Chapter 17 Rachel
Currently Playing: Home by Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros
***
Adam so kindly let me stuff his SUV full of my things, and I do mean full, to the absolute brim.
Any pushback I expected from him had yet to hit, if it ever was going to. He encouraged each bag that we filled the back seat with, and I tried with all my might to hold back any laughter as he struggled incredibly hard to pull off my very fragile fairy wings. He placed them on top of a bag and then moved the bag to see if they would fall. When they didn’t sit as firmly as he liked, he ended up moving them to the center console between us, keeping his elbow propped up during the entire drive, in case they were to slip.
I once said he was a panther. I knew better now. The man was a teddy bear, all soft and doughy goo on the inside.
Myrtle sat in my lap, taking in the view of downtown Philadelphia as we made our way out of town, where Adam’s house was on the outskirts. She never really got out of the cabinet much. I was sure she was bound to be extra bubbly tomorrow morning when it came time for me to make discard bagels.
Adam also let me be in charge of the auxiliary. He was used to it by now and didn’t flinch when I reached for his charger to pull up Apple CarPlay. Today felt good. Productive and positive, filled with hope and a pinch of anxiousness. But the good kind. Therefore, Steely Dan’s “Reeling in the Years” felt the most appropriate for the mood.
My foot tapped along on the side of the door, and I hummed the lyrics to myself as we reached the end of downtown. Adam’s shoulders visibly dropped as he leaned back in his seat, slumping slightly. He always seemed more comfortable outside of the city than in. I was pretty sure it was the buildings. He once claimed he liked to see his surroundings better outside the city. Something from the military, if I had to guess, since Dad was the same way.
“Are you scared about me moving in?” I asked, breaking the quiet between us.
Adam lifted a brow in question before turning back to the road.
My lips turned into a grin. “It’s okay if you are. It’s a lot. I’m a lot, and you like your quiet space. It’s okay if it’s too much.”
“You’re not too much. You’re just right.” He turned on his signal, looking over his shoulder before switching lanes.
Heat trailed up my spine at that. You’re just right. No, it wasn’t some glowing declaration of who I was, like I’d foolishly dreamed about as a girl. Wasn’t some long, drawn-out poem about how I was funny or smart or kind—I was, at most, average on each of those scales. But it felt good all the same.
Butterflies coursed through me at the thought of how quickly he said it, as if he hadn’t had to think about it. As quiet as Adam was, when he spoke, whatever he said, he meant. You never had to wonder about the authenticity of what he said. The man was brutally honest, sometimes in harsh ways like when I’d asked what he thought of my somewhat “quirky” scarf last winter and he responded with “burn it.”
I turned both air vents toward me, desperate to cool my flushed cheeks. “All right, Goldilocks. Whatever you say.”
When we pulled into his driveway both of us grabbed a single bag as we made it to his front door. He fished out his keys, balancing my luggage in one hand before opening the door.
Whatever you pictured as a single man’s bachelor pad—posters of half-naked women, dirty socks on the living room floor, perhaps some random woman’s bobby pins in the guest bathroom—wipe it from your mind completely. Adam Wells’s house, to no surprise, looked like an Airbnb that needed to be featured in a Home and Garden magazine. Shoes perfectly straightened at the door, a simple gray sectional in the living room, white walls, large TV mounted on the wall, wooden kitchen cabinets, curtains. The man had curtains. I didn’t even own a dishwasher.
I had been here before, several times. But it felt like I was seeing it through new eyes this time. Wifey eyes. Before, I’d never paid too much attention to my surroundings because it didn’t occur to me that I should. I never noticed the man had dish towels hung up perfectly in the kitchen or that he owned stone bathmats and towel warmers. Who would have thought that, this whole time, grumpy, broody Adam liked his towels to be warmed?
“You can…look around. I’ll go grab more stuff,” he announced as he stepped outside again.
He knew me so well. I would have protested, but curiosity got the best of me. I was too busy being hypnotized by perfectly clean floors and not a hint of dust in the room. Where were his dirty socks? Probably laid perfectly in a laundry basket next to his label maker and his abundance of cleaning supplies, right behind his mini vacuum.
I peered around the kitchen and down a long hallway leading to two rooms. My feet padded down the hall as I quickly peeked into each open doorway.
One was an office with forest green walls and a cleared-off mahogany desk. There were no pictures or shelves, simplicity. Very Adam. I turned to the other room, a guest room with a dark-blue accent wall. The remaining three were painted white. A queen-size mattress in the middle, an oak nightstand on either side of it. My room, I would presume.
