Pictures of You (25 page)

             
Adrien’s gaze met mine briefly and he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

             
“Are you okay?” I asked him.

             
He shrugged. “I’m fine.”

             
We exchanged fewer than a dozen words for the rest of the night. Adrien sat as stiff as an overly starched shirt, his arms folded, his jaw tight. He kept his eyes mostly duct taped to the band, letting them wander over to me only a couple of times.

             
Previously, I was in a great mood. At work Chris was unusually silly, acting like a drunk stand-up comedian. We’d joked around the whole time. I left with sore stomach and cheek muscles from laughing so much. But a superhuman-sized steel-toed boot squashed my spirits as I watched the band play brilliantly without Abby and on top of all of that, Adrien was giving me an Arctic shoulder.

             
Had I made the whole thing up? The almost-kiss? The confession of love? He did say it rather quietly. It was more than possible I misheard him, had misread the whole thing. I thumbed through our past several days together. Had I said something wrong? Was it because I tried to find out his parents’ names and where he lived?

             
I realized it could be something else entirely. Maybe he was pulling away because he
did
love me and it hurt too much when he knew he couldn’t follow through. He knew he wasn’t sticking around.

             
Thoughts turned around and around in my head like a washing machine gone haywire. I
had
to let this go—I was going to make myself sick again. I sucked in several deep breaths until I began choking on my own saliva. I thought I was going to die coughing when Adrien fetched me bottled water and escorted me outside, where we were greeted by crisp night air. When I started shivering he took off his army jacket and draped it around my shoulders.

             
“Thanks.”

             
“You okay?” he asked, concern and amusement molding his face. The club’s sign cast a strange electric blue glow on us both. We could smell liquor and cigarette smoke coming from the club next door.

             
“I’ll be fine,” I snapped, pulling his jacket around me tighter.

             
He took several deep breaths. He opened his mouth then snapped it shut. He threw his head back in frustration and peered at the coal black sky before finally meeting my gaze. “September, we need to talk.”

             
“Oh really? You say that now after practically ignoring me all night,” I said, unable to mask the irritation in my voice.

             
“Look, I’m sorry—”

             
I shook my head. “I’ve gotta go.”

             
He gestured to his car across the street. “Let me give you a ride home.”

             
“I’m more than happy to grab a cab,” I said, stubbornly raising an arm. And as if fate was on my side, an eager taxi immediately pulled over. I hopped in and slammed the door before Adrien could protest.

             
He waved goodbye, worry and frustration written all over his handsome face.

             
I looked away, pretending the glare on the window obscured my view.

***

Abby,

             
I’m really losing it. I’m allowing myself to really, really like this Adrien guy. Okay, actually, I love him, too. If you were here, I’d ask you to talk me out of it, wake me up, shake some sense into me. Maybe this will have to do:

Ten Reasons Why I Don’t Love Adrien Gray

1. He has major commitment issues. Maybe not relationship commitment issues, but committing to life, to mortality, to planet earth. That right there should be a deal-breaker.

2. He talks with his mouth full (of food), especially when he gets excited.

3. He eats meat. You ate meat, too and so did John, but that’s NOT the same.

4. He’s a tease. He almost kissed me today.

5. Which brings me to this: he never finishes what he starts. Okay, maybe he does, but not where kissing’s involved.

6. He smells TOO
good. Why is that a bad thing, you ask? (See numbers 4 &5).

7. He’s Baggage Boy. He could fill an entire train with his baggage. He needs some serious psychological help and refuses to get it.

8. He wears green all the time. So what if it’s my favorite color? It’s WEIRD.

9. He’s moody.

10. He is, I mean, was a car salesman. So there MUST be some tacky side of him he’s hiding from me.

25

             
“I’m sorry I was so moody yesterday,” Adrien said, grabbing a Phillips screwdriver out of his rusting metal tool box. New Order was playing softly in the background.

             
“Moody is an understatement. Try unfriendly. Standoffish. Indifferent,” I said, pulling an Erasure record out of its soiled sleeve. That morning Hannah brought over two big boxes of Abby’s vinyl collection she’d found while cleaning out their garage. Apparently they’d forgotten all about them. She thought she’d swing by to see if I wanted them before she made a trip to Goodwill. Adrien enthusiastically agreed to assemble a bookcase that would house the enormous collection. Afterward, we’d clean and organize them alphabetically.

             
Adrien laughed. “Okay, the first two may be fair, but I promise you I’m not indifferent. Not even close. I care about you and your feelings. Maybe too much.”

             
“Then why were you…?”

             
“Being such a jerk last night?” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Because I almost
kissed
you, September. Because I said some words which could be dangerous and hurtful in this type of situation.”

             
“The ‘I’m going to off myself in four days’ type of situation?” I said so bitterly, I tasted poison in my mouth.

             
“Hey. You knew who I was the day you met me but you asked me out anyway. I laid it all on the table. It’s not my fault you find me so charming and irresistible.”

             
“Ha, ha,” I said, pulling out a Celebrate the Nun record.

