Chapter 6 #2
Adrian's coffee cup paused halfway to his lips. "Engaged?"
"Well, not officially," Rebecca laughed, and I could see her cheeks pink slightly. "But everyone knows we will be. After convocation."
The silence that followed felt endless. Adrian set down his coffee cup very carefully, his expression unreadable.
"Congratulations," he said finally. "That's... wonderful."
"Thank you." Rebecca smiled warmly. "It'll be nice to build a life together. Shared values are so important in a marriage."
"I'm sure they are." Adrian's voice was perfectly polite, but something in his tone made my stomach clench.
He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a small wrapped box. Navy paper, silver ribbon. My heart stopped.
"Actually, Jesse, before I forget—" He set the box on the table between us. "Your notes. From last week's lecture. You left them at the library, I grabbed them before someone threw them out. Figured you'd need them for the midterm.”
I stared at the box. I hadn't left any notes anywhere. We both knew I hadn't left any notes anywhere.
"I... don't think those are mine," I said carefully.
"Pretty sure they are." Adrian's smile widened.
"Had your name right on the front. I also added some supplementary materials I thought might help after our conversation over coffee the other day. Resources. Support materials. I thought I’d practice my gift wrapping skills on them while I was at it, hence the bow.
" His pause was deliberate. “I also included foundation stuff, just the basics really.”
Foundation.
Like... foundational undergarments.
Oh my God.
"That's very kind of you," Rebecca said, her tone suggesting it was anything but kind. "Jesse's usually so careful with his things."
"Everyone slips up sometimes," Adrian replied, still looking at me. "Makes sense to have backup. Support systems are important, you know? Can't always rely on what you've always used. Sometimes you need an upgrade."
My face was on fire. Rebecca was frowning, clearly trying to parse the subtext she could sense but not quite grasp.
"Thank you," I managed, my hands trembling as I accepted the box. It was lighter than I expected. "I'll... review the materials."
"Take your time. See what fits." Adrian's grin was absolutely wicked.
"Though between you and me, I think you'll find the support much more comfortable than what you're used to.
Modern materials, better construction. I think the grey will work especially well for you.
They'll really make a difference in your daily. .. academic performance."
Rebecca's frown deepened. "What kind of supplementary materials?"
"Study frameworks, mostly," Adrian said smoothly. "Different approaches to constitutional interpretation. Sometimes the old foundations aren't as solid as we think. Good to explore alternatives." He looked directly at me. "You might be surprised what works better once you actually try it."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Could only sit there clutching this box while Adrian dismantled me with double entendres in front of my fiancée.
"Well," he said, standing abruptly. "I should let you get back to studying. Nice meeting you properly, Rebecca."
"You too."
Adrian's eyes met mine one last time. "See you in class, Jesse."
He walked away without looking back, and I watched him go despite myself. When I turned back to Rebecca, she was studying me with a thoughtful expression.
"He seems... intense," she said finally.
"I suppose."
"How long have you been debating with him?"
"Just the past week or so, he recognized me in one of our classes."
Rebecca nodded slowly. "Just be careful, okay? Sometimes people like that—people with very different worldviews—they can be... persuasive. In ways that aren't always healthy."
My throat felt dry. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know. Just... promise me you won't let him shake your faith? You've worked so hard to stay strong."
I nodded, not trusting my voice. But as I buried my face in my textbook, all I could think about was the look on Adrian's face when Rebecca mentioned our engagement, and the wrapped package now resting in my bag.
And the uncomfortable realization that I felt more guilt about that revelation than I did about any of Adrian's questions about my faith.
I took a sip of my coffee, trying to ground myself in something familiar and safe. The bitter, burnt taste hit my tongue, and I grimaced involuntarily. It was awful—harsh and metallic, like drinking liquid disappointment.
Radioactive, I thought, and immediately heard Adrian's voice in my head from that first morning: The coffee here is radioactive.
He'd been right. Of course he'd been right. About the coffee, anyway.
I stared down at the cup, wondering what else he might be right about that I'd been too stubborn—or too afraid—to see.
The box sat on my kitchen counter for two hours after I got home.
