in it is a lot to adjust to. But well worth it, mostly because of you.”
With her so close next to me, I feel her shoulders loosen, the tension easing. “Because I’m a good kisser?” she teases.
My lips curl into a smile. “Because you’re a good everything,” I answer .
We spend the next few minutes locked to each other, communicating with our mouths, but not using words. When we finally break apart, I think we both feel more settled, though I still sense an uneasiness in her.
“How about you?” I ask. “Everything okay?”
She makes a humming sound in her throat. “You need to know, Adam, to understand me, that in my brain, everything is never okay. I always have some worry or another floating around, though I mostly keep them contained.” She’s quiet for a minute, as if assessing the contents of her mind. “Right now, the biggest runaway worry is the graphic novel stuff. I don’t like not knowing what’s going to happen, so my brain is making plans for multiple possible outcomes, most of those worst-case scenarios.”
I frown. “How can I help?”
“Being with you does help. But as true as that is, I need you to understand that it’s not your job to make sure I don’t worry.”
“I know,” I say, but I’m already thinking of how to help her feel better.
“No,” she says. She lays her hands on either side of my face and holds my head in place, her eyes locked on mine. “Listen. It’s not your job to make sure I don’t worry. I want to be able to talk to you about what’s going on in my head and to share my feelings, and hear about yours, but you have to know that I’m not asking you to fix it. To fix me.”
I feel a pang in my chest. “You’re not broken,” I say.
“I know,” she says, and the confidence in her dazzling smile has my stomach in a flurry.
The next week, Herb calls us into his office again. Nicole and I arrive at his door at the same time, and before we go in, I reach over and give her hand a small squeeze. She squeezes back and smiles weakly at me.
As soon as we see Herb’s face, we know it’s not good news. Hopefully he wasn’t in the CIA, because the man has no poker face.
“Take a seat,” he says quietly. Once we do, he spreads his hands, palms up, and shrugs. “Well, I wish I could be talking to you under better circumstances, but Dr. Clifton has called a meeting with college leadership, including the board of trustees.”
“What kind of meeting?” Nicole asks.
“Sort of a hearing. The leadership and board will listen to us present about the graphic novel collection and then vote to decide if it belongs in the library.”
Nicole’s face falls, but I focus on the positive news in Herb’s words. They’re willing to listen to us.
“When’s the meeting?” I ask. “And what do we need to do?”
“It’s in two weeks.” Herb gives a date in early June. “We need to put together information about the collection, how it’s good for the college, and how it contributes to student learning. Nicole,” Herb turns to her, “I’d like you to speak on behalf of the librarians. I’ll talk a bit, too, but you’re such a talented speaker and your passion for the project will come through. ”
I nod. Nicole speaking makes sense in every way. Plus, I’m pretty sure that means I won’t have to.
Herb continues, “Adam, of course, will be in the meeting as well. And all three of us will work together to prepare our evidence.”
Nicole glances between me and Herb, and then nods. “Okay.”
“Take the rest of the day today to absorb the news and start thinking about the presentation. Tomorrow, we’ll meet and start brainstorming together. Susan will send meeting invites to your email.”
“Thanks, Herb,” I say as we stand to leave.
“Yes,” Nicole echoes. “Thank you.”
I walk Nicole to her office and at the door, she stops and turns to me.
“I need to sit for a while and think about this by myself,” she tells me.
My first instinct is to protest, to insist on sitting in her office with her to make sure she’s okay, but I stop myself. I remember she doesn’t want me to fix problems for her. I remind myself that it’s not my job. “Okay,” I nod. “Can I walk you home later, though?”
“That would be great.”
“Good. If you want to talk before then, I’ll be in my office.”
She places her hand on my chest, her eyes soft with gratitude. “I know where to find you,” she says with a smile.
I meet Nicole back at her office when the workday is over. My car is in the library parking lot, but the walk to Nicole’s apartment is so short, I figure I can easily come back for my car later when I go home. I can’t stay too long, anyway, since Joan is waiting for me.
Nicole is quiet as we walk. Finally, I squeeze her hand and ask, “What are you thinking about?”
“The hearing,” she admits.
“Yeah,” I say. “What about it?”
“What it will be like. What we need to present. How Dr. Clifton will react.”
“So, everything?”
“Pretty much,” she answers with a sad chuckle. “But anyway, how was the rest of your day?”
I stop walking and turn her toward me, placing my hands on her upper arms. She’s shutting me out again, just like almost every time we come close to having a deeper conversation about her anxiety. “Please don’t,” I say urgently. “Don’t shut down and change the subject. Trust me, please. I’m here for you. Not to fix anything, but to listen. You said you wanted to be able to talk to me about what’s going on in your head, so talk to me.”
She searches my face and then nods once. “You’re right,” she says. “I know you have to get home to Joan, but if you have like thirty minutes? We can talk at my apartment.”
I release a breath. “That sounds good,” I agree. “Joan can wait a little longer.”
When we get to her apartment and go inside, we settle on the couch .
“So…” I prompt.
Nicole takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she says with a subdued grin. “Remember, you asked for this. I’ve been thinking about the hearing all day, and I realize that’s going to be my downfall here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if I were sitting somewhere, in a meeting or something, and someone said they don’t think graphic novels belong in the library, I would immediately start defending our program. I wouldn’t stop to think or gather my thoughts, I would just argue.” She shrugs.
“The extemporaneous speaking thing.”
