Page 110 of Again, In Autumn

I imagined it dark and moody, great American novels stacked in columns in the corner. I thought he’d have his guitar on the wall, harmonica on a scattered dresser, five half-drunk coffee cups on the windowsill.

The reality was one single bed with plain white bedding, an open suitcase, and a book on the nightstand.

“This is your bedroom?” I double checked.

He shut the door behind us.

I made sure he didn’t see how stressed that made me because then he would just open it and that would be worse with other people in the house. I wanted to be alone with him in this room, but it also terrified me.

Adam flopped on the bed and answered, “It’s the room I sleep in.”

“There’s nothing in it.”

“We just moved here. I’m going to Nashville after the summer ends. There’s no reason to plant my flag.”

I sat on the bed next to him.

He reached out and caressed the top of my hand. Then, he stopped suddenly. “Is this okay?” He glanced around. I think he realized at that moment that I could be uncomfortable alone in his room, on his bed.

“I’m okay just sitting here,” I responded.

Message received. He relaxed and resumed his soft touches, shooting question after question my way. He had an insatiable need to know everything about me and we spent the whole night talking. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember being tired, not wanting to leave, and him laying down beside me atop the comforter.

When I woke up, Adam murmured in my ear, “Please don’t freak out about my dick. It’s involuntary.”

I felt him pressing into my back with his arms tucked under mine, his palm resting on my boob, our legs stacked into a single layer. I pushed myself up and looked at the daylight outside, the clothes I was wearing the day before, and the boy rubbing his eyes beside me.

“Oh my God,” I whimpered, scrambling off the bed.

Still half asleep, Adam nearly faceplanted trying to get up. “Vee, it’s okay, nothing happened.”

“I’m not home.” I panicked. “Heddy’s going to freak out if I’m not home.”

“Then what?”

Shoving my tennis shoes on, I swallowed. “She’ll be angry, and she’ll send me back to Atlanta and…” My hands pressed to my face. “I don’t like doing the wrong thing.”

“I know you don’t.” Adam put his hands on my shoulders as I began to hyperventilate. He pushed down on them, squeezing me slightly, and he breathed steadily.

I stammered, “What – what – do I say?”

“You wake up at dawn. They’re probably still asleep,” he reasoned. “If not, just say you went for a walk. Everything’s going to be fine. It’s fine.”

He handled me so gently that morning, and he was right about everything. I had no reason to panic because Francesca and Heddy were still asleep when I got home. Later that day, I apologized to Adam for acting so unhinged, and he wouldn’t let me get the words out. He insisted I had nothing to be sorry for. I didn’t think any other eighteen-year-old boy would have been so mature or sensitive.

Now I glance at our probably-to-be-shared bed and the pants he places on it.

Could Adam and I sleep together tonight and have it mean nothing? Would we finish what we started last night? Would he push me up against one of those hedges and ravish my mouth like a Bridgerton?

No.

I couldn’t be intimate with him physically because I’d want more. He might want more too, but that wouldn’t be an accurate want. It would be fourteen-year-old pain begging to be bandaged without realized the wound had already healed. We’ve both moved far beyond what we once had. As already established – too little too late.

He looks up from his bag. “Did you want to change for dinner?”

I nod, putting down my wine.

I unzip my bag quietly, listening to every sound he makes. I remember calling my friend Lauren that summer and gushing, “I’m obsessed with everything he does. Even the way he breathes is perfect.”

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