Page 114 of Again, In Autumn

“I didn’t like to say what it really was. To say it out loud.” Adam’s absently runs his fingertips along my knuckles. “I was living in denial about it for a long time.”

When Maggie told me about his relationship with their mother, I felt guilty for the months I spent going on about my parental woes, knowing now that he has his own issues bubbling inside of him.

“I would have listened,” I say. “You could have told me. I hate that I went on and on –”

“No, Vee.” He stops me with a quick grasp of my fingers. “It wasn’t you. Really, I didn’t tell anyone. And, yeah, you had a mother who died so mine abandoning me felt a little insensitive to mention, but I know I could have talked to you about it.”

I insist, “You didn’t have to compare your situation to mine. They’re both awful and both valid experiences to discuss. Hell, you could have had a perfect mother who gave you trauma for insisting you…eat chicken even though you didn’t like it, I don’t know.”

He smiles, cocking his head.

“I just mean, trauma is subjective, and it’s all valid. You should never hold back from a conversation with someone you lo–” My mouth stops just as it picks up the train of thought my brain was driving.

That last word isn’t something that should be uttered in the red room.

Adam’s smile returns, his hand releasing mine but falling, instead, to my knee. He doesn’t even look at it or wait for my reaction, acting like it’s a natural movement.

“You must be a really good teacher,” he says.

Swallowing, my body warm from his touch, I respond, “I don’t have to therapize kindergarteners. Just make sure they learn to read.”

“Do they learn to read?”

“Most of them.”

“Then I stand by my assessment.”

As his hand slides off my knee, Adam moves his eyes to the pleated skirt and tailored bodice and mid-length sleeves of my dress. Then, he notices the soft curls in my hair, the dainty gold hoops, the crimson of my lips. The color matches this room.

The sounds crackle: his shirt moving, the television buzzing, the wind hitting the curtain. I try not to add my uneven breathing to the cacophony of intensified sound. We’ve made it to the portion of the evening that pleasant conversation and seductive banter can’t salvage. If I don’t say something soon, I’ll do something stupid.

“I feel like a prized pig,” I say carefully. “Are you trying to decide how much I’ll fetch at the market?”

His gelled hair shines from light in the overhead chandelier. His hands move in the air around my body. “Well, to do that…I might have to touch you.” He drops his arms. “And friends don’t put their hands on each other.”

“No, they don’t,” I respond.

Adam’s eyes soften, drawing me in. “But I already know the answer, anyway.”

“What’s the verdict?” My mouth crinkles into a smile. I can’t help it.

An inch from the skin, he hovers his right hand under my ankle, as though holding it with magic, and says, “Strong, flexible cheerleader legs. Two hundred, easy.”

The hair on my skin stands on end. My shoulders lift slightly to my ears, wanting to squirm from the sensation of his energy. His hand moves across the bottom of my dress.

He says, “I have no idea how much women’s clothing costs so I’m going to guess, fifty bucks?”

I snort a laugh and slap my hand over my mouth. “Try three times that.”

“Damn, you’re a high maintenance lady,” he mutters, pausing both hands on the sides of my waist. “Now, for these good old-fashioned child-bearing hips –”

“Watch it,” I growl.

“You’ll fetch a pretty penny for those,” he winks, biting the bottom of his lip.

My breath hitches as his hands move across the top of my dress, past the faintest bit of cleavage. His body angles toward me, our heads aligned since he’s on his knees and I’m on this squat vanity stool. We’re so close without touching, and it’s provocative, thrilling.

His breath hits my hair. My stomach twists, heat in my core.

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