Chapter 25
When he pulls back, I can tell that he is definitely satisfied with his work. He goes to the bathroom and comes back. “Clean washcloths?”
“Mirror,” I say, and even though it comes out more like “Moo,” as in cow, he understands.
I roll up all my clean washcloths and stack them behind the mirror, because I like any prescriptions and skincare items to be where I can see them and remember that they exist—so those remain on my sink, lined up in a neat row.
He returns and the washcloth is steaming and feels so good on my inner thighs and between them.
He lifts my hips to get to all the places where the, ah, moisture had gotten, and I want to blush when I remember what he said he wanted to do next.
Put his tongue—his very, very talented tongue—back there.
As intrigued as I am at the prospect of experiencing that particular sexual act, I’m relieved when he says, “Let me get us some water,” and disappears down the stairs.
I’m a little too…exhausted? Overstimulated?
One of those descriptions, or maybe some combination of the two, to rush right into the second act of… sex.
It hits me at once. I just had sex with Adam! Adam and I totally just gave each other orgasms.
Okay, so it wasn’t intercourse—yet—but I’ve been researching, and everything we did could totally be considered sex. Defining intercourse as the only way to have sex is completely heteronormative and even ableist.
I run to the bathroom to pee as quick as possible, and after washing my hands, I grab my phone and text my sisters in the group chat:
Adam and I totally just did stuff!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I look over my message and realize that could literally mean anything.
Before I can add any clarification, I hear his footfalls make it up the stairs, and I quickly put my phone back on my nightstand, grab a sap green knitted throw blanket from where I’d draped it on the headboard, and cover myself just as he walks inside.
He does a double take when he sees me clutching the blanket to myself and says, “Is everything okay?”
“I—yes? I just realized how completely naked I am. And you—you’re completely dressed! That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?”
He smiles warmly and shuts the door with his foot behind him.
“Considering what we just did to each other…plus the fact that I’m not comfortable wandering your aunt’s house in the nude…
not that odd, I’d say.” In his arms are the carafe of cold water I always keep in the fridge—hydration is important—and two tall pink plastic cups with built-in curly straws.
“Where did you find those cups?” I jump up to help him get everything on the nightstand that doesn’t have my phone charging on it. “I’m pretty sure the last time I saw those, Sage was trying to convince me and Teal to drink green smoothies when we were tweens.”
“They were just in the cupboard,” he says. “You want something else instead?”
“No, this is fine.” I pour water for us and sit back on the bed, the blanket still wrapped around me the whole while.
He joins me, and after a few sips, he takes my feet in his hands and begins to rub them, digging his thumbs into all the sore bits I never knew were so tense. “Wow. That feels so good. Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
I lean back against the mountain of pillows I always stack at the headboard and close my eyes. “Adam?”
“Yeah?”
“Are we…I mean.” My face begins to heat.
God. The last thing I want to do is sound like a little kid in front of Adam, but I feel like that’s exactly what I want to ask resembles.
And yet. I need to know. “In the spirit of direct communication. We’re together now, right? This isn’t temporary for you, is it?”
He runs a hand through the scruff on his face. “Like I said. I’m not doing this right if you can ask me things like that.” He lets go of my foot with his other hand and sits beside me on the bed. “I want you to be my girlfriend. But if you want this to be a temporary fling—”
“I don’t,” I cut in quickly. “I want you to be mine, too.”
He grins in such an open, joyful way that I can’t help smiling in return. He kisses me gently and leans back against the pillows again, placing an arm around my shoulders, nudging me to lie against his warm chest.
It’s now well into the evening. The light coming in through the windows is so long and deep ocher, making the shadows look all the darker and all the bluer. The sky through the balcony French doors is pale baby blue with the slightest hint of honey, foreshadowing the oncoming sunset.
“Why did you stop dating women?” I ask him.
“What do you mean?” His mouth is kissing my shoulder in an almost lazy manner. His words come out garbled, and I laugh.
“That tickles.” He pulls back and I say, “You said you hadn’t been with someone in two years…? Right?”
“Right. I did say that.”
