Chapter Twenty-Eight ADAM #2
On my doorstep, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen smiles shyly at me, holding a ribboned box in her arms. The pristine bow of her pink shirt makes her look like a present. The sight makes my heart stutter, and I gawk at her for far too long before I remember my manners.
“Happy birthday, Adam.” She pushes the box into my hands and presses a soft kiss on my cheek.
“You didn’t have to… I mean, you’re already saving my skin.”
“I wanted to get you a real present,” she grins, pink dusting her cheekbones. “Open it.”
I set the box on the hallway table and carefully untie the strings. When I remove the lid, my jaw nearly hits the floor.
Inside the black box is a 3D-printed silicone heart.
“You can take it apart,” she explains, animated, her expression bright. “And you can attach it to that contraption at the bottom. It pumps liquid through it, and it beats.”
I swallow hard. This woman saw my unhinged childhood bedroom and ran with it.
“I know you’re not planning on changing your career,” she adds quickly. “But I stared at the stuff in your room every night at your parents’ house. And I don’t know. My heart hurt for the little boy who had to let go of his passion.”
“Where did you even find this?” It comes out scratchy.
“I asked the guys at the lab to do it. Drew them a sketch.” Her wide smile falters when she probably mistakes my awestruck expression for disappointment or concern. “They had a blast, don’t worry. It’s not like I threatened to fire them if they didn’t do it.”
“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” I chuckle, still dazed. “But thank you. It’s beautiful.”
Before I get misty-eyed, I pull her into a hug and kiss her on the corner of her mouth. It’s short and chaste. A thank you.
“You’re something else,” I murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “So damn thoughtful.”
Her fingers find the edge of my collar and straighten it. For a moment, I hold my breath.
But she just looks at me with a little smirk playing on her lips. “I’m just a tech CEO with unlimited resources.”
“Shut up. Take the compliment.”
She grins. “Thank you.”
“Come on. Let me give you a tour.”
She looks around and spots the plant I’ve been keeping alive for half a year now. “Impressive. Oh! You kept the red ottoman from the flea market. Aww.”
The moment I’ve been dreading comes faster than I was ready for.
She freezes near the stone fireplace mantle.
I’ve been losing sleep over that painting. Whether to take it down or not before she came.
“You kept it?” Her words are strangled, barely pushing out from her parted lips.
I’d already moved away when Mom called to tell me old Muffin died. That cat hated my guts, but I adored it. And what did Jackie do? Painted the ugliest cat portrait imaginable, based on a picture my mom sent her.
And I loved that atrocity as much as I did her.
The way her gaze is searching for an answer unnerves me.
I rub the back of my neck. “Maybe the style will be worth millions someday.”
“Adam.”
“You want to know why I kept it?”
She nods.
I could lie. Brush it off with another joke. But instead, I tell her the truth.
“Because it reminds me that you once loved me.” And because I never stopped wishing she still did.
Jackie tears up, and she swallows hard. “I’m sorry.”
“No more apologies. We’re here now, OK?” I stop by her side and cup her cheek. “Nobody’s rushing us.”
She clears her throat, and I swipe my thumbs under her eyes.
“Having sex on every flat surface when we’re alone in the same room doesn’t seem very taking it slowly.”
We laugh, even as we both feel the undercurrent. We’re both still scared.
“That’s entirely on you. You’re irresistible.”
“Try to keep it together, if you want dinner ready before your parents are at the door.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Did you get everything on the list?”
“Yeah. It’s all in the kitchen.”
“Come on,” she says with a half smile. “You’re helping.”
“I thought I’d be the eye candy, watching the master at work.”
Four hours later, the kitchen smells like heaven, and I’m riding high on a wave of undeserved pride for managing not to get in Jackie’s way. Too much.
Jackie lifts a lid, gives an approving nod, then unties her apron.
“You’ve got it from here.” She pats my arm. “Let me know what your mom says.”
That hesitation gives me pause. “Wait. What do you mean? Where are you going?”
“Well, I…,” she trails off. “I didn’t want to assume.”
“Stay,” I say, a little too quickly. “Please.”
