The Time Traveler's Boyfriend (11 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I show up at Adam’s apartment the next day carrying a six-pack of Coronas. I’ve always been taught it’s good to be fashionably late, so I show up at ten fifteen p.m. Even though it means that I sit outside on the steps of the brownstone next to his building for twenty minutes before it’s fashionable to go inside. Then I just feel like an idiot.

When Adam opens the door, I see he’s dressed casually in jeans and a dark green T-shirt. He wheels back to let me enter and his eyes light up when he sees the six-pack. “You really are psychic,” he says. “I thought I was going to have to make a beer run.”

I grab two of the beers for us,
then he wheels over to his fridge to store the rest inside. I stroll around his apartment, getting a twinge of déjà vu because it looks so much like his current set-up. It’s different furniture (thank God), but there’s a certain style to it all—a certain
Adamness
. Everything is old to the point of nearly falling apart, but at the same time looks incredibly comfortable. His couch is even ripped in all the same places his couch is ripped in 2013.

I sink down into the couch and can’t help but notice all the rings on his coffee table. He’s got a bowl of chips on the table and some guacamole and salsa set up. I dip one of the chips into the guacamole—it’s really good. The salsa looks a little questionable though. “Did you make these?” I ask him.

Adam calls out to me from the kitchen: “Guacamole, yes. Salsa, no.”

Adam wheels back into the living room, then transfers out of his wheelchair to sit next to me on the couch. He’s not right next to me, but then again, it’s not a very large couch. We’re pretty close. I debate if I should edge away from him, but I don’t want to insult him. It’s not like he has cooties or anything.

Adam grabs the remote and tunes in to Dick Clark hosting the New Year’s Eve festivities. I can hear Prince’s “1999” playing in the background. “I am so sick of that song,” Adam says.

“Yeah, no kidding,” I laugh.

“Now I just want you to know,” he says, “that just in case some apocalypse hits at midnight, I’ve got the place stocked with plenty of canned goods.”

I frown at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You know,” he says, grinning at me. “Y2K. World might end. Computers will take over. Something like that.”

“Oh, right,” I say. I forgot all about Y2K. It seemed like such a big deal at the time. “Nothing’s going to happen at midnight. We’ll never hear about this stupid Y2K thing again.”

“Well, that’s a relief coming from you, Psychic Girl.”

I blush. “I told you, I’m not actually psychic.”

“Is that so?” Adam raises his eyebrows. “Well then, how would you like to explain all the things you know about me?”

I just stare at him. No believable lies are coming to mind.

“Feeling a little more psychic now, huh?” he says.

“Guess so.”

We watch the bands play at Times Square. I have to say, you know you’re getting old when the thought of being out in Times Square to see the ball drop makes you feel physically ill. I mean, it’s freezing out there, everybody is packed into a tiny little space, and you feel like there’s barely room to breathe, even though you’re outdoors. Plus it just seems exhausting.

I remember enjoying it when I did it though. I’d always be with some guy, we’d be sharing a smoke, and he’d be keeping me warm with his body heat. Everyone around us would be drunk, including myself, and we would all just be so happy and excited.

Adam, as if reading my mind (for a change), says, “You ever been to Times Square for New Year’s?”

“I went a few times,” I recall. “It was fun at the time, but it’s not an experience I’m eager to repeat.”

“I went about four years ago,” he says. He looks over at his wheelchair. “I don’t think I could manage it anymore. Anyway, I’m too old.”

“Too old?” I snort. “You’re only twenty-four!”

“Scarily accurate guess, as usual, Psychic Girl,” Adam notes, studying my face. Damn, he’s got me again. “Right, I’m twenty-four. Which I think is too old to
schlep
out to Times Square to see the ball drop.”

“Whatever,” I say. “
I’m
too old to go to Times Square.
You’re
definitely not too old.”

“Yeah, you’re ancient,” he says sarcastically. “What are you—twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?”

