4. Chapter 4
Caitlin
The box in my arms weighs a ton, and sweat trickles down my back as I climb the stairs to our new apartment.
Our apartment. The words still feel strange, exciting, and terrifying all at once.
Adam is three steps ahead of me, carrying two boxes stacked precariously, his t-shirt clinging to his back in dark patches.
The summer sun beats relentlessly down on it.
The air feels like I’m standing in an open oven.
“Just two more trips after this one,” Adam calls over his shoulder, not even sounding winded. Meanwhile, I’m questioning all my life choices, especially the ones that led me to pack so many books.
The door swings open to our new space. Adam holds the door as I shuffle past him, dropping the box onto the carpeted floor with a dramatic groan.
“Home sweet home,” I say, turning in a slow circle. Sunlight streams through the windows, casting long rectangles across the floor. Despite the heat, despite my aching arms, a bubble of happiness rises in my chest. This is ours. Mine and Adam’s.
“Two more trips,” Adam reminds me, already heading back toward the door.
“Can’t we take a break?” I wipe sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm.
“The sooner we get everything up here, the sooner we can relax,” he says, practical as always. “Come on, I’ll race you back down.”
I groan but follow him. We’ve been at this for hours, first loading and now unloading the Uhaul. My legs feel like jelly, but I know he’s right. Better to get it all done now.
The next two trips pass without us saying much, except for my muttered curse when I stub my toe or Adam’s when he banged his elbow against a doorframe. By the time the last box is in the apartment, I’m ready to collapse.
“Need water.” I announce, pulling a couple of bottles out of our cooler, and handing one to Adam. He drains it in one go, his throat working as he swallows. I try not to stare.
“We should start with the living room,” he says, setting his empty bottle down. “Get the big furniture placed before we unpack anything else.”
For the next hour we arrange furniture, bickering about the placement of the couch and TV.
“I still think it should go against this wall,” Adam says, pointing. “That gives us the best angle to watch TV.”
I tilt my head, trying to visualize it. “What about under the windows? Then we could look out at the mountains while we drink our morning coffee.”
Adam frowns slightly. “But then the TV would have to go on that short wall, and it wouldn’t work with the layout.”
“Who says we need the TV to be the focal point?” I ask, walking over to the windows. “Look at this view.”
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’ve learned means he’s trying not to get frustrated. “The morning light would create a glare on the TV screen if we put the couch there.”
“So we get curtains,” I counter. “Come on, lets just try it my way.”
“I’m trying to be practical,” he says. “The room works better with the couch against the wall.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “And I’m trying to make our home beautiful. Not everything has to be about practicality.”
We stand awkwardly in our half-unpacked living room, neither of us wanting to give in. My stomach chooses that moment to let out a loud growl, breaking the silence.
Adam’s lips twitch. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” I admit. “I’m also exhausted and we haven’t unpacked the kitchen.”
Adam reaches for his phone. “Chinese? There’s a place a few blocks away that delivers.”
“Perfect.”
As Adam calls in our order, I survey the chaos around us. Boxes everywhere, furniture haphazardly arranged, the beginnings of a home but not quite there yet.
“Food will be here in thirty minutes,” Adam says, putting his phone down. He looks at me. “You doing okay?”
I nod, not entirely truthfully. “Just tired. And maybe a little scared.”
“Scared?” He steps closer, concern replacing the frustration in his eyes. “Of what?”
“This.” I gesture around us. “Us. What if we drive each other crazy? What if I can’t stand the way you load the dishwasher, or you hate the way I leave half drunk cups of coffee everywhere?”
A smile tugs at his mouth. “I already hate how you leave half drunk cups of coffee everywhere.”
“See?” I throw up my hands. “It’s starting already.”
He laughs then, a deep, genuine laugh that breaks through the tension. “Caitlin, every couple argues about this stuff. It’s normal.”
“I know, but—” I hesitate, not sure how to explain the knot of anxiety in my chest. “What if normal isn’t enough? What if we’re not enough?”
Adam’s face softens. He closes the distance between us, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Hey. Look at me.”
I do, meeting his dark eyes.
“We’re going to argue about stupid stuff like where the couch should go.
We’re going to drive each other crazy sometimes.
That’s just how it works.” His thumbs rub gentle circles on my shoulders.
