Chapter 16 Adam
Currently Playing: I Still Haven”t Found What I”m Looking For by U2
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Listening to my dad and Crew fight over who should have won the trophy in Master Chef season six was not how I planned to spend my Saturday night.
But I never really made plans most nights anyway. I spent the majority of my time working, and when I was home, I found my hands itching to get busy.
It was what jump-started my collection of “impossible puzzles.” It began as a joke. Liam got me a fully white puzzle a couple of years ago for Christmas. I liked a challenge. I liked to push myself to my wits’ end and see how far I could stretch. It took me almost a week, but I did it. Then I found more: clear puzzles; all-black puzzles; and rainbow, but the colors faded and bled into each other. Each one was more difficult than the last, yet somehow addictive.
But instead of sitting at my table, listening to that ridiculous playlist Rachel had made for me while I considered each piece and sipped on a black coffee, I was here. Here wasn’t bad, necessarily. I loved my family. They got on my nerves a lot, but I did like to see them. Just in moderation. It was the same way I liked everything else. Other than Rachel.
But the loud nights with multiple conversations going on—Calla boasting about almost being done with school, my mom talking about baking, and Liam nonstop messing with Marigold—added up. My ears would start to burn, and my feet would be desperate to push me to the door so I could breathe again.
It was the same every time. I would convince myself it was all in my head and force myself as long as I could. I’d try to make it to dessert, to enjoy time with the few people who cared about me. But without fail, by the end of dinner, I’d be over the conversation, overstimulated, and desperate to get back to my quiet apartment.
The back door opened with a creak, then Layla and Luke walked in hand in hand. My hands wrapped around my glass when I heard a soft but confident voice. “Hey guys.”
My chin jerked up and my eyes widened at the sight of Rachel, who was dressed in a bright yellow sundress, standing in my mom’s kitchen. The water lodged in my throat. My face went hot and my chest got tight. I coughed up a choke, beating on my chest. I dipped my head down so no one would see how red my face was turning.
It wasn’t like we hadn’t been around my family together before. She had been at the book signing, and we’d been at Romfuzzled on the same night. But I’d always been able to plan for it, work around it, mentally prepare myself for whatever she was going to come out with or the possibility that she’d show up in one of those tiny denim skirts again.
I cleared my throat, glancing up and discovering that everyone else’s casual pre-dinner conversations hadn’t stopped. Because why would it? It wasn’t like they knew anything about Rachel and me or what had happened between us.
My mom’s arms wrapped around Rachel’s back and pulled her into a tight hug. I could make out the words “it smells amazing in here” coming from Rachel as she embraced by mom, but my mind was stuck somewhere else. Stuck on that short yellow dress with white polka dots on it and the tall wedges she’d paired with it.
Funny how I had never been attracted to women like her before. I always wanted to be the quietest in the room, the one who pulled in the least attention. Women like Rachel—beautiful, bright, always done up—were always going to attract all the eyes around them. Being with someone like that would deprive me of my solitude.
I knew that, deep down. But watching her smile light up each room, knowing that she had a dark background and still carried a smile so big? I was enamored. I had tried to ignore her. I had tried to pretend my heart rate didn’t kick up like I was mid-run when I caught sight of her at the bar the first night. And then again at the record store. I should have left it alone after that. I knew her name, and I knew she was all too close to my family for us to ever be anything. But then she invited me to see her dad, to see this little sneak peek behind the scenes of what goes on in her daily life, and I couldn’t resist. I loved a good puzzle.
Dad and Crew carried on their conversation, arguing over the top two contestants of their favorite show. I stood silently, passing by them and sneaking out of the back door. I needed air and space. I choked around her, mentally and physically.
I took a seat on the white Adirondack chair off to the side, facing the lights strung across the backyard. Each time I came here, it seemed like there was something new. Started with the potted flowers, then the hot tub, and then the extension on the deck. My dad had been renovating the place in the same way Liam was doing to his own house, nonstop keeping their hands busy. Guess that was a trait all of us Wellses possessed.
