Chapter 15 Rachel
Currently Playing: Happy Together by The Turtles
***
A wave—no, a mountain of relief—washed over me once we landed.
Being able to call Dad and physically hear his voice saying he was doing good, and also going into grave detail about how his grocery delivery person gave him low sodium chips instead of “the good stuff,” was an enormous weight off my chest. I smiled along with his recap of the day. He went on about how he worked out more today than usual so his back was sore all the way. Then he gave me details of how he was hoping to order a Philly sandwich for dinner.
The whole way through leaving the airport, through baggage claim, and to the car, I kept him in my earbuds, and Adam didn’t say a word. As soon as I mouthed, “he’s okay,” he simply nodded back with the hint of a reassuring smile. No rolling his eyes and saying “I told you so,” or “see? No need to worry.” Because Adam knew that wasn’t what I needed to hear.
Truth be told, I didn’t need to hear anything. I needed Adam’s physical reassurance and support, and he always provided it. Even as I tried to carry my own bags out to the Uber, he insisted I focus on the phone with Dad. By insisted, I mean he would grunt and push my hand away any time I reached for the handle on my luggage.
We figured our best bet was for me to go home and grab some essentials before heading to Adam’s house. Once we got to my apartment, I reached for my keys in my bag on his shoulder before coming to a halt. My fingers tapped against my key chain—a little orange bird that said come back again. Adam had shipped it to me when he was deployed to Florida.
A blush crept up my cheeks. Adam was going to see my apartment in the very, very disturbing state it was in. It wasn’t exactly anything new. He understood I was kind of a hot mess when it came to keeping things organized. But we were technically married now, and he was Mr. No Shoe Should Be Out of its Straightened Place by the Door. I knew for a fact the man ironed his bedsheets. I also once saw him using a miniature vacuum to clean his normal vacuum. The so-called debt he did have was probably a stock investment in Lysol or Mr. Clean.
Besides, who even knew what lay behind this door? I was having what some might call a mental breakdown before our flight to Vegas, so I couldn’t be 100 percent certain that there wasn’t some pretty gross stuff waiting for us in my apartment. My mind immediately went to the memory of my preflight self rifling through my closet in search of the perfect shoes for my bridesmaid dress. There were at least three bras lying on my living room floor, and I honestly couldn’t say whether there were dishes in the sink. We’d only been gone for two days, but still.
Up until this point, Adam had seen almost every raw piece of me. He knew me inside and out. However, the few times he’d come to my apartment—since we mostly hung out at his house or with his family—I would run around at the last minute to get the place looking somewhat tidy. Despite our years of friendship, and now thirty-two hours of marriage, I had managed to hold some form of mystique. So he had no idea that I was his worst nightmare when it came to roommates.
I cleared my throat and fumbled with my keys. “I, uh, think you should stay here.”
He eyed the door behind me as if something was going to pop out of it and looked back at me. “Why?”
“I think it’s best” was all I could manage. It was a whole lot better than Well, I don’t know how to say this, but your wife is a pig and you live your life like you get paid to clean.
Between my wide-eyed stare full of silent pleading and the way my arms were now spread across the doorway like a caution: do not enter sign, he gave me mercy. Adam raised his hands in defense, and in a low baritone, said, “I’ll just be here.”
He backed up to the hallway wall and leaned against it with his arms crossed. I stared for a moment too long—mostly at those biceps straining against the seams of his short-sleeve tee—before he dipped his chin at me as if to say go on.
I sighed in relief and turned to unlock my door, opening it just wide enough to squeeze through to keep his gaze away from the zoo inside my apartment.
Once the door closed, I breathed in a deep sigh and looked down at my ring, twisting it back and forth. I was an entirely different person last time I was here. I was a single, very much still frustrated woman who was struggling between strangling her best friend or kissing him on the spot. And now I stood there with a ring on my finger and an agreement to remain married to said best friend.
I shook my shoulders in a shiver. This was going to take some getting used to.
My apartment wasn’t as bad as I thought. Yes, there were clothes all over the place and my eyes did immediately catch on a bright blue bra sitting in the middle of my living room, but there were no dishes in the sink, so that was a plus.
I stepped over the path of clothing to my room and grabbed a duffel bag. Between what I’d taken to Vegas and this, I figured I would have enough to last me a week.
Looking over my room, across the mounds of rifled-through clean clothes and the stacks of makeup and skincare cases on my vanity, I took a deep breath. “All right, Rach. Just the necessities. You got this.”
I did not have it. I didn’t have anything. Except the overwhelming feeling that I had too much stuff in a too tiny apartment and I was being forced to pick my most necessary items when everything felt essential.
Record player, check.
A stack of my most listened-to vinyls, check.
Two bags of skincare products, check.
Three bags of makeup, check.
My fairy wings from last year’s Halloween party, also check.
