Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
I don’t see Adam much on Sunday, leaving bright and early to set up the classroom for Monday’s half-day Polar Express party. I came home late, spending the night with Hallie and Nat, having a mini girls’ night, gabbing and filling them in on everything new in my life.
We texted a few times throughout the day, but I was crazy busy, and he seemed to be the same.
On Monday morning, I feel a dash of disappointment when Adam doesn’t step out for his run when I leave, and when I get home just after one (thank you, half day!), I note that Adam’s lights are off, including the tree visible from the front window and the twinkling fairy lights I convinced him to wrap around the wreath on his front door.
I roll my eyes and snap a picture before sending it to him.
I leave you alone for one day, and you turn off your Christmas tree?
I wait for a few moments as I bring my bag into my house and unpack it.
It remains silent as I gather my dirty clothes and carry the hamper down to the laundry room, attending to my usual weekend chores that were pushed off.
When I throw everything in and start the load, I check my phone and notice that the text is marked as read but unanswered.
Of course, Adam would have his read receipts on—he wouldn’t care at all if someone knew he read a text and didn’t respond.
But I am surprised he didn’t reply. I let it be for another five minutes or so while I carry the clean clothes from my dryer back up to my room.
Then, I take a deep breath and decide to send another text, guilt and nerves eating at me.
I know that a big part of our story began when I started bugging him about decorations, but I don’t want him to think I actually care that much about it all.
I now understand why he doesn’t really like Christmas decorations, and even though I’m making it my mission to assign new memories to the holidays, that won’t change overnight.
I’m joking, by the way.
I hit send, then stare at it nervously before deciding to send another clarifying message.
I really don’t care about the tree, promise!
I add an exclamation point because everyone knows that an exclamation point means friendly excitement, and a period means I’m so mad at you, I might never talk to you again, before I set my phone down and try to distract myself by emptying the dishwasher.
But when I check my phone again in five minutes and see that the text is marked as read but unreplied to, my gut churns.
I pace, trying to think of a response that doesn’t come across as too clingy, while also wanting to check if everything is okay.
Are you leaving me on read because of Christmas lights? Be careful, I might think you’re flirting with me.
Yet again, he leaves me on read.
If it were any other man, I might think he was ignoring me, that he was over whatever glimmer of a relationship we had, and was trying to end it without actually doing so.
But I’m pretty sure Adam is the type who always tells it like it is and does it straight to your face if he were ending things.
Maybe this is his way of telling me, “Game on?” I had started to miss this aspect of our relationship.
As I glance over at my bin of decorations, I try to decide which to tackle first. I’d planned to go easy on him after our talk, but maybe that was the wrong move. Making a decision, I grab my options and then walk out my door toward his place.
I knock on his door, holding up two different blow-mold decorations in my hands and smiling wide. After a moment, the doorknob turns, and I start my spiel.
“Which do you think would look better for your front porch, angel or snowman? Personally, I think both, but—” My words trail off when I get a good look at Adam, whose face is pale with dark bags under them.
He’s in a sweatshirt and sweats, along with a pair of socks, but for once, it doesn’t look too hot.
He looks miserable.
“Tomorrow I’ll be ready to battle with you about lights, Wren, promise,” he murmurs, and even that sounds like it takes the small amount of energy he has out of him.
“Oh my god, you look terrible. Are you okay?” I set the decorations down and reach for the screen door, but Adam shakes his head.
“No, stay there. You don’t want what I have.” He holds onto the screen door handle when I try to open it, and I glare at him.
“Adam, you look like death warmed over. Let me in.” I tug at the handle, and there’s a bit of resistance from where he’s holding it, but he’s so sick, he can’t fight me.
When I open the door, he groans and then steps back in resignation.
I enter and look around his empty house.
Even just from this small glance, I can still tell he’s feeling like crap and has been for a bit.
There is a stack of essentials he must have had delivered still in bags on the floor and an empty box of tissues on the kitchen table, like he couldn’t find it in him to bring it to the actual trash.
Empty bottles of sports drink and water are tossed in the sink, and a few of the cabinet doors are open.
