17. Adam
Chapter seventeen
Adam
M y mother’s visits always set my world a little bit on fire. My routine is off-kilter, and my house has more activity, more noise, than normal. Joan loves the extra attention, and really, so do I, but it leaves me feeling drained.
And this visit, with Mom interacting with Nicole, has me particularly on edge. Clearly, based on the hints she dropped, my mom figured out that Nicole is the coworker I told her about at the beach back in December. At lunch, I asked her how she knew.
“I didn’t,” she said with a smile. “I simply saw a pretty young woman around your age and decided to investigate. When you came out and were so nervous, that confirmed it.”
I groaned. If I could just act normal around people, especially Nicole, my crush would be less of a problem .
“She’s delightful, though, Adam,” Mom continued. “Radiant. I can see why you’re drawn to her.”
“Mom, can we please not talk about this?” I begged. But she wasn’t wrong. Nicole is radiant.
And then at the graphic novel launch party, I never should have left them alone. Who knows what Mom said to Nicole. Afterward, I could tell Nicole felt overwhelmed. I don’t know if the event drained her energy, or if my mother had something to do with it, but Nicole stayed in her office, door closed, the rest of the day. I had to email her the news that, already, ten of the fifty graphic novels had been checked out. Just on the first day! She didn’t respond until the next morning, but when she did, she was excited. Well, as much as I could tell from the text of an email.
But ever since then, she’s acted a little differently toward me. Not anything as dramatic as after Soapbox—she’s still friendly—but her responses to my texts are slower, and I feel a distance forming, as if she’s holding me at arm’s length. It could be in my head. After all, we’re not working as closely together now that the graphic novel collection is launched and circulating, so maybe the distance I’m feeling is a natural one.
Then one day, she appears in the open doorway of my office with a wide grin across her face. She’s squealing and bouncing from foot to foot.
I regard her with raised eyebrows. “What’s going on?”
I stand, and before I know it, her arms are around my neck, her body pressing into mine. My pulse skyrockets to the point that I worry I may have a heart attack. It’s just a hug , I tell myself. Still, I slide my hands around to her back and pull her closer. I inhale the scent of roses and oranges in her hair. My eyes drop closed as every part of my body touching hers zings with pleasure. She pulls away slowly.
“Not that I mind,” I joke, “but what was that for?”
Her eyes are shining. “We did it, Adam! NLA accepted our presentation proposal! We’re going to present at NLA!”
“That’s so great.” I try to feign even an ounce of her excitement. “I’m happy for you.”
“For us,” she corrects.
Sure. I smile weakly. I’m buoyed by her excitement, but less than thrilled about the idea of presenting. Upside: more time with Nicole. Downside: speaking in front of people. But I can make that work for me, too.
“Don’t forget,” I remind her, “you promised to help me with public speaking. At least three sessions.”
She rolls her eyes. “I know. We’ll figure that out later. Let’s go tell Herb!”
She drags me down the hallway, but Herb’s door is closed, and Susan tells us he’s in meetings the rest of the day.
Nicole emails Herb instead, copying me. He replies later in the evening, expressing his congratulations and adding:
“One caveat. While the library does have the budget to fund the trip to New Orleans for you both, we do need to be conscientious about the costs. So, you’ll need to drive together instead of flying. Whoever owns the car you take will be reimbursed for mileage, but that will be far cheaper than two round-trip plane tickets. I’ll be available in my office tomorrow if you have questions.”
I immediately google the distance. It takes about nine hours to drive to New Orleans from St. Anastasia. We’ll obviously need to take my car since Nicole doesn’t have one, but I’m fine with driving. My heart thumps. A road trip with Nicole. And multiple opportunities over the next month to work with her as we prepare for the presentation. Sounds like the aloofness between us I was fearing won’t be an issue again for a while.
Nicole calls an impromptu meeting the next day. We start by discussing the driving plans, which she’s fine with. Then, we move on to planning the presentation itself. We decide to talk about the process of starting the graphic novel collection all the way through, from suggesting the idea to writing a formal proposal to ordering and cataloging, and finally launching. At the end, we’ll include the little data we have for circulation so far. We split the sections. It makes sense for Nicole to be the one to talk about the initial idea and writing the proposal, including background information about what graphic novels are and their known benefits for education. She’ll also talk about title selection, but I’ll chime in there, too, with information about looking up reviews and comparing the titles to other academic library collections. Of course, I’ll present on ordering and cataloging choices, while Nicole concludes with how we set up the launch party .
“It will be helpful for our public speaking lessons,” Nicole begins, raising her eyebrows, “if you draft a sort of script for your parts of the presentation. It can be as detailed as you need, anywhere from bullet points to full sentences.”
I laugh humorlessly. “Full sentences, and I’ll stare at the paper the whole time and read too fast.”
“O-kaay,” she says. “So how do you see this going?”
“Badly,” I answer.
She shakes her head and chuckles. “No, I mean logistically. Do we meet during work hours? Here in the library?”