             
“Whoa. Celebrate the Nun? That’s pretty rare. Some of this stuff has got to be worth a ton,” he said, admiring it for a moment.

             
I stood and jerked open the front room window. “It’s getting dusty in here.” Cool city air drifted into the room. We could hear a dog barking and an old man swearing from the sidewalk below. I sat down, cross-legged on the tired Oriental rug. “What are we going to do then?”

             
“The right thing to do is go our separate ways—as much as I don’t want to. I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have. I shouldn’t be spending so much time with you. It’s not healthy and it’s definitely not fair to you. I guess I’ve put you in a hard spot.”

             
“That’s the understatement of the year,” I said. “Maybe you
should
go. Maybe that would be best.”

             
“If that’s what you want, I’ll honor your wishes,” he said, getting up.

             
“Come on, you know I can’t stand to be away from you.” I grabbed his pant leg and pulled him back down.

             
“I feel the exact same way. You’re annoyingly bewitching. You’ve cast some creepy spell on me, woman,” he said, sighing theatrically.

             
What I wanted to say was: “Okay, prove it. All your words, your declaration of love—they’re meaningless because you are choosing death over me. Prove you really mean it. Stay, Adrien. Stay.” But a promise was a promise. And I learned the hard way what happens when I say the wrong things, when I push. So instead I said, “Then we’re back to the beginning. What are we going to do?” And the stupid frustration grew inside like a noxious weed.

             
Adrien frowned. “Enjoy each other while we can?”

***

              “Too frilly,” Mary said, scrunching her nose. “I liked the black one better.”

             
“I’m going to have to agree with Mary. Too frilly,” Adrien said, giving me an exaggerated thumbs down.

             
“You’re both right. It is a little girly for my taste,” I said. “What would I do without you two here?” 

             
Adrien and Mary insisted they come with me dress shopping. Plus Mary needed to find a new winter coat and Adrien wanted to check out a couple of used book stores. He said he wanted to find his favorite childhood book to leave for his godson (yes, he was really going through with this—he even wrote an unofficial will). Then the three of us would try out a new local Ethiopian restaurant, something on Adrien’s bucket list. We’d already hit a few outlet stores in SoHo (I never like paying full price for anything), without any luck. I needed to find the perfect outfit to wear to my parents’ party. If I was going to show up alone, at the very least I’d show up looking hot. I wanted John to get down on his knees, groveling for my forgiveness, wishing he’d never let me go. Or at the very least, I wanted there to be some proper gawking.

             
Ducking into the dressing room with new carpet smell, I began feeling a mounting frustration. I’d already tried on at least a dozen dresses. Many of them looked “good”, but I wasn’t looking for “good”. I wanted a dress that wowed. I had only one more left to try on—a small brown one.

             
“Okay little brown number. Please be the one,” I whispered, feeling more than ready to move on with my day. Unlike my sister, I was not a self-proclaimed shopaholic. As I pulled the froufrou dress off, someone tapped on the door, making me jump.

             
“Try this one on,” I heard Adrien say. He tossed a glossy red dress over the door.

             
“Adrien! What are you doing in the women’s dressing room? You could get arrested or something,” I said, covering myself up with the frilly dress I’d just taken off. My cheeks were on fire, my heart pounding like a hammer. Did he see me through the crack on the side of the door? Today wasn’t a good underwear day. I wore my last resort pair, the boring white ones with a hole in the hip, due to my neglecting the towering pile of laundry at home. How could I possibly think about laundry at a time like this?

             
“You’re right. I’m leaving now. But try on that dress.”

             
“Fine! Just go!”

             
“Cute underwear.”

             
“I hate you!” Did he really look, or was he just teasing me?

             
It took me a few moments to regain my composure and slip on the red dress. I didn’t breathe as I turned around and caught my image in the full-length mirror. The cut flattered me perfectly and the crimson red played up my brown eyes and fair skin. I felt beautiful and sexy. Adrien was right. This was the one.

             
Feeling self-conscious about modeling the dress for Mary and Adrien, I considered slipping back into my jeans and t-shirt. But I knew they wouldn’t go for that. Mary, especially. She was stubborn, that girl. And Adrien would be disappointed he missed out on seeing me in the dress he picked out. So I sucked in a breath and wandered out of the dressing room and greeted my friends, who were sitting on the floor, waiting.

             
Mary whistled so loud, it put a flirty Italian man to shame. Everyone in the store turned to look, including a couple of men. One, who was a dead ringer for David Beckham, even winked at me. Certain my cheeks matched my dress, I was tempted to dig a deep hole in the floor and stay there until closing time. Okay this was weird. I was definitely not used to all this attention.

             
“September, you look hot. Ultra hot,” Mary said, nodding in approval.

             
“You do look good,” Adrien agreed, standing up to get a better view. I was perfectly aware of his eyes trailing up and down the dress.

             
“You have to get it. It’s the one,” she urged.

             
I contorted my body to find the price tag. “I don’t know. This one’s a little out of my budget.”

             
“I picked it out, let me buy it,” Adrien said, his eyes still cemented on me.

             
“I couldn’t let you—”

             
“Please. I insist.”