Page 29 of Again, In Autumn

Alice stares blankly at her mother. She’s three years old, not a dog. She knows what to do.

“Thanks for hanging back,” Francesca says to me.

“No problem,” I say, as though skipping dinner at Adam’s house is a huge hardship for which I’m willing to make a sacrifice. I’ve never been so relieved to see a child blow chunks in my life. I might have even shaken Alice on the shoulders and asked her what caused this ailment so I could catch it and hide away in my room all week.

Francesca grabs her coat. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. I think she just ate her pizza too fast. God knows how many of those cookies she ate.”

“I made three dozen. I think there are ten left.”

“Sounds about right.”

Grayson runs into the room. “Mom, can I climb the treehouse tomorrow?”

“No,” she says, exasperated. “I’ve told you at least five times already. It didn’t suddenly become less dangerous now that it’s dark out.”

He groans and rolls his head around, annoyed for a second, before brightening back up and asking, “Do you think Adam will teach me how to play the guitar?”

She smooths a wrinkle in the front of his t-shirt. “Maybe. You can ask him.”

“Or I can teach you,” David says.

Francesca snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

They both pause. David lifts his brow. I pretend not to watch through the reflection in the window.

“I’m sure you could, honey,” she fixes, stress stinging her eyes. Her head bobs. “Yeah, yeah, you’re really good at the guitar.”

“About as good as you are at lying.”

Francesca grimaces, and David runs back to the hall closet for his coat. Grayson stands jittery with his hand on the doorknob, itching to get outside.

“I wonder what his sister and her husband are like,” Francesca calls out.

David calls back, “Adam’s such a cool guy, I’ll bet they’re great.”

I twist around the couch and add, “What will you talk about now? Do you even have anything in common with him anymore?”

Are you asking them or yourself?

It’s laughable, the idea of any of us having a conversation with a Grammy Award-winning musician who is having quite the moment on social media right now.

I hope he’s an obnoxious, self-righteous prick who skips dinner in place of a FaceTime call with his manager. I hope he can talk about nothing but the new Fast and Furious movie he’s being hounded to star in, insisting that he has a new ‘family’ now.

If he’s horrible, then I’ll be able to leave the warm, kind, funny, sensitive Adam in the past in favor of a douchebag one.

He won’t be, though, I know it.

Because he’s Adam.

David comes back into the room and counters my question: “You tell us what we’re going to talk about Vee, you’re the one well-versed in celebrity gossip.”

“He’s not a celebrity,” I defy.

Francesca argues, “He dated a model, the one in that movie where her boyfriend’s wife ran away. If you put your hands where Leonardo DiCaprio has put his hands, that makes you a celebrity in my book.”

“Then make sure you get the autograph of that prop door Leo couldn’t fit on,” I grumble.

“Have a good night, Vienna,” David offers.

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