Chapter 29 Ruth Bader Winsburg, Night Cheese, and Risky Quizness
29
Ruth Bader Winsburg, Night Cheese, and Risky Quizness
I don’t hear from Adam again after our late-night Christmas call. I considered reaching out at midnight on New Year’s Eve, hoping this would be our new thing—emotional late-night phone calls on bank holidays, and by Memorial Day we’d be making declarations of love—but I fell asleep at nine p.m.
On New Year’s Day, I have no missed calls on my call log, and it’s time to move forward. This morning, I purged my closet of my fake life. Now I’m at Chelsea’s apartment before our trivia tournament, and I can’t resist showing off my personal growth to her and Mara.
Chelsea’s apartment is a third-floor unit in a 1920s colonial in the Como Park neighborhood of Saint Paul. The architecture mixes perfectly with her floral-forward, English-country-home styling.
I plop a laundry basket on top of her fluffy blue bedspread. The bland-colored bits of my performance fabrics—grays, olives, and khakis—drape over the top and fall onto the cheerful floral print.
“The remnants of your Cheryl Strayed period,” Chelsea says reverently. She holds my dark green North Face shell jacket to her chest.
“Taking to the woods is always a cry for help,” Mara says from the hallway.
I lean against the tufted headboard. “But in movies it’s always a positive thing.”
“No, in movies it’s the wake-up call to get therapy. They never choose to stay in the woods for eternity. There’s nothing for anyone there. You always have to come back out to civilization.” Mara walks around the bed and settles onto the upholstered bench at its foot, balancing a teacup on her knee.
“Your movie was never the ‘take to the woods’ movie. It was a ‘buy a house in a quaint Christmas town and learn to love yourself with the help of quirky strangers’ movie,” Chelsea explains.
I furrow my brow. “What are your movies?”
“Mine is ‘Christmas Man teaches me about love,’ and Mara’s is the classic ‘girl moves to the city and gets the big promotion,’?” she says, like the answer is obvious.
I pass Mara my hydration backpack. “I wanted you guys to have first dibs before I donate it all to mark the end of this phase. And the beginning of something new.”
“Make sure you keep some of this—base layers aren’t just for camping—but I don’t see a lot of uses for a pair of UV-protective cargo shorts.” Chelsea flicks the khaki shorts away from her like they’re radioactive.
“They seemed necessary at the time.”
“Did they, Al? Did they really, though?” Chelsea asks.
I shrug.
“Were you able to get Patrick to change his mind for the tournament today? He can join late between rounds if he has a conflict,” Mara asks with a sip.
Chelsea shakes her head. “He’s on a New Year’s getaway at a fancy couples’ resort in Wisconsin with Josie. There’s no way he’s coming. Sorry, Mar. Is there anyone else eligible to play with the team we haven’t tried?”
Mara raises her eyebrows indiscreetly. “Just, uh…”
I groan, ignoring the emptiness beneath my ribs. “We can say his name.” I swallow to clear the knot of emotion lodged in my throat. “It’s fine. Adam and I…it was never going to work out with us.”
I clap my hands on my knees and stand, ready to leave the trappings of adventure and talk of Adam behind. “Come on, we have a trivia tournament to get to.”
Mara cheers. “Yes! Let’s obliterate some poor, delicate nerds.”
···
Every New Year’s Day at two p.m., a different venue in the Minneapolis–Saint Paul area hosts the Twin Cities Trivia Tournament. This year, we’re at Union Depot, a historic railroad station in Saint Paul that continues to serve as the city’s transit hub, community center, and—thanks to the stunning neoclassical architecture—event venue.
Obviously, I love it here. It’s one of the rare places in the city where a bride in Vera Wang can mingle with a hungover college sophomore waiting for a Megabus to Milwaukee beside a local senior downward dogging on a rec center yoga mat.
Today, the ornate room is cordoned off for the tournament. Skylights in the vaulted ceiling bathe the dozens of round six- top tables covering the marble floors in warm natural light. Each table is bare, with the exception of a few pencils, scrap paper, and a basket for phones and smartwatches. Bars and food carts are set up on either side of the room to maintain the pub quiz aesthetic, along with a small stage, lights, and a speaker system. The gravitas and solemnity of the building are both out of place and completely fitting for the boozy trivia showdown about to commence.
The moment we walk in, Mara grabs Chelsea and me by the elbow to relay reconnaissance. “Based on my intel, the teams to beat are Ruth Bader Winsburg, Night Cheese, and Risky Quizness.”
