Adam pulled out his phone right away and texted his mom two words: I’m listening.
That was the best he could do. He still didn’t really want to meet his biological dad. It was hard to imagine they’d have anything in common at all. Not even music.
His father, Thomas, was a jazz singer, Adam was told.
Yuck! Adam disliked most jazz. Too chaotic and jumbled, like the numbers, and those had caused him so many problems over the years, jazz seemed like nothing but another headache for him.
* * *
Adam waited for two days before he heard back from his mom. Finally, she sent him a text, saying she wanted him to wait. She wasn’t ready to discuss details, and then she mentioned being in the middle of dealing with some craziness with Samara.
His tongue poked out as his eyes tightened on what he was doing.
“Hey, sweetie, I’m home,” Mari hollered as she stepped in the door.
“Hi.” He kept his eyes down on the sink.
“You still wanna go on that date tomorrow night? I mean, it might be really weird to go on a double with your dad,” she told him.
He nodded. “Yeah—it’s fine. Just fixing something for it.”
His dad had called him that night, two days after Zach told him about his mom’s new marriage.
“Dammit, come on!” he murmured, dunking the cloth in deeper and kind of squishing it around.
“What are you doing over there? We have a working laundry facility here in the complex,” she said, peering over his shoulder. She was up on her toes, leaning into him some.
“You said the last time we did laundry that my favorite shirt was probably ruined.” He turned the shirt in the liquid. He pointed at a spot on a sleeve. “This one happened when I was eating a cheeseburger, and I turned my head to kiss you.”
“Mmhmm, I remember that, but why is your shirt soaking in a vat of oil?”
“Olive oil,” he corrected her.
“Okay, olive oil. Why are you doing that?” Her lashes fluttered at him in a silly way like she was flirting with him.
“Because—you said I’d never get the oil stains out.” He moved the shirt to another angle. “These two grease spots are on the stomach. Those happened while I was kissing you and holding my burger, ready to bite it again in an instant. It dripped in two spots.”
“I see . . . So you figure if you can’t beat them, join them up with all their long lost family?”
“Exactly! I knew you’d get it!” he said, his eyes lighting up.
“This is insane enough it might just work, and when it does, I’m posting pictures and a testimonial on Facebook. You’ll make tons of money marketing your formula for oil stain removal.”
He smiled in a patronizing way. “Oh, love, it’s not a formula—not like when I cooked Sam’s phone. It’s only plain old olive oil. The good kind, though—extra virgin. I thought that would work best.”
She rested her hand on his lower back. “Well, that means we can charge more, ‘cause that type of oil is more expensive.” She leaned forward, kissed his cheek and moved off him.
“I can’t sell this in good conscience, and isn’t that illegal to market something without changing it at all?”
She blinked. “Yeah, sweetie, I was joking.”
“I know!” He busted up laughing. “I was joking, too. I’m getting good at fooling you like that, aren’t I?”
“Too good,” she said, chuckling. “I’m glad you’ve gotten your sense of humor back after Samara had sucked it out of you for years.”
“I don’t wanna talk about her.” He pulled the shirt up, inspected it in the light that he wished was stronger, but at least it wasn’t CFLs. He still hated those. That never got better or went away.
They had skylights in their apartment, so that was good. He insisted on setting the table by the sliding door to get as much natural light as possible while eating. His feet were always bare, too. He was certain that feet shouldn’t be that unnatural glowing white his brother had. Feet needed light and air like anything else on his body.
His toes scrunched at the memory of how good it felt to have free feet.
“Well? Did it turn out?” she asked, heading toward the fridge.
His gaze was on her backside. Mari had gained some weight since their wedding. He was guessing about ten pounds. It made her rounder, more supple in his mouth and hands, and he loved it. She was curvy like a number eight, and that had always been his lucky number.
Twelve was unlucky, but eight . . . Oh, yes. That was how old Sam was in the year his mother left. That was what set him on the path to meet Mari. If his mom hadn’t left and Sam hadn’t tried to take Sarah’s place, he never would have gone to school and met his wife.
“Everything turned out fine,” he said, smiling with pride filling his gut. His shirt looked darker in color but good as new. “It always does when you’re around.”
He drained the sink and rinsed the shirt out while humming.
A new song had been forming lately. He needed to write it down tonight.
Chapter 20
Adam waited with Mari inside the restaurant. “We can’t afford this place, can we?” he asked.
“Not really, but it’s fine. It’s a one-time deal. I’m sure we can find something reasonably priced on the menu.” She held his hand like she was more nervous than he was.
“Has your dad told you anything more about this woman he’s dating?” She bit her thumbnail. He’d never seen her do that before.
“No. I’ve barely talked to him. Been busy with school and having a real life.” He wore a cheesy grin on purpose—making it seem like it was not a big deal to be here with her.
“Adam!” his dad called out, waved up high in the air and wound his way through the entrance to the bar where they were sitting.
Adam drank down what was left of his soda, and Mari drank down her lemon water. It was silly to be at the bar when neither of them was drinking alcohol, but at least there were less people over here than in the lobby area by the seating hostess.
