22. Adaline
It’s the sunlight that wakes me up, pouring through the window and decorating the roomwith the prettiest yellow hew.
I shuffle underneath my sheets, a thread of thankfulness that I”d remembered to wash them the night beforewrapping around me. The faint notes of fresh linen and coconut engulfed me and whisked me away back into the sleepiness I’d floated out of. I could happily stay like this all day, falling deeper into my fluffy pillows that cradle my head, watching the day fade across the room, charting its course until the moon eventually takes over.
I’d nurse the hangover that feels like a second skin, while drowning myself in PeptoBismol so I was as bright eyed and bushy-tailed as I could be for the half day of shooting today.
But as I stretch my legs and wiggle my toes, my achy eyes break open, the unfamiliardecor becomes less blurry. And then it hits me; I’ve never seen this room in my life.
I bolt upward, my head throbbing from the speed, reminding me of just how deep mylove for Zinfandel truly went. My hands cradle my head, the pounding easing up slightly, before I creak my neck upwards, scanning the room for clues on what exactly happened for me to end up here.
Nothing about the room was familiar. Nothing. The sage green feature wall was new tome, although I did make a mental note to ask whoever owned this room where they’d gotten that paint colour from. I eyed myself in the mirror that sat in the corner by the window, noting the lies I’d been sold about this mascara being smudge-proof, and the eighteen-hour wear on the foundation was a load of crap, apparently.
But still, as I picked apart how I’d woken up, the mirror in which I was doing so was newto me.
A honk from outside shifted my gaze out of the window, the pale blue morning skytaking my attention. Wherever I was, I was high up. I felt like, if I wanted to, I could steal one of the clouds and swap it for one of the pillows that had the rest of my foundation on. The buildings that made up the skyline only became familiar when I realised I wasn’t far from home, seeing as though the view from here was nearly identical to the one out of my office.
Even so, that didn’t make my heartbeat slow down. I still had no idea where I was, whathad happened when Asher left, or who I’d—
A piece of paper on the bedside table calls to me. So does my phone. And the water. Andthe makeup wipes.
I lean over, the pull of silk underneath me making me remember that I was still in my gown, but I’d deal with that later. My hands fall onto the note first, before risking the water, and weirdly, the more I read, the more my heartbeat slowed down.
Morning,
I left you some clothes on the dresser, but if you want to wear something else, then there are more clothes in the closet by the door.
If I’m not awake, make yourself at home, I’ll tell you all about how you ended up here as soon as I do.
This is Nate, by the way, so if you don’t feel like sticking around there’s cash on the coffee table in the living room for a cab.
I dropped the note.
How the hell did I end up in Nate’s apartment? Like… how?
Before I do any thinking, I take the water from the table and gulp it down, savouring howsweet it tastes, how utterly soothing it felt. I return the empty glass to where it had been, reaching for my phone and settling back into the sheets.
My heart did a quick one-eighty when I saw the missed calls from Goldie. Three of them,to be exact. She wasn’t the type of person to spam call me. If I didn’t answer, which was rare, she’d know I was busy…
My eyes glaze over the notifications.
Something must have been wrong. I could feel it. So I dragged my thumb across thescreen as quickly as I could to call her back—
The screen went black.
I traced the lines of my reflection on the screen before I could register what had happened.
My eyes sprung to the bedside cabinet again, in search of wire that could work as acharger. But then I remembered that this was Nate’s place and that if he’d keep his charger anywhere, it wouldn’t be the floor. A part of me hated the clean-freak side of him for a moment before I pulled open one of the draws and saw a white wire neatly tucked away in the corner.
I plugged the damned thing in and let it rest back where it had been all night, beforestanding up, my icy feet sinking into the thick carpet and shimmying my way to the dresser. I quickly slip off the gown, peeling off the strapless bra that I’m sure could pass as a mediaeval torture device from how it impaled me all night, before easing into the grey sweatpants that had been left.