I stared at the bin of tiny pink bows that I liked to tie onto all my favorite things, considering whether I would need them at some point in the next week. I tilted my head. The rational side of me said no, but the other side—the one that had convinced me fairy wings were a great idea—said what if I got to Adam’s apartment and there was a need for them? I picked one up and twirled it with my fingers, rattling the ideas in my head back and forth. Finally, I groaned and flopped back on my pile of underwear and socks. This was ridiculous.
The sound of my front door should have shocked me into sitting up and trying to hide the mess I’d made in this room, but instead, I accepted my impending doom.
Slow, dragging footsteps led to my room, and I couldn’t help but notice that even the way he entered the room was hot.
Adam pushed lightly on my door with his knuckle. It slowly swayed open, and he leaned against the doorframe. His arms crossed over his chest, his forearm tattoos winking a hello at me.
I stared up at the ceiling, waiting for his comments. Waiting to hear this place is a pigsty. How could you be so unorganized? I would never live like this.
But he didn’t say a word. He simply huffed the smallest bit of amusement and then walked over to me, crouching down and lying next to me. He stared up at the ceiling fan with me, unknowingly using my stack of clean folded socks as a pillow.
“What are we doing?” he asked in a husky voice.
“Feeling overwhelmed. Wallowing in self-pity,” I mumbled.
Adam slowly sat up, looking down at me. “Let’s get up. I’ll help.”
I sighed, considering it for a moment. Lying here for the rest of the day sounded nice, though. Getting up meant facing responsibilities and organizing.
“I can’t. I’m lying on all of my bras.”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” He reached a hand down to clasp mine. “Let’s go, honey.”
He used a fraction of his strength to pull me up to my feet. I was too lightheaded and focused on the word honey coming out of his mouth to bother fighting it. Adam’s hands held the backs of my arms, keeping me steady as I gently swayed to regain my balance.
I tried to ignore the flames in my body at the way he called me honey. Was he a pet name kind of guy when it came to his girlfriends? Or should I say wives? Well, wife. There was only one of me, I hoped.
He hadn’t had a girlfriend since we’d become friends, unless he kept that part of his life off limits for me. Wouldn’t be a total shocker. Sometimes we would be sitting there watching a movie and he’d casually mention that he went skydiving a year ago and didn’t tell anyone. Just to see if he could do it still. Either way, I always pictured him as more of a dark, mysterious, my wife kind of guy. Not a honey guy. It dripped off his tongue like warm vanilla sugar. Comforting like a soft, heated blanket that I wanted to lie in all day.
“Did you hear me?” he asked, shaking me out of my vision. A vision of him as one of those hunky heroes on the covers of Calla’s historical romance books. A guy with his shirt ripped and holding a fair maiden—a.k.a., me—with his hair blowing in the wind and his muscles rippling.
I cleared my throat. “Uh, yes. What was that?”
His eyebrows dipped. “What are you struggling with?”
I looked around the room at my fully packed duffel bag next to my fairy wings and a stack of vinyls. Wincing, I looked up at him. “All of it?”
“Explain.”
I sighed. “I have too much stuff. And I want to take it all with me.”
Adam shrugged, looking down at the excessive amount of clothing I’d piled on the bed. “I have an empty house you can fill up.”
“You don’t mean that,” I said, looking from my mess to his eyes, knowing his perfectly made-up house did not deserve my chaos.
He simply dipped his chin at me. “I do.”
“What about Christmas?” I asked, despite knowing it was only June. “I like big Christmas trees.”
“I’ll get you the biggest one.” He shrugged as if he didn’t just say the sexiest thing someone like me could hear.
I lifted my brow. “What if it’s too big for the house?”
“I’ll get a bigger house.”
Oh, good lord. I don’t know if my heart was going to survive this temporary marriage/roommate thing. Not when he kept talking like that.
“All right,” I lifted my shoulders and stuck out my chest. “But you asked for it.”
We were on number four, where he would hold a piece of clothing, and I would respond with yes or no. Most of them were yeses, and where I expected Adam to chime in and tell me I was excessive or that I had no need for all of this, he instead nodded and helped me fill up three bags’ worth of “essentials.”
Once I felt settled enough to head to his house, he stood and grabbed two of the bags, letting me pick up the smaller items until our hands were full.
“Feel better?” he asked in that deep baritone. I breathed in, glancing around my now less-cluttered room, and smiled. “Much.”
He nodded and turned to head to my living room. I began to follow but stopped when my eyes snagged on something. “Oh, wait!”
I walked a few steps, hearing Adam come up behind me, and attempted to kneel down to get my fairy wings.
A fair share of grunts came out of me as I leaned down to try and pick them up with my very full hands. Adam tapped my shoulder with one of the boxes in his hands.
“Okay, we have to draw a line somewhere.”
He was right, but I couldn’t just leave them here. “But they were custom made from a small Etsy shop.” And cost me way too much for a single occasion.