He needed the quiet.
The numbers were near—he could feel it.
“Mari, hi!” his dad said, hugging her, then Adam in turn. “Thanks for coming.”
“We’re nervous to be here, but glad as well—for you, I mean,” Adam clarified.
“Good. And I’m not sure how you’ll receive my date, but I’m hoping you’ll be open-minded.” His dad smiled, but his lips shook a little.
Was he nervous, too?
“I like the sound of this already,” Mari said and then sipped her drink through a smirk at Dustin.
“I like the sound of Dad being happy. Is she nice?” he asked his father.
"She’s incredibly nice and wonderful. The thing is . . .”
“Dustin,” a soft voice came from behind as footsteps approached.
Adam turned and gawked. “Dr. Harkham? What are you doing here?”
“I uh . . .” Dr. Harkham blushed, and her eyes shifted over to his dad.
“She’s my date—the reason I need you to be open-minded,” his father said, grinning sheepishly.
“Oh, you’re . . .” Adam gulped, though his throat was dry “. . . his date. That’s nice.” He blinked slowly in confusion. Was he dreaming?
“Wow. Amelia? I kind of thought you . . .” Mari trailed off, smiling with so many teeth showing, he thought she was going to bite him.
“Let’s go get seated, shall we?” his dad said, placing his hand on the middle of Mari’s back and guiding her to the area he wanted them to be.
He spoke to the hostess, and they were seated directly after.
Once in place, Mari asked, “So when did this start?”
“A while ago, but we . . . Well, I was trying to make sure my kids were taken care of before I focused on my own needs,” his dad replied.
Amelia looked at Adam. “You seem really uncomfortable. I’m sure it’s because of my presence. Don’t think of me as your doctor while I’m here, Adam
. Maybe try thinking of me as your dad’s closest friend, because that’s what he is to me.”
“Isn’t he more than a friend if you’re dating?” Adam asked, his gaze piercing and his voice clear.
“Well, yes, but you don’t have to worry about that. We’re taking things at a leisurely pace.” His dad gave Adam a slightly pleading look.
“So leisurely you wanted me to see what was going on? That seems serious to me.” Adam was surprised at how mature and calm he sounded. Usually his tongue twisted up and he had to speak in simple terms, but this was important. He had to understand what was happening here. “Just tell me without anything hidden—how serious is this? Really?” He pressed himself forward so he could see their eyes well.
“We don’t know, Son.” Dustin took Amelia’s hands. “If you want to know how I feel about her, then I’ll tell you this—I love her—I do. I’m not sure either of us is ready to marry, though.”
“Tell him,” Amelia urged, nudging him.
“That’s too much,” Dustin hissed back at her.
“If you’re going to cover things up and lie, then what’s the point of us being here?” Adam asked.
Mari gripped his thigh under the table.
The waiter came and took drink orders quickly, then left.
“So? What’s going on?” Adam went back to his last statement to his father.
“We’re living together. Amelia’s moved in with me. And I wanted you to know so the next time you come over, you won’t be shocked or have an episode.” His dad’s lips twitched, and his jaw kind of sagged. He looked worn out.
“Does Zach know?” Adam asked.
“I think he suspects, but last time he came over, I hid the evidence. We wanted you to know first. But don’t say anything. I’ll be seeing him tomorrow.” His dad ran his other hand over Amelia’s arm while keeping their hands joined.
Amelia smiled. “I know this is a lot to take in, but we’ve been growing close over the years. I wanted to thank you, Adam, for bringing him into my life.”
“Wasn’t that my mom’s doing?” Adam asked. It came out sounding more accusatory than he had meant it to. “I mean, not that it’s a problem, but I was wondering. I thought mom found you.”
“She did, and I moved to Arizona because Sarah kind of sensed I had feelings for Dustin. Once she left, well, you guys moved here, and everything changed,” Amelia explained. Her tone was soft and patient.
“Oh.” Adam sat still, unsure of what to say or do. His chest tightened up.
“Sweetie?” Mari called out to him.
His eyes were closed, his head hung low and he was whispering to himself, not numbers, but saying, “Love is good. Love is good. I have Mari. Give Dad somebody, too.”
“You don’t have to accept this right away,” Amelia said, “but we’re happy to talk to you about it whenever you’re up to it. And I’m ready with a referral for you with another doctor since I now have a very clear conflict of interest.”
Adam shoved off the table to standing, his eyes blazing at her. “No! You’re my doctor! I don’t care if you marry Samara, Zach or Dad. I need your help. You can’t give up on me!”
“Okay, Adam . . . We’ll figure out how to make this work.” Amelia held a hand up, signaling for him to calm down.
Mari stroked his arm and somehow coaxed him back into his seat.
“Maybe we can stop meeting formally at the office, and simply do it at your dad’s home,” Amelia suggested.
“You mean your home,” Adam corrected her.
“Yes, I . . . I mean . . . Uh, my home,” she agreed.
“Okay, but I . . . I will always have both Mari and Choppy with me. I need them there.” Adam relaxed a little after sharing that.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Good thinking,” Amelia agreed and winked.