I was about to throw on the t-shirt he’d given me, but with how cold the room was andthe no-bra situation, I thought it best to raid the wardrobe for a sweatshirt.
Slowly, I padded my way over to the walk-in closet. I bypass the rows of woollysweaters, my skin itching just looking at them, and instead eye the folded pile of sweatshirts on the side. I grabbed the first one my eyes locked on to and threw it on without a second thought… that was until I saw myself in the mirror I’d seen as I woke up.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”I sigh to myself.
Of course, the one I’d grab would be his college sweatshirt, the name of the school he’ddecided to stay at instead of meeting me written in faded green letters. I didn’t hang onto the letters for too long, as I checked myself over in the mirror. My hair still held some curls, my face now free and bare thanks to the wipes, giving me a slight glow that did my complexion the world of good.
Then I had to do what I was putting off: leaving the room.
I hoped he wasn’t awake, but at the same time, I’d love to know what exactly happenedto me for me to end up here. For me to go to Nate of all people.
After grabbing my phone I hastily made my way over to the door, turning the nob withouta sound and emerging into the hallway.
The sun wasn’t as bright out here, but still, the windows that made up the hallwayshowcased the day in a way that made me want to slide to the floor and watch over the city this way. But I carried on, down the hall and into the living room, creeping around the corner like an intruder.
I suppose I was, in a way.
A sigh of relief inflates my body. I couldn’t spot Nate. Not even as I explored deeper,making my way into the living room and planting my feet in the centre of the room.
I’d never truly toured this place, not on my own. The only time I’d been here was the wrap party last year.
The memory of that night transforms the space, with Flo dancing in the corner withJacob, him picking her up and twirling her, falling in love right before our eyes. Nate and I somehow found each other, the cocktails we’d downed ruling our senses and urging us to dance with one another.
It was the only time I’d considered that maybe I didn’t hate him, as he spun me, dippedme, and pulled me inches away from him. The only time that I’d wanted to forget what happened. The only time I’d been close to admitting that the hate I felt for him was just the love I kept hidden…
But what happened next changed everything.
Last Year
“What do you think they’re doing?” Nate asked as he fell back onto the couch, his hazyeyes glued to me. The way they have been all night, to be honest.
But thanks to Flo and her not knowing how to measure alcohol correctly, I didn’t mindthe staring, didn’t mind him being only inches away from me.
For once.
I sigh, letting the couch swallow me. “She’s probably telling him why she’s been avoidinghim, and then she’ll probably confess how she feels about him. She likes him, a lot. He’s been in love with her since he first saw her, apparently, so he’ll confess that. Then they’ll kiss, come back in here and not tell us anything so we don’t ask questions.”
I turn to Nate, a smile erupting on my face when I clock his gaped mouth and wide eyes.“And how exactly do you know all that?” He asks, his deep voice even deeper, if that was possible.
I shrug.“Lucky guess.”
He throws me a ‘fair enough’ look before his gaze bore straight ahead.
But my eyes were glued to him…
Normally, I wouldn’t voluntarily go within ten feet of him, but Aperol, it turns out, is atricky thing. It makes you find those you hate the most, the most desirable, adorable, and every other opposite adjective.
Something about his eyes, the green in them, it’s like a siren call only meant for me. Ittakes me back to when I last properly looked into them.
He only turns when he notices my stare, and like he’s been doing all night, he doesn’t stopstaring back.“How are you?”
I squinted my eyes, my head pulling back slightly. “I don’t think you’ve ever asked how Iam, not for years, anyway.” My hands run through my hair. “But I’m fine. And you?”
He shrugs.“Oddly, calm.”
The way his eyes slid over to me told me all I needed to hear.
I’m always calm around you, don’t you remember? He said with that crystal stare.
“That’s good to hear.”
