Calm Like Home (23 page)

He kisses me again, but this one is long and slow. This one is goodbye.

I sigh and press my forehead to his chest. I hate this part. I know exactly what’s coming next.

“This isn’t even really goodbye,” he says, softly. “It’s really more like see you soon. I’ll be back in a little over a week.”

“Ever the optimist.”

“You know me too well.” His voice is laced with sarcasm, but he shakes it off. “This will be the fastest week and a half of the whole semester.”

I know he’s right. A week and a half is nothing compared to what seemed like endless waiting, blindly wondering when I’d see him again. I wrap my arms around his neck and his hands tuck into my back pockets. He leans down, pressing his forehead against mine, staring deep into my eyes. Those dark pools reflect joy and admiration and something more, something intense and warm and tender.

He finally pulls back, an irresistible grin breaking onto his face as he says, “Goodbye, my
love
.”

I burst out laughing and tug open the door to my car. Then I’m pulling away, Adam growing smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror.

One mile slips into the next, an endless stretch of empty road before me, my whole heart left behind. I grit my teeth and grip the wheel and force myself to drive on. I feel the distance weighing heavily on me, thick and dense in my chest. It expels the air from my lungs, leaves me breathless. I know all I can do is wait for next time he comes around and I can finally come up for air.

Chapter 23

With Adam away I throw myself into my schoolwork, grasping for one last hurrah to close out the semester, knowing each moment I spend studying brings me that much closer to seeing him again.

I meet Marcus for speech prep on Tuesday night. As I step into Java House, the warmth of the atmosphere and the rich fragrance greets me. I join Marcus in line, and he surprises me by actually ordering himself a scone for once. They normally don’t register on my sweets radar but I’m impressed nonetheless.

“Wow! You’re really living on the edge,” I joke, bumping his arm with my elbow.

“What can I say? You’re rubbing off on me.”

As we eat, we begin planning our final speech. It’s a culmination of the entire semester’s project, the final speech to sell the company. It also has the longest time requirement yet. With such limited direction and so much time to fill, we have a ton of work ahead of us. Even so, my mind keeps wandering, knowing the end of the semester is so near. There's only one more goodbye keeping Adam and me from winter break. He’ll be back for an entire glorious month and it’ll be like summer all over again, just with colder air and warmer hearts.

Unfortunately our final speech is coming along slowly. I’m scanning the outline for the umpteenth time, trying to sort out the nagging echo in my mind that something is missing. I sigh and drum my fingertips on the table.

“We need some inspiration, Marcus. Why don’t we go eat there? Maybe it’ll get our creativity flowing again.”

He nods. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

I follow him in my car to the nearest location. We order all the staples: their signature steakburger, sides of onion rings and waffle fries, a shake and a mudslide. Once our tray is piled high, we collapse into a booth and survey the food.

“All right,” he murmurs, studying the tray. “What do you notice? Let’s paint a picture of what it’s truly like to eat here.”

We jot down notes on the smell and appearance and finally the taste of the food. It’s absolutely delicious and by the time we’re finished with our meal we have a standout introduction.

“This was a great idea, as always,” Marcus tells me as he carries our tray to the trash bins. But instead of turning to leave, he stands in place, looking at me, his eyes flashing back and forth between mine, his mouth slightly parted. I can’t read his expression, don’t know him well enough to even try to guess what he’s thinking, so I give him a nonchalant shrug and head for the door.

Between study sessions I find myself doing a lot of thinking. My last Adam-visit still weighs heavily on my mind. His bouts of melancholy seem to be growing more intense. I can’t pretend to know what’s going on. I can’t discern whether something’s actually happening or if he’s starting to let his guard down, to let me see the other side. Either way, he definitely doesn’t seem to want to discuss it. I hope he knows he can talk to me. I hope he knows I love him regardless. More than anything, I hope he gets better.

Maybe the break will do him good. If it’s school or family that’s bothering him, he can avoid it all with me. We can curl up in bed sheets and forget the whole world if that’s what he wants. I’ll do anything it takes to get his mind off things, even if it means being naked in my bed all day.

