Chapter 6
Chapter
“Are you sure it’s okay?” I ask.
“Oh my God, obviously,” Shivani says. “Take as long as you need!”
“I just feel bad with the short notice and all.” I switch the phone to my other ear. “But I wasn’t expecting this job to come up.”
“June, you do know Zach and I were living together for years before we asked you to move in, right? We are not dependent on your share of the rent.” She laughs. “We’ll be fine.”
“Okay, okay,” I sigh. “I’ll see you in a month.”
“All right, babe. And, June…” Shivani says. “Enjoy New York. You deserve to have fun.”
“Yeah,” I say with a nod. “I’ll try.”
When I arrive at Perry, it’s empty. While hauling my luggage up the stairs I notice Adam’s bedroom door is open, with two suitcases sitting by the dresser.
We haven’t spoken since yesterday. I don’t know what his schedule looks like, nor do I know much else about his personal life.
The less I know and the less we see each other, the better.
Out of habit, I make a right and head to my old bedroom, now decorated with olive green floral wallpaper, warm overhead lighting, and a flax linen duvet that I can’t wait to climb underneath.
Although it looks different, my hand gently grazes the wooden doorframe, allowing memories to flow through my mind like a river all over again.
“It’s only four weeks, June,” I say, falling onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. “It’s only four weeks.”
Bringing myself up to a seated position, I reach for my phone and start typing in my contact list.
DO NOT TEXT
A number appears, and I take a deep breath. My thumb hovers and I finally press Unblock Number. I click on the name DO NOT TEXT and change it back to its original name: Adam Harper.
I make my peace with the fact that this will be home again for the next month and start to hang my clothes in the closet. Being an over-packer has its perks, and I thankfully have enough clothing to last me at least a few more days.
About twenty minutes later, I hear the front door open and then close. My initial reaction is to call out Hey, but I don’t.
I throw a sweater onto the bed and walk to the hallway.
“I’m sure it’s a given, but I’m taking this roo— Jesus Christ !” Holding the back of my hand to my face, I look over my shoulder as if my vision’s been compromised.
“What?! What?” Adam puts his hands up and instinctively backs away.
“Why are you naked?!”
“I’m not naked. ”
Okay, fine, he’s not naked, but he may as well be.
A sheen of sweat shines on his bare chest, staring back at me like a billboard.
His hair is messy, and he’s wearing black joggers that reveal a V-line that goes down to where his pants hit.
When the hell did he get that? He looks more muscular than I remember.
Like he’s been training to be in a fucking fight or something.
“I don’t care, put some clothes on.” I manage to look at his face, but his abundance of torso is still in my peripheral view.
Adam walking around shirtless has never been an issue, but now I’m triggered.
Not because I have a problem with the view, but because I quite enjoy the view.
God, June, get it together! “I think we need some boundaries,” I huff.
“Like what?” he says, unimpressed, a pec muscle twitching as he wipes his forehead with his shirt in hand.
“Like what we wear and don’t wear,” I say, gesturing to him. “You won’t find me walking around half naked.”
“My loss,” he says sarcastically, and I feel my cheeks tinge pink.
“I’m serious, Adam. This is a business deal. This is not what it used to be.”
“June, I’m well aware things aren’t what they used to be,” he says, and we hold our gaze for several seconds.
“Good,” I barely get out.
“Great,” he says.
He inches toward me, but I jerk away. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to take a shower.” He nods behind me to the bathroom. “Is that within your boundaries?”
“Oh.” I move sideways to let him pass. He throws the shirt in his hand over his shoulder and continues past me. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but my eyes shut when I hear the impact of the door closing behindme.
Tying my hair, taking out my contacts, and throwing on my overworn Columbia sweatshirt makes it feel like the weight of today is off my shoulders…
for now. There’s a leather-bound copy of To Kill a Mockingbird that I pull off the shelf, and as I fall onto the couch I make a mental note to find out where it’s from.
This is truly the comfiest piece of furniture I’ve ever satin.
