11
C’mon you chicken! You’re better than this!
I brace myself to talk to him, to try, yet again. Our last site visit was quick and close by. Thirty awkward classic-rock-filled-minutes one way, handle our business separately, thirty basically silent minutes back.
This trip has to be different!
He had been talking with Leeland outside when I pulled up today and he looked so bothered, I didn’t want to poke the bear. But this trip is a long one. And we’ve already endured fifteen thick, tense minutes.
Do it!
I turn and open my mouth “I—”
“Here.” He says at the same time. I look down at his bulky, tanned hand, holding an iPod.
“You have an iPod?”
He huffs, “Of course I have an iPod.”
“Okay,” I draw the word out a little, nervous to unplug my little music box and plug his in instead.
“I can’t listen to your same five classic rock songs one more time.” He says, glancing between the road and my hands, holding his device. “I made a play—”
“Did you make me a playlist?!” I squeak before he can finish his sentence, too shocked to hide my excitement.
He sighs, “It’s called Weird Songs.”
“Oh.” Serves me right for getting excited.
“Like your big hidden balls of string, but songs.”
“It was—” I stop myself from correcting him and defending my landmarks. Because he did make me a playlist. A thoughtful one, even if those thoughts are less than flattering. This has got to take our quasi-relationship at least one big step up from hatred. One giant leap closer to friendship.
I press play and a song called I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) starts playing.
“The Proclaimers?” I ask, unfamiliar with the band.
“Yeah, I found a lot of one hit wonder bands. Deep cuts.” He glances up from his iPod to my face and frowns at my excited expression. “Like I said. No more Billy Joel songs.”
“Uh huh,” I try to sound casual. “Well, thanks. I was tired of them too.” I gather my courage and reach for my printed questions. “You know, we wouldn’t need the music at all if we—”
“Nope.” He grunts before I can finish. I start to object but he raises a hand from the wheel. “I’m not doing your questions. I don’t fit your little checklists, Suzie, you gotta accept that.”
“I do not like to be called Suzie.”
“Well, I don’t like being compared to an empty chair, but here we are.”
I exhale through my nostrils.
He exhales through his nostrils.
Come On, Eileen fills the strained air between us. Honestly the song is awesome, but I can’t jam out right now. I’m too angry and embarrassed and shocked, the three emotions that seem to follow after Adam whenever he enters my vicinity.
I stare at him as he stares at the road. A muscle in his jaw ticks. His hands tighten on the wheel yet again. The tension is visible in his hulking shoulders, so much so that I almost want to reach out and touch them, feel if they’re as tight and hot as they look and—
What?! Susan! You’re not touching him!
I quickly look away and hear him exhale again.
This is getting us nowhere.
Open communication. Compromise. Lead by example.
“I’m sorry I compared you to a chair.” I say plainly.
An olive branch.
Which I guess he’s going to ignore.
It Takes Two (to Make a Thing Go Right) hilariously starts to play, because the two of us can’t seem to make one single road trip go right. When it ends, though, he surprises me.
“I’m not talkative.”
“You don’t say?” I bat my lashes sarcastically.
He glares at me, but it’s his least angry glare yet.
“I’m just saying. You have your goals and your checklists and white picket whatever, and I’m not the guy who’s gonna check ‘em all.”
With that he turns the music up, ending our very short conversation.
Okay then.
But his gruff declaration leaves me wondering for the first time if his visceral objection to our arrangement is less about me and more about himself.
_____
“Why are you exiting here?” I say, trying to sound cool and calm and not at all like a person whose pulse races when there is a deviation from her well-laid plans.
But I fail.
Which is just great, because after a few hours of overthinking in what I’ve dubbed the ford extended cab of weird songs , I lost my cool when an entire order of point of sale display were the wrong size, and then installed. Why would someone install a botched order rather than return them for the correct size? Who decides to shove the too-big display onto the too-small end cap, bending up both the display and the end cap?
I may or may not have tried to uninstall the displays, which had melded to become one with the metal shelving somehow and after cutting a finger and breaking a shelf I—shocker to no one—started crying.
About shelves.
Which is precisely when Adam walked into the room to join our team for lunch and before he could mutter a word I said, okay, yelled, “Don’t you dare ask me are you crying, Adam Bell or so help me God above I’ll…I’ll…”
And that’s all she wrote. Couldn’t come up with a threat.
Idiot!
I start to blush again, remembering. And I’m pretty sure he was holding in a chuckle but I didn’t look. I did hear that, in a burst of wisdom unusual to him, he chose to simply walk away rather than comment on my leaky eyes.
“I saw the sign,” he says simply as we pull off the highway.
“What sign?” I ask, willing my voice to stay as chill and fine as possible.
His voice is low and gritty when he replies, “Don’t play dumb.”
Um, what the heck was that voice and why do I need to squeeze my thighs together at the sound of it? Self-control, Susan. I look out the window. Oh so casual. Totally chill.
Until I see the aforementioned sign.
He really is pulling off for me.
So I squeak. Adam covers his right ear and I don’t even blame him. I sounded like a startled mouse who’d been sucking helium all day.
“Really?” I ask.
He huffs at me but I’m pretty sure the edge of his mouth is hitched up the slightest bit. It goes back down into its default near-frown position a half a second later as he shakes his head, but I saw it.
Sure, I skipped putting the World’s Largest Rocking Chair on our official itinerary.