Hell, that’s probably what I’ll try first.

I’m abuzz with nerves and anticipation ahead of our last speech. I wake up early and practice in front of the mirror in my bedroom, taking note of my posture and gestures and overall delivery. Since the parameters were so loose we ended up making a deck of slides, which will help keep us on point and avoid the need for notecards. I know from our previous speeches I’ll be the most nervous at the beginning, so I practice the first few slides over and over, until I’ve got them completely memorized without even seeing their contents.

On my way to class, I mouth the words to the presentation again, feeling ready. Maybe taking public speaking was a good idea after all. Maybe I’ve finally found my voice.

When I get to class I notice that for the first time Marcus doesn’t look like he’s about to keel over.

“Wow! We’re making progress here!” I joke.

He shrugs in response. “We’ll see what happens once I get up there.” Doubtful as ever, when he’s never really needed to be.

When it’s our turn we take the podium with confidence. It’s not so bad now that we’ve done this so many times. All the pairs of eyes aren’t as intimidating. So far we’re the only group who actually thought to visit the business we’re representing. It gives our presentation a personal feel. I hope we come across as genuinely believing in what we say. As we deliver the last slide and the room erupts with applause, I feel such incredible relief knowing I conquered this fear. I’m actually a pretty decent public speaker!

I turn to Marcus in thrilled delight as we make our way to our seats in the back. “Can you believe it? We’re done!”

He gives a half-smile and shakes his head, muttering, “Now onto finals.”

That night I stock up on supplies, anticipating Adam’s arrival. I load a cart with ice cream and candy, box mac and cheese and Nathan’s hotdogs, hoping he’ll cook for me again if he sees them. My next stop is the lingerie store. I pick out sexy new panties I know he’ll like, the more extravagant the better.

As I’m loading the car an idea pops into my head. I grin, knowing it will definitely cheer him up if he’s still feeling down. On my way home I stop by Annabelle’s and plop onto her couch.

“Hey A-Bel, can I ask a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Can I borrow your cowgirl boots? I won’t need them long, just a day or so.” The boots are a remnant of last year’s Halloween costume. They’re crisp white leather with bright pink detailing. She went all out and hasn’t worn them since.

She walks to her closet to retrieve them, but when she returns she has a troubled look on her face. She holds them in the air just out my reach.

“Can you promise me nothing illicit will happen while they’re on?”

I try to suppress a smile. “I cannot make any promises about what will or will not happen while they’re in my possession.”

Her expression shifts and she looks disgusted. “Alexa!” she shrieks.

“Oh, come on! Can I borrow them or not? It’s not like you actually wear them.”

“You guys are ridiculous!” she says, dropping the boots into my lap and wiping her hands on her jeans as if they’re already tainted.

On Thanksgiving Day I drive to my parents’ house. I’m eager for turkey and stuffing and sweet potatoes, but mostly I’m just excited that tomorrow I’ll get to see Adam. I’m pretty sure he’s here already, suffering through whatever family obligation he wanted so badly to avoid. I could very well see his car at a stoplight or at a gas station or passing in the opposite lane. The possibility thrills me.

I step into my parents’ kitchen and it’s warm and cozy and comforting. The whole house smells amazing. My mom has outdone herself. I stuff myself until I’m bursting at the seams. With each bite, I can hardly contain the excitement I feel, each forkful bringing me closer.

Tomorrow I get to see Adam.

Tomorrow I’ll be complete and whole and
me
again.

Friday evening I pull on a tiny white miniskirt and lacy pink bra to go with Annabelle's pink and white boots. I light candles all around the living room and turn my music on low. When I hear the unmistakable purr of his engine out front, I ready myself. My heart is pounding in anticipation.
He’s here!
I listen to each step, light and fluid, as he trots up the stairs. Right before he can knock on the door I pull it open and lean against the doorframe. It’s cool out and he has the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head, framing his face, bringing out the sharpness of his eyes.

“Hello there,” I greet him, tucking my hands into the front pockets of his hoodie to pull him towards me. His eyes immediately drop to my body, taking in the outfit.