A brief moment passed before the back door opened. I didn’t have to guess who it was, because the summer night wind carried her scent to me. Tangerines and clean laundry. It was how my bed had smelled for days and how my shirt had smelled after she danced with me.
I took a deep breath through my nose, focusing my vision on the ripple of water in the pool caused by the pump. Watching the tiny waves slowly bounce from one wall to the other.
Her tall sandals tapped against the wooden deck as she made her way to the chair next to me. She slowly dropped into it and shifted her dress to cover her legs.
“Your mom told me to get you for dinner.” She said it almost like a whisper.
I hummed, somewhat amused. Of course she did. Mom met a girl one time, mentally paired her with one of her sons, and heard wedding bells instantly. It wasn’t a surprise that she would handpick Rachel to come get me rather than any person from my family inside.
Part of me felt guilty sitting here, knowing I hadn’t told Rachel I was back in town. To be fair, I’d only gotten back the night before. I was going to eventually say something. We had been texting for the last month. Not always consistently, but she knew I was thinking of her, and I knew the same for her.
She shifted in her seat, her long legs facing my direction, causing me to shift as well. “Nice to know you’re back in town.”
She didn’t sound angry or upset, and not exactly surprised either. Just neutral, which somehow made this feel even more uncomfortable. I glanced up at her. She wasn’t necessarily smiling, but she looked amused, pleased with herself. Her eyes narrowed at me softly, her pink lips lifting in the corners ever so slightly.
I cleared my throat. “Got back yesterday.”
It wasn’t like I needed to apologize. We weren’t even friends. Why would I text her that I was back in town? It would have felt weird and clingy. So why did the word sorry sit on the edge of my tongue, desperately trying to make its way out?
Rachel hummed, looking from me out to the backyard. The golden glow of strung lights danced across her face. I liked that she never pushed me to talk. If anything, she probably liked that I was quiet so she could fill the room with her own conversation. Somehow it made me want to say things. Made me want to expand on more than my average less-than-five-word sentences.
“Are you upset?” I asked, forcing my hands into my pockets so as not to wring them in my lap.
She snorted an amused laugh, and my blood pressure immediately skyrocketed. This was why I didn’t do anything more. Complicated feelings that I didn’t know how to pick up on left me feeling like my brain was overwhelmed, my head too heavy on my shoulders. Why couldn’t people always say exactly how they felt? No more of this wondering bullshit. I wanted real, authentic, raw truth.
Rachel must have picked up on my confusion because her smile lowered into a softer one. “No, Adam. I’m not upset. Although in the future, it would be nice to get an update when you’re in town. Who knows? Maybe I had a surprise for you.”
“Did you?”
“No.” She smiled at me. “But I would have.”
That made me snort. I didn’t need some kind of gift for doing my job. You wouldn’t bring a surprise to people working at the DMV, so why do it for me?
“Don’t do that,” I mumbled.
Her head cocked to the side as she lifted her hand, bringing one of her braids down to twirl it between her fingers. “Why? We’re friends, right?”
“No.” My response was sharp. But the last thing I wanted to be was friends with this woman in front of me. I didn’t have friends. I most certainly didn’t sleep with them and let them run through my head for weeks after.
“Are you sure?” She squinted at me. “I feel like we’re friends.”
I dropped my eyes to her white fingernails twirling her braid, my thoughts racing with the need to pick up that hand and hold it. To pull her to me and remind her of how I kissed her, how she felt underneath me. How pretty she was, how it felt like holding a tulip. Like I was scared to move one way or the other, worried it would break in my fingers.
I croaked out, “We’re not.”
“You met my dad. Not even all my bestest friends have done that.”
