Page 99 of Again, In Autumn

“Okay,” I say. This conversation should span time. Decades. I jump up and charge toward him. “Let me get you some coffee, first.”

Adam comes up the stairs and cuts me off. His hands brace my shoulders. “I’m good,” he starts. Then, he looks out at the porch, the dawn, and finally me. A peaceful expression wakens his eyes.

He says, “Actually, I will have some coffee. But I’ll get it myself. Sit back down.”

I’m turned around to my porch rocker. Of all the stupid thoughts, I wonder what mug he’ll pick.

He used to come over early for breakfast and stand beside me or help me flip pancakes. Mornings, nights, pieces of the day. Every moment we stole felt like a ritual, a habit we couldn’t break. We didn’t have anything to hide with no one looking.

I can’t help but smile to myself, thinking that he knew I would be up right now. Of course, he would know. He also knows where to find the Garfield mug.

Yellow pops out from above the treetops, and the front door quietly shuts.

“Those kids sleep in, too?” Adam asks.

“Oh yeah.” I watch him settle into the chair beside me. His heels rest on the railing beside mine. “They’ve been well-trained.”

He sips his coffee, his thumb hiding an orange tail.

For a few minutes, neither of us say anything. We listen to the birds sing, plops of water in the lake, and a breeze singing through the trees. The first day Adam and I ever spent a moment alone, we sat on the dock with fishing rods. Francesca and David bailed fast. I didn’t care about fishing, I don’t know if Adam did. But I liked sitting beside him in the quiet.

Eventually, he says, “I had fun yesterday.”

I stiffen. “Me too.”

A lot happened yesterday. Neither of us can be sure of what the other is referring to.

“I enjoyed having fun with you,” Adam clarifies.

I glance sideways. That’s an obvious reference.

“The whole day. The games…” He rubs his eye. “Look, I don’t have a lot of people in my life who I feel completely at ease with. That’s why I wanted to stay and spend time with you guys. I feel like myself with Fran and Dave. More myself than I’ve felt in fourteen years.” He looks into his coffee.

“Aren’t you friends with Justin Bieber?” I ask, unable to help myself. I push down a tiny smile.

He sees it. “Well, we braid each other’s hair and have matching tattoos, but I don’t know if I’d call that friendship.”

“True love?” I tease, taking a sip of coffee.

Adam rolls his eyes. “I met and was photographed with the guy once.” He tips his head. “Are you going to let me finish what I’m saying?”

Then, he adds: “You do this.”

I pull my mug back. “Do what?”

“Make a joke when I’m trying to be serious.”

I know I do. It’s my armor.

“I didn’t know you were being serious,” I say.

“We have a lot to be serious about. I like being serious.”

I groan, “I don’t.”

“I know,” he says softly.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’ll try to be serious. You were saying that you’re lonely and friendless…”

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