Ha. I am starting to love this guy. It’s especially nice to hear after Claudia treated me like I was the World’s Oldest Woman. “A little older,” I admit. I don’t need to lie about my age with him, but I’m kind of grateful when he doesn’t make any more guesses.

We continue to watch TV and make small talk until it gets close to midnight. We finish our beers then I run to get us each a second beer from the fridge. I start to get a nice buzz going, and Adam’s face gets that glow he always has when he’s been drinking. I’m sure the alcohol has something to do with this, but
it’s weird how there isn’t a trace of awkwardness between us. Even though this isn’t my Adam, he’s just as easy to talk to as the 2013 version of himself.

And he’s just as good at making me laugh. Although with two beers in me, I’m an easy target.

Adam’s got a bottle of wine and some nice glasses sitting on the end table, so he grabs them when we’re at the five-minute mark. “You like Merlot, I hope?” he asks, jimmying out the cork with his thumbs.

“Love it,” I say.

He pours the wine into glasses and hands me mine. We clink glasses and Adam says, “Cheers.”

I take a sip. It’s really good. It tastes expensive, but I’m afraid to ask how much he paid. “Got any New Year’s resolutions?”

Adam is eying me. “Yeah. One.”

I’m about to ask what exactly he means by that when the countdown starts till the ball drops. We both watch the screen intently as the shimmering ball makes its way down the pole.
Ten … nine … eight … seven …

Adam is closer to me than I realized. He gently pulls the wine glass out of my hand.

Six … five … four …

I feel his fingers stroke the underside of my jaw, bringing my face closer to his. I come, almost as if I’m in a trance.

Three … two … one …

And now he’s kissing me. His lips are on mine, his hands on my neck, in my hair. It’s so oddly familiar, yet different. He’s my Adam, but he’s not. They say you can only have one first
kiss, but here we are. I know this must be somehow wrong, but it feels so good that it’s hard to push him away. Our lips don’t separate for what feels like fifteen minutes, at least.

“Christ,” Adam says breathily. “I’ve wanted to do that ever since I first saw you two years ago.”

“You did?”

“Hell, yeah.”

And then he kisses me again, demonstrating just how intensely he wants me. I remember that he hasn’t been with a woman, hasn’t even kissed a woman, in over two years. How can I refuse him if that’s the case? Anyway, if he kisses me, then The Bitch won’t be his first, and she won’t be able to destroy him the way she did. I can still save him, even if young Claudia won’t get within throwing distance of him.

Maybe letting Adam kiss me is the right thing to do. And not just because I want it so badly.

***

The rest of the night is kind of a blur. At some point, Adam gets back into his wheelchair and I climb into his lap so that he can give me a ride to his bed. He’s done this a hundred times before in 2013, but I know it’s new to him in 1999 (well, 2000 now, I guess). We’re both giggling a lot and he keeps stopping to kiss me. I hear him grunt slightly with my extra weight because he isn’t as strong as he eventually will be.

We mostly kiss when we’re in bed. We lie in bed together, fully dressed, and he kisses me. He’s a little bit shy and only goes so far as to put his hand under my shirt and on my bare belly. He has callouses on his hand, but they’re not as firm and widespread as they will be in 2013. I bite my lip a few times, longing for the man that he someday will be, but still glad that I at least have part of him right now.

Eventually, we fall asleep together, me tucked under his arm. He sleeps easily without his Ambien. He probably doesn’t even have a prescription yet.

I haven’t slept well since I left 2013, but tonight I sleep like the dead. When I wake up, I look at the clock and it’s nearly noon. I can’t even believe I slept that long. I haven’t done that since I was … well, Claudia’s age. At age thirty-six, I wake up at seven a.m., even on weekends.

Adam’s eyes crack open next to me and he smiles wide when he sees me. “Wow,” he says. “I thought for a second it was all just a dream.”

“Nope,” I say.

He raises his eyebrows at me. “Any regrets?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Me either,” he says. “But then again, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that.”

I reach out and touch his chin, my fingers grazing the scar along his jawline under his five o’clock shadow. He knows what I’m doing and says, almost apologetically, “I broke my jaw.”

