Page 15 of Dear Adam
“Have you been in the trash this morning?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. Hank instantly lowers his head and looks up at me through his eyelashes. I swear he watches romance movies when he’s not on the job site with me and learns little things like this to get him out of trouble. I give him a little scratch under the chin.
The rich aroma of fresh-brewed coffee fills my nose as I pour it into a to-go cup and slip on my tennis shoes. I’m attaching Hank’s leash to his collar when I remember Adam’s phone and the entire reason for going out this morning. The whole fifteen second walk from the door to the kitchen counter, I’m wrestling with the thought of checking it again. I decide I will because no one will know, then immediately change to no, because it’s none of my business. But when I flip the phone over from its face down position on the counter, it instantly lights up, and I’m able to see there are no new texts from Aly. Guilt washes over me again as I slip it into my back pocket.
I decide on a longer route into town that follows the water’s edge along the cliffs in hopes of clearing my mind and sorting through my thoughts about Aly. The temperature is in the low seventies and it’s slightly overcast, which I normally wouldn’t mind. Today though, the weather only adds to my pensive mood.
FaceTiming Aly a few nights ago did nothing to keep the memories and feelings that I always keep locked down from resurfacing. Instead, seeing her was like one of those magic tricks where you pull on the end of a scarf and instead of only the one you saw the magician shove up into his sleeve, a million more tumble free, and you’re left wondering how that many things could fit in such a tiny spot and where exactly they all came from. Seeing Aly for the first time in ten years didn’t simply stir up a tiny bit of interest. It brought back all the feelings I had for her and then some.
To make matters worse, I see what kind of message she sends to her comatose brother. I mean, who does that? Who, other than Aly, would think to keep someone updated on everything they’re missing like that? She’s still got the biggest heart and all the love in the world to give to the people she cares about. The realization also does nothing to help the way I’ve tried to suppress all my feelings for her.
My walk does nothing to clear my mind and only leaves me more confused. When we finally make it to the post office, I tug on the door and it doesn’t budge. It’s then I realize it’s Memorial Day. Today was the day Adam was supposed to go back to Charleston.
As if on cue, his phone buzzes in my pocket. I look at Hank. “What do I do?” I ask him. “Should I look at it?” Hank winks, something he does fairly often because he’s a dog, but I take it as a yes. When I pull the phone out, there’s a text from Aly. I read it once, then again, before I slip the phone back into my pocket, promising myself I’ll return it tomorrow. Or the next day.No, definitely tomorrow.
“You’re a terrible influence,” I growl at Hank, kneeling to give him a scratch under the chin. He wags his tail and stares at me, unaware of the inner turmoil I’m facing right now.
Another text comes through and I sigh as I pull the phone back out. This time it’s a picture of Pretzel, the stuffed unicorn clamped between her teeth, its head sticking out one side of her mouth, butt the other. I’m still kneeling beside Hank when I lock the phone and look over at him. “We’re in trouble aren’t we, buddy?”
Chapter seven
Levi
Thenextday,withthe weight of all I’ve refused to acknowledge settled on my shoulders, I’m wrapping up the last job I have scheduled for a while.
I don’t have any more big jobs lined up after this one.
I’ve been working on building a modest, two story home in the suburbs and when the payout hits the bank account, it’ll be enough to live off of for a little while, but what if…
I don’t even let myself finish that thought. Another job will come. It always does. This is simply the name of the game for a small construction company like mine; this is what happens trying to roll with the big dogs. I shake it off and pack up all my gear in the truck, where Hank already waits in the passenger seat.
“Burgers?” I ask, already knowing his answer. In response, he lets out a small howl of confirmation. A moment later, we pull into Buck's Burgers, and Aly’s name lights up on Adam’s phone in the cupholder. I meant to return it this morning, I really did, but when I went to the post office on my lunch break, they were on lunch, too. What a coincidence.
Hank looks at the phone and then at me. “It won’t hurt to take a peek, will it?” I ask him. Drool slides from the corner of his mouth, and I take that as my sign from the universe to pick up the phone and read her latest text.
Hudson is dropping by the store more and more and it’s almost hilarious how little he knows me. Yesterday, he brought me lactose-free ice cream and said he knew of other women who had sensitive stomachs and just wanted to be safe. I mean seriously, what do our parents see in him? I appreciate the ice cream, I really do, but I’d like all the lactose, please.
I’m grinning when three little dots appear again. Instantly, my grin is replaced by pure, unadulterated, hate for this Hudson guy.
He is kind of hot though, just saying.
Aly thinks Hudson ishot?The tool that Adam said works for his dad and has feet so small he wears women’s loafers? That might not actually be true, but Adam swore it’s a possibility. Against my better judgment, I channel my inner scorned woman, do a quick google search of his name and, wow, who cares if he has small feet with a chiseled face like that? There’s no way Aly’s going to stay away from him forever. She’ll fall in love, they’ll get married, have chiseled-jaw, small-footed babies, and live happily ever after. How many times a day do you actually look at someone’s feet, anyway?
My finger hovers over the search bar, and Hank nudges my arm with a warm, wet nose. I know he’s ready to order our burgers, but I take that as another sign to type in Aly’s name. Instantly, pictures of her in front of Bloomie’s, her flower shop, pop up. There’s an article from thePost and Courierabout the new flower shop on King Street, so I click on it.
A picture of her holding scissors cutting a ribbon is at the top of the article. Adam is standing beside her, pride radiating from his wide smile. Emma is on the other side, equally as excited. Like Aly, she looks like she hasn’t changed a bit since high school. She’s still got the funkiest style in clothing I’ve ever seen, and her hair is still a shade of neon that I’m sure she changed only the night before from some other color of the rainbow.
The realization that Aly and Adam’s parents aren’t in the shot irks me. They were always a bit pretentious—their noses were so far in the air, they’d drown in a heavy rainfall—but the fact they weren’t there to celebrate their daughter’s major accomplishment doesn’t sit well with me. I shake it off and continue scrolling.
Underneath that picture is another with her holding a bouquet of wildflowers up to her nose, eyes closed in pure bliss, standing in front of the shiplapped walls holding shelf after shelf of vases. Her wavy, sun-bleached hair cascades over one shoulder, the other side tucked behind her ear. Underneath her Bloomie’s apron, she’s barefoot in a golden yellow sundress. If it weren’t for the pair of tortoiseshell glasses perched on her cute little nose, it would look like she just stepped out of the ocean after a day full of surfing. My heart thumps hard enough in my chest at the breathtaking sight of her that I count to three to calm my ragged breathing.
“Should I message her?” I ask Hank. “I mean, it’s only fair to check in on her, and see how her brother’s doing, right?”
I had been staying updated thanks to her texts to Adam, but no one else knows that. Now that I’m thinking about it, I bet I seem like a terrible friend. Hank nudges my arm again, so with wobbly fingers, I find her number from when Adam used my phone to FaceTime her and type out a quick message.
Hey Ali, it’s Levi. I just wanted to check and see how Adam was and if you were doing okay. I look forward to hearing from you.
I hurry and delete the last sentence.I look forward to hearing from yousounds more like a business email. Yuck. I hit send and finally attach the leash to Hank’s collar so we can get some burgers.
A while later, I’m home on the couch in a burger-induced coma, wearing ketchup stains and engrossed in another rom com when my phone buzzes.
