Chapter Three #2
Adam and I chat while the rest of the patrons finish their drinks and cash out. It’s not nearly enough time. Pete cleans the place and restocks. Then he’s asking if I need anything before he goes. I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten because it went by too quickly.
“No, you’re good. I’ll lock up.”
Pete nods before grabbing his stuff and heading out the front door.
“Sorry, I didn’t notice the time,” Adam says, hopping off the stool.
“Neither did I,” I say, doing the same. “Give me a minute to grab my stuff, and I’ll see you out.”
I head into the office to gather my things.
I make sure the back door is locked, then I turn off all the lights back here.
Once back up front, I wave Adam over and we make our way to the door.
I pull it open, and flick off the lights, and we leave.
I lock the door with the key, and we head down the hallway and out onto the dark Seattle street.
There’s a steady drizzle, something I was made aware of, but thought was being exaggerated.
I haven’t seen a day here where it hasn’t rained yet.
I make sure the front door is locked, then turn to Adam.
“Do you need a ride home?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I live three blocks away.”
My eyes widen. “Shut up. Seriously?”
He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, seriously.”
“I can still give you a ride,” I say, not ready for this night to be over—not ready to watch him walk away.
He’s the reason I came here, and we’ve yet to say anything about seeing each other again. It’s clear he has a busy life, so this could be my only chance to get an in, to make a future plan, yet I can’t seem to just ask.
It’s been years since we talked. We haven’t spoken since our “break up,” if you can even call it that.
We were never officially dating, and he made that abundantly clear after things were done, because I couldn’t let it go as easily as he did.
He moved on, but I never did, and I made that very clear.
Maybe I shouldn’t be so easy on him, after what he did to me, the way he hurt me, but I don’t blame him for all of that.
It’s not entirely his fault. He was a kid as much as I was, and he was doing what he thought was right, what he thought he wanted.
I can’t hold it against him. I won’t. He was a broken teenager looking for love in the places he thought he would find it.
“I don’t mind the walk,” he says. “It helps me sleep.”
“I can walk with you,” I say before I can think better of it.
Adam watches me carefully, and then he nods.
I have zero expectations of this night. I’m walking him to his home, then I’ll turn around and come back, get in my car, and go to my own house.
Of course, that doesn’t stop me from hoping for an invite up so we can spend more time together. I want to know what he’s been doing, and I want to know all about his kids. I just want to know everything, and I want to hear it from his two beautiful lips.
“So, do you have a babysitter or something?” I ask.
He’d told me that he has his kids every weekend, yet it’s Friday, and he isn’t with them.
“No, they’re with Leslie. It was her mother’s birthday yesterday, so they went out to dinner tonight.”
“Even though you hardly get to see them?” I say.
He shrugs. “They wanted to go.” I don’t miss the sadness in his voice, which makes me think this happens often.
It doesn’t sit right with me, but really, it’s none of my business.
I don’t have kids. Never went through a separation.
I don’t know the first thing about it, and I’m not here to judge.
It’s just unfair, and I think that if her birthday was yesterday, they should have gone out to eat then instead of taking time away from Adam, who clearly doesn’t have much time with them to begin with.
Maybe my feelings on the matter are strong because I grew up with a ton of kids who wished their parents wanted to spend time with them.
My parents fostered hundreds of kids through the years.
Some were good, some were bad, plenty were in between.
But one thing was true for them all—they just wanted to be loved.
“Your kids are lucky they have two parents who love them,” I comment.
Adam chuckles. “I love the fuck out of those kids, man.”
“How old are they now?”
“Judy is seven. Ian is three.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me. They grow up so fast.”
Before I know it, he’s stopping in front of an apartment building. It’s not the nicest one on the street, but the neighborhood seems safe enough. I can’t imagine what he’s paying to live here, and I doubt it’s worth it since he’s only here on the weekends.
There are so many things I want to ask him, so many things we should catch up on. I just want to be part of his life and see what he’s been up to.
It’s not right of me to hope that he asks me up to his apartment, but the thoughts pass through my mind anyway.
I don’t want this to end. This is our chance to reconcile.