“Wow,” he breathes. A hand reaches out to grasp my bare stomach as he eyes me up and down. His fingers snake up into my hair and he tugs back firmly so I’m looking up at him. He kisses me deeply, his lips intently locked with mine.

“God, I’ve missed you, Alexa.”

Without taking his mouth from mine, he pushes me back to the couch and leans over me, the muscles in his arms flexing enticingly. My hands float up to grip his biceps and I stare into his dark eyes. He pushes the skirt up around my waist, knotting his fingers in the fabric. I pull on his sweatshirt to bring him closer. I wrap myself around him, squeezing my chest against his, pressing all the remaining light and air and space from between us. I can feel him breathe out then in, his chest expanding against mine. I could stay like this forever, just feeling the life in him, appreciating the life in him, feeling it coalesce with the life in me.

We lay on the couch entangled, Adam stroking my hair, me caressing his chest. “My love,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my forehead.

“I missed you,” I murmur, although the words hardly encapsulate the longing that’s gripped me, how I’ve only felt like a partial version of myself since the last time I saw him, how all I’ve been able to do is count down to this very moment, finally in his arms again.

“I brought you something.” His eyes are intense, burning with affection. He stands to retrieve a small manila envelope from the floor by the door. I hadn’t even noticed he was carrying it before. I gaze at him with uncertainty, wondering what’s inside.

He thrusts it towards me, mumbling, “Open it.”

I slowly undo the clasp, tipping the envelope to retrieve the contents. A set of photos slides out, landing in the palm of my hand. They’re candid shots from the roaming photographer at semi-formal, oblong photos rimmed with a white border, the date and his fraternity’s winter formal name printed at the bottom. I look up at him out of the corner of my eye. His face is reserved and eager at once.

My hands rotate the set of photos, bringing them closer so I can examine them. The photo on top is of us dancing, my arms clasped tightly around Adam’s neck, his fingers splayed out on my hips. Our bodies are draped over one another, entwined. Even though neither of our faces is visible, our body language says it all. I flip to the next photo. Adam is kissing my cheek sweetly, my eyes closed in utter bliss. The look in those chocolate brown eyes is pure love and tenderness. Even though we hadn’t said those words yet, there’s no denying it’s written in his gaze.

“You look so peaceful,” I murmur.

“I always do when I’m with you.”

He says the words simply, without flourish or embellishment, just a boy and his truth. He reaches to take the photos from my hands, sliding them onto the coffee table. His eyes flash to mine and he pulls me to him. He’s practically cradling me, holding me as if I’m some delicate object that might disintegrate beneath his touch and I never want to let him go.

The next morning I crawl over him and kiss his cheek. “First day back. What do you want to do with yourself?”

He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me astride. “Spend it here with you.”

I bring my face slowly to his, placing a delicate kiss on his lips. “Doing what exactly?” I ask, drawing the words out flirtatiously.

He snakes his hands into my hair, tugging my face back down to his. “Doing this.”

His palms move to my butt, gripping and lifting so that my chest slides in front of his face. “And some of this,” he mumbles between kisses. “Definitely some of this.”

I sag into him, feeling overcome with sensation. He grips me tightly and rolls so I’m beneath him. He pushes my hair back, strokes the side of my face, gazes into my eyes. As he moves over me, exquisitely slow and even, his eyes never leave mine. The connection is palpable, an electricity, a bond between us that seems to hang thick in the air. It’s flowing out of him, curling all over me. The love we share seeps out our pores and rests between the sheets in which we lay. We curl up inside them and caress each other’s skin, feeling content in this bit of comfort, this piece of happiness we share.

When we finally get out of bed that afternoon he makes a beeline for the freezer, retrieving a pint of Brownie Cheesecake Ben and Jerry’s and planting himself on the couch to enjoy it. I cozy up with him, situating myself between his legs, pressing my back into his chest.

“Ahh, my two favorite things.” He wraps his arm around me and plants a kiss on my cheek. He takes a satisfied bite then dips the spoon into the carton, retrieving a hearty spoonful for me.