I circled it like a wild animal, making tea I didn't drink, organizing textbooks that didn't need organizing, checking my phone for messages that hadn't arrived.
It was just a box.
I should open it.
I absolutely should not open it.
I opened it.
The navy wrapping paper tore easily, revealing a plain white box beneath. No branding. No labels. Just a cream-coloured card on top with my name written in confident, slanting handwriting.
Life's too short for boring underwear. Consider this an educational expense. Constitutional law requires proper foundation garments. –A
My face went nuclear.
He didn't.
He wouldn't.
I lifted the card with shaking hands.
He absolutely did.
Four individual boxes, each one containing a pair of men's underwear that probably cost more than my monthly grocery budget.
I could tell they were expensive from the packaging alone—matte black boxes with silver lettering.
Claude & Stone. The kind of brand I'd seen in magazine advertisements and assumed only existed for people with personal shoppers.
Not white cotton briefs in plastic six-packs from Target.
Charcoal grey. Black. Navy. Burgundy.
I lifted the grey pair out of its box, the fabric sliding through my fingers like water. Modal blend, the label said. Machine wash cold. As if I'd ever actually wash them, as if I'd keep them long enough to wash them.
As if I wasn't already imagining what they'd feel like.
They were beautiful in a way underwear had no right to be. Sleek lines, modern cut, the kind of thing that would actually fit instead of hanging loose or riding up or doing any of the other things my current underwear did.
The kind of thing someone chose for themselves.
I set them down carefully and picked up the black pair. Then the navy. Then—my breath caught—the burgundy, richer and deeper than anything I'd ever owned.
My phone rang, Rebecca's name lighting up the screen, and I nearly launched all four boxes across the room in my panic.
"Hello?"
"Did you open your study materials?" she asked without preamble.
I looked at the underwear spread across my counter. "Yes."
"And?"
"And they're... helpful. Very thorough."
"That's good." A pause. "Jesse, are you sure everything is all right?"
No. Nothing was all right. A man I barely knew had just given me expensive underwear after a conversation I couldn't even remember having about my tragic undergarment situation, and instead of being horrified, I was standing in my kitchen imagining what I'd look like wearing them.
"Everything's fine," I said. "Just tired. Long day."
"You'd tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?"
Would I? Could I? What would I even say?
"Of course," I lied.
After we hung up, I stood looking at Adrian's gift for a long time.
I should throw them away.
I should return them somehow.
I should absolutely not keep them.
I folded everything carefully back into their boxes and hid them in my closet behind winter coats and old textbooks.
Out of sight.
Definitely out of mind.
Thursday's Constitutional Law class felt like walking into a gladiatorial arena.
Professor Okonkwo had assigned group discussion on the Establishment Clause, dividing us into teams to argue different perspectives on religious freedom versus government neutrality.
Somehow—and I was beginning to suspect these things weren't as coincidental as they appeared—Adrian and I ended up on opposing sides.
"The Founders intended freedom of religion, not freedom from religion," I argued, falling back on familiar talking points. "The Establishment Clause was meant to prevent the creation of a national church, not to eliminate religious influence from public life entirely."
Adrian leaned back in his chair, pen tapping against his notebook. "Interesting interpretation. But what happens when 'religious influence' becomes religious dominance? When one faith's values are codified into law at the expense of others?"
"The majority's values should be reflected in democratic governance," I replied automatically. "That's how democracy works."
"So tyranny of the majority is acceptable as long as it's religiously motivated?"
Heat flushed my face. "That's not what I said."
"Isn't it?" Adrian's voice remained calm, conversational, but his eyes were sharp. "You're arguing that religious belief should inform policy. But whose religion? Which interpretation? And what happens to citizens who don't share those beliefs?"
Around us, our classmates had gone quiet, sensing the tension crackling between us. Professor Okonkwo was watching with obvious interest, probably wondering if he needed to intervene.
"Religious values provide moral foundation," I said, grasping for solid ground. "Without that foundation, society lacks structure."
"Structure, or control?" Adrian countered. "Because from where I sit, religious 'structure' often looks like justification for discrimination. For denying basic rights to people who don't conform to one particular interpretation of morality."
My throat felt tight. "Some behaviours are objectively immoral."