Chapter 21 Adam
Currently playing: Fast Car by Tracy Chapman
***
Rachel was closing tonight at Sip ’n’ Spin tonight, and since I had nothing better to do than follow her like I was a lost puppy, I came to Crew’s house. He was my only single sibling and the only one who I knew wouldn’t be busy tonight. When I called, he was working on his truck. Something about tightening the rods in his engine. It was perfect timing, because my hands longed for something to do, even if it meant listening to him babble and fidget with the truck. We finished up within an hour, and with nowhere else to go, I followed him inside and accepted the cold craft beer he handed to me.
Over the last three weeks, Rachel and I had fallen into a routine. Since I was at home for now, we spent the majority of our free time together. Each morning, we had coffee together after my run. She would talk about her day’s plans, and I’d listen intently. I mostly worked out when she was gone, or I took on projects, helping one of my siblings or working on my house. We shared dinner together every night. Sometimes she would sit down to do one of my puzzles with me—whilst calling me a grandpa—and we always went to bed separately, with a swift good night. If Rachel was the only one scheduled to work at the store, then she would ask me to feed and take care of Myrtle once a day. It kind of creeped me out at first, but now I was slowly becoming attached to the freaky jar of live mush. Don’t know how that happened.
I liked our schedule. It made sense for both of us, and it meant seeing her as much as possible.
“So tell me, do you think if Einstein were alive today, he would enjoy street corn?” Crew popped his head out of his fridge, holding another bottle.
It was hard to know what was going to come out of the kid’s mouth most days. I learned it was best to just go with it. Since Crew was the baby of the family, despite him now being twenty-two, he’d probably always feel like a kid to me.
“I, um…” What was I supposed to say to that?
“Because here’s the thing: the thief across from me—”
“The woman who parks in the public parking lot next to you?”
“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it. She’s really into chemistry, apparently.”
I took a sip of beer, leaning back into his couch. “How do you know?”
“I researched. Anyway, I overheard her make some kind of comment about some Maurice Cootie science lady and how she thinks she would love her food because she was a lady of good taste.”
I stayed quiet, waiting for him to elaborate.
“So I thought the only science guy I know is Einstein, and I can’t help but think he would enjoy some elote.”
I wasn’t sure where to go with that. But that was the nice thing about Crew. He carried the conversation himself. It probably wouldn’t even matter whether I was here. If something was on his mind, it was already out of his mouth.
“I mean, the guy had class. And he knew what he was talking about. But I can’t help but think he was a bit on the wild side with that hair. Hence, elote.”
My phone buzzed beside me. A message from Rachel. I looked up to Crew to see him going on about who cares about chemistry? and reached for my phone.
Rachel: Don’t bring pizza home tonight. I closed shop early and made some pasta and sourdough garlic bread.
Sounds great, I’ll see you soon.
Rachel: Oh, we don’t have anything to drink other than water, so maybe stop and grab something if you want?
Of course.
“You know?” Crew finished his tangent, and I looked up.
I nodded, despite my confusion over his entire argument about the girl and stood as I pocketed my phone. “Rachel’s home. I should go.”
Crew leaned back in his seat, his arms resting behind his head. “Ah, the honeymoon phase. Go on. I’ll be here basking in my bachelor life.”
I looked around at his living room. The discarded clothes and empty beer cans were a clear indication that he was, indeed, a bachelor. “Yup.” I nodded before heading straight to my car.
Homemade pasta and garlic bread. I was getting spoiled by this girl.
I had no idea how much I loved sourdough bread until she moved in. She made two loaves a week, but I wish it was four. I’d never been a carb guy. I’d always stuck to a strict diet and didn’t deter from it unless Mom was forcing me to eat her coconut cake. But when I came home to my house smelling of flour, honey, and butter, how was I supposed to resist? I was going to end up a hundred pounds heavier by the end of this arrangement, and I wasn’t even going to complain.
Even harder to resist was Rachel in my kitchen, wearing a short floral dress that swirled around her thighs and an apron tied around her waist while dancing in circles to “Hey Jude.” She’d see me come in and lean against the doorframe, watching, and she’d smile, spinning around faster, as if my presence made her want to dance more. An impossibly bright light in my cold house. A wildflower surrounded by weeds. I never knew how badly I needed that, how I had been stuck in survival mode without her. It made me wonder how many years I’d been stuck in that cycle, head stuck so far in the sand I couldn’t even appreciate my surroundings for what they were.