“Quizly Bears is here again,” I warn her. Despite the cutesy name, the team knocked us out of last year’s semifinals in a vicious tiebreaker.
Mara shakes her head, her shark eyes fixed on her nemesis two tables away. “Not a threat. Man Bun carries that team, and he’s on family leave with Pixie Haircut.”
Chelsea coos. “Aww. Good for them. I didn’t know they were together.”
“They weren’t at the time. She was cheating on her long-term partner Faux-Hawk with Man Bun,” Mara explains like a spy providing crucial wartime intelligence. “When Faux-Hawk found out, he defected to Ruth Bader Winsburg. Now Ruth is stronger than ever, and Quizly Bears is a pathetic shell of what it once was.”
Chelsea titters. “Can we trade tables near them? I want to hear about that.”
Mara twists her necklace. “We’re not here to make friends, Chels. We’re here to crush dreams.”
“Whatever. I’m putting in our order for beer and fries before it gets crowded.” Chelsea hops off in the direction of the bar.
“No alcohol, Olsen. I’m serious!” Mara hollers after her through cupped hands.
I pick a seat at the table displaying marquizka hargitay . “Chill, Mar. This is for charity.”
Mara’s eyes circle around her like she’s a defensive animal before she finally sits. “Don’t let that affect your killer instinct. The animal shelter gets our money no matter who wins.”
“Mara, I promise you, we’ll do everything in our power to decimate the competition.”
“Thank you, Al. I needed to hear that from you. I was beginning to question your commitment.”
The tournament is made up of eight rounds with an elimination of the lowest-scoring teams each round until the final five face off. By round three, all of the casual players are out, leaving only the teams with at least one Mara-caliber competitive maniac. When our team name is announced as a semifinalist, Mara barely contains her squeal.
My pen is poised for the next question, but Darren interrupts the round to announce, “We have a latecomer for Marquizka Hargitay.”
Mara cups her hands around her mouth. “Send him in.”
I’m at the top of a roller coaster about to plunge down the first steep descent as the sound of men’s boots echoes offstage. My hands start to tingle with anticipation while I wait for the tall figure in a khaki-colored jacket to come into view under the harsh stage lights. He steps out of the shadows, and my heart sinks through the floor. I thought it’d be Adam walking out there.
“Patrick?” Chelsea’s voice echoes off the curved ceiling. We watch his red hair glowing in the spotlight, his pristine leather boots and nonreversible tan puffer coat. “I thought you were with Josie this weekend.”
“We broke up,” he says onstage, in front of the house of quiz nerds. The mic picks up his deep voice and carries it to every corner of the room. “The vacation was a plot to guilt me into getting rid of my cat.”
Multiple strangers join Chelsea in a horrified gasp. She peels her hands off her mouth to speak. “Not Colonel Corduroy!”
He nods solemnly. “She said it was her or the cat, and it was finally too much. She hates my family. She hates my friends. Now she hates my cat too? I couldn’t take it anymore.”
Strangers slow-clap him in either sarcasm or solidarity. Their motivations are unclear.
Mara’s eyebrow arches up. “So you were fine with her hating your friends and family? Cats are where you draw the line?”
Dozens of onlookers share Chelsea’s appalled expression. “Those are just people, Mara. Colonel Corduroy is blind in one eye.”
Darren, the tournament host, cuts through the crowd’s murmurs. “You can join your team, but per the bylaws, I need your excuse to log into the spreadsheet.”
“I would have gotten here earlier but we broke up during the couples massage, and then we had to drive home together—”
Darren moves the mic to the side. “Just say traffic, man.”
“Of course. Traffic. Sorry.” Patrick jumps down the steps two at a time to join Chelsea on her side of the table.
We wait for the questions to pour in, but the visibly perturbed cohost, Stu, is conferring with Darren, who steps back to the mic. “I promise we’ll start the semifinals in a minute, but we have a problem in the lobby. There’s a guy out front demanding to speak with someone on an unregistered team…” He looks down at the sticky note Stu passes him. “Otrivia Benson: SVU. Anyone know what he’s talking about?”
My heart stops.
Stu crosses his arms dramatically in front of the mic stand. “He’s refusing to leave. And we all know Otrivia Benson is banned from this event, so he isn’t here for any team participating legally .”
“Shit, Stu. It’s pub trivia. Let the guy talk to one of the Marquizka Hargitays.”
