Chapter Ten
W hen I made the decision to confront Adam, I had no idea it would be so hard!
He was sleeping when I left for work on Friday, watching Begin Again with Marcia on Prime that night, and basically impossible to catch out of earshot from Marcia at all times in between.
I work a ten-to-five shift on Saturday, but when I get home, he’s alone in the living room, quietly reading on the couch with the television off. Finally.
I say a quick hello and drop my purse in my room before joining him again. “Hey, Adam?” I peer closer to see what he’s reading but he blocks it with his large hands, almost like he knows how curious I am and is mocking me. “Is Marcia home?” I don’t want to risk her walking in on our conversation.
He raises his head. “She’s in her room.” A shadow crosses his face.
I immediately panic. “What happened?”
He grimaces. “I came home as she was wrestling with folding the couch. I took over, but it was too late. She pulled her back.”
My stomach lurches. “Oh no.”
“It’s my fault. I didn’t make the bed before I left for the Y. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He looks pained.
Fuck. Though I could pile on the guilt, I’m not that cruel. “How bad is it? Does she need a doctor?”
Adam places his book on the coffee table. The Ferryman . “I don’t think so. I set her up in bed with some painkillers and a heating pad. She’s resting.”
“I’m going to check on her.” I turn my back on him and knock gently on her door.
“Come in.”
My stomach drops at the sight of Marcia lying in bed in a two-piece pajama set at six on a Saturday evening.
The cord from the heating pad stretches from the bed and disappears behind her nightstand.
She looks twice her age. I gulp. No. She looks precisely her age, which sometimes I forget is almost fifty years older than me.
“I’m so sorry about your back.”
“Why are you sorry?” Marcia props herself up against the pillow. Rocket, who is sprawled across her legs and docile, like he knows she needs tender loving care and is in no condition to deal with his usual shenanigans, looks up at her before resting his head again.
I curve my body inward to make myself smaller. “I’m supposed to do the heavy lifting around here so you don’t have to.”
Marcia sucks her teeth. “You were at work. Last time I checked, it wasn’t possible to be in two different places at the same time. Adam should have done it, and I should have left it for him.”
“You should have.” I twirl a hair around my finger. “Why didn’t you?”
She averts her gaze. “Because he left the living room a mess, and I didn’t want to wait until he got home.”
I playfully slap a hand on the bed and giggle-yell, “Marcia!”
Rocket growls; whether it’s because I raised my voice or slapped the bed, I’m not sure.
A part of me—an evil part I’m not proud of—gets a small thrill that Adam didn’t take care of her the way he should have, because maybe it means she still needs me in that role.
I just wish this validation didn’t come at the expense of her comfort.
“While we’re on the subject… sort of… am I doing everything I should to deliver on my end of our arrangement?
Do you have any concerns about my um… performance?
” Why is this so hard? My fingernails dig into my palms. Even though I heard her defend me to Adam, I crave direct reassurance that she trusts me.
The wrinkles in Marcia’s forehead deepen. “No! You’re wonderful. Ten out of ten, no notes, as you kids say.” She frowns. “Maybe I should be asking you the same thing. My grandson moving in wasn’t part of the deal either. Are you adjusting okay?”
I wave her off. “Absolutely.” This was the truth until recently, and I definitely don’t want her to know that I overheard their conversation. “It’s great you two are becoming so close.”
Marcia smiles for the first time since I walked in. “I do love that boy.”
Something warm tugs in my belly. “It’s obvious he loves you too.”
“He promises he’ll never leave the apartment without folding the couch again, and I promised to leave it alone if he breaks his promise.”
“And I promise to subject you both to my cooking if either of you break your promises!”
She chuckles. “Rain check on the dueling pianos tonight?”
“Absolutely.” Marcia’s other friends refused to trek to a bar in Hell’s Kitchen, but I thought it would be fun.
I take a shower to scrub remnants of peanut butter and jelly from the half sandwich a junior patron left between the pages of Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs off my skin, then retire to my room, avoiding eye contact with Adam on my way to and from the bathroom.
Since my plans with Marcia have been postponed, I have nothing to do tonight.
Adam’s in the living room, which means if I stay home, I’ll be trapped in my bedroom all night.
I could use the opportunity to confront him as planned, but I’ve already talked myself out of it and don’t have the energy to talk myself back in.
My eyes dart to my laptop and folder of printed reading assignments, but I don’t want to study on a night I reserved to have fun.
I could text some friends or even tap into my apps to find a last-minute date and redirect my misguided sexual attraction to Adam toward a stranger.
It’s been months since I’ve put effort into my love life.
But I’m not convinced I want to be social.
I decide it’s still early enough to play it by ear but blow-dry my hair so it’s not stringy and flat, just in case I decide to go out later.
When I turn off the blow-dryer, the first thing I notice is how eerily silent the apartment is.
Even the near-constant din of the television seeping through my walls is absent.
I step into the hallway in shorts and a T-shirt just as the front door to the apartment closes.
The lights are all off. Adam’s gone out.
Marcia is resting in her room. This feels like a sign from the universe to stay in and take advantage of what’s supposed to be communal space while I can.
After heating a frozen pizza for dinner, I get comfy on the couch, which I try to forget is also Adam’s bed, and watch Kimberly, Leighton, Bela, and Whitney slam shots and dance at a Kappa party on The Sex Lives of College Girls .
I’m suddenly nostalgic for my own carefree days of college, when I wasn’t solely responsible for my finances, and everything didn’t…
I don’t know… matter so much. The answer to my earlier internal question hits me: I do want to be social.
In fact, I long to be with friends. I chew my lip, wondering what Adam’s up to.
While Bela makes an inappropriate but hilarious sexual comment on the TV, I text my own inappropriate friend.
Sabrina: Drinks later?
Even if Carley wants to hang out after the show she’s working tonight, it will be past ten by the time the performance is over and she’s finished assisting the cast with makeup removal.
I place the phone back on the coffee table assuming it will be a while before she responds, but within thirty seconds, my phone pings.
Carley: Keybar. 11:00