Her gaze drops to her hands. “But your parents… they might think I’m back in your life.”
They’ve probably been hoping for this moment for years.
I curl a finger under her chin and meet her gaze. and lift her face to mine. “Well,” I murmur, “aren’t you?”
“OK.” She laughs lightly. “Let’s set the table.”
“That’s all done. Keep me company while I finish up. Tell me about how you pitched the heart idea. I bet they were giggling and kicking their feet.”
She grins and starts talking, not sparing any detail. It feels so easy in moments like these.
By the time the intercom buzzes again, the dining room feels lived in. Not just a space I pass through, since I never bother eating here.
But the part I love the most? Jackie looking so at home in the life I made for myself, curled up on the reading armchair by the large window, smiling at the stories about my childhood friends.
“Oh, sweetheart,” my mom chirps, her face lighting up at the sight of Jackie.
“Not too shabby, son,” Dad rumbles in the hallway, patting my back.
Jackie’s roast pork loin with cranberry glaze is a hit.
Mom leans back in her chair, letting out a theatrical sigh. “If I don’t move, I’ll slip into a food coma.”
Jackie hides a happy smile behind her napkin when Dad groans, “I wouldn’t mind thirds.”
“Let’s walk it off,” Jackie suggests. “Riverside Park’s a few blocks away. It’s so pretty at night. You can see the New Jersey lights across the river.”
“Let’s!” Mom claps her hands, startling Dad upright. His chin had started dipping dangerously toward his chest. This man can fall asleep anywhere if he’s full.
I glance at Jackie. As much as I’d like to have a romantic stroll with her under the swaying trees, it might not be safe.
“It’s OK,” she mouths. “Patrick’s downstairs.”
The September air cools as we get closer to the waterfront, and the park is silent except for the occasional jogger and the melodic slap of water against stone.
It’s just the four of us.
And Patrick. Lurking in the shadows somewhere, close enough to reach Jackie if needed. But I’m closer, fingers intertwined.
Like when she showed me her favorite places around the city. Back when I’d just landed in New York. Disoriented, with fifty bucks to my name, besides the few months of rent my parents helped out with.
These memories feel like they belong to someone else. Maybe it’s time we made new ones to fit the people we are today.
Mom pauses by the railing, waving us over. “Let’s take a picture here. All of us.”
“I’ll take it,” Jackie offers, reaching for her phone, but I gently catch her wrist.
Reading my mind, Mom looks around. “We’ll ask the big fella hiding behind the lamp post.”
I hand my phone to Patrick, who’s doing his best to stay serious, but the corners of his mouth twitch.
“Come here,” I whisper in Jackie’s ear and plaster her to my side, squeezing possessively.
Her arm wraps around me, and just like that, my heart grows too big for my chest.
I stare at her. Wondering what it would be like to want her without complications.
When she has to leave, I walk her to the car.
“I couldn’t have done this without you.”
She beams at me. “I loved it. It was so…normal.”
“I do like having you in my normal, boring life.”
With a kiss on the back of her hand, I close the car door, wishing it didn’t have to end. That the ground wasn’t so unsteady under our feet. That I’d get to keep her and rest my head on the pillow next to hers.
I take the stairs and let my parents get on the elevator by themselves. It has less to do with personal space and more with the need to replay these last hours with Jackie without my mother watching me closely.
Inside, Mom leans against Dad, who started snoring the second his behind touched the couch. “Send me that picture,” she whispers. “I wanna show our neighbor, Sybil.”
Swiping through the camera roll, my gaze catches on the last three. In the first, Jackie’s eyes are wide, gazing up at me. In the second, she’s tucked in at my side with a contented look.
In the last picture, we’re all laughing, and she’s radiant, giggling at another of my Dad’s cheesy jokes.
That’s the one I send Mom.
I think about her gift. That perfect, beating heart. Made to be broken apart and put back together again.
Mirrors my own story in a way.
But can I risk gambling mine again? So far, I’ve mainly been the one to step forward. To crack myself open. Lay my feelings bare. I need more than an apology from her. I want to know that her wanting to try again isn’t born of regret and nostalgia.
Because we can’t rebuild us on maybes.