I look to my right at our defender—none other than Glasses from Risky Quizness.
Mara stands, fueled by righteous indignation. “Seriously, Risky? You’re resorting to getting us thrown out of the tournament?”
Glasses rears his head back in exasperation. “Everyone knows you’re Otrivia Benson! It was the least subtle name change of all time.”
Other teams start to express their own opinions until Darren gestures for the crowd to calm down. “We can’t actually ‘ban’ anyone from participating as a new team if they qualify. Stu, let him in and see what he wants. Then we can get on with it.”
I spot the jacket first, but I stop breathing the moment I see his face.
“Adam, wh—what are you doing here?” I stammer around the longing in my throat. He’s in that ridiculous jacket—denim-side out—with a red flannel underneath. My body registers pain at the sight of him, like how a perfectly warm bath stings when you’re freezing. My heart wants him so badly it hurts.
Stu ushers him to the mic stand. “You weren’t answering your phone,” Adam says, adjusting his volume to account for the microphone.
I point to the phone basket before asking the first of the one thousand questions buzzing in my brain. “How did you know I was here?”
Adam holds up his cell phone. “Sam invited me.”
I twist my face in confusion, and someone from Agatha Quiztie yells, “Who’s Sam?”
“How’s that possible?” Chelsea asks.
Adam shrinks a bit, noticing all eyes are on him. “Uh, can I speak to Alison privately?” he asks. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
Blunt Bob from the Quizly Bears shakes her head defiantly. “He can’t tamper with the team, so unless he’s staying, whatever he has to say he says in front of all of us.”
“Tampering? Seriously?” Mara throws up her hands. “Fine. Adam, say what you came to say so we can finish the tournament.”
“Mara!” Chelsea reprimands her.
“What do you mean Sam invited you?” I ask.
Adam grabs the mic stand. “Should I just…in front of everyone?”
“Is he talking about the Sam who’s…” Patrick mouths the word dead to Chelsea.
Host Darren is now bouncing on his leg. “You can join their team. We just need to log your excuse, per the bylaws.”
I stand up so I can see Adam over the crowd. “What do you mean Sam—”
“The calendar alerts.” He points to the phone in his palm. “?‘December twenty-ninth—Get a haircut. You’ll be so glad you did after your date with destiny and your hair always looks weird for a couple days after a cut. December thirtieth — DON’T bail on Sam’s NYE party like you always do.’?” Adam’s voice cracks, and my heart clenches. “?‘This is the beginning of EVERYTHING!’ And there’s like ten exclamation points after that last one. ‘January first, two p.m.—Trivia tournament with your perfect woman.’?”
The memory of playing trivia with Sam after our breakup flashes in my mind. We should do it again. I’ll bring a ringer.
How many times have I reread that text since he died, never once wondering what he meant—or who?
Adam keeps reading from his screen. “There’s also a note about not wearing flannel, but I didn’t see it until after I left.”
“Sam invited you,” I repeat with renewed understanding. I issue either a wobbly laugh or a sigh of relief or a shocked gasp. Maybe all three, because my body is coming to grips with the notion that somehow Sam did all of this. Something that feels a bit like magic whirs between Adam and me.
Darren steps up to Adam’s mic. “You can just tell me you were caught in traffic, bro. I just need to—”
Adam grabs the stand back with more conviction. His eyes drill into mine, and, for a moment, I forget we’re making a spectacle of ourselves. It’s him —and he’s here —and I might be about to get everything I ever wanted.
“It was you he was talking about that night. I was supposed to go to his party this weekend so he could bring me here. Today. It was always you!” Adam wets his lips, waiting for me to respond.
Sam was always right about me. I was so determined to see it as a negative thing, but he saw how right I was for someone he loved.
I want to say something, anything. Our problems aren’t in the rearview. I’m finally grappling with my diagnosis and my mastectomy. We’re both facing our grief over the loss of our friend. I’ve only recently started accepting myself for who I am—a nippleless homebody who’s as deserving of life as anyone else. And Adam’s still stuck in his rut, by all accounts.
“And I bought a house. Here. Well, not here in this train station, but nearby. I’m done making excuses for why I can’t have the things I want, because I know what I want.” Adam looks around the open space surrounding us and the crowd in rapt attention. He makes a face that says, The hell with it, and it’s unspeakably sexy. “I love you. I love that you love trains and hate my music. I love that you listen to Christmas songs way too early. I love that you snort when you find something truly funny.”