Crap. That only made this worse. I didn’t have time for more. Neither did she. She’d made it as clear as I had. As far as visiting her dad, I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but a young and healthy vet threatening to hunt me down if I ever hurt his daughter wasn’t exactly it. I liked the guy. He was brutally honest, but he held that same light that Rachel carried around with her. I hated for him to get the wrong idea and go assuming that she and I would ever be anything.
“Well, I don’t really do friends.”
She sighed with a shrug and stood from her chair. “Seems to me like you don’t do just friends.”
Turning on her heel, she clicked back inside as if she hadn’t just thrown a bomb at my chest.
I tried to leave. Multiple times. But each time my eyes and feet pointed toward the door, I felt this pull like I had to stay. Like a tiny thread was tying my shoes to the chair I sat in. I could easily break it. I simply couldn’t make myself do it. I wasn’t exactly wanting to stay and listen to family conversation as my mom forced us each to have at least one slice of cake. Luke and Layla were in their own world. A world, I assumed, where they could both use telepathy, because there was definitely some kind of unspoken conversation happening there. Beside them, Rachel happily listened to my dad, leaning in toward him as he discussed his old love of model trains.
I waited for a signal. For her to turn and give me “help me out over here” eyes. But she didn’t. Instead, she asked him questions, leaned close to hear him better, laughed at his poor jokes, and agreed when he offered to bring them out next time she came to dinner.
I couldn’t help but wonder if she was so content here because she didn’t have this herself. The bits and pieces I’d picked up on from her told me the only true family she had was her dad. And if that was the case, when was the last time she’d even had a family dinner? When had someone forced her to eat home-cooked meals and chocolate cake made from scratch? My mind began imagining her and her dad at Christmastime alone, exchanging gifts and eating dinner in his retirement home. My chest ached at the thought. No, I didn’t want to be friends with her, but I didn’t want her alone. In fact, when I imagined next Christmas, I pictured her at this exact spot. In some kind of fancy holiday dress with her hair perfectly done. I would probably have to dress nice too, to stand next to her, but that was all right.
When dessert was finished up, Crew excused himself so he could go back to his food truck and help his employees out for the rush hour. Marigold and the boys slipped out since it was a school night, which meant Liam was right behind them. Calla yawned and claimed she needed to get back to her dorm since she had an early class. All of them trickled out one by one.
I always missed this part. Usually, I shoveled enough food into my mouth to satisfy my mom and then made sure I gave my siblings each their respective time. That was all there was to do. No sense in staying. So why couldn’t I get myself out of this chair and out of the door?
Instead, I watched as Luke and Layla discussed his new bar, going on about upcoming renovations and ideas for new drinks. Rachel would chime in here or there, but she mostly sat in silence for once, taking slow bites of her cake as if she wanted this night to last a little longer.
“Adam, dear, could you help with the dishes?”
My mother’s voice chimed from the kitchen, forcing me to stand and leave the table. Luke and Layla continued their conversation. Rachel looked up from my dad to give me a reassuring smile before paying attention to him again.
The dishes were 90 percent done, but my mom stuck me on drying duty as she hummed to herself and rinsed out the last few glasses.
“You stayed later tonight,” she said, as if it was a simple observation and not like she was trying to pry into my brain.
I hummed low. “Nothing better to do.”
Which, technically, was true. I had an all-blue puzzle back home that was halfway finished, and I probably would have worked out in my basement some, but that was it. Being here was better than either of those things at the moment, so I’d stayed. As if I had a choice.
“Right, of course.” She nodded and picked up another glass. Silence fell between us other than the distant talking between the four of them at the table and the soapy water sloshing between tiny dessert plates. I took extra time drying them, working my hands through the smaller glasses as I focused in on Rachel’s soft voice pouring in from the dining room.
Layla asked about her dad in some way. Not sure what exactly, but her response had my ears perking up.
“He’s good. Struggled a bit earlier this week. They adjusted his medicine slightly for his blood pressure, and I think it messed with his levels a bit, so he got slightly confused about a few things. Nothing too bad, though. I was planning on seeing him tonight, but he said he didn’t sleep well, so I figured rest would be better than me bothering him.”
