Page 87 of Again, In Autumn

I exhaled.

Adam folded his legs, scooting closer to me, scooping the other side of my face. I rested in his palms. His tan, bright face glowed in the darkness. His brow furrowed as he searched my eyes.

“I’ll never feel this way about another girl,” he said. “Ever. We’re perfect for each other. You’re perfect. I promise everything will be perfect.”

I set my hands on his and closed my eyes, feeling like I might melt right there, in his arms, never letting the sun rise or the next season exist. It felt stupid, playful, and real. I didn’t think of anything other than that moment when I murmured, “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asked behind my closed eyes. “That’s a yes?”

“When?”

His lips touched mine. “Anywhere there’s a courthouse. You’re eighteen now. We can go any time.”

I opened my eyes. “Did you wait to ask me this on my birthday?”

“Yeah.” His fingers cup the back of my neck. “I would have asked you a month ago, but that would have just terrified you.”

He dove in for a deep kiss then. I remember feeling scared, then safe, then scared again. I grappled for his shirt and pulled him on top of me.

Adam leaned over my face, brushing my hair back gently.

“This isn’t why I asked you to marry me,” he said.

“I know.” I ran my hands along his tense arm muscles beside my head.

“We don’t have to do this, Vee.”

“I want to.”

“You sure?” he checked.

I lifted my head to kiss him, twisting my hands in his shirt. “I’m sure.”

Adam covered my body and helped me peel his shirt off. He carefully ran his hands under my shirt next, watching my eyes, waiting for me to tell him to stop. I didn’t. I didn’t tell him to stop when he bared my chest or when he unbuttoned my shorts. I didn’t tell him to stop when my heart beat wildly in my chest at the sight of what he hid inside his pants.

I covered myself when the nerves became too much, but he didn’t fight my hands away. Everything Adam did was always patient, always loving, and always on my terms. The process of entering me took so much longer than it needed to because he made sure I felt safe. Comfortable. In charge.

I’ve been with a dozen men since then, but never with anyone who loved me. Even with nice, well-meaning guys, they never treated sex as though it could be a big deal. Mostly, it felt like a transaction. I found myself numb to the experience on multiple occasions because of that fact.

That first time, in the bed of a truck with Adam, I held on to someone whose intentions I never questioned.

He loved me. Wholly. With every word, every touch. I don’t know why I keep wanting to assume he didn’t feel as much as did. If anything, I’m the one who held back on my feelings.

Not that night, though. I made the first move. That night I let go of every thought I’d ever had, every fear I ever entertained, and I just relaxed into him, feeling safe in his arms, not knowing that everything would end the next day.

In my bedroom, with everyone downstairs hunting objects, we turn away from each other. Adam to the window, me to the door. If he is thinking about that night, then I can’t bear to see his expression. He followed through with his promises to himself. I broke my promises to both of us.

He begins slowly: “A lever. A corkscrew. A wheel.”

I shudder and then turn around. “Simple machines. Okay…”

Adam faces me. He cracks his knuckles and draws a vertical line through the center of my body with his sharp eyes.

He’s thinking about it, all right. I’m a small, easy target right now, but he doesn’t look angry. He looks sad. Even though I made up my mind on that next day, climbed into my father’s car and left my heart out the window, I felt inconsolable pain for what it did to Adam. I could have stabbed him and he wouldn’t have looked more betrayed.

My nose prickles. “A wedge,” I say.

His voice comes out heavy. “Like door stop or a golf club?”

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