I snort a little at that, and the sound emboldens him.
“I love that you love that I hate butterflies and that you’re afraid of gremlins. I love that you can’t help but tell me when you think I’m being ridiculous or too rigid. That you want me to move forward with my life, but you want me to want it for myself. I love everything about you, Alison. I only want to be with you. Exactly as you are.”
My heart stutters to a stop. Adam stares back at me like I’m the only one who heard his declaration. Everyone holds our silence, waiting for us to say something, but neither of us can speak. I don’t know any words.
Stu shoves his way in front of Adam’s mic, meeting the resistance of his rigid body. “I hate to interrupt, but this feels pretty personal…so if you’re not here to participate in this event, you’ll have to wait in the lobby until the end of the tournament.”
“Wait!” I cry out. Chelsea squeals directly into my eardrum before shoving me in the direction of the stage. I bound up the steps two at a time, unable to waste another second, because I know I love him too. The feeling doesn’t hit me like an oncoming train. It slipped inside my heart long ago when I wasn’t looking. When I didn’t think I deserved it.
A teary laugh bursts from my open mouth. I’m finally on the stage and the hot lights hit my eyes sideways, temporarily blinding me. Without the benefit of sight, I reach out for his waist to draw him closer. He loops his arm around me, and I hit his chest with a delicious thud.
He presses his forehead to mine, and I breathe him in, only vaguely aware that we have an audience. He smells so familiar. Like a warm drink on a cold day and a bonfire on a summer beach and a workshop garage in Duluth. Like Adam, everywhere I want to be, every time of year.
He lifts my face to meet his eyes, reintroducing me to every gold fleck within his chocolate-brown irises. “That was a good speech,” I whisper.
“I watched the Billy Crystal movie. I watched three, actually, before I figured out which one was the right one. But I wanted to Billy Crystal you again. More intentionally this time.”
“I love you.” The words escape my mouth on an exhale. They couldn’t wait for air.
He moves his hand, tipping my chin toward him so he can kiss me. My whole body relaxes at the feel of him against my lips, and he drinks me in with sweet, warm sips. I never want it to stop, but a rapidly shrinking part of me knows we’re standing in front of a crowd of impatient trivia junkies. A disgruntled throat clears, and Adam and I slowly break apart. His heated gaze never breaks mine.
“I’ve loved you this whole time,” I whisper. “Even when I was Sam’s girlfriend. The second time, I mean, after his funeral.” The mic picks this last part up, and we start to lose the audience’s goodwill.
“It’s less weird in context, guys. Come on,” Mara says, defending me to the rapidly turning crowd. “Darren, put ‘traffic’ on the spreadsheet for him too. He’s with us.”
Adam and Patrick join us for the rest of the competition. In the semifinals, the Chelsea-Patrick mind meld comes through for the team in the form of prehistoric literary puns.
“Anne Brontosaurus.” Patrick points to the answer sheet.
“Not Charlotte or Emily?” I bite down on my thumbnail, the anxiety of getting so close to victory finally hitting me.
Patrick shakes his head. “No, it’s Anne. Stu said it was an epistolary novel.”
Adam bounces his knee with a bit more agitation than normal, competitive tension thick in the air. “I thought the brontosaurus wasn’t a real dinosaur species.”
Chelsea writes furiously. “It is now. It’s like Pluto. We’re always changing our mind about it.”
Adam and I are merely an impediment to the lizard-lit dream team, so I seize on the opportunity to lean in close and ask, “So you bought a house?”
“Yes, but it was a long time coming. I’ve wanted to be closer to my family for a while. I was going to tell you about it when I called, but I didn’t want to put any pressure on you. I wanted to invite you over for something very romantic that I still haven’t planned, if I’m honest. I wanted to show you I was serious about moving forward for myself. But then…”
“You got the calendar alert.”
“And I couldn’t spend another second counting down the days until everything else was ready. I was ready, and it was so like Sam to push me off the cliff. Our favorite ‘real estate multihyphenate’ showed me some places and a couple were ridiculous—like one had a pool? Why waste your entire yard with a pool in this climate?”
I gesture for him to get to the point.
“But one was perfect. Two bedrooms. A workshop. Nice neighborhood. Yard for a dog. But we don’t need a dog if—”
Mara snaps her fingers in front of her face. “Hey, guys. I’m thrilled for you and your many future rescue dogs, but can we focus on the task at hand?”