“Yeah. But with this hearing, I have two weeks to basically overthink everything: ruminate on what they could say and what I would say back and just exhaust myself really with all the possible outcomes. I’m … I’m imagining worst-case scenarios.”
“Okay.” I pause. “What’s the worst-case scenario?”
She looks at me, and then hides her face in her hands. In a muffled voice, she manages, “I get fired.” She drops her hands and tears gather in her eyes as she continues. “And don’t tell me that getting fired is unlikely. I know that. But I’m having trouble feeling that.”
I sit for a moment absorbing her words. I pull her closer and rub her back in small, soothing strokes. When I speak again, I choose my words carefully. “And what would happen if you get fired?”
“I’ll have to find a new job, and it won’t be around here, and I’ll have to move away…” She sobs against me. “...and we’ll break up, and I’ll be alone forever.”
I don’t say anything— not trying to fix it—but I do move her so she’s directly in my lap. I hold my arms around her tightly.
“I can’t leave!” she says wetly into my chest. “I like it here. You’re here.” The misery in her voice guts me, but at the same time, my heart swells.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I say. And then, singing a little, I add, “If you leave, I will follow. Anywhere that you tell me to.”
It’s part of the theme song for Gilmore Girls , and I’m hoping it makes her laugh, but instead her body stills in my arms, and she pulls her head back enough to look up into my face. The skin around her eyes is puffy from crying, her cheeks wet and her nose dripping, but her vulnerability is beautiful to me. Again, I’m struck with a feeling of awe. Nicole trusts me enough to fall apart in front of me. I get to be the one who holds and comforts her. My heart expands in my chest and suddenly, I’m fighting back tears of my own.
“You would leave your job to follow me?” she asks, her eyes wide and dazed.
My instinct is to joke again, something about the two-body problem maybe, but I quash it. I know she needs my certainty right now, something she can hold on to. She has to know where she stands with me. She’s first. Always.
“Yes,” I say simply, looking into her eyes, the emerald color drowning in tears.
She ducks her head, wiping her face with the back of her hand. She looks at the floor.
“Why?” she asks in the smallest murmur of a voice.
I put my index finger under Nicole’s chin and gently lift her face toward mine. When I’m sure she’s focused on me, I say quietly, “I love you, Nicole. You’re it for me. I understand if you’re not there yet, but I’ve wanted this for so long, wanted you for so long, there’s no way I’d give you up now.”
Her eyes fill with tears again, but the smile on her lips steadies the thumping of my heart.
“Adam … I am there. I do … I love you, too.”
I lean down to kiss her—a slow, soft kiss I feel all the way down to my toes. Lifting my head, I grin at her.
“So, we’re agreed? Whatever happens, no matter what happens, we’re in this together. Partners?”
She lets out a giant breath of relief, her eyes shining. “That sounds perfect,” she whispers. Then, with a teasing expression, she adds, “You know the lyric is ‘where you lead’ not ‘if you leave’?”
I shrug. “Yeah, but my version fits better.”
We spend the next two weeks preparing for the hearing. I write up all my data as talking points. Nicole contacts faculty members who incorporated the graphic novels into their spring term courses or ones she’s already been talking to about their fall term classes. Amazingly, despite many of them being out of the office for the summer, five instructors offer to attend the hearing to speak about how the graphic novels are helping their students learn.
With a week until the meeting, Nicole, Herb, and I all sit in Herb’s office, each working on a different piece of the presentation before we discuss fitting them together. I’m collating spreadsheets, humming quietly as I work.
But not as quietly as I thought because Herb glances up with a puzzled expression and asks, “Are you humming ‘Eye of the Tiger’?”
“No,” I lie, my face flushing.
Herb chuckles and shakes his head before turning back to his computer screen.
Listen, preparing for this hearing is as close as I’m ever going to come to a Rocky Three moment, and if I need to hum “Eye of the Tiger” to get pumped up, that’s what I’m going to do. Just maybe only when I’m in my office by myself.
Herb looks up from the computer again. “I do feel a bit like Rocky, though,” he says with a sheepish grin. “Training on the beach with Apollo Creed.”
Nicole stops what she’s doing and stares at him. Then she glances at me and frowns. “Who’s Rocky?”
I groan and remind myself that though Nicole is only a few years younger than me, her parents are an entire generation younger than my parents.
“It’s a movie,” I tell her. “A movie series really. About a boxer. We’ll watch it.”
Nicole grimaces. “We don’t have to.”
“Uh-uh,” I retort. “If I have to watch Gilmore Girls , you have to watch Rocky .”
“You love Gilmore Girls ,” she returns, smirking.
Herb laughs and Nicole’s eyes go wide. She forgot he was here. I did, too, to be honest .
“Sorry,” we say at the same time.
Nicole clears her throat and takes a long drink from her water bottle. Herb looks at her sharply. “Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, fine. My throat’s just been a little dry.”
By the end of that week, we have our talking points ready to go. I play the role of the board as Herb and Nicole rehearse a few times. Nicole’s voice sounds a little scratchy from all the talking, but otherwise she’s amazing. There’s no way she doesn’t convince the board and leadership of the value of the graphic novel collection.
I work the weekend and head home on Sunday evening feeling confident and optimistic. That feeling goes right out the window when Nicole texts me.
Nicole:
My voice is gone. I have laryngitis
Adam:
What???
Nicole:
Sorry [sad face emoji]
Nicole:
You’ll have to present at the hearing tomorrow