“What do you have?” I ask, turning back to him, though I can make my own assumptions, considering it looks like the crud that’s been going around. He shrugs.
“Some kind of bug. Killer headache, snot, sore throat, but I think that’s just from the cough.”
I stare at him, then nod before moving to the bags and taking in the items there. None of them is going to help with what’s ailing him, but he’s a boy, so I can’t expect him to know that kind of thing.
He’s so lucky he has me.
I stand and turn to him with a stern look on my face. “Okay. Can you make it upstairs?”
“What?”
I turn to him, stopping to look at my phone, where I’m about to text my mom, and his face is one of pure and utter confusion.
“Can you make it up the stairs to your bed? Or should I set you up on the couch?” He pauses, and I realize that maybe he also has a fever that’s clouding his mind, so I explain further.
“Wherever you’ll be most comfortable is probably best. I’m a sleep-it-off kind of girl, but maybe you’re a watch-TV kind of guy?
Wherever you set up, I’ll bring you meds and some food.
Are you hungry at all? Is your stomach bothering you? ”
A beat passes before he shakes his head and sighs. “I’ll be fine. You really should go, Wren. You don’t want to be sick before the holidays.”
I shake my head, ignoring him as I bend and start gathering up the things in his entryway to put them away. “That’s the least of our worries right now.”
“You’re not worried because you never worry about yourself, so I’m the only one who does worry about you. I can’t be the reason you’re sick on Christmas.”
I stop at the frustration in his words and turn to him, giving him a soft smile, understanding his hesitance.
“I’ll be fine, I promise.” He opens his mouth to argue further, but I shake my head and continue.
“I’m a second-grade teacher, Adam. I’m basically a petri dish, and I’m forced to have the most intense immune system.
I promise, this has gone through my classroom four times already.
I had it once at the beginning of the year, and I’ll be solid for the rest of the season.
You should see my immune-boosting supplement regimen.
” I look him over and cringe. “Maybe we should get you on something similar. But that’s tomorrow’s worry.
Right now, you need rest. So, bed or couch? ”
“Wren…”
I step closer, then put my hand on his head.
It’s warm, and he leans into my chilled hand, his eyes closing like it’s a comfort to him.
Something in my chest melts, and the urge to take care of him ratchets up.
It’s not the same need I always feel to help people out.
This one is more personal, more intimate.
“Go to bed, Adam. I’m going to clean up a bit and get you settled.
I might have to run out, but I’ll be back soon.
” He stares at me, so I add, “I’m not going anywhere, but you look as if you don’t sit down, you’ll collapse on the floor right here.
Chances are, I’ll end up hurting myself if I have to drag your big body to the couch from here, but if that’s a risk you’re willing to take—”
He groans in irritation, but my threat works. He turns around, and as I watch him lumber up the stairs, grumbling to himself, I can’t help but let out a silent laugh.
Then I text my mom.
Over the next hour or so, I send a handful of texts, check Adam’s cabinets, and tidy up while I await reinforcements.
Thankfully, my mom is free today and able to run to the drugstore and then the grocery store for me, which means she's at the door barely forty minutes after my call. She sends me a text to let me know she’s outside so she doesn’t wake Sleeping Beauty, who is out cold.
I tiptoe to the door, open it, and she hands me a bag with three more sitting at her feet.
“Hey, come in,” I say, reaching to take the first from her, then a second. She follows me inside, carrying the other two bags to the kitchen table as well.
“I threw everything in a pot before I ran out, so I’ll be back over in…” She turns her wrist toward her to check the time on her watch. “Four hours? Will that work?”
“Yeah, Mom, thanks. I appreciate it.”
Quiet fills the kitchen, but it’s the kind that sets me on guard, knowing my mom. If she had no other motive, she would have dumped the groceries and run. When she pulls out a chair at his breakfast bar, I know she’s settling in for a gab.
“Is the front yard your doing? It’s…cute,” she says, always diplomatic and kind in her choice of words. I scoff out a laugh.
“It’s an ugly hodgepodge, but I’m working on it. He doesn’t like Christmas or decorations, but you know me.”