Calm Like Home (17 page)

“Are you okay?” he asks brusquely.

“I’m fine, Adam,” I mumble.

“I’ll call you back then.”

The line falls dead.

I stare at the phone in my hand, shocked by his brevity, caught off-guard by his callous tone. The letdown swells within me, cold and gripping, replacing all the hope I’d felt that we might try to make this work. I know now I got ahead of myself. I resolve not to let it happen again.

It’s the dead of night when my phone rings. I roll over in bed to check the screen, the illumination revealing Adam’s name. I mumble a hello, still disoriented from sleep, startled that he’s actually calling me back. I’d assumed he was just brushing me off.

“Bear?” he asks tentatively. His voice is hushed, the background completely silent. Whatever commotion he was amidst earlier has completely dissipated.

“Yeah?”

He sighs deeply and it sounds so weighted. So tense.

“Are you okay?” I ask, hating that he sounds this way. Hating that I care after how cold he was before.

He’s silent for so long I have to check the screen to be sure he didn’t hang up. But then I hear it. His voice is hollow and barely audible, but it’s there. Three words.

“I miss you.”

It somehow sounds sad and honest and delicate all at once. I love the words and yet I despise them. I despise that he sounds so broken, like this
thing
is sucking the life out of him.

“Adam?” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

I take a chance. I close my eyes and exhale the words. “I miss you too.”

Chapter 18

Somehow three weeks have passed since Adam’s birthday visit and I settle into his absence. I grow accustomed to the hollow feeling in my chest, to the emptiness that washes over me every time I walk into my bedroom. Most days are excruciating, the fresh ache of missing him throbbing deep in my bones. It starts with a small twinge, a slight realization that having him here would make whatever it is I’m doing that much better. The more I focus in on it, the more it shifts, changing from a dull pang to a persistent gnaw, until it consumes me and all I can think about is how much I want him here with me.

Missing him is made all the worse by the dramatic shifts in his behavior. No matter how hard I try, I can’t read him. I can’t decipher the code in his actions. We feel so out of sorts when we’re apart. The balance of our relationship seems to require us to be within arm’s reach. It makes the distance feel insurmountable. It makes
being together
seem like an impossible dream.

I try to distract myself from the perpetual loneliness, the perpetual longing, by staying busy. In public speaking, our professor assigns our next speech. This time we’re crafting an argument about why our company’s products are superior to their competitors. While I’m not looking forward to the actual delivery, having an additional assignment helps pass the time and keep my thoughts somewhat preoccupied from the question that is always looming in my mind: will I see him again?

Marcus and I meet at Java House often to discuss the assignment. This speech has to be longer than the first so we’ve had to get together more times to get everything organized. We’re starting to get very well acquainted with one another; he even knows my coffee preferences. When I arrive for our scheduled meeting, he’s already ordered me a latte and a cupcake. I slide in across from him and smile at the intent look on his face as he sorts through the papers spread over the table.

“Someone’s hard at work,” I joke.

His lips barely shift into the hint of a smile. His concentration never wavers. For an instant my mind flashes to Adam, to his carefree grin, to his playful demeanor. He would’ve found a way to turn this into a joke, his dark eyes lingering on mine as he watched me laugh. I feel a sharp stab in my chest at the image of him. I can still see him so clearly in my mind.

Oh, Adam.

I haven’t heard from him since his middle of the night admission. Part of me wonders if it was nothing more than a drunken slip. Maybe he doesn’t even remember that he called. Everything about his silence stings. It makes me wonder if we ever even stood a chance. Despite my yearning to talk to him, I know better than to try to call. I learned my lesson last time. I can’t stand to hear the curt tone, the terse responses. Not when we can be so much more.

“How can I help?” I ask, trying to push Adam aside when I clearly need to focus on school.

“I think we’ve researched all the competitors pretty well. Let’s get started summarizing the differences between the companies so we can determine where there are benefits.”

I grab one of the stapled sets of papers and get to work on my summary. When I reach a section I’m confused by, the detailed business infrastructure of one of the other fast food chains, I tilt the page towards Marcus.