I could hear the smallest hint of a smile as she spoke, like she was reassuring Layla and herself both. She hadn’t mentioned any of this in her never-ending texts. Majority of it was saying what music she was listening to that day. I recalled a lot of Tom Petty and some Bob Dylan. What did those say about her mood? If I listened to them tonight, would it give me another piece of her?
“Were you listening to anything I just said?” My mother twisted a towel and whipped my exposed bicep.
I straightened at the sting, lifting my disassociated gaze to her. “Sorry. Was thinking.”
Her eyes squinted into slits. “Sure. I asked if you knew how long you would be in town for.”
It was a question I never knew the answer to. I typically gave guesses, because truthfully, they could call me now, and I would take off. I loved my family, truly, but nothing tied me here. My parents were busy together, covered up with their extreme hobbies. Luke and Layla were in that obsessive phase before marriage and still kind of annoying to be around. Calla was in college, and although I loved seeing her, after I helped her move in one time, she swore girls in her dorm didn’t stop asking about me for weeks. That gave me the creeps, and I officially decided to never go back. Liam was busy with his house and his two sons, plus constantly bothering Marigold. Crew had his booming food truck business to attend to. So that left me.
If work called in, I would answer simply because it kept me busy. Busy meant no time for thinking about pretty blondes who had been unknowingly taking up space in my brain.
“Not sure. About a month if I had to guess.”
I set the last glass in the cabinet and closed it, turning back to my mom, looking down at her. She nodded with a smile up at me. “Good.”
Moments later, Luke, Layla, and Rachel all padded through the kitchen, carrying their keys and looking ready to leave. She’d ridden with them. Of course she was going to leave with them. Logically, that made the most sense. But I had an overwhelming urge to offer to drive her. To watch her walk into her apartment and hear that door lock, knowing she was safe for the night. That wasn’t my job to take care of, though. It’s just…if I wasn’t going to, was anybody?
“We’re going to head out. Luke’s got an early morning tomorrow,” Layla explained before giving my mom and I both a quick side hug.
I dipped my chin in goodbye at my brother and turned my eyes toward Rachel. In that sweet dress, heels that brought her to my height, and her hands clasped in front of her waist, she swayed side to side like she was waiting for something. From me? Oh no. Was I supposed to hug her? What was the protocol here? I mean, I had kissed the woman no less than fifty times in a single night, and yet I was about to break out into a sweat thinking of a purely platonic side hug.
Sensing my panic, Rachel moved past me to give my mother a quick hug. Then she turned to me and placed a gentle hand on my bicep, giving it the lightest squeeze. Her smile reassured me. It was a slow one, but it was genuine.
“Night, Adam.” She whispered it low, like a little secret between us. I glanced over at my family: Mom handing Layla a recipe ripped out of her notebook. Luke pretty much staring at his fiancée.
I turned my gaze back to Rachel, leaning into her gentle grip on my arm. “Night.” My voice turned to gravel, forcing me to push it out.
Her smile grew ever so slightly at that before she pulled her hand back, leaving goose bumps in her absence.
As they walked out of the back door, I placed my own hand where she’d had hers, gripping the heat there.
“What a nice girl,” Dad said as he entered the room, lifting his reading glasses to his head.
Mom nodded with a smirk. “A lovely girl.” Her voice dripped with hidden meaning that I knew all too well. The woman always tried to be some kind of matchmaker, trying to look in our eyes and sense our future. It was the reason she refused to take down Liam and Marigold’s wedding pictures. She was so sure they were going to end up together again.
“I see what you’re doing.” I reached for my keys to keep my hands busy and away from the phantom hold that had Rachel left on my arm.
Mom hummed before tossing her hand towel over her shoulder and leaning into my dad’s side. “I see what you’re not doing.”