The drum of his fingers on his lap is the only sound breaking through the pauses, Flo andJacob’s conversation on the balcony too quiet for me to eavesdrop like I’d planned to—
“How’s writing?”
I whip my head to him, my thoughts halting. How on earth did he… “You rememberthat?” I ask, almost breathlessly.
“Of course I do, you’re my favourite writer,” he said with a smirk, one that whisked meback to the sun-kissed evenings by Sunfall in a heartbeat.
“Still?”
The green in his eyes glistens.“Always.”
I rock my head to him, the distant thumping from the next song on the playlist breaking itsway through the space between us. The piano chords should have frightened me, warned me away from leaning so close to him.
It was like one of those moments when you were fourteen, at a school dance, and you spythe boy you like over in the corner. You want him to ask you to dance, but there’s so much pressure, too much riding on the moment. The nerves and anticipation scurry around you and make you all hopeless and wobbly.
I remember feeling that way with Nate when we were fourteen, at our first homecoming.
Although, he was standing right next to me, wouldn’t dare to be alone for a second too long. I didn’t blame him, there were some jerks in our grade, so I clung to him for dear life the second we walked into that tacky decorated, slightly sweaty, gym.
And he held my hand like a promise, to always keep me safe, like I kept him.
He didn’t ask me to dance that night, instead, he simply held out his hand and nodded hischin to the dance floor, a smirk meant only for my eyes curling up his face. Quite cocky, for him, but I liked it.
I don’t remember which song was playing as we swayed, and I’m glad I didn’t. Whatever song it was would have been on my iPod for years, and as an adult, it’d carousel its way around my daily mix and ultimately ruin my day the moment it played.
That moment when we danced was one I added to a long list of reasons why I knew myheart would forever belong to Nate Patricks, one I knew I couldn”t erase from my memory no matter how hard I tried to.
I don’t know how long we”ve been staring at each other, or how much time haspassed since Jacob and Florence escaped onto the balcony, but part of me was wishing they’d stay out there a minute or two longer. I wanted to soak up how easy it was to be around him right now.
We were both drunk, so I suppose none of the easiness was real. It was make-believe. Amoment we could blame on being inebriated, that we’d both forget in the morning.
Without warning, Nate sprung up from the couch, breaking our stare and standing beforeme. He said nothing, and instead let a smirk creep up his face as he held out his hand.
I expected the internal screams that told me to stay quiet, stay still, not to spook him byany sudden movements that might give away how much I wanted to hold his hand.
Unfortunately, they all shut up once I saw him nod his chin over to the centre of the room; my heart melting into what it was when I was fourteen.
I took his hand, and he pulled me up, what felt like warm nerves creeping up my spine. Istopped an inch or two away from him before his hands fell onto my waist, and he began to sway me. With so much ease, I had to wonder whether he’d planned this from the moment heknew I was coming tonight.
I found myself looking everywhere but his eyes when I asked, “This doesn’t count, doesit.”
“What doesn’t?”
I pinged my eyes between us. “This. The easiness. The nice silence. Dancing with you.”
His head shook.“What do you mean?”
I didn’t mean to, but I draped my hand further across his back as we shifted, the musclesthat lay beneath his shirt skimming my skin. “I mean, Nate, that we won’t remember this. Come tomorrow morning, we’ll go back to how we’ve existed around each other for the past seven years. Stony silence, odd looks, never talking about what happened.”
His head tilted, and his eyes drank me up in a way that made me feel dizzy.“Why won’t weremember it?”
“Because our new addition thinks a shot means half the bottle.” We both let a chuckle slipfrom our mouths, as I shrugged. “We’re drunk.”
“You might be,”
I tried to stop my feet, but Nate’s hold over me and what he’d just said were all I couldfocus on.“What?”
“I stopped drinking the second you two turned up.” I blinked at him. “I had a few drinksto stop my hands from shaking before you guys arrived, then I had that one cocktail Flo made, and that was it.”