My chance to show him that I’m still here, and I always will be—that even though he hurt me all those years ago, I’m willing to give him another chance because I never stopped loving him.
I shove my hands into my pockets and stare into Adam’s blue eyes. They’re different from what I remember. Less vibrant. He’s tired. I see it written all over him.
He doesn’t make a move to go inside, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking either.
The rain is starting to pick up, and maybe now isn’t the time to drag this night out.
I know where he lives, and it isn’t far.
He knows where I work. Tonight doesn’t have to be the last time I see him.
If only I could open my mouth to tell him that.
Finally, when a car drives by, going through a puddle that almost splashes us, I’m able to speak.
“You should come by the bar again sometime,” I say.
“I’d like that.”
I nod, giving him a smile. He didn’t say no. He didn’t come up with an excuse as to why he can’t. It wasn't an “I’ll think about it,” or “I’m not sure.”
“Well, have a good night, Adam.”
I turn, hunching my shoulders and starting down the sidewalk to head back to my car. If I don’t go now, I’ll stand there and stare at him all night.
“Emmet!” he shouts, and I stop to face him. His eyes are wide, almost frantic. He takes a step toward me, then stops. My heart pounds in my chest, trying not to have hope, but I can’t help it. Hope is all I have these days. He lets out a sharp breath, then says, “It was nice seeing you.”
All the hope that bloomed in my chest deflates at those words.
Going up to his apartment didn’t have to mean sex.
It didn’t have to mean anything more than him wanting to spend time with me.
And that’s all I want from him. I just want him in my orbit.
I just want to see him smile and hear him laugh.
I want to know about his day and how much he loves being a dad and hates his job.
I want all of it, every morsel he is willing to give.
Instead of telling him any of that, I force a smile and say, “It was nice seeing you too, Adam.” And then I walk back to my car.
“This young boy is going to be different, Emmet,” my mother says in a soft voice.
“I know, Mom. You told me already.”
“I just want to make sure you understand. He’s going to be very upset, and I would appreciate your help with making him feel comfortable. He’s exactly your age, you know.”
I stab a chunk of my eggs and shove it into my mouth, while Mom sips on her coffee, watching me from across the table.
“I know that, too.”
She puts her coffee down, still watching me as I pick up my piece of toast.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I roll my eyes. “Why do you keep asking me that?”
“Because you’ve been acting differently the last couple of weeks.”
“I’m just… growing up.”
Her smile is slow but big. “That you are. And your father and I are so proud of the man you’re growing into.”
I get up, biting into the toast and grabbing my plate with the other hand. With the toast in my mouth, I rinse my plate and put it into the dishwasher, then turn to my mother and swallow down the rest of my food.
“I know, Mom. Love you.” I kiss her cheek, then grab my backpack from by the stairs and my keys off the hook. Saturday mornings are the only mornings we have alone in the house together, and it’s not that I hate all the other kids here, but it’s nice to have quiet now and then.
Dad is working and the kids who live here are involved in some sort of school activity that has them busy on Saturday mornings. I do too, only I start a little later. So Mom and I have breakfast together and chat about our week. Only today, I didn’t do so much chatting.
She’s right. Something is bothering me, and I feel bad lying to her about it but I don’t want to worry her. Because I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it really is just me getting older. Hormones or something, I don’t know. But it’s not enough to worry her with.
Football practice is rough, as it usually is, and when I’m done, I want nothing more than to take an hour-long shower and drop onto my bed.
But the new kid should be arriving at the house by the time I get there, so I quickly shower in the locker room, get dressed, and head home. Maybe I’ll just go to bed early.
“Hey, you wanna go grab lunch?” Brett shouts from across the locker room. I look up, realizing he’s talking to me.
“Nah, man. I have a family thing to do.”
“Fucking boring,” he mutters, then goes over to Kent, who’s sitting on the bench, lacing his sneakers. “How about you?”
“You driving?” he asks.
“I guess.”
“Cool. I’ll be done in five.”
I grab my stuff, faintly listening to them talk about where they’re going to get food. Part of me wishes I had enough energy to go. Another part of me is fine going home and helping my parents make this new kid comfortable.