12. Adam
ADAM
I’m not surprised that Red likes things hot, especially after last night.
But the fact that she knows the exact right hot sauce to use on the migas I made her is quietly blowing my mind.
I’ve only made this Tex-Mex breakfast dish for three people in Kenton—my billet parents and Kate.
Howard and Frieda, God bless ’em, asked for mild salsa every time.
I’ve got a carefully curated selection of six bottles of hot sauce on my breakfast table.
She examined all of them and went for the Cholula.
She didn’t pick the highest heat level just to prove she could handle it, and she didn’t go for the bottle I ordered from the guys in Fort Worth to be nice.
She went with the mild heat to enhance the flavors of the scrambled egg dish without dominating it.
Plus, she won’t burn her tongue so much she can’t taste the pour-over coffee I made again.
She takes a bite of scrambled eggs with fried strips of corn tortillas, onions, tomatoes, and jalapenos. No cheese. She closes her eyes as she chews and swallows. “God dammit. This is fucking delicious,” she says.
“Gracias. Our housekeeper, Carmen, taught me how to make this when I was ten.”
“Where do you get the tortillas? They’re perfect.”
“I make my own. This is a great town, but I refuse to buy packaged tortillas, and the ones they serve at What the Fajita are mediocre at best. I make fresh tortillas from scratch every week.” I take the seat across from her.
This is how Frieda and Howard used to sit at this table. Across from each other.
“You hesitated when you sat down just now,” she informs me.
“I’m fine.”
“Didn’t say you weren’t fine.”
Jesus, we sound like an old married couple, and I fucking love it. “Put a little extra stress on my knee last night, in case you forgot.”
She blinks. “I reminded you not to, in case you forgot.” She puts her fork down and enjoys a few sips of my excellent coffee. “I know you didn’t ask, but I think you should do more single-leg stability work.”
“Say more.”
“Just standing on your left leg. Not to build strength, but to build the neural connection between your brain and the knee that your injury disrupted. It would reestablish trust between yourself and your body.”
“Go on.”
“Well, if you were my client—which is to say, if you weren’t you, because I would never take you on as a client—I’d have you do a lot of foundational hip-hinge movement patterns.
You’ve been compensating to protect your left knee.
Overworking your right hip. Your right glute and hip abductor are chronically overloaded, and at some point that’s going to become its own problem, independent from the knee.
And I think you should do more edge drills on the ice.
Slow and controlled, to rebuild your confidence on that inside edge. ”
Jesus.
She’s been paying attention.
All this time.
Staring down at my migas, I mutter, “Okay.” But what I really want to say is Marry me. Or Why the fuck couldn’t you say that on your podcast instead of focusing on all the horseshit you’ve been ranting about for years, Red?
I wipe my mouth and get up from the table. “There’s a chair I want you to have. I’ll go get it from the workshop.” I bend down to kiss the top of her head and then grab a coat, slip on rain boots, and walk out the back door.
“Okay…” I hear her say as I close the door.
What a couple of fools we’ve been is all I can think as I walk down the path to the workshop. All those years wasted arguing with each other when we could have been doing so much else. But I’m done with all that. That is to say that from now on we’re going to argue while doing so much else.
And I’ve got just the chair for her. My version of a throne. So she knows she’s my queen.
I carry it back to the house. A Windsor chair with armrests.
Made it last year from big-leaf maple. Beautiful warm honey tones.
I was going to sell it online, but I want Kate to have it.
When I bring it into the kitchen, she isn’t there.
But I notice my phone is still on the counter from when I was cooking, and it keeps vibrating like it needs an exorcism.
I put the chair down and take one look at the lock screen.
Shit.
I can hear the heels of her boots on the hardwood floor in the front hall. “Kate?”
She’s got her coat on and she’s reaching for the front door handle.
“What’re you doing?” I get between her and the door.
“Tina’s coming to pick me up.”
“What happened?”
“I wasn’t looking at your phone on purpose,” she says, staring down at the floor.
