Page 113 of Again, In Autumn

“Yeah, she threw a huge party for herself when she retired.” He laughs. “She said she could finally celebrate an achievement. She told me that she didn’t get the same sense of accomplishment that I did when I wrote a song. The job was never done.”

I commiserate, “It’s like filling a pot that I will never see full. And some teachers like that. They like being one brick in the foundation and it’s fulfilling for them. I’m starting to think I’m just not like that.

“Plus, everything’s the teacher’s fault, the teacher’s responsibility, the teacher’s problem to fix. You’re never doing enough. It’s never enough of yourself and your money and your time.”

I fix a smudge on my eyeliner and glance apologetically at his reflection. I offer, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go off on a rant.”

He meets my eye. “Don’t apologize. I asked and that’s your answer.”

I bite my lip. I pretend to look at my makeup, but really consider the question I both want and don’t want to ask. This is the leap from being easy-going pseudo friends to stumbling into the hurdle of what ended our short relationship in the first place.

I ask him, “How is it being a musician?”

Adam continues to shave. “Everything my fate line told me it would be.” He flickers his eyes back to mine. “It was hard in the beginning. It’s still hard, in different ways. I feel this pressure to make the next thing I do better than the previous. I keep trying to remind myself to just be in the moment and be happy.”

“Because it makes you happy,” I envy.

Adam likes his lip and pauses. “Yes. I’m happy writing and performing. It doesn’t mean every part of my life is perfect, just that slice.”

“And if music stops making you happy?”

“Then I’ll do something else.”

I rub my ring finger in a jar of highlighter and brush it along my cheekbones. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. I think that’s for me to find out when the time comes. I’m doing the only thing that has ever brought me joy. My one single dream. I guess a new thing will present itself if need be.”

I have one thing that brings me joy and I had a vision for what it looked like. I want to tell him: that’s what I hate about my job – that it’s not my dream.

Adam cleans his face and walks out of the bathroom in blue pants. “A job is just a job, Vienna. You can get them anywhere.”

“It’s not that easy,” I sigh, adding another layer of blush to my cheeks.

“But it doesn’t have to be that hard either. Being unhappy is pretty hard enough.” He stands at the foot of the bed and puts on a crisp white shirt, that he must have ironed before leaving.

I steal glances at him as he buttons his shirt. He does the same to me, standing at my back while I apply lipstick, fixing his collar in the mirror.

It’s quite domestic, the two of us getting dressed for a night out, alternating between talking and moving in an easy quiet. I thought Adam would need something exciting and adventurous. I thought the mundane life I lived would bore him.

He seems pretty content. When he does catch my eye, he smiles. He pauses after putting on shoes to watch me fiddle with my jewelry.

“Can you clip this?” I ask, holding out a bracelet.

“Yeah, sure.” He kneels in front of me, large fingers securing the clasp. Then, his hand wraps around my wrist to look at it, observing, “That’s nice. Where’d you get it?”

“It was my mom’s,” I breathe as his thumb moves from tracing the gold chain to dancing along my veins.

Immediately, a question floats to my mind that I can’t swim away from.

“Adam,” I start. “Why didn’t you tell me about your mom?”

He meets me face with a frown. “Maggie?”

I nod.

Rolling his head contemplatively, his hand smoothing the sleek locks at his hairline, he replies, “Because…I didn’t talk about it. To anyone.”

“Why?”

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