I wait for more of an answer, but it doesn’t come. “It’s okay if you don’t want to say.” I turn toward him. “I’m just always curious about everything all the time. But you can tell me if you’re not comfortable with a question anytime.”
“It’s not that. It’s just a lot to put into words, I guess.” He meets my gaze. “My mother died two years ago.”
I inhale sharply. “Adam. I’m so sorry. I know that William had mentioned it—”
Adam laughs. “Yeah, William has always been a big blabbermouth. I mean, you should know by now.”
I nod. That man is not interested in polite society or propriety or anything like that. Sometimes I wonder how he found a wife to put up with him for so long. My conclusion was he must’ve been a lot sweeter to her than he was to anyone else.
“She had a heart attack. She actually survived the initial cardiac arrest, but didn’t make it when they did emergency surgery.” Adam sighs. “She kept begging me to come down and visit her and my siblings in the whole year leading up to her death. I didn’t come. Not once.”
“You couldn’t have known,” I say gently.
“I could have been better regardless. A better son. A better sibling.” He sighs. “My sisters really let me have it during the funeral.”
I furrow my brow. “Why? That’s the worst place to blame someone for anything, whether it’s true or not. You were grieving your mother.”
We’ve both slid down the bed so we’re lying back, heads on the pillows, facing one another. Adam sighs. “Yeah, I guess there could’ve been a better time. But I was always running away from my problems, you know? I never forgave my mother for staying with my dad.”
“William’s son, right?”
“Yeah. You ever heard Gramps talk about my dad?”
I nod, widening my eyes a little bit as I remember. “Yup. He isn’t…well. He’s not impressed with him, I can say that.”
“My dad is an alcoholic.” Adam winces. “Like me. But unlike me, he gets mean and violent when he drinks. He started when his own mom died, when we were little. And honestly. That’s when I started getting carried away with my cups. When my mom died. Apple doesn’t fall far, I guess.”
“Is your dad still drinking?” I ask.
Adam lets out a sad sigh. “Every damn day, far as I know.”
“See,” I say. “The apple isn’t as close as you fear.”
“Maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “Anyway. Yeah. My sisters really got on my case, and I can’t say that I didn’t deserve it.
I should have visited more. Answered the phone more.
But like I said, my MO is to run away. I ran away from my family because I was so angry at my parents.
I stayed away from my siblings because I wanted what they had—spouses and kids—but I didn’t think I was good enough to have it.
Seeing them was painful, so I just stopped.
Got busy with work. Traveled as much as I could.
Took on as many assignments as I could, and then some.
” He clears his throat and I’m under the impression that he wants to cry but will not.
“And yeah, when my mom died, that whole game plan just crumbled to dust. I sometimes drank a little too much in college, but that was it beforehand. After the funeral, it started as a drink after work, every day. Then two. Then the whole six-pack. Then one day, I looked at the empty bottles in the recycling and had a flashback to my childhood. My dad’s weekly pile of bottles.
That’s when I stopped completely. Six months ago. ”
“Six months sober?” I ask.
“Six months sober.”
“You should tell your siblings about it,” I say to him. “Your anger. The pain. Your journey in sobriety.”
“I should, but I don’t know what to say. I’m in the family group chat and I never participate. They probably have a separate group chat just to talk shit about me.” He chuckles, but it’s such a sad laugh that I wrap my arms around him and squeeze him tight.
“They don’t text you at all? Not even a Hey, how have you been?”
Adam shrugs. “I mean, yeah. But I don’t really know what to say back. I can feel the weight of their accusations every time they get in touch. Gramps says that’s just my guilt talking, but…” He sighs.
I decide to try to the steer the topic into what are hopefully happier memories. “I’m so sorry your mom died, Adam,” I say as softly as I can. “Can I ask, what was she like?”
Adam leans back and closes his eyes, and I can almost see the memories gliding through his brain.
A half smile appears on his face, and his shoulders relax, and I instantly know that she was good.
A good person and a good mother, even with her faults that caused so much anger in him.
She had to have been, for his nervous system to completely relax at the thought of her.
“She liked baking and cooking for people. Like you, actually.” Adam opens his eyes, staring at me and blinking a few times. “But she focused more on the baking.”
“What was her specialty dish?” I ask.