Chapter 37
Adam
“I’m coming with you,” my sister announces.
I shake my head, slipping my keys into my pocket. “You’re, uh . . . You’re not on the committee, Ruth.” It’s a weak excuse, but my sister will undoubtedly help Stevie and me dig our grave deeper—with the best of intentions, of course.
She’s already tying Sammie’s shoes, though.
“Pfft. I love how you’re all acting like this committee is legitimate.
” She exaggerates an eye roll. “How often do I come up here to see you?” She puts her daughter down and slides her feet into her sandals.
“Besides, I want to observe my newly hatched social butterfly brother in action. Friends? A girlfriend? I need to see it. It will comfort my sisterly heart.”
“Fine.” I twist my front doorknob, gesturing toward the stairs. It’s sprinkling again. My road is going to be a swamp. “Come on. And by the way, a butterfly ecloses from a chrysalis. Hatching is what chicks do.”
Ruth prances out the door ahead of me, Sammie on her hip. She holds up an index finger, pointing it back at me over her head. “Nerd.”
A few minutes later I’ve moved Sammie’s car seat into my truck, and I’m buckling her in, when a thought occurs to me. “Maybe don’t say anything until the meeting is done.” If there’s a better way to ask my sister to zip her lips, after a few decades I still haven’t found one.
“What are you afraid of?” she asks with a sly smile, clicking her seat belt into place.
I frown, circling my truck before I respond. What am I afraid of? I’m concerned that this meeting will blow up. Stevie doesn’t like to be wrong, and she cares a lot about this thing that she’s so epically wrong about. It’s a lot of crow to eat in one sitting.
Or am I more worried that Stevie will decide that she was right that no man is good enough for her?
That thought—the true root of my worry—nudges at me.
I picture being alone again after a few weeks of having her bright spark in my life, and I can’t handle it.
I need her. I can’t lose her, but I’m afraid I might.
It’s also a room full of people, though I don’t find the prospect as daunting as I would have a few weeks ago.
I don’t say any of that to Ruth. Instead, I let her question hang as I navigate to the town office building and lead us into the small room where we had our last committee meeting.
Before we walk inside, Ruth puts a hand on my arm, leaning in to whisper, “It’ll work out, Adam. Stevie’s smart. Trust her.”
I want to. I don’t think I have a choice, anyway. I can’t seem to leave the woman alone. I nod, tightening my jaw. Why is it so hot out here? I’m itching to peel off my sweatshirt, but I’m not sure I can.
I follow Ruth and Sammie inside, where it looks like we’re the last to arrive.
Ike and Diana Wentworth are already seated at the head of the conference table, with Inger, Muffie, and Marlow on one side, and August and Stevie on the other.
She beams up at me, her big brown eyes bright.
It's hardly been twenty-four hours since I’ve seen her, but it feels far too long.
Stevie’s dad is seated in a row of chairs that line the back wall, wearing one of his daughter’s “I Saw Bigfoot in Cape Georgeana, Maine” T-shirts. His proud grin is a perfect masculine replica of his daughter’s.
That settles it. I’m doing it. I didn’t think I’d have it in me, but Stevie—and her proud dad—give me courage.
While I was working in the preserve this morning, up to my knees in muck, I couldn’t stop thinking about Stevie with her bare feet in the mud, tipping her freckled face to the sun. I can still hear her voice murmuring, This is my favorite thing in the world.
Well, she’s my favorite thing in the world, and loving Stevie means I’m all in for all of her, including her harmless delusions.
It seems like every pair of eyes is on me as I take the open seat beside Stevie. I unzip my hoodie, pulling it off quickly, like I’m ripping off a Band-Aid.
There’s a delicate gasp across the table. Marlow’s hand covers her open mouth. Inger’s grin matches her husband’s, though she’s shaking her head in disbelief as she stares at my shirt. Muffie is rummaging in her big purse, oblivious to the room.
Ike chuckles, spinning his gavel around his fingers.
“Love it.” Diana’s red lips curl into a smile. “I’m so here for this.” She nods in approval.
Stevie finally tracks the thing that grabbed her friends’ attention.
She pivots to look at my shirt. Her cheeks turn rosy.
Instead of saying anything, her soft fingers trace a line down my forearm until she finds my hand.
She laces our fingers together, brazenly tugging our joined hands onto her lap and resting her shoulder against mine.
Marlow raises both eyebrows, but she doesn’t look surprised by this development. She looks thrilled. This means Stevie’s going down without a fight. Marlow won.
Muffie finally emerges from her purse. “Oof.” She burps delicately, releasing a slow, soundless bubble through her wrinkled lips. “Anyone have any TUMS?” Then she spots my T-shirt and Stevie snuggling up to me. Her eyes narrow at Stevie. “Well, well, well. This oughta make for a short meeting.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Tina, the minute-taker, rushes in.
“I got stuck behind that Anderton kid on my way here. Ike, we need some kinda ordinance about golf carts in the—holy guacamole.” Her mouth drops open, and she points at my shirt.
“That’s going in the minutes. Shirtless Adam is wearing one of Stevie’s Bigfoot shirts. The man is officially whipped.”
Ike taps his gavel gently. It’s the gavel version of clearing his throat. “Tina—”
“Okay, okay.” She holds both hands up, then opens her laptop at the other end of the table. “I’m totally ready. Go.”
Ike scratches his beard. “Let's make this quick. This meeting of the Committee to Determine the Outcome of Bigfoot Versus Boyfriend will come to order. Let the minutes reflect that it is six fifteen, and the Red Sox-Yankees game starts at seven ten.” The man has his priorities.
Tina raises her hand. “Mr. Wentworth, would you like me to read the minutes of our last meeting?”