I connected my phone to the console, reaching for the playlist she’d made for me years ago and putting it on shuffle. Maybe it was pathetic to keep listening to it. Probably something my work friends or brothers would scoff at if they knew. But I couldn’t seem to give it up. It was the first piece of herself that she’d given me. That meant something, right? Even if it didn’t, it had gotten me through some rough nights in the past, and I wasn’t ready to give it up yet.
A couple of miles down from the house, I stopped at a corner store for a few drinks. I went to the back and looked at the long line of wines, not knowing anything about how they worked or what they paired with. Rachel was the most high-maintenance woman I’d met. She said so herself. She carried herself like royalty. I would assume that meant she probably knew something about wine and how much of an idiot was I going to look like when I pulled up to the house with some cheap fermented off-brand grape juice.
I did a quick Google search. What wine goes with pasta? I looked over the results, which made me even more confused, so I settled on the most expensive one. If she didn’t like it, I’d just come back.
Checking out at the front, an older man scanned the wine. Behind him was a box full of premade flower bouquets.
She liked flowers, right? Always wore flower-print dresses. Had them on her phone’s wallpaper and whatnot.
My eyes glanced down at the price. Assorted flower bouquet - $9.99.
I’d never bought flowers for a girl before. Never felt the need to. Hadn’t gone to prom or anything in high school, and the couple of girlfriends I’d had over the years didn’t seem to care for it. Or maybe I was just an ass and didn’t know it. It never really crossed my mind to buy them for any girl.
“Is this it for you?” the older man asked with a shaky voice.
I glanced at the flowers once more, feeling every kind of conviction to buy them. Imagining her wrapping her hands around them, dipping her nose in to smell them, and pulling them to her chest with that pretty smile I liked so much. My heart began to thud against my chest.
“One of the bouquets too.” I pointed behind the older man. It wasn’t like it had to be some kind of romantic gesture. Just a husband buying flowers for his wife.
Consider it a congrats you made it through three weeks of living with my grumpy ass present.
“Smart man,” the cashier laughed and then coughed into his elbow, reaching for the bouquet behind him filled with pink, orange, and light purple blossoms. “Happy wife, happy life.”
I nodded along, giving a grateful smile to the man. For once I did feel like I was living a happy life. A real one, right alongside her.
Walking into my house, my knees nearly gave out. It smelled of comfort itself. Like butter and Italian seasoning and a warm hug. Like when you were a kid, your mom had been cooking all afternoon and you were coming in after a long day of rolling around in dirt.
Rachel had her back turned toward me as she leaned down to take the bread out of the oven. “How was your day?” she asked without looking up.
She wasn’t in a dress today. Probably a good thing, considering she was bent over in front of me. But she was in her pajamas with little bows on them, the tiniest tank top straps that bared her shoulder to me. Even her pajamas were cute. Her hair was pulled back into one of those claw things that freaked me out but she seemed to love so I never say anything about them.
I looked down at the flowers in my hand, at the blooms falling out of place. “Uh, good.”
Waves of doubt rushed over me. She wasn’t making dinner for this to be some kind of date. The bouquet I’d gotten her wasn’t even that nice. Some flowers were like a hundred dollars. She wasn’t going to want some insignificant dyed daisies that looked like a Mother’s Day gift from a child.
What was I thinking?
For a brief moment, I pictured myself throwing the flowers out the window. I’d come back out and throw them into the trash tonight after she went to sleep, and she wouldn’t even notice. But I’d gotten them for her…thought she would like them. Thought the pink in them reminded me of those heels she’d worn the other day and how they had been stepping around in my mind all day.
She may not want flowers if she thought this was all platonic. If she assumed I’d only married her because we were in Vegas and drunk and I had nothing better to do.
Throw them out, you idiot. She hadn’t seen me yet, or the bouquet in my hand. I had time.
My feet shifted to turn, but then, Rachel spun toward me, her eyes instantly landing on where I’d hidden my left hand behind my back, the stems poking out around me just slightly.
With no hint of emotion on her face for me to read, she pointed to me. “Are those…for me?”
I wanted to say no, but with the hope on her face, the raised brows, and her lips dropping in shock, I couldn’t hold it in. My willpower snapped in half as I sighed, my chest deflating. “Yes.”
“You”—she pointed at my chest—“bought me flowers?”
Was it that hard to believe? It was too much. I was being too much. Geez, man, three weeks of living together didn’t mean anything. The ring, the wedding, her straightening her shoes at the door for me and me leaving coffee ready for her didn’t mean anything. Because we were just friends to her. Married friends, but still friends.
I sputtered. “They were sitting by the register. They were on sale. I’ll take them back tomorrow—”
Rachel gasped, striding toward me and ripping the flowers out of my hand before curling them into her chest. “Don’t. You. Dare.”