“I know,” I say, before I can stop myself.

“Of course you do, Psychic Girl,” he says, rolling his eyes.

He starts to push away my hand, but I won’t let him. “It’s very sexy,” I say.

“Yeah, right.”

“It really is,” I insist.

He must at least sort of believe me, because he visibly relaxes and allows me to touch his face. I have to build up his self-confidence, make him realize how sexy and desirable he is. That’s part of the plan. Hopefully, it’s working.

Adam insists on making me breakfast in bed, even though it’s more like lunchtime. Which is okay, because breakfast in bed turns out to be sliced turkey sandwiches on white bread. And mayonnaise—way, way too much mayonnaise for a woman on a perpetual diet. He puts two of them on a plate and wheels back into the bedroom, where he puts the plate on the bed. He transfers back into bed next to me, and we eat the sandwiches next to each other in bed, like we’re having a picnic. He doesn’t even whine about crumbs, which my Adam definitely does when we eat in bed together.

“So what do you want to do today?” he asks me. “Movie?”

“Sure,” I say.

“Do you want to see
Man on the Moon
?” he asks. “You know, that movie about Andy Kaufman?”

“Ugh,” I groan. “I’ve seen that movie like five times and I’ve never liked it. Jim Carrey should have stuck to comedy, seriously.”

Adam stares at me. “What are you talking about? That movie came out last week.”

Crap. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were talking about
Apollo 13
, that movie about
going
to the moon.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “But you were talking about Jim Carrey. Jim Carrey wasn’t in
Apollo 13
.”

Double crap. “Uh, he wasn’t?”

We just look at each other for a minute, then Adam finally shakes his head at me. I think he’s given up on trying to figure me out. At least, I hope he has.

We finally settle on seeing
The Talented Mr. Ripley
, even though I’ve actually already seen it twice, but at least Jude Law is hot. Adam hits the showers before I do, and he doesn’t undress in front of me, not even a little bit. He puts a new set of clothes on his lap and hits the bathroom fully dressed. I remind myself that he hasn’t been naked in front of a woman since his injury and he’s probably a little anxious about it.

The theater is only a few blocks away, so we decide to walk over. I have to say, even though I miss my Adam, I love twenty-four-year-old Adam’s enthusiasm. About every half block, he stops me and pulls me down for a kiss. I guess that’s the kind of thing you don’t do when you’re thirty-eight, but I still think it’s really sweet. I end up traveling the final half a block on his lap.

The ticket counter is a bit high for him, but he backs up his chair as he tells the ticket seller he wants two adult seats for the two o’clock show. He has to stretch a bit to grab the tickets, but I let him do it because I can tell he’d be offended if I tried to do it.

“Popcorn?” he asks me as we pass by the counter.

I actually love popcorn. It’s super greasy and salty and delicious. However, in New York in 2008, Mayor Bloomberg passed a law saying that calories for foods need to be posted. So when I’m waiting in line for popcorn and see that the small bag I’m about to purchase has six hundred calories, that definitely takes some of the fun out of it. I’ve pretty much stopped eating popcorn. “Sorry,” I say to Adam. “Too many calories.”

He laughs at me. “You definitely do
not
need to watch your weight.”

That sounds a lot like my Adam in 2013. He claims to be unable to see the ten pounds (okay, twenty!) that I need to lose. But it’s not like I’m imagining the fact that my old pants
won’t button anymore. And anyway, if I didn’t watch my weight, I’m probably look like a sumo wrestler right now. Adam’s response is that even if I did, he’d still think I was sexy. I really doubt it though.

The other thing about movies in 2013 is most theaters have stadium seating. My Adam calls stadium seating the bane of his existence. In the olden days, he could go to the movies and sit anywhere he liked, albeit in an aisle seat. With stadium seating, there are designated areas for wheelchairs and he feels like
it’s just way too close to the screen. Plus there are only a few seats next to those seats and if it’s a crowded theater, they can get filled up.