Unless…was I supposed to sleep in his room? I mean, sure, we were married, but that didn’t require us to share a bed, right? I felt like a good majority of married couples slept separately nowadays. This had to be fine.
I turned around, my boots clicking against the stained concrete floors. Poor guy had seen my apartment, and he’d probably had an entire heart attack behind that cool, collected scowl. He didn’t have a single thing misplaced. Even the bed had fluffed pillows and a throw blanket that looked extra snuggly.
With a bite to my lip, I glanced out toward the hallway, checking to make sure it was clear before running straight for the bed. I lay on top, sinking into the white comforter, the mattress bending underneath my weight and cradling me like a mom holding her newborn. Marriage or not, this guy was going to be stuck with me until I could afford a Purple mattress. This was glorious.
The front door creaked, followed by heavy footsteps and some deep groaning. I sat straight up, reaching my hands out to fluff the creases I’d made. I took my shoes off, keeping a mental note to straighten them at the door later so I didn’t seem like a total mooch.
Back in the living room, Adam carried half of the carload in his arms—boxes on top of bags and my backpack on his back. He set down each luggage piece with grace, looking entirely adorable in his very gray house with my very yellow baggage.
I watched, making a show of the beads of sweat at his brow, as Adam single-handedly carried my things in with no complaints. All I was missing was popcorn and a remote so I could slow him down and rewatch him over and over again. On the next trip, he lifted his shirt up to wipe his forehead, and I knew immediately this must have been the guy Bonnie Tyler was singing about when she said she needed a hero. Here he was, in his living room, carrying a box full of heavy record player equipment as if it were nothing. I could see why she’d need a guy like this. I could get used to it. But she couldn’t have him. This one had my ring on his finger, so suck it, Bonnie.
During the last round, I gave the guy pity and grabbed a couple of the smaller boxes. Just enough to keep me from feeling entirely lazy. But not before I pulled my phone from my back pocket, discreetly lifting it to snap a quick picture of a sweaty Adam holding a box full of my “necessities.” I immediately went to text my best friend.
Layla, you should see the show being put on in front of me right now.
Layla:Since that is technically my brother-in-law, I shouldn’t say anything but…smash.
I wonder how much money I would make if I set up a live stream right now.
But I also want to keep it to myself.
Layla:It or him?
Both?
Layla:Careful now, you sound jealous.
Is it bad that I am? I think this ring is getting to me. I’m feeling very wife-like watching him carry all my things in.
Layla:Oh my gosh. This is exactly like LOTR.
Can you not?
Adam cleared his throat, pulling me back into the present. With everything moved in, spread across his spotless floor, he looked up at me, nodded toward the room, and tilted his head. Do you like it? I could practically hear it in that deep gravel.
I looked down the hall and back with a smile. I loved it. He had to know I did. The guy didn’t expect me as a guest, much less his wife, and yet he had the perfect room set up for this scenario.
“You’ve been holding out on me. I didn’t know you were this much of a caretaker. You have folded towels in the guest bathroom at the ready?” I threw a thumb over my shoulder.
His lips tipped up in amusement. “I like to take care of things that are mine.”
“Does that include me now?” I leaned in with clasped hands and batting eyelashes like the doting wife I was.
His eyes dropped to my lips and back to my eyes. “Do you want it to?”
Oh, great heavens. Yes. No. Adam was not allowed to flirt with me. Not while I was in this state. I was the flirter. He was the flirtee. That was how this always worked. But if he started acting like this, carrying in all my things, acting as though I was his, wearing my stupid fairy wings, what chance did I have of keeping myself intact?
My brain began to shut down, random words like mine and want to rolling in my brain like a tumbleweed in an otherwise very empty space. I wouldn’t have been surprised if my tongue lolled out of my mouth and my back bent over as I stared at the poor man in utter confusion.
“Too much?” he asked, a hint of vulnerability in there that made me feel a little bad about practically panting over him moments before.
I shook my head before placing a rogue tendril of hair behind my ear. “Not too much. Just not expected.”
He nodded along, as if to say he understood. “Do you want all of this in your room?”
It was a lot to squeeze in a medium-size space, but I felt more comfortable forcing it all into the guest room than taking over his entire house.
I nodded. “Yeah, that would be great. I’ll help.”
Adam grabbed two boxes as I picked up my record player, glancing around us. He padded down the hallway, and I smiled. Maybe this would work out.
“Myrtle said she likes it here. Just so you know,” I called down the hall toward him.
“Good,” he deadpanned. “I was worried.”