Page 62 of First Comes Forever

Mona’s still on the phone, so I stare at my shoes, trying to ignore the twinge I have in my gut. It’s the same feeling I usually get right before Chase lands in the middle of a scandal. It was the feeling I had the day we got Dad’s diagnosis. The very same feeling right before Liv told me the baby wasn’t mine. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like my intuition’s telling me that I’m so laser-focused on one thing, I’m missing something huge in the background.

For once in my fucking life, I listen to the twinge.

“Mona, I’m sorry,” I say loud and clear enough that she pulls the phone from her ear. “If you can make this deal happen any other way, I’m in. But I can’t wait until next week. My girl needs me, and I’m going home right now.”

fifteen

At one in the morning, I’m drinking orange juice straight from the jug, staring at the emotional support pickle that Addie sent me. I swung by my old apartment earlier and found the broken box lying outside the door. There lay the little green pickle Reese warned me about, preserved in plastic protective wrap, peeping out of the destroyed cardboard box. If I’m being honest, I think Addie got my name embroidered on a dog toy.

I snatch the pickle off the counter and squeeze it as hard as I can to hear a drawn-out moan that sounds more like a foghorn than a squeak. It’s most definitely a dog’s squeak toy, but it’s still going in my keepsake box. To anybody else, this is a silly gag gift, but to me, it means that my friends, the most important people in the world to me besides my mother, haven’t forgotten me just because I’m gone. I don’t know why I was so hell-bent on a baby of my own. My girls are enough. My friends and my mother are all the family I need. Maybe I was selfish to want more.

But what now? What else could possibly distract me from the gnawing dissatisfaction of every life choice I’ve made to this point? I don’t think I’ve ever been so disappointed in humanity. For the longest time, I was a sheep following the herd, but now I can’t unsee that we’re all headed for a cliff. My entire worth is wrapped up in numbers. Amount of money, number of followers, metrics for engagement, watch time, accounts reached—all the shit that makes sense for a robotic machine.

But I’m not a machine. I’m a person.

I’m a really lonely person who talks to millions of people a day.

It’s so quiet that the buzz of my cell phone against the granite countertop startles me. I flip my phone over and see it’s Adam calling. It’s four in the morning in New York, and I’m sure he’s drunk and is probably craving a flirty video chat. I’m not in the mood for it. This whole summer guy thing seemed like a better idea when I actually had something to look forward to in the fall. Now, it just seems like I’m wasting time.

Still, it’s Adam, so I answer. “Hey, you’re up late.”

“That I am, and so are you,” he says, clear as day, completely sober. “Are you hungry?”

“Weird question, but actually I could eat.”

“Good,” he says. “Open the front door.”

I know he must be messing with me, but I scurry to the front door anyway. Squinting through the peephole, it’s not a joke, there he is. Once I open the door, I can clearly see a dog-eared, exhausted-looking Adam standing at my door with a small carry-on suitcase right next to him. His hair is a little disheveled and his dark pin-striped dress shirt is untucked and wrinkled.

“Why wouldn’t you just knock?” I ask.

He smirks. “Those grand romantic gestures may work in the movies, Amani, but this is real life. It’s one o’clock in the morning, you live alone, and you weren’t expecting anyone. If I was banging on your door in the middle of the night, wouldn’t that scare you?”

Fair point, but I’m still stuck on the first part of what he said about a grand romantic gesture. “Why are you back? I thought you had business to take care of,” I say as I anxiously dig my toes into the ground.

He smiles and glances down at his suitcase. “The pizza was so good, I had to bring you a slice. Barbieri’s only does pineapple and bacon, though, so I’m not sure if that’s still considered Hawaiian.”

“That’s the best kind of Hawaiian pizza,” I say with a firm nod.

“I also came to give you this.” Adam takes a small step forward and pulls me against his chest. He hugs me so tightly my bent arms are pinned against his chest and I’m unable to hug him back. He simply holds me in the doorway as he kisses the top of my head over and over. “I’m sorry about your bad day. I’m here now.”

“Adam, want to stay over?” I murmur against his chest.

“Yeah.” He releases me and grabs his small black hard case suitcase with one hand and I step aside from the doorway so he can make his way into the condo. “I took a rideshare here anyway. You’re stuck with me unless you want to drive me home.”

Following him into the kitchen, I smile as he unzips his luggage and pulls out a comically large slice of pizza wrapped in several layers thick foil. “Snuck this past security,” he says, beaming with pride.

I smirk. “What a rebel.”

“Well, all my clothes smell like pizza, and you’ll want to heat this up in the oven, but it’s worth it, I promise.” While he places the pizza on the counter, a small black box from the corner of his suitcase catches my eye. I recognize the gold trojan mascot.

“Did someone do a little airport shopping?” Squatting down next to his suitcase, I pull out the box of condoms. “Now I know why you flew back home in a hurry.”

He spins around slowly, his brows pinched and his lips pressed in a flat line. I stop smiling when I realize I’ve offended him. “Don’t do that,” Adam says, cocking his head to the side.

“Do what?” I ask.

“Cheapen this.”

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