But this is one time I’m okay with deviating from my schedule.
He keeps glancing my way as we pull into the parking area and the giant chair comes into view. Thank the Lord, it’s actually huge. Much taller and wider than the truck we’re sitting in. The truck he’s just put into park.
I know I look like a giddy kid and he probably thinks I’m insane. But it’s not about the stupid chair. It’s that he pulled off the road for said stupid chair. For me, or for us, for our friendship?
“Well?” He says.
I laugh and get out to take a closer look at the thing. It’s massive and made of steel, not wood, which I guess makes sense.
“Do you think it rocks?” I turn and ask Adam who’s leaning against his truck…looking like a million freaking bucks. Same white polo that’s barely containing his bulk underneath. Same beat up work boots and faded jeans.
Jeans that got a new rip today as he was moving a massive cart filled with building materials all by himself. I had to look away because I caught myself staring and biting my lip.
He’s also got a short beard filling in along his firm jaw, making him look older than he is. His dark eyes are trained on me, and, taking everything to another level entirely, the grump is smirking.
He doesn’t reply to my question, though. He simply points over my shoulder to the posted sign. Sign that adds some context to our little outing.
World’s Biggest Rocking Chair
…On Route 66
“Aw man!” I say, hearing a snort behind me. I ignore it, because it sounded like a happy snort instead of an annoyed snort. As long as my future husband’s snorts are trending in the right direction, I’m good, I guess. “It’s the second largest in the world though. And it is capable of rocking, had to be in order to get the record.” I smile back at Adam, who’s still smirking. “Should we take a picture?”
His smile evaporates and he looks around. “I’ll take one for you.”
Okay. No pictures together then. Or maybe no asking the one stranger across the parking lot to take our picture together.
“Nah, that’s okay.” I say but he rounds the front of his truck.
“Stand in front of your weird chair, Susan.”
I do, but I roll my eyes first. He takes a photo on his iPhone and shakes his head at me. I say nothing, but the apples of my cheeks hurt from how hard I’m smiling as I make my way back into the truck.
Once we start moving again, he sideeyes me. Enough times that I have to ask, “What?”
He chuckles a bit. “Who knew the prom queen was a secret dork?”
My mouth falls open. “How do you know I was prom queen?”
“Weren’t you?”
I snap my lips shut and look away. “Everyone is a secret dork,” is my brilliant reply.
“Uh huh,” he says quietly.
“You were the one who took us there! It was not on the itinerary!”
“But you wished it was.”
I want to say no just to wipe that smug look off his face but he’s absolutely right. I just give him a harsh glare before looking away. I can’t help but smile but I don’t mind. He offered me an olive branch.
Maybe I should extend another one.
“You’re wrong about my checklist,” I start.
His entire countenance changes from fun and smug to angry and dubious. He peers at me from under a disturbingly deep frown and cocks one eyebrow slightly.
“Okay, you were kind of right. But there’s one box you definitely check.” The arched brow smashes back down and he starts to say something but I don’t let him. “Just hear me out! One of the things I was looking for was a leader. And while your communication skills could use some work, it’s amazing how every single Bell employee listens to you.” I make my voice low and growly. “The stones are wrong. Look at the blueprints! Move that pile of metal!”
“I’ve never said that one.”
“Close enough,” I chuckle, “And they all just scurry like little worker mice to do whatever you say. Josh said all the workers only respected your dad and didn’t listen to anyone. Clearly, he was wrong.” A weird expression passes over Adam’s face that I can’t read. I press on. “So, sure, we’re off to a rough start but I think we could make a good team together, two natural leaders—which is totally what you are.”
He inhales and seems to think about it.
“That’s my one box, huh?”
“So far, I mean I can get out my—”
“Nope. Still not doing that.”
I throw my hands up. “Sorry! Got excited.”
He must see me deflate because he sighs and then softly says, “My favorite movies are all the sports movies. Football, hockey.”
“Hockey, huh? Ducks fly together!” I quote Mighty Ducks and then realize he probably meant, like, Rocky. Not a kids movie.
He almost laughs and then asks, “What’s the deal with that?”
I ignore how pink my cheeks are turning. “Deal with what?”
“The movie quotes.”
I shrug, “My mom.” He keeps looking at me, which makes the skin on the left side of my face get all fizzy. “She is a genius with science, facts. Data. Not the best with people and emotions, though. When I was born she had a little PPD and thought she wouldn’t be able to bond with me. She started obsessively watching well-known movies, classics, a lot of eighties and nineties hits. It turned into something we did together.” I turn my body in my seat, “Have you seen Cool Runnings?”
His eyes go back to the road, but his expression, one that looks like he’s about to tease me, remains.
“Yeah, I’ve seen it, why?”
“No reason.” I say, quietly changing my mind about sharing more. He already called me a dork. With that look on his face, I’m not about to tell him my family’s weird Cool Runnings tradition.
Apparently out of words, or at least done sharing any with me, Adam turns the music up. Tubthumping rings out. I find myself suppressing a smile again.
Because he can deny it all he wants but my future fiancé is actually making an effort.
Soon, we’ll grow to be friends.
Today it was his favorite movies, but our next trip is a long one. Maybe I’ll get him to fork over a childhood memory. And maybe I’ll finally get the nerve to ask him the question I haven’t been able to stop wondering about since that gas station in Kansas…
Is my future husband in love with someone else?