“Hey, does this make sense to you?”

He moves around to my side of the booth to take a closer look. When his hand brushes against my leg I immediately take notice, but it isn’t fireworks, it isn’t magic, it isn’t Adam. I scoot away, reaching for a pen I don’t need, sliding him the printout to look over.

“I don’t think we’ll use it,” he says after a beat, handing it back to me. I expect him to return to his side of the booth but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls his mug and laptop over and continues working next to me. I wonder how many nights Adam has spent in a booth with another girl, studying or talking or sipping coffee. The thought wrenches my gut. I force my thoughts back to our speech, trying desperately not to picture him in my position.

I work through sheet after sheet, circling key points with my colored pens. As I go, I develop a color-coding scheme to indicate the types of information I’ve found. Marcus catches sight of my approach, bringing a rare smile to his usually serious face.

“What? It’s a great strategy!” I laugh, pleased he’s relaxing for once. Our study sessions are usually so serious.

“I’m not denying that, but you just circled a telephone number there’s no way you’re going to call, so I’m starting to think you’re doing it for fun.”

I let out a breath and set my pen down, stretching my neck from side to side.

“You caught me.”

He smiles, his light eyes lingering on my face before he starts stacking the papers strewn across the tabletop. “I’m beat too. Let’s call it a night. Same time tomorrow?”

I pack my things slowly, intentionally taking my time so we don’t have to walk out together. I don’t want him to hold the door for me. I don’t want him to stand waiting at my side while I open my car door. I don’t want to hear him tell me goodnight. There’s only one person I want that from and he’s still too far away.

I meet up with Annabelle and Carly for girl’s night that weekend. Annabelle lets me borrow one of her form-fitting cocktail dresses then we head to Indigo Lounge because it’s the best place for dancing. We each order a Sex on the Beach then Annabelle leads the way to the dance floor. She’s an incredible dancer, fierce and sexy. She kicks her leg up around me then writhes down to the floor, shaking her butt the whole way down. I rotate around her, shimmying and bobbing to the music.

The dance floor is crowded and as we dance a group of handsome strangers appears before us. Annabelle’s moves have obviously lured them over. I dance up on my guy, shaking to the left and right, moving my hips back and forth. He grips my back and pulls me closer to him, and I let him because I’m thinking if I close my eyes I can pretend he’s Adam.

Unfortunately handsome stranger is a poor substitute. Sure he gyrates to the beat, but his motions are clunky, none of the fluid movements of my boxer. And sure his eyes rove over me, undressing me as they move from head to toe, but there’s not the fierce passion I see reflected in Adam’s eyes. He doesn’t bite his lip seductively, doesn’t smell as intoxicating as he works up a sweat. I finally give up and retreat to the bar, missing Adam all the more.

Annabelle catches up to me and leans into my side. “What’s going on?” she asks gently.

I make my face bright, not wanting to dampen our night out. “Just needed a breather.”

“You’re lying,” she says resolutely, bringing her hands to her hips. “You’re a mess. I’ve never seen you so down.”

My face falls and I glance down at the bar. She knows. Of course she does.

“Any word from lover boy?”

I shake my head, feeling that gripping sadness in my chest, whirling and thick. I bite my lip, fighting back an onslaught of tears.
Wow, Clausen, get a grip!

I’m not even me anymore.

Annabelle studies my face. “You two are ridiculous. I don’t know how you can both be so obviously in love yet so terrified to actually show it. If I were in your shoes…” she trails off and signals the bartender. “Well let’s just say I wish I had your problem.”

The night before our speech Marcus and I end up staying at Java House all evening, practicing with our notecards. Late into the night I’m still going strong, probably due to all the caffeine and sugar I’ve consumed on an otherwise empty stomach. Marcus is insistent we have the speech memorized forwards and backwards, but I’m intent on practicing. Better to be here than in my apartment alone, haunted by the empty bed and silent phone.