She cradled the flowers and looked at them like they were some kind of precious ruby. An artifact meant to be handled with a gentleness that a man like me didn’t have. Essentially how I felt having her anywhere near my arms. A glass vase in the arms of a…what did she call me that day? A hippo? The prettiest glass vase in the arms of a hippo.
She shuddered as she sucked a breath in, and I swore I heard the tiniest sniffle coming from her nose. Crap. I was even more terrible with crying women than regular women. What was I supposed to do, say? My eyes darted to the door and back. I could probably run out, and she wouldn’t even know.
But then she smiled up at me. This big, beautiful smile that held nothing back and eyes that shined up at me like I was some kind of hero for buying ten-dollar flowers. Like I’d hung the moon for doing the bare minimum.
“No one’s bought me flowers before.”
My brows furrowed. Who was she going out with before? They were a last-minute decision, cheap and easy, and I thought she’d look pretty holding them—and I was right. Maybe I was as much of an ass as her past boyfriends in life because I never felt the need to buy other women in my life flowers. But watching her now, feverishly searching my kitchen for a vase to put them in, looking at these ridiculously dyed flowers like they were more valuable than her own wedding ring, made my heart do backflips. Made me wonder why I hadn’t done this years ago.
“I’ll get them all the time, then,” I said.
And I would, every event, every birthday, random Tuesday nights like these. No matter what, I was going to keep buying her flowers.
She pulled out an ugly vase, one I’d gotten as a housewarming present from my boss’s wife, and happily filled it with water, plopping the flowers in and sighing at them. I set the wine next to the mouthwatering pasta in a baking dish on my stove. Rachel acted like she couldn’t cook. She’d warned me that dinners would be disappointing if she was making them, but then she’d whip up these incredible meals that tasted like home. Or maybe my standards were just that low at this point.
She lifted a finger, twirling one daisy back and forth with her nail. Her shoulders drooped as she sighed again and she blinked away her tears.
I set my keys and phone on the counter next to the wine and took a step closer, leaning down. “You okay?”
Her hesitation gave me enough of an answer, but she replied anyway. “Dad had a rough day…”
“What kind of rough day?” I asked.
I’d known, to some extent, the ups and downs her dad had. I didn’t think I’d ever fully know how it felt. But I’d seen him at some pretty low points, and I’d watched Rachel’s heart crack at them.
“Not terrible, but not great.” She sniffled, and I felt like she was going to cry again, so I took another step forward and wrapped my arms lightly around her back. Accepting my hug, she turned toward me and embraced me with her head on my chest. The smell of her shampoo mixed with her perfume made me dip my head down and breathe in through my nose before lightly pressing my lips to her forehead. I hadn’t noticed the music before now. I should have known, though. When was she not listening to music?
I didn’t recognize the song exactly, but the voice was low and soft and sounded a bit like that 1940s soundtrack she’d played in my car when it rained the other week. If I’d heard that first, I would have known it was a rough day.
“I went to see him after my shift since Betty said he was kind of in an ill mood. When I got there, his shirt was inside out and his pants didn’t match and he kept pacing like he wanted to go somewhere but didn’t know where.” Her eyes lifted to the ceiling as if she was willing it to give her strength to continue. Her voice was shaky when she did. “He just kept calling me my sister’s name over and over.” She swayed against me. I wasn’t sure whether she even realized it or if it had become instinct at this point.
“And maybe I should have accepted it and pretended like I was her, but gah, Adam, it was too hard. So I had to look him in the eye and tell him I was Rachel, not Katherine. He got mad and said he knew that, but then he did it again a few minutes later. He got even more mad when he asked me where Mom was and why I wasn’t answering. By the time I left, it seemed like I’d made it all worse.”
I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t tell her it was all going to be okay. I didn’t make empty promises like that. Nothing I said could guarantee it was going to be okay. But I could show her I would be here through it all, and that had to mean something, right?
I splayed my hands on her back, rubbing up and down as we swayed gently to the music, almost dancing. I leaned down farther and set my chin on her head before tilting to give the crown of her head the smallest kiss. Her deep breath in after that matched mine.
Rachel lifted her head, her tears leaving a wet spot on my shirt. She looked up at me with these eyes that begged for reassurance that I didn’t know how to give.
“When does it get easier? When can I learn to just let go?”
I had seen some pretty awful things in life. Been practically drowned. I had seen death and gore pour out onto streets and had reacted like it was nothing. But holding this strong-willed, confident woman as she cried somehow felt gut wrenching.
Saying the only thing I knew wouldn’t change, I responded.
“I don’t know, honey. But I’ll be here until it does.”