Page 72 of Again, In Autumn

I take a moment and then respond, “I just thought you just didn’t like me.”

Now he’s the one with the furrowed brow and parted lips, eyeing me with confusion. “When was I supposed to not like you? When I had my tongue down your throat or when I asked you to marry me?”

My cheeks immediately burn. My chest constricts. Hearing him put words to what I thought he’d left in the past opens something in my brain that pops and fizzles, leaving me lightheaded.

Speak, Vienna.

Dear god, say something.

I start. I stop. Finally, the twitch in my eye calms down. “I meant now,” I say stupidly.

“I wanted to not like you,” he admits. “I wanted to hate you.”

“Yeah, that’s the vibe I was picking up.”

“I don’t hate you.” His eyes peer up from under his brows. “I could never hate you.”

“Just indifferent, then?”

Adam straightens up. He narrows his eyes, mouth curved, wincing as though in pain. “If only it were that easy.”

He motions toward me with his right arm. Panic sets in as I imagine he plans to console me with that appendage. This isn’t a moment that requires a pat on the shoulder or a squeeze of the hand. My hamster hasn’t died. This is the movement of a man wanting to put into action what he’s not able to say with words.

He could grab me under the arm and scoop me towards him. He could lay his forehead against mine and tell me that he is far from indifferent to me.

Adam looks at his arm. He drops it.

I breathe.

“I’m not oblivious to your presence, obviously,” he settles. “Last night, case in point. You do exist for me, despite me not wanting to accept it.” Adam raises his shoulders. “But that’s my problem. Not yours. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

I do exist for him.

This man could have any woman he wants, and his life is champagne bottles shaken on a yacht, yet I matter to him, even if he doesn’t like it.

Someone messes with a dish in the kitchen. I glance through the window at Maggie. She inches up toward the glass and holds her coffee mug out, squeezing cheeks into a smile. I wave back.

I walk down the porch steps and mutter, “You said I was boring.”

“When did I – oh.” He jogs down after me. “You heard that?”

“We were on a group hike,” I point out. “Voices carry.”

Adam kicks up a pile of leaves. “I should say I’m sorry for that too. I didn’t mean it like that. I could explain what I meant, but…I don’t want to beat a dead horse. Kind of laid it all out last night.”

We’ve reached the treehouse. I pause underneath it. In all our days and nights meeting at this secluded, convenient location, we never stood underneath it like this, two individuals not climbing the same ladder. A broken plastic fairy toy sets the tone for outside the treehouse. A mailbox, once stuffed, speaks to what the inside turned into.

“People change and grow apart,” I say. I look up at the branches dancing in the wind. “We should just leave it behind.”

Adam radiates beside me. I close my eyes, ready for what he’ll suggest next, wondering if I’ll ever be able to stand beside him without his presence being a tangibility I feel in my bones.

He says, “Do we pretend like it never happened?” Before I can answer, he adds, “It did happen, I’m glad it did.” He plasters a pacifying smile on his mouth. “It’ll just be easier to move forward without thinking about what could have been.”

I catch Adam’s eye and I know the question is plastered on my face. Does he think of what could have been? I do, all the time, but that’s because I’m living a life so far from what I envisioned, one that’s been left entwined with him in the past. Adam lives his dream life. I was a spec. A blip. A fleeting moment that didn’t stick to his already gaining momentum.

I glance away and suck in fresh, clean air. “So that would mean we have to act normal.”

“And our normal would be…?”

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