Page 34 of Dear Adam
“Anything ice cream can fix?”
She frowns and gazes toward the harbor again. “Mmm, maybe notfixbut it can definitely help.”
Something is definitely wrong. I’m contemplating if it would be overstepping to ask or rude not to when she blurts, “I miss Adam.”
My heart sinks at the way her voice breaks. I want to wrap my arms around her, to tell her everything's going to be okay, but something tells me I probably shouldn’t. Not after the way I awkwardly left her house the other morning.
Aly had actually gone in for a kiss, and I had no choice but to dodge and kiss her cheek because…I didn’t have a toothbrush. And Iknowmy breath is horrendous in the morning. I’m a snorer. We’re talking deep sleep, mouth wide open snores. I’m not proud of it, but it is what it is and…okay. Maybe I was also a little embarrassed that she may have heard me snoring. But to make matters worse,I patted her head.I should’ve just yelled, “FRIEND ZONE,” and chest bumped her while I was at it.
“How is he?” I ask, returning to the present.
She sniffles and blinks back tears. “His labs are great. His vitals are fantastic. Everything says he should wake up any day now. But I can tell the doctors are getting discouraged. As much as I want to stay positive, I’m starting to worry. It’s hard, you know? Talking to someone every single day and then not being able to at the drop of hat, without any warning. I really miss him.”
“I went to see him this morning,” I say. A tear slides down her cheek and lands on her hand before I gently brush it away with my thumb. Before I overthink it, I thread my hand through hers and instant warmth courses through my body. “I don’t know what the future is going to be like, Aly. But I do know that Adam is a fighter and he’s got the best support system.”
“He doesn’t, though!” she cries. “My parents barely acknowledge the fact he’s in the hospital. They just go around acting like nothing has changed and everything is fine. Did you know this evening, they made me have dinner with Hudson at their house and forced me to apologize to him? I felt like a toddler again. And to make matters worse, they apologized on my behalf by saying surely my attitude was because of ‘Adam’s condition.’ It’s ridiculous.” She blows out a puff of air and settles back into the bench. “Hudson even had the audacity to ask if he could take me to the charity gala at the end of summer, when I know he’s only acting interested in me to get a promotion at work.”
“First thing’s first. Adam hasyou,” I say, fighting the urge to get straight to talking about Hudson. I’m desperate to know her thoughts about him, to try and change her mind if she’s interested in him. “You’re an amazing sister, and I know he’s missing you, too. Second,” I start hesitantly. “Are you upset about Hudson?”
“You’re kidding, right? He was going to leave me in the bathroom for an entire hour before he sent someone to come check on me. He can go play in traffic. Can I tell you something?” she asks, quieter now, absentmindedly stroking Hank’s fur as he and Pretzel cuddle next to us on the bench. I nod and stroke her hand with my thumb. “I’ve been texting Adam little updates. I don’t want him to wake up and feel like he’s missed anything. I want him to have an easy way to catch up. It might sound silly, but it helps to still feel like I can talk to him a little bit, you know?”
Now’s the time to tell her!“I think that’s sweet,” I say. Tell her now! Tell her you have Adam’s phone!I clear my throat and run a clammy palm along my pants leg. “Aly…I—”
She stands, cradling Pretzel under her arm. “I think I’m done talking about it for today. I’m sorry to spill my guts on you like that, but thank you for listening.” She stands on her tip toes and kisses me lightly on the cheek. Smooshed between us, Pretzel lets out a low growl. “Enough sad for tonight though. Let’s go get ice cream.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say through a fake smile.
Chapter sixteen
Aly
“PretendlikeI’mnoteven here,” I say, pointing my camera toward Levi. Instantly, he freezes, his movements becoming stiff and awkward. He’s been tiling my shower all morning, and he has grout smeared in the most adorable places—a little smudge on his cheek, a few streaks on his forearms,oh those forearms.Every so often, he stops and runs his hands through his hair and a little gray streak is added. Basically, with his faded blue jeans holding up a tool belt that sits just right on his hips and the black tee—the limits of which are being tested by his chest and biceps—he looks like he stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad. He is every girl’s wildest fantasy. Well, maybe noteverygirl, but definitely mine.
“You just said ‘pretend like I’m not here,’ so now the fact that you’re here and pointing a camera at me is all I can think about,” he protests. “Can’t you just take a picture of the shower when it’s done? Maybe like a before and after?”
“I could,” I agree. “But I didn’t take a before picture. Plus, no one’s going to like a picture of a shower. But you know what they will like? A picture ofyoutiling the shower. We’ve been over this. Remember how the last picture blew up?”
“Glenda said no one called to schedule anything, though, and I thought that was the whole point,” he grumbles.
“Patience, young grasshopper. Just turn around and do what you do best.”
Levi mumbles something else I can’t make out and then turns around, much to my displeasure.Not.I’m admiring the view, watching him smear more grout onto the tile and then setting it perfectly on the shower wall, biceps bulging, veins snaking around his arms and down to his large, calloused hands.
I’m considering the pros and cons of pretending to wipe at a smudge on his arm when he says, “What exactly do I do best?”
I snap the photo right as he angles his head and gives me a cocky little grin. A glance at the screen confirms it’s a perfect shot.
“Contractor stuff,” I say. “Duh.”
“My dad does contractor stuff. Do you want to take a few pictures of him, too?”
I think of Levi’s dad, with his bushy mustache and belly made round from years of Teenie’s southern cooking. “I could certainly take a few father-son pictures if that’s what you want.”
As he reaches for another piece of tile, he chuckles, low and throaty, and my mouth turns to cotton. “Would you classify him as ahot contractor,too?”
Gulping audibly, I’m aware that something has changed in the last couple of hours we’ve been holed up in this bathroom together. Is it because it’s too hot? Or because this bathroom is too small for two people? I need to do something before I embarrass myself, and fast.
Without thinking, I dip my hand into the bucket of grout and sling it at him. As the gray sludge drips from his face, he growls, “You didnotjust do that.”