While I’m concentrating on one of the notecards Marcus plucks it from my hands and inserts it in the middle of the stack of cards between us on the table. A surprised look creeps over my face and I spread my hands wide in a what-the-hell gesture.

“You’ve got it down perfect. You don’t need the cards,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, yeah.” My hand moves to the stack, but he quickly pushes the cards to the side, out of my reach. I smirk and reach to take the top card off the stack and toss it at him.

He glances at it, puts it face down on the table and recites it back perfectly even though it’s mine.

“I suppose you’re right,” I concede and we move to pack up our things.

All our practicing definitely paid off. Just like the first time, Marcus is amazing. He delivers his part of our argument point by point with conviction. I’m starting to wonder if he’s faking his apprehension to make me feel better about being so nervous, but even I’m starting to feel a little less intimidated by the podium and all the sets of eyes.

After we finish and are back at our desks he scribbles a note on his notebook in his neat hand and tilts it towards me.

Come celebrate later?

I work, how about after?

You know where I’ll be

The Berg it isn’t nearly as packed as the last time and Marcus gets cut midway through his shift. He comes around to join us on the other side of the bar and his buddy takes over pouring our drinks. A tall guy in a polo shirt approaches Annabelle, her kryptonite. When she makes her way to the dance floor with him in tow Marcus tries to pull me along after her, but his body feels all wrong. He isn’t dark hair and dark eyes and charming smile. He isn’t Adam. I beg off, saying I need another drink even though the one I’m holding is still half-full.

Marcus slides easily onto the stool beside me, eyes dancing over me, bright and vibrant. “Excellent speech today, Alexa.”

“It was all that color-coding that really got us through, wasn’t it?”

He nods and stirs his drink with the straw. “You know it.”

“Although if I didn’t know better, I might think you’re starting to get comfortable up there.”

He takes a sip and replaces his drink beside mine, leaning in. “It’s nice having a partner to get through it with. You really do make it better.”

His eyes meet mine, ice blue like calm water. I look away, avoiding his intent stare, his too-close body. There's never been an opportune time to tell Marcus about Adam, never been an adequate segue into saying, “Hey, there's this guy, even though you and I hang out all the time. He’s never around and I never actually hear from him, but… there’s a guy.” I push the thoughts away.

“Plus there’s always the whole picturing them in their underwear strategy,” I joke, trying to keep things light.

He breaks into a laugh, which is rare for Marcus. He’s usually so reserved.

“To having a great partner,” he says, clinking his glass against mine.

I’m unlocking the door to my apartment later that night when my phone rings. I dig it out of my bag as the caller hangs up. I spin the display around, expecting to have missed a drunk-dial from Annabelle filling me in on whether or not Tall Polo has potential to be
The One
. Startled surprise grips my insides when I realize it wasn’t her at all. It was
him
. I punch the re-dial button, terrified I’ve missed my chance. Who knows when he’ll call again,
if
he’ll call again. It could very well be weeks before I hear his voice.

“Hi, panda bear!” he calls out excitedly.

His tone is bright and cheerful and undeniably
my Adam
, no trace of annoyance or anguish marring its beautiful sound. God I’ve missed his voice, the way it lights me up like nothing else can.

“Panda?” I ask, giggling into the phone, wondering where he’s going with this, what it means that he’s finally calling after so long.

“I've always thought they’re the cuddliest-looking bears and you’re one cuddly bear. So panda.” He sounds so matter-of-fact, as if it’s the most obvious name for me in the world.

“Panda it is,” I say resolutely, surprised by his explanation. I had taken his silence for disinterest, but he’s acting like nothing’s changed.

“Listen, I’m walking back to the house and I got a crazy idea,” he says enthusiastically.

“What’s your crazy idea?”

“It’s nuts really.”

I laugh at his attempt to downplay whatever it is that’s on his mind. “Out with it, Westbrook.”

He takes a deep breath, letting it out as he quickly says the words, “Come visit me.” He goes on hurriedly. “Homecoming is next week, Lex. Please say you’ll come.”