Chapter 38
ADAM SEEMS TO have got the message that we’re done.
Days pass and there are no more encounters or lapses in judgment.
A Cup of Joy remains busy, people turning up in droves with hopes of an Adam Whittaker sighting.
His continued absence doesn’t do anything to diminish the enthusiasm.
It might have something to do with the photos he keeps posting of himself working.
Not at the cafe, but always with one of our coffees and a muffin, donut or brownie on the side.
When I quiz Hattie as to how he’s getting his hands on our products without showing his face, she simply shrugs and says it must be magic.
Those passing days turn into a week.
And then two weeks.
Mum’s messages about forgiving him continue to roll in.
Along with gentle reminders that I’m still not following him on Instagram.
Someone has taught her how to take screenshots on her phone and she’s now taken it upon herself to send me screenshots of Callie Colbett’s comments on Adam’s posts.
Each one of those comments, often with an emoji or two, cuts.
But they don’t cut as deep as Natalia’s messages on his posts.
Even though I’m not following him, it doesn’t mean I’m not stalking his account.
This reminds me of the day we spent at the caves
I’m not sure what a photo of Adam’s laptop next to a copy of The Sleeping Bones and a pistachio donut have to do with our excursion to the caves so I can only imagine that they were whispering to each other when my back was turned.
Maybe he entertained her flirtations so his romantic comedy had a foil to the couple getting together.
He might even change it now so Natalia is his character’s endgame and I’m the lost cause.
Just the thought stokes flames of jealousy.
Those flames grow as the two weeks become three.
And while I have no regrets about ending things, and most certainly have not lingered outside his apartment for more than a few minutes, knuckles itching to knock, Mum bemoans her disappointment daily. Sometimes twice a day.
I’m listening to her latest plea for me to forgive him when there’s a knock on the door.
‘Mum.’ I cut her off as she’s listing every baked good he’s posted on Instagram this week. ‘There’s someone at the door.’
‘Oh?’ she asks, voice oddly high-pitched. ‘Who might that be?’
She’s fooling no one with her acting. ‘If you’ve sent Adam over here, I’ll…’ I trail off as I try to conjure up a punishment that befits the crime.
‘Go and see who it is, love. I’ll stay on the line.’
I’m half-tempted to hang up, but I know it’s useless because she’ll simply call back and keep ringing until I answer. Heart thudding, I creep over to the door, pushing up on my toes to look through the peephole. The hallway is empty.
‘Who is it?’ Mum asks, excitement barely contained in her voice.
‘No one,’ I mumble. Is that disappointment settling in? I’d told him to leave me alone. He’s honoured that wish for three weeks. Long, torturous weeks. This is what I want, isn’t it?
‘Curious,’ Mum says.
I open the door to find a package on the ground. My name is written on the brown paper, the familiar handwriting squeezing my heart. The excessive amount of sticky tape keeping the package wrapped up is annoyingly endearing.
‘Who is it?’ Mum asks again.
‘It’s just a package.’
‘Curious,’ she says again.
‘Do you have a script that you’re repeating here?’ I snap, palms sweaty as I stare at the package.
‘What’s in the package?’ she asks.
‘I don’t—’ the words die on my tongue as the door to apartment 4B swings open and Adam appears, blond hair mussed, face pale. Dark circles under eyes that look like they haven’t closed for more than a few hours in the last week.
‘Sabrina?’ Mum asks.
Adam shoves his hands deep into his tracksuit pockets, biceps bulging under his T-shirt.
‘Sabrina?’ Mum says again.
His bare feet don’t cross the threshold into the hallway.
‘Sabrina!’
I yank the phone away, my ear ringing from Mum’s shriek of impatience.
‘Put me on speaker,’ she says. ‘Or video. How do we turn this to video? Paul, do you know how to turn the video on? What? Okay, call Tommy and ask him. But hurry. Adam!’ She screams into the phone. ‘Don’t say anything until Tommy helps us.’
‘Hi,’ Adam says, voice low and hoarse. He clears his throat.
‘What’s happening?’ Mum asks. ‘Adam! Don’t say anything yet. Paul, love, have you got Tommy?’
Adam eyes the phone in my hand. ‘Dianne,’ he says. ‘Can we have a moment of privacy?’
Mum’s refusal fills the hallway until I end the call and silence descends upon us. For two seconds. A shrill ring tone sounds from behind Adam.
He ignores it and finds my eyes again. ‘I finished the book.’
The package. I glance down at it.
‘I know you didn’t want me to, but I had to write this story and once you read it, I hope you’ll understand why.’
My toe connects lightly with the package and I push it away from my door. What makes him think I have any interest in reading this after everything that’s happened?
Adam’s phone stops ringing. And then mine starts.
Undeterred by my not-so-subtle rejection of his book, he leans against his doorframe, crossing his feet at the ankles.
‘It’s a rough draft so please don’t judge me if there are words missing or a sentence doesn’t make sense.
I didn’t sleep much in the three weeks I spent writing it and I’d normally never share something so early in the process, but I wanted you to read it.
I even kept out the boring descriptions for you.
I’m afraid there are some brooding bits though. ’
I cross my arms.
‘This book, Sabrina, is about a man who moved back home when he was lost and grieving and not knowing where he belonged in the world. And then he meets a girl who ignites something in him. Something that he thought he’d never feel.
’ Tears swim in his eyes as he glances at the package.
‘I’ve also sent a copy to every single Fogerty so they know just how much that week with you all meant to me. ’
‘What makes you think I’m going to read it?’ I stab my toe against the package again.
‘I don’t know if you will, but if you want to know how I feel about you, then you should,’ he whispers and steps back into his apartment, closing the door.
I blink at the package. At my name in black letters.
A battle wages within me. There’s a part that wants to leave it there and have him see it when he steps into the hallway next.
But there’s also a part that desperately wants to read it to torture myself with his words.
There’ll be nowhere to hide if I do. Whether it’s good or bad, it’ll change things forever.