He rolled his eyes. “In what scenario do you need that at my house?”
“If we get invited to a last-minute costume party. Or if Miles or Dallas lose a tooth and want me to pretend to be the tooth fairy.”
“They’re almost eleven.”
Oh. Was that too old for the tooth fairy? I wasn’t great at the whole kid thing.
“Either way, we should bring them.” I nodded, my mind made up.
He groaned and bent down to pick them up. Then he placed them on top of the things piled in my arms.
I shook my head. “Nuh-uh, bud. I can’t carry all of this. You have to take them.”
Adam let out a low growl. The sound made my stomach flip, but not enough to make me sway. “I am not carrying fairy wings through your apartment complex and out to your car.”
A snort came out of me. “Of course you’re not going to carry them.”
He nodded and attempted to hand them to me once more, but I deflected and moved my boxes away from his reach. “You’re going to wear them.”
Dropping all of his bags, he raised his voice ever so slightly. “Like hell I am.”
I sighed, clicking my tongue and shaking my head. “Adam, honey.” I threw that in to really sweeten the deal. “I have a backpack on. I can’t wear them myself.”
“Then I will wear the backpack.” He grunted out the words like they pained him.
“Oh.” I tilted my chin and gave him an understanding look. “I see. You’re afraid you aren’t masculine enough to wear them. It’s okay. I can wear them and you can still look like the big, bad wolf.”
Adam stopped dead in his tracks in my doorway. “No, no.” He turned on his heel. “That is not it.”
I gave him a sympathetic pout and nod combo. “Sure it’s not.”
Tongue in cheek, eyes rolling, Adam set his stuff—well, my stuff—down and stuck one of this giant man hands my way. “Give me the damn thing.”
My smirk lifted further as I delicately placed the wings in his hand. He slipped them over his shoulders, resting the iridescent art over his back. They was incredibly small on him. The wings looked more like a toddler’s Halloween costume when attached to his broad back.
He bent down, picked up the rest of my packed bags, and stood straight with his head held high before walking to my living room.
I snorted. Male egos were so fragile. But I had to admit that it was annoying how easily the guy could pull off anything.
We’d barely made it out the front door when one more thing clicked. “Hold on—”
“I am not wearing anything else you pull out of there,” Adam interrupted in a disgruntled tone.
I rolled my eyes before stepping into the kitchen. “I know, I know. I have to get Myrtle.”
“Who is Myrtle?” His eyebrows lowered in confusion.
“My little friend.” I shrugged.
Adam’s jaw scraped the floor, his face twisting in pure shock. He closed his eyes and shook his head, like he was attempting to process what I’d just said. “Your…little friend.”
“Yes, that is what I said. She has to be fed almost daily.”
“Do you have a cat or something?” he asked. His words were incredibly slow, like he needed to dumb the question down for me.
An amused huff of air left my nose. “No, she’s not a cat. Although her food is pretty pricey and she can get very fussy when not fed correctly.”
I reached up and pulled a mason jar from a shelf in my fridge, along with a bag of unbleached rye flour and Myrtle’s favorite set of bowls.
Blowing out a breath, I turned back to the entrance. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Adam blocked the doorway before I could move past him. His big shoulders and tall frame took up the entire exit as the straps of my wings pulled tight against his T-shirt, giving me a very clear view of his chest. I’d seen it before, of course, but sometimes it was nice to be reminded of how perfect it was.
“What is that?” He dipped a chin to my jar and set of bowls.
I looked to my full hands and back up to him, realization settling in. “Oh. Did I not introduce you two?”
“Introduce…Rachel, that is a mason jar.”
“No. This is Myrtle, my sourdough starter. She and I have been in a committed relationship for four years now.” I dipped my head to the almost full jar in question. “Myrtle, this is Adam. My husband for as long as he can manage to not kick us out.”
Adam clicked his tongue and shook his head before turning around to walk out the door.
I widened my eyes and gasped. “Are you not going to say anything? She thrives when given words of affirmation.”
“She is essentially a jar of water and flour.”
“Who has feelings the same as everyone else, Adam. If you’re going to be married to me for the foreseeable future, I should hope you would accept my child as well.”
“Your chi—you know what? Fine.” He turned his head over his shoulder and eyed Myrtle, in all of her healthy, bubbly glory. “Hello,” he grumbled, clearly unsatisfied.
“Was that so hard?” I mused.
Adam didn’t answer. He simply opened the door to the hallway and stepped out, propping it open with his foot for me.
He flexed in his stuck position. He was an absolute sight. All muscled legs he worked incredibly hard for and a ripped back that was still sporting the most delicate wings on as he held my bright yellow luggage. He was something deserving of a magazine spread. Or maybe a column in a BuzzFeed article.
“Myrtle, your daddy is looking mighty fine,” I whispered to her.
“What?” Adam asked loudly from the hall.
“Nothing.”