I shook my head this time.“Why?”
His head fell forward, and I felt his chest rise and fall against mine. Three quick breathsthat told me everything. And then his eyes met mine—the green that I wanted to dive into somewhat warmer.
“I told myself if this moment happened like I’d wanted it to, I didn’t want it to become ahazy memory.” He led me into a spin, if only to give me time for what he”d said to settle in my mind. “I wanted to have you in my arms again and remember what it feels like in the morning. I wanted to dance with you and remember every time I caught you looking at me in a way you tell yourself you shouldn’t.”
My voice had disappeared. My legs didn’t feel like mine. The way I was losing myself inhis stare while his confession paraded around my head was too much, too intense for me to do anything.
A million and one questions hiked to the tip of my tongue, but in the end, only one slippedout.“Why can’t things always be this easy? Why can’t we…” I took a breath. “Why can’t things be okay with us?”
That green turned hard, rigid as he breathed, “You know why.”
“I don’t think I do, Nate. You never told me why you never came back.”
“I thought it was obvious,”
“If I’m asking you to tell me, clearly I have no idea about what was going through yourhead back then.” I let my hand slip from him as I covered my heart. “Did I do something? Say something to hurt you?”
“I can’t.” Tears bordered his eyes, but sympathy was the last thing that crowded mine.
I bolted from under his touch, my head growing heavy and years of unearthed angertaking over.“I don’t know why I fucking try, Nate.”
“Addy, I want to, it’s just—”
“What? What is it?” I backed away as he took a step closer. “Tell me. Please just fuckingtell me, Nate!”
He was silent. Shaking. Whatever I’d done must have hurt him so much that he couldn’ttalk about it. But I had no idea what that something was.
I try to flick through my memories of that time in my life like a photo album, scanning themoments of that summer with a magnifying glass, searching for whatever I did to make the man in front of me lose the ability to speak.
Then I said something I knew I shouldn’t have, but anger does that to you, possesses yourtongue with a fiery venom, destroying everyone in its path.
“You know, I’m glad you never showed up. I’m glad you saved me from a relationshipwhere you used silence as a weapon, because I don’t know if we would have ever lasted if that were the case, Nate. Maybe you were right to never come back.”
That gets a reaction out of him. Sure, it was anger, but at least it was something thatshowed he cared.
“Maybe you’re right, Addy. Maybe you’ve cracked it.”
I threw my arms up, a hopeless action.“Do you think we ever really loved each other? Orwas it just words that we didn’t know the full meaning of, only saying them because they sounded pretty.”
Stillness took over him as he narrowed his eyes at me. “Well, you’re the expert on prettywords, Addy, so maybe that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Why you could say them so casually and forget the impact they’d have on someone whoactually loved you.”
It was my turn to cry.“Is that what you want me to say? That I never loved you? Wouldthat help you move on from me if I did?”
I think I heard my heart shatter into a thousand pieces when I heard him whisper, “Yes.”
Was this it? Was this where our story ended? Was this all we were meant for?
“Maybe I never loved you, Nate.”
Lie. An earth-shattering, heartbreaking, soul-destroying lie.
“Happy now?” I didn’t give him the satisfaction of letting me hear his answer, stormingoff in the direction of the hallway, but as I did, Jacob and Florence walked back through the door, holding hands, matching smiles plastered on their faces.
So, very clearly, in love.
I’ve never smiled so quickly in my life.
Looking around now spurs on everything I felt that night, made worse by the lightpounding already in my head. I fanned my eyes, drying the bulge of tears that manifested from the memories and sucking in a precious breath.
Instead of wallowing on that night, I took advantage of the fact I wasn’t being watched byNate to see his apartment on my own, or just the living room, I suppose.
