Page 70 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

“You’re family, honey,” she tells me. “Sam would want you here. Both of you.”

I feel Adam’s rigidity radiating beside me, but I don’t look away from the woman in front of me.

“You don’t know what it means to me that Sam had you, Alison…” She wipes her blue eyes with her hand. “It’s such a comfort.”

I smile, wanting to be that comfort for her.

“Of course, we’ll be there. Both of us,” Adam answers, his voice unsteady.

“Yes. Of course,” I say, grateful he spoke. “It’s so generous of you to invite us.”

Mrs.Lewis rubs Adam’s arm in a distinctly maternal way, and the smallest bit of tension releases from his shoulders.

Sam’s father promises to send the Paperless Post invite, and Mrs.Lewis holds me close as we say our goodbyes. Then Adam and I walk up the long drive toward his truck.

I look over my shoulder at the perfect house on the lake and turn back to the truck window to take inventory of my splotchy face. Adam’s hand slips between me and my image and pulls up on the driver door handle.

“I’m awake now,” he says.

I don’t move right away. Instead, I stare at our watery reflections. “That’s not how Sam thought of me. Ever. We were never like that.”

He pulls the door open with a dejected nod. “I know, but knowing doesn’t make it easier. Why are you letting them think that you were?”

“I’m not.” I wait for him to climb into the cab, trying to meet his avoidant eyes. Emotion crawls up my throat. “It’s complicated. She’s…I want to be what she needs.”

He thrums the steering wheel with anxious fingers, squinting into the snow-covered road. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I thought today would be the end of it, but it’s like…you’ll always be a little bit Sam’s girlfriend, you know?”

His words burn a trail through my insides as he puts the truck in reverse.

18

Otrivia Benson: SVU

We don’t talk the rest of the drive home—which is fine. Shockingly fine, considering how the threat of silence in the Lewis house was so excruciating I would have agreed to anything short of marrying Sam’s ghost to fill it. But now I’m happy to stare into the middle distance and stew in my disappointment.

Adam tunes the radio to the Christmas station without my asking, but when I hear the familiar beginning of Darlene Love’s “Christmas,” I punch the stereo button to silence her. I can’t risk ruining my favorite song by association.

At the sight of my apartment building, I leap out of Adam’s truck before it’s fully stationary.

“Thanks for the ride.”

My feet crunch into the fresh layer of snow on the curb. I hear him call out to me, but I can’t turn back. The cold air stings my eyes, and water is already pooling in the corners. If he sees me now, he’ll think it’s about Sam’s family or us, but it’s all of it. I’ll never be the person I’m supposed to be for me or Sam or even Adam.

You’ll always be a little bit Sam’s girlfriend.

I run inside to safety. My friends will be here any minute to grab me for a night out, and even though Mara and I haven’t talked since our fight, Chelsea—ever the good-natured meddler—found a bar hosting trivia two blocks away.

It’s a perfectly diabolical setup: Mara can’t resist an opportunity to train for her showdown with Risky Quizness, and I can’t avoid them if they’re within shouting distance of my window.

I peel off my painting clothes and survey my sweater drawer for options, settling on a white turtleneck sweater that I pair with black chunky-heeled boots to cancel out the Maine lobsterman effect.

At the buzz of my intercom, I release the security door with the press of a button.

“It’s open!” I answer the knock from inside my closet. “Are we walking? Because that will affect my coat choice.”

“Walking where?” The voice is low and familiar and, most crucially, not Mara’s or Chelsea’s.

I spin around, thanking all of the available gods that I’m fully clothed. “Adam! What are you doing here?”

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