He doesn’t think about his answer. “No. There’s no time. In light of this”—he gestures to where Stevie is holding my hand, snuggled against me—“I move that we vote after both parties have a chance to make their arguments.”
“I second that,” Diana replies too quickly. She’s wearing a Yankees T-shirt, I finally realize. It seems I’m not the only man in the room who’s in love with a crazy woman.
Ike nods. “Marlow, would you like to make your argument first?”
She drags in a long breath, tightening her blonde ponytail and looking at Stevie apologetically. “By now we’ve all heard that Crispin guy’s accusations, but aside from that—”
“Actually, can I go first?” Stevie turns rigid, releasing a long, measured breath.
Marlow grins, giving Stevie the floor with a tilt of her head.
The room falls silent except for the quiet sound of Sammie crushing watermelons on my phone behind me.
Has Stevie decided I’m not worth it? Is she about to dig in her heels? For two ticks of the clock, I think this is it. The end.
Then her hand tightens around mine. “Crispin was right. I won’t deny it. I lost the bet, fair and square. Adam and I started seeing each other not long after the bet started. I figured out pretty fast that he’s . . . Well, he’s perfect for me. I’m in love with Adam Sandoval.”
My chest tightens, and my eyes turn hot. Stevie isn’t looking to anyone for approval. Her brown eyes lock with mine, soft, sparkling, and full of an unnecessary apology. She doesn’t need to apologize to me. I have no regrets. I’d do it all again.
Ike cracks his gavel. “Order!”
Diana turns pink. “No one said anything, hon.”
Her husband shakes his head. “Well, I’m freaking out,” he mutters.
“Me, too.” August finally chimes in. “It’s about time.”
The rest of the room is stunned silent, including Muffie, who shouldn’t be too mad. She’s about to come into some money. I squeeze Stevie’s hand. That’s a pretty big matzo ball she put out there. I can’t let her do this alone. When she squeezes back, I know I can do this.
“I’m Stevie’s boyfriend. I have been for a while.
” Every pair of eyes lands on me in my “I Saw Bigfoot in Cape Georgeana, Maine” T-shirt, and I realize I’m only stating the obvious.
Stevie deserves more. These people need to hear all of it.
“And I love her.” I suck in a long breath.
The words feel so right, I repeat them. “I love everything about her—her strong opinions, her laugh, her freckles, her total lack of self-awareness—”
“Hey!” Stevie gasps at the same time that Inger tips her face to the ceiling and mutters, “Praise the Lord.”
I’m not done. “And another thing.” I point at the image on my T-shirt. “This is me, so . . . yeah.”
August leans around Stevie to get a look at what I’m wearing. He tilts his head back, laughing. “That was you?”
“Listen.” Stevie straightens, holding her palms up. “He was far away. It was getting dark. And, I mean, look at him.” She gestures to me. “He’s got the vibe.”
Inger shrugs, giving me an apologetic wince. “You do have the vibe.”
Marlow snickers. “I thought I’d be happy to see Stevie with someone, but . . .” She can’t quite compose herself. “I am over the moon about the fact that my friend is in a relationship with Bigfoot.” Her eyes glisten.
Ugh. I need to stop this before it gains traction. I’ve only just shed the other unflattering nickname this town foisted upon me. I’m not Shirtless Adam, nor am I Bigfoot. “I’m not—”
Muffie stabs a wrinkled finger at my T-shirt, making her bracelets clink. “You’re Bigfoot.”
“Okay.” Ike checks his watch, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s bring this to a vote. I move that Marlow and the Boyfriend party be declared—”
“That’d be a great name for a band,” Muffie muses to herself. “Marlow and the Boyfriend Party.”
Confusion washes over Ike’s features. He shakes his head. “Uh, they should be declared the winners of the Bigfoot Versus Boyfriend bet. All in favor, say aye.”
A chorus of loud “aye”s—including two from Stevie’s dad and Ruth—make it clear that Marlow is the official winner.
“Any opposed?” Ike asks. He doesn’t need to. Everyone has cast their vote already, myself and Stevie included.
“There you have it.” Ike bangs his gavel.
“Let the record reflect that Marlow won. She’ll disperse the pot accordingly.
The Committee to Determine the Outcome of Bigfoot Versus Boyfriend is officially dissolved.
” He bangs his gavel again. Diana rests her hand over his, holding the gavel in place. He grins.
As the crowd disperses noisily around us, I crook my finger at my very public girlfriend.
She leans in. “Yeah?”
I duck close to her ear. “This town needs a movie theater or something.” I let my lips brush her earlobe. I haven’t kissed her in too long.
She shivers. “Uh-huh.”
Oh, I like that reaction. “One more thing.”
Her voice quivers when she whispers, “Yeah?”
“I’m allowed to kiss you in public now.” I’m only trying to rile her up a little more, but I should’ve known better. This is Stevie Sullivan I’m talking to.
She fists my T-shirt, dragging me to her. She’s barely planted a soft kiss on my lips when the crack of a gavel makes her gasp and pull away.
Diana snatches the gavel out of Ike’s hand. “No more.” She turns to us. “Sorry, you guys. Carry on with . . . you know.”
Stevie snickers.
“I like your friends,” I murmur.
She smiles. “Our friends.” She winks.
Our friends? I think about my interactions with Ike, Marlow, and the rest of this ragtag committee, and I realize she’s right. I’m not alone here. The awkward little boy chasing iguanas through mangrove trees would love this. We have friends.
I clear my throat. “Our friends.”
“You ready to get out of here, Bigfoot?” she asks with a saucy wink.
“No.” I shake my head. “That nickname isn’t happening.”
Stevie’s smile is trouble. “Says the man who has called me Carrot Cake with a straight face.”
She has me there.
Muffie’s rumpled face appears between us. “I’d get used to it, Bigfoot.”