“But at the end of the day, I’d rather argue with you than get along with anyone else. That’s how I know this is right.”
The knot in my chest loosens a little. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely.” He presses a kiss to my forehead.
Neither of us have the energy to clear the boxes off the table so we end up sitting side by side on the kitchen floor, surrounded by boxes, passing cartons of lo mein and kung pao chicken back and forth.
We eat in comfortable silence for a moment, the distant sounds of the city filtering through the open windows along with a cooler evening breeze.
“You know what this kitchen needs?” I say suddenly, setting down my carton.
“What’s that?”
“Music.” I reach for my phone, scrolling through until I find the perfect song—something slow and sweet, with just enough rhythm to dance to. The first notes fill our empty apartment, bouncing off the bare walls.
I stand, holding out my hand to Adam. “Dance with me.”
He looks up at me, surprise in his eyes. “Here? Now?”
“Yes, here. Yes, now.” I wiggle my fingers at him. “Come on, Kelley. Show me what you’ve got.”
He sets his food aside and takes my hand, letting me pull him to his feet. “I should warn you, I’m not much of a dancer.”
“Neither am I,” I say, placing his hands on my waist and looping mine around his neck. “But that’s not the point.”
We sway together in the middle of our half-unpacked kitchen, surrounded by boxes and the remnants of our meal. Adam pulls me closer, and I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“So,” he murmurs into my hair, “couch under the windows, huh?”
I smile against his shirt. “We can try it against the wall tomorrow if you want.”
“Nah,” he says, his hands warm on my back. “I think you were right. The view is pretty great.”
I tilt my head back to look at him. “Are we still talking about the couch?”
His dimples appear as he grins down at me. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
He leans down to kiss me, soft and sweet, and I melt against him. The song changes to something more upbeat, but we keep swaying to our own rhythm, lost in each other.
Outside, the sun sets over the mountains, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. Inside, we dance in our new home, figuring out how to fit our lives together one step at a time.
“I love you,” Adam whispers against my temple. “Even when you drive me crazy.”
“I love you too,” I whisper back. “Especially when you drive me crazy.”
In this moment, with his arms around me and the future stretching out before us, I can’t imagine being anywhere else, with anyone else. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.
The music plays on, and we dance into the night, christening our new home with laughter and love and the promise of tomorrow.
* * *
Today I have good news, and not even having to endure the weekly dinner that Adam’s parents host is going to spoil my mood. No, not even the thought of spending my evening enduring Paula Kelley’s subtle barbs is going to bring me down. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
After months of searching, I’ve landed a job as a cook at a small cafe called Rosie’s Diner. It has a warm, home-style feeling, and the kitchen is clean and well-equipped. The owner, named Iris and not Rosie, needed a new cook immediately after her current one left town with her girlfriend.
Iris is a middle-aged woman who barely reaches 4’11 in heels. She has curly purple hair, fire engine red nails and lipstick, and a brisk, no-nonsense air. But she smiled when she tasted my sample dishes.
“You’ve got talent, girl,” she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Didn’t expect that from someone with no formal training.”
I told her about growing up working in my family’s restaurant, about how my grandmother started teaching me to cook before I could spell my name, about the way a kitchen feels like home no matter where I am. And when she offered me a job, I thanked her and accepted on the spot.
Now, as I park outside Paula and Gerald’s tidy ranch-style home, I rehearse how I’ll share my news.
Adam’s already here; his truck is parked next to Hailey’s sporty coupe.
I check my reflection in the rearview mirror, smooth my hair, and practice a smile that doesn’t betray how nervous I am.
These dinners always leave me feeling like I’m taking a test I didn’t study for and never quite pass.
Gerald answers the door with a warm smile. I like Gerald. He’s straightforward and kind, with none of Paula’s sharp edges.
“Come on in, Caitlin. We’re just getting started,” he says, leading me through the foyer with its gallery of family photos. I notice, not for the first time, how many include Millie, her face beaming next to Adam’s in graduation photos, on fishing trips, at birthday parties.
In the kitchen, Lauren and Paula are filling serving platters with roast beef, potatoes, and vegetables. Lauren gives me a friendly smile when I enter. Paula also smiles, but hers is tight at the corners.