I consider my list of demands, so to speak. “After work hours,” I say. “I still have other work I need to get done, so I want to focus on that during the day. And maybe with Joan and everything, we would be more comfortable working at my place?” Plus, then she would be at my house, in my space, again. I could cook for her. We could sit together on the couch with the lights low, and maybe —
“After work is fine.” Nicole’s voice breaks through my train of thought. “But how hard would it be for us to meet here? I mean, with Joan and everything? I’m just thinking that it’ll be best to practice in a more formal environment like the classroom upstairs.”
My heart sinks. “Fair enough,” I answer. “That makes sense.” Though I’ve been accused of being too sensible at times, right now, I want to throw sense out the window. Who needs it? “And as far as Joan,” I continue, “if I could go home and walk her, maybe eat some dinner in between, that could work.”
“Yeah,” she says with a nod. “That works. Maybe like seven o’clock? The library should be pretty quiet then, too. ”
I dip my head in agreement. “This Wednesday for our first session?”
She grins. “I’ll be here. And cheer up. It’ll be fun.”
Well, if anyone can make public speaking fun, it will be Nicole.
At the first session on Wednesday, I haven’t had time yet to draft my script, so we start with some basic techniques that are supposed to help me feel less nervous ahead of the presentation.
Nicole’s right that the library is very quiet. Midterms have just finished up, but it’s not time for finals just yet. Several students sit throughout the second floor in study carrels with laptops set up in front of them, but it’s not crowded by any means.
We’re meeting in the second-floor library classroom. It’s a small room, intended to host sessions of twenty-five or fewer, with a presentation screen in the front of the room and a projector mounted to the ceiling. A podium sits to the right of the screen, equipped with various connector cables.
I’m still dressed in my clothes from work. Nicole suggested that wearing them would help since they are the type of clothes I’ll wear during the presentation. So, when I went home to walk Joan and grab a quick dinner, I didn’t change. Nicole, however, is now in navy blue joggers and a fitted pullover hoodie that says “Antisocial Book Club” across the front .
“It will be good if you can get to the presentation room early at the conference,” Nicole is saying. “That way you can get a feel for the room and eliminate any nervousness from rushing around.”
“Okay,” I say, jotting down her words on a legal pad I brought with me for notes. “Get there early. Got it.”
“Having a specific breathing pattern helps to calm nerves, too. One example is box breathing. Have you heard of it?”
I shake my head, so she continues. “It’s where you breathe in for four counts, hold your breath for four counts, exhale for four counts, and then hold again for four more counts. Try it.”
We box breathe together for a few rounds, and I have to admit that I do feel looser when we finish.
“Another tactic to use ahead of the presentation, but which might feel a little silly, is to, like, shake out your jitters.”
I raise my eyebrows. “My jitters?”
“Yes. You know, like you could stretch your arms, roll your shoulders, even run in place. It helps loosen up the muscles that you’ve been holding your tension in.”
“Ah,” I say. “That actually makes sense.” Not sure how I’ll do that at the conference without looking ridiculous, but it does make sense.
“Of course it does,” she retorts, looking mildly offended. “One of the bigger pieces of advice I’ve seen is to be prepared. As you write your script, and we practice it—that will be our next two sessions—you’ll feel more confident. But,” she shrugs and her eyes twinkle, “that’s not necessary for everyone.”
I eye her skeptically. “You don’t need to prepare before a presentation? ”
“Before a presentation like this, I definitely will,” she says. “But I could also make a short speech about something I know a lot about without any preparation at all.”
I laugh wryly. “Uh huh.” I tilt my head at her. “I don’t think so.”
She gets up and walks around to stand at the podium. “Watch,” she says. “Give me a topic. It’s got to be something I know about.”
“Hmm,” I think. “How about which potato-based side is the best?”
She grins at me and then proceeds to talk for three minutes all about tater tots and how and why they’re superior to mashed potatoes, fries, and my personal favorite, baked potatoes.
“Wow.” I applaud when she’s done. “How do you do that?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “I’ve always been good at extemporaneous speeches. I don’t get nervous when I’m speaking in front of people.” Then she adds with a sardonic smile, almost under her breath, “It’s just everything else that bothers me.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, cocking my head at her.
She shakes her head. “I’m not so great with casual small talk.”
“Who is?”
We look at each other and at the same time, we say, “Extroverts.” We both chuckle softly.
“But yeah, that’s me,” she says dryly. “Nicole Delaney: good at presentations, bad at small talk.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m a mess, Adam.”
I catch her eye and hold it. “I don’t think so,” I say softly.
Her cheeks turn pink, but she doesn’t respond .
The air turns heavy around us, the energy shifting. I take one step closer, and then another. She watches me, staring at my mouth. Electricity crackles between us, and Nicole shivers.
But then, as if coming out of a trance, Nicole tosses her hair and steps back. “That’s probably enough for tonight, right?” she asks.
“Uh, sure,” I agree hollowly, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Okay, great. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then she gathers her things and she steps toward the door.
“Wait,” I say. She tenses and turns back toward me. I can’t read the expression on her face. Annoyance? Hope? Desire? Okay, that last one is probably wishful thinking. “It’s dark,” I finally say. “Let me give you a ride home.”
She takes a breath. “Yeah, that should be fine. Thanks.”