He smiled, and it seemed to spread around the table.
Everyone was grinning, looking at the person across from them, and the rest of the dinner was spent talking about how well school and married life were going for the young couple.
Adam kind of wished he could throw Mari down on the table and relieve all this with a good sexual pounding.
Worked for him on the nights he had a lot of schoolwork to get through.
Instead, he kissed her ear, told her he wanted her and let her deal with his sneaky hands under the table.
* * *
Nine months later . . .
Adam grabbed the first cart he found, without bothering to check if it wobbled or squeaked.
Mari figured he’d be the one pushing it anyway, so she let it go.
Their first school year was over. She was less stressed, and so was he. She was fine with him letting go and experimenting more in public with seeing where his limits were in terms of his tolerance for stress-induced number episodes. He had them so infrequently she worried she was getting careless.
It was time to celebrate, though. School was out. And although it was hot, they’d celebrated their one-year anniversary last month, and now she needed to give him the big celebration he deserved.
They had a lot to buy—it was his birthday dinner party this weekend. His dad would be coming, and Amelia would be with him. Of course Dustin denied that the ring they’d seen on his girlfriend’s finger was anything more than jewelry, but Mari knew right away after their double date several months ago that it was pretty serious. They’d be married soon—she was sure of it.
Zach was having the opposite reaction when it came to who he was bringing. He’d changed his mind, and now seemed to talk about marriage all the time around Lorraine. It was like he figured if he pushed hard enough, she’d stop being so high-maintenance and would relent. He swore he was the one that wore the pants in that relationship, and he was in charge.
Mari laughed last week when he came over, and teased him relentlessly. Zach talked Mari into leg wresting him and he lost, as usual. Adam went next, and he figured out a trick where he could roll his hip out and put more torque into it, pinning her down in seconds.
My God, was he powerful, and she was so turned on she made up a lame excuse to get rid of Zach early that night, even though Friday night was pizza night at their place, which Zach always attended whether he was invited or not. Not that she could blame him. She learned how to cook a few more things over the last year, and pizza dough from scratch was one of them.
It took her a few times to get it down and to ignore the guilt over eating so much white flour, but watching how happy Adam was eating it, well, it was worth every gluttonous calorie.
“Is there going to be soda?” Adam asked her as they walked through the grocery store.
She patted her doughy midsection. Ten pounds seemed like a lot to gain in a year, but Adam told her mercilessly how beautiful she was to him and how much he loved her curves.
“Tons of soda, and donuts for dessert instead of cake, as you requested.” She pulled out her lengthy list.
“Good. And I want a lot of butter on my hot wings. I like butter,” he reminded her.
“I do too. Paula Dean says everything’s better with butter—I agree. Load it on,” Mari said with a smile almost as exuberant as his.
Zach was a part of the planning of the meal, so it had shifted from lasagna with salad, to Superbowl party food—hot wings, potato skins, veggie platter with spinach dip, chips, those big soft pretzels, hot dogs and cheeseburgers. It was a ridiculous amount of food, but then Adam wanted to invite practically every person he knew.
And Zach had given up on trying to lose weight a long time ago, so he could get more definition in his abs. So that meant there was no limit in terms of how unhealthy this food would be.
Mari was going to add some salad and a fruit platter so they didn’t have to watch as their guests’ arteries clogged directly before their eyes while they waddled out to their cars afterward. She’d never forgive herself if they had a coronary on the way home.
“Are you going to tell me what movie Zach’s bringing for thi
s birthday celebration?” Mari asked.
“Nope!” He popped his P and grinned. He pushed the cart ahead.
Ehhhhhh, ehhhhh, ehhhhhh.
She stopped. “Can we please switch out this shopping cart? It sounds like we’ve got a wounded baby seal tucked away at the bottom.”
“No way! It sounds like a train. Chuggah, chuggah, choo choo!” Adam pushed harder and faster, making her chase after him.
“Can’t you hear it? It’s cool,” he said, looking like he was having the best time ever.
She directed him over to the produce section, and while she was picking out the best fruits for her part of the meal, she lost track of where he was and what he was doing.
Sometimes he’d wander and sniff at the vegetables and make adorable wrinkled noses in distaste. There were a few vegetables he’d learned to tolerate because of her insistence he eat more balanced meals, but they still were something he viewed as a sort of nemesis.
“Listen . . . Do you hear it?” she heard him say.
She tucked the cantaloupe in her arm—an unplanned purchase she couldn’t resist—and found him talking to a little girl sitting in a cart a few feet away. She was in one of those car ones.
“Sounds like an engine,” the little five-year-old girl said, turning the driving wheel in her fake car.
“Like a train, huh?” He smiled with pride.
She giggled, and Mari laughed. The little girl was flirting with him.
“Choo, choo!” He fisted and pulled his arm down in the air, pretending to blow a train conductor’s whistle.
She leaned out the side of her car and listened hard. “I do hear it!” she cried with joy.
Her mom was perusing the grapes, oblivious to her little girl.
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