The urgency to return to Los Angeles has slightly dissipated. It feels oddly nice being here, and it’s not just the couch. I think of my call with Theo and allow myself to imagine what life could be like being back on Broadway.
The possibility of entering a new chapter of my career is the motivation I needed.
The past few years feel somewhat like a fever dream, jumping from job to job, from man to man, chasing something I couldn’t see.
Now there’s a painting of a future in front of me once the month is over.
I could return to the theater, have enough money for a place to call my own.
Maybe I’ll even consider going on a date now and then.
“Look at you.” The sound of Adam’s voice intrudes on my thoughts. He makes his way down the stairs, hair damp, now in gray sweatpants. He’s wearing a shirt that’s hugging him in a way that reminds me of exactly what’s underneath. “You look right at home.”
I try not to roll my eyes at the irony.
“And look at you,” I say without glancing up from my book. “You found clothes.”
He plops down on the opposite side from me, and I pull my feet in closer.
Sitting on the couch together feels almost too intimate.
I continue to remind myself that I have nothing in common with this new Adam.
That this is in fact very different from all the mundane nights we spent together.
But it’s hard to think that way when I remember vividly the last time we were on a couch together: his fingertips pressing into my hips, his breath on my neck, and the taste of his tongue inside my mouth.
“I was looking into it, and we can’t even start the process for listing the house until we sign the paperwork,” he says.
“Oh,” I say, feeling suddenly very warm at the thought of doing nothing for the next four weeks. “I guess that makes sense.”
“So, we’re kind of just in limbo this month until then.”
Limbo. That seems to be the theme of my life currently.
It’s not like I can afford a flight to LA and then come back here for the meeting with Mara.
Even if I could, I don’t have enough money to pay Shivani and Zach for rent.
The silver lining is the potential audition, and I will do whatever it takes to get that audition. Even if it means staying in this house.
“Do you think it’s going to be easy?” I ask. “The selling process.”
“I have no idea.” He shakes his head. “I still find it hard to believe this is even happening.”
“Tell me about it,” I say under my breath.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks.
“Do I have a choice?” I say, and he gives me a look that says you always have a choice.
Adam stands up and then looks down at me. “Are you hungry? I went grocery shopping.”
It’s not until he asks that I realize I ate hardly anything today. But that’s going to be a big no to Adam making me dinner.
“I’m fine.”
“So, if I go in there”—he looks at the kitchen—“and make shrimp scampi, you’re not going to have any.” He says it more like a statement than a question.
“Nope.” I keep my eyes on the book, reading the same line over and over again until he’s out of the room.
The sound of pots and pans and the smell of sizzling garlic and butter make my stomach grumble.
Adam is by far the best chef I’ve ever met; not that I’ve met a lot of chefs, but I’ve met a lot of people who know how to cook.
A chef is someone who makes a recipe, a cook is someone who follows it, I remember him telling me when I asked the difference.
When Adam reenters the living room, he’s holding two hearty bowls of pasta.
Thick linguine with shrimp and a dusting of seasoning taunts me.
He places one bowl on the coffee table in front of me and proceeds to eat his without saying a word.
I’m actually offended that he was able to pull this together in less than thirty minutes.
I close my book a little too hard. “Why are you doing this?”
“We have to eat” is all he says. “Or do they not do that in LA?”
I glare at him, but he’s not giving me the satisfaction of looking back. Instead, he takes the remote and turns on the television, not asking if I want to watch anything. He chooses the first movie queued on Netflix and hits play.
I’m aware I’m being difficult and yet I can’t stop.
Adam’s acting like we can pick up from where we left off, like everything is normal.
I can’t pretend it didn’t take me weeks to stop crying every night, months to try to move on, and years to forget about him.
I’d almost rather him yell, give me the cold shoulder, show some sign of emotion.
Him being okay is more hurtful than I could have imagined.
Abruptly, I get off the couch and head up the stairs. I don’t bother to look back. I slam the door shut and open a window to kill the smell of garlic.