I hadn’t truly known him as an adult. I’d been around him, sure, but knowing what laybeneath those glares and lingering stares? I had no idea of the person he’d grown to be. What he watched on TV, his favourite movies other than Star Wars, his coffee order, his go-to meal when he has nothing in the refrigerator, what he reads…
I thought I could easily tackle the last one with a quick snoop through the bookshelvesthat adorned the walls. Several Star Wars collector copies lined the shelves, the gold trims and foiled letters shining in the sun as it peeked through the windows. The droopy sleeves of Nate’s sweatshirt, too big for me and my surprisingly short arms, dragged along the spines, my fingertips stretching to grace them too.
A collection of clothbound classics were dotted across the shelves too. I wondered if he’dever read them. I’m sure he would have, he wasn’t the type of person to buy something for its aesthetic, or just to say that he owned it. Plus, the tabs that were sporadically placed within the pages, all matching the colours of the cover, gave away that he’d spent some of the time we were apart delving into the books that shaped the world.
I drag my still sleepy eyes over the rest of the books, all different widths, differentheights, and different authors, when my eyes latch onto a collection of hardback books, each bound in a different shade of green. The gradient from forest green to pastel sage puts me in a trance, floating my body over to them. Gold foil outlines the titles stamped onto each of the eight spines, again, glistening from the sun.
I didn’t immediately recognise the titles, but still, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d seenthem somewhere before. Something about the subtle beauty and foreshadowing of the plot intrigued me, and when my eyes fell to notice my name also shining in that gold foil, I think my heart forgot how to beat.
These books… they’re… they were mine. The ones I wrote.
I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt tight, constricted by vines and flowers and questions.
I pulled one off the shelves, my hands tingling as they brushed the material covering thefive-hundred and eighty-two pages of the first, truly good book I’d ever written. It was the pastel sage one, somewhat fitting for this book, considering the main female character was called Sage.
I peeled open the book, my eyes falling onto the dedication I’d written, onlyseen by me, and the person this copy belonged to.
For me.
I wrote a book. A good one. Not like my first one, which is full of plot holes and spelling mistakes. This one has potential.
I wonder if a dedication is a bit pointless if no one else but me will read this.
But maybe someone else will, one day.
Hopefully.
I tear up at the sight of it, at the thought of a teenage Adaline, typing away on her laptop in the early hours of the morning after thousands of soul-sucking auditions, surviving on nothing but the hope that one day this would be her purpose. What the world would know her for.
My heart ached for her, for the lack of hope she had, for the sleep that sat in the cornersof her eyes at 5:00 AM as she entered another windowless audition room.
I wiped away the tear that had slipped down my cheek, dropping the book to thecouch, and then picking the next book off the shelf. And the next. And the next.
Until I had eight of my books in my hands.The eight I wrote before I left home. The good ones.
After I”d let the shock settle in my bones, I allowed myself to question what on earth Natewas doing with these. Better yet, how did he have these? These stories had only existed on torn paper and battered notepads. Some of them I typed up once I got a laptop, and printed them out in my high school’s library so my parents didn’t ask too many questions. Hovering around the family printer, waiting for a fantasy book to finish printing, would have caused more grief than my fourteen-year-old self had the patience for then.
Part of me wondered if, when I gave my books to Nate, he made copies of them. Isuppose he must have done, seeing as though eight beautifully bound copies of my books were currently in my hands.
But then, the eighth book catches my attention, the one covered in the darkest of thegreens. My heart skips a beat when I realise that it isn’t humanly possible for Nate to have this book. I finished this story when he left for college, and wrote the dedication on the day he left. It wasn’t possible for this to exist outside of the boxes that all my belongings were shoved into when I left home. And when I came back the day I was supposed to meet Nate, I couldn”t find it… as though it had vanished.
How the hell was this even—
It’s then I hear a door creak open, and I spin on my heels to find Nate, watching me,his mouth gaped.
I stare back for a second, before my eyes fall to my books, then lift them to meet his.
All he does is shrug, and whisper in his low morning voice, “I told you that you were myfavourite writer.”