In the final round, Adam proves his worth early on by naming every Kurt Russell/John Carpenter collaboration for the “Famous Kurts” section (other Kurts being Browning, Vonnegut, G?del, and Cobain).
“Snake Plissken was such a great action hero name that it was reused—”
Mara holds her left hand up to stop Adam’s chatter while scribbling Escape from New York with her right. “Demonstrate your value to Al another time.”
“Sorry, I was excited I knew the answer.” Adam squeezes my thigh under the table, sending a blush up my whole body.
“We’re going to have to figure out what happens next.”
He frowns. “I think Stu just handed Mara the image-round questions.”
“No, with us,” I explain while examining the pictures of men Mara shoves in my face. “So you live here?”
“In three weeks.”
“And we’re dating…”
“Obviously we’re dating, Alison.”
“Exclusively?”
“I am.”
“Is it serious?” I ask playfully.
“I think so,” he answers mockingly.
“I’m going to kill you, dismember you, and sell you both for parts,” Mara says simply. It successfully puts an end to our nausea-inducing love fest.
For the first time ever, Marquizka Hargitay breaks into the top three teams. For a tiebreaker, we send our fearless leader to the stage for a sudden death against Glasses from Risky Quizness and a man from Night Cheese. Chelsea, Patrick, and I groan when Darren names the category. “What’s wrong with animal land speed records?” Adam whispers.
Patrick exhales in defeat. “Chels would have killed this category.”
Chelsea—our resident science teacher and animal lover—covers her eyes, unable to watch the massacre. Mara’s face pales when Stu reads the question. I rub my arm anxiously, uncomfortable watching Mara lose at something. It’s like seeing a costumed grizzly performing in a circus act, heartbreaking and unnatural.
Mara’s guess is completely off, and we end the tournament in third place behind Night Cheese and Risky Quizness.
“Third’s good, right?” Adam asks.
Mara pats his cheek. “Oh, Adam, you sweet, gorgeous dummy. There’s only winning and losing.” She drains her pint from our free round of loser beers. “Next year, we’re taking this seriously.”
Chelsea whines, “This year wasn’t taking it seriously?”
Adam brings my hand to his lips, and we can’t get out of there fast enough. The cool air whooshes in my ears as we spin out of the revolving door into the bitter January air.
Immediately, he pushes me up against a column and captures my mouth in a wild, starving kiss. This kiss isn’t sweet. It’s heavy and hot. He pushes his hand into my hair and grabs hold, grasping at more of me, anchoring himself.
“God, I love you so much,” he says when he breaks the kiss to search my eyes. “Please tell me if this is too much, too soon.”
“This is the exact right amount of ‘much.’?” I punctuate each word with a kiss on his nose, cheek, chin, and wherever else I can get a bit of him.
“Oh, wait.” He stops short. Worry flashes across his face, and my mind rushes to fill in the gaps. “I forgot your shelving in my workshop.”
“You built the shelf? I just gave away my camping stuff.”
“Not the one you asked for. I built you a display case for your trains.”
“I love you so much it hurts,” I blurt before I can overthink it. Even when I wanted to be someone else, he only ever saw me. And he loved me for it. “It’s the most thoughtful, incredible gift I’ve ever received. I can’t wait to see it.”
“Should I drive back and get it?”
I lean my head on his arm. “Let’s just go home, Adam.”
He rewraps my scarf around my neck to block out the chill with the same precision as before. Then he takes my hand and leads me down the stone steps in the direction of the river.
“I’m dying to know what other Billy Crystal movies you watched while preparing to sweep me off my feet.”
“I started with The Princess Bride. ”
I nod. “Wise choice.”
“Veered off course with City Slickers —but that was mostly for me.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “Then I found my way to the right one.”
“So if I’d said no after all that, were you still going to move into a house fifteen minutes from me?”
We break apart on the sidewalk so Adam can hold open an apartment-building door for a mom juggling a grocery bag and an infant car seat. “I was going to very respectfully woo you. Slowly. Over time,” he tells me, letting the door swing shut behind them.
I hold back my snort. “Now I’m sorry I didn’t go that route.”
He sighs like I’m the most infuriating woman he can’t live without—it’s the loveliest sound. “I’m not.”
He pulls me into him again as we walk past the store owners packing away their twinkle lights and presses a kiss into my hair.
We walk hand in hand like that all the way home, and I can’t imagine anyone else I’d rather be.