Page 29 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

“Of course. How do you think he paid for all of those trips?”

“But he didn’t care about money.”

“Only rich people don’t care about money.”

“And this condo?”

Adam rubs the back of his neck and shakes his head. “It’s technically his parents’. Sorry. I shouldn’t talk about him like this.”

“Like he was an actual person?” My lips curve into a half smile that’s meant to make him feel less twitchy about tattling on Sam to his Current Girlfriend. “Whatever. Trust fund or not, he was right. There are so many things I should be doing that I’m not.”

“I was always more cautious than he liked.”

Adam looks at me, his hands gripping the sides of the cabinet like he wants to say more but won’t. I pay attention, knowing I’m catching sight of a small, private part of him. I’m not sure how long I’ve been staring at the tiny changes in his expression when I’m interrupted by my phone’s buzz.

“See! That’s what it was.” He gleefully points out whatever strange jolt shimmied up my vertebrae.

I’m just grateful he thinks it’s my phone’s fault.

1:23 PM

Mara:

Sorry. Can’t make it. The Guy’s thirteen-year-old has been lightly bullying MasterChef Junior contestants on TikTok, and it’s becoming a whole thing. Can you find another ride?

“Looks like I need an Uber,” I tell Adam, sending a thumbs-up and closing the group chat. “But at least I’m mostly done with the living room.”

Adam starts taking apart his drill. “What do you need an Uber for?”

“My friend’s holiday concert. Well, her kids’ concert. She’s their teacher.” I pat my pockets before finding my phone still in my hand. “My other friend—my ride—canceled. Why is there surge pricing in the middle of the day?”

“I can drive you.” He hops off the counter and grabs his keys from the kitchen island.

“Are you sure? It’s thirty minutes away.”

“I’ve got nothing better to do.”

I know this to be false, but selfishly, I’m too late and too cheap to question his generosity. “You’re sure?”

“I’m happy to do it, Alison,” he answers, without a hint of insincerity. I stand in front of the door, dumbstruck, until he nudges me out of the way of his big leather boots. He puts on his coat—denim-side out—ending any further debate.

—

When Adam turns the ignition, eighties synthwave blasts from the speakers. It sounds like how robots might score a low-budget horror movie.

“I can’t with this,” I insist, silencing his stereo with the punch of a button.

He starts the noise up again with his forefinger. “At least it’s a seasonally appropriate playlist.”

“It’s terrifying. It’s torture. You win. I will sit in complete silence with you if we can turn this off.”

He doesn’t look at me, but I see his eyes crinkle at the corners. He turns off the stereo, and we ride together wordlessly the rest of the way. Once I settle into the quiet, I don’t find myself needing to fill it. I don’t need to make Adam feel comfortable, since he seems far more at ease when I’m not doing my patented people-pleaser routine.

He turns into the parking lot, and I half expect to have to tuck and roll treacherously from the slow-moving vehicle. Instead, he pulls into a parking space.

“Thanks for the ride. Very quiet driver. Five stars,” I say with a tight nod, but when I climb out of the car, Adam exits too. “Are you coming in?”

“I’m not actually an Uber driver, Alison.” He says it all grumbly, like a sleepy bear.

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