“Those guys are idiots.”
“They wanted to know if you lost the bet. Because as far as they could tell you never kissed me in public. ‘The beer logo prevails!’ they said.”
“I can explain.”
“What the hell, Foley?! You did all that to win a bet?”
“No! I didn’t even try to kiss you in public, in case you don’t remember. I sacrificed the new logo for you.”
Shaking her head, she says, “I knew something was up when you started with all that ‘I’m just trying to get to know you better over the course of the next couple of hours’ crap and acting nice.”
“I wasn’t acting nice—I felt like being nice to you because I like you.”
“Whatever.” She pushes me out of the way, and I let her. “Thanks for the date, Foley,” she says, opening the door. “Sorry you didn’t get what you wanted out of it.”
I follow her out onto the porch. “Will you listen to what I’m saying to you? I forfeited the bet! I decided I just wanted to kiss you in private—I don’t even care about the stupid logo anymore.”
Kate suddenly becomes comically irate. “It’s not stupid—it’s cute! The fact that you don’t understand how amazing that logo is has always been one of the things I hated most about you!”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Kate. Will you listen to yourself? Can you honestly say that you didn’t go out with me last night so your shitty ex would see you having a good time?”
“So what? Are you saying my reason is worse than yours?”
“I’m saying neither of those reasons is a reason for us to fight over because we had a fucking amazing time last night.
And we were having a fucking amazing time this morning.
We can still have a fucking amazing time if you don’t run off.
If that scares you, then that’s your problem—don’t try to make this about me being an asshole. ”
“Everything’s about you being an asshole!” she hisses. “That is my problem.”
I throw my arms up into the air. I can’t believe I was about to give her my Windsor chair. “Okay. Well. If you can’t handle being in a relationship with a real man, then there’s nothing else I can say.” I walk back into the house.
Slowly.
Waiting for the snark because I set her up real good with that sentence.
But it never comes. I go inside and shut the door. See the drugstore teddy bear on the coffee table. And the half-eaten box of chocolate-covered cherries. She’s not getting my chair, but I will not let her run off without the Valentine’s gifts I got her.
She’s standing at the end of the driveway with her arms crossed, staring at the pavement. I walk up to her, without saying a word, stand in front of her, and hold out the teddy bear and the heart-shaped box. She frowns at me and takes them. I walk back to the house and shut the door.
I watch out the window until I see her get into her sister-in-law’s minivan.
When she drives off I’m reaching for my keys because there’s only one person I can talk to in this town right now, and I can’t wait another minute.
“I’m an asshole,” I say, dragging my palms down my face. I’m also an idiot, but I’m not going to admit to anyone that I tried calling Kate five times as soon as I parked outside. She didn’t answer, of course, and I didn’t leave a voicemail or send her a text. “Total asshole.”
“You didn’t think this was breaking news, did you?
” Ms. Percy says from the other side of the counter in the front office.
She doesn’t even look up from her laptop.
“If you have a concern regarding the rink or any other arena-related matter, let’s hear it.
If you have some juicy gossip for me, it better be something I don’t already know. Otherwise—scoot!”
I rest my forearms on the counter and lower my forehead to them. “I screwed up. I need help.”
“Mr. Foley, I’m going to need specifics.”
I look up, resting my chin on the counter, slouching and moping like a damn loser instead of the angry, growly winner I should be. “I need your help convincing Kate Pogue that I love her.”
Ms. Percy’s big eyes widen as she removes her reading glasses.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her remove her glasses before.
“I’ve been waiting ten years for you to ask me for help with this, you dummy.
” She closes her laptop and claps her hands together.
“Now. First things first. Do you watch teen rom-com movies?”
“What is a rom-com movie?”
“My dear, idiotic boy, how do you not know this? A rom-com is a romantic comedy.”
“Noooo, ma’am, I do not.”
“Well. Lucky for you I’ve seen all of them. Pull up a chair, Mr. Foley. You’re about to get schooled—Ms. Percy style.”