by Bex, Alice
“I mean nothing much happened.”
“I think you’d better define ‘nothing much,’” Sydney said.
“It was just one of those things.”
“Is it one of those things that’s likely to happen again?”
Shiznits and Shakespeare, no!
“No.”
“And it had never happened before?”
“No.”
“It’s obvious that you and Adam have an exceptionally close friendship, and Adam’s very—how shall I put this?”
“Demonstrative?”
“Exactly. Something was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“Was it?”
“I’d say so. The question is: Do you want it to happen again?”
“Of course not.”
“You seem pretty certain.”
“I am. Adam is my closest friend. I’m not going to let anything ruin our friendship.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.”
“Really. You have nothing to worry about.”
Sydney still looked worried.
“I think it happened mostly because Adam felt sorry for me,” I said.
“You think it was pity sex?”
“Well, it wasn’t technically sex.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” Sydney said. “I have to ask: Who cuts your hair?”
I didn’t tell Adam that Sydney knew. When he asked how lunch went, I just said that I really liked Sydney, and that he’d made an excellent choice. I didn’t think she would tell him.
I was wrong.
Three days later, Adam came into my office hopping mad.
He came straight over to my side of the desk so he could chew me out without being overheard. Dr. Maxwell likes to lurk when anyone has visitors, just to ensure that non-work related discussions don’t—as he puts it—“compromise our productivity.”
“I can’t believe you told her?” Adam growled in my ear.
“Told who what?” I had a bad feeling that already I knew who and what.
“You told Sydney what happened the night before you went to Tampa.”
“I seem to recall you promising never to speak of the night before I went to Tampa.”
“It was a two-way pact.”
“No, it wasn’t. I never said.”
“It was implied.”
“Well, I’m sorry.”
“We’re going to talk about this. Later.”
“What about the pact?”
“The pact is off.”
I didn’t have to ask why. He stalked out without saying anything else. I’d never seen him so mad.
I’d have to stop answering my phone and ignore my doorbell. Not forever. Just until he’d cooled off a little. Maybe he was right. Maybe we did need to talk about it.
I was so sure that he was still angry that I didn’t answer the phone when he called that evening. I didn’t answer the second call. Or the third. He finally texted. CALL ME. I replied: TOMORROW. The next thing that flashed up on my screen were the words: DAD DIED.
I didn’t even reply, I got in my car and drove straight over to his house.
When I walked in, he was stuffing clothes in his washing machine.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I need clean clothes, for the funeral.”
I chalked it up to the crazy things people do when they’ve just received shocking news.
I took the clothes out of his hands and put them back in the hamper.
“Come sit down,” I said. He let me lead him to a chair. “What happened?”
“Heart attack.”
I didn’t have to say how sorry I was. I was already crying. It didn’t seem right that I was crying and he wasn’t.
“When is the funeral?”
“I don’t know, yet.”
“How soon are you going to Dallas?”
“I don’t know.”
He didn’t know anything. All he could do was obsess about how he didn’t have a clean shirt for the funeral. I fired up his laptop and started looking for a plane ticket.
“You could get a flight out tonight,” I said.
“Come with me.”
I couldn’t say no. He needed me.
We didn’t fly out until noon the next day. I’d hurried home to pack at four o’clock in the morning, after Adam had finally fallen asleep. He didn’t even know I’d gone.
We got to the departure lounge alright. I’d found a clean white shirt in the back of Adam’s closet. That hadn’t calmed him down as much as I’d hoped. Now he’d moved on to asking over and over if I was absolutely sure I’d confirmed our reservation for a rental car.
“Did you call Sydney?” I asked.
He hadn’t. Apparently, it hadn’t even occurred to him.
“I think you should.”
He called her. He didn’t cry or anything. I’m sure she didn’t. You don’t cry over the grief of someone you’ve known less than a month. At least I don’t.
“You didn’t tell her I was with you.”
“I’ll tell her later.”
It wasn’t the right time to point out that Sydney wasn’t going to like it.
I had to call the University, for both of us. The head of Adam’s department was very understanding. Adam should take as much time as he needed, he said. Three weeks at least.
Dr. Maxwell was not so accommodating. At first he got the impression that it was my father who had passed away. “I know I’m supposed to give you three weeks,” he said. “But I’ve always been of the opinion that after a loss it’s best to resume one’s normal routine as soon as possible.”
How thoughtful of him. Thinking only of my welfare.
When I explained to him that it was not my father who was dead, he was incredulous.
“Why do you need time off?”
I said something slightly incoherent about it being beneficial for grieving persons to have the support of friends and family during their time of bereavement.
Dr. Maxwell was not sympathetic.
“You have three personal days coming to you. After that, it’s leave without pay.”
I’m sure he wouldn’t have given me those three days, if it hadn’t been mandated university policy.
We finally made it onto the plane and, as I buckled myself in, I wondered for the first time what Adam’s family was going to think about me showing up like this. I’d been too focused on logistics and Adam’s fragile emotional state to think about that.
“Does your mother know I’m coming?”
“Yes. I told her last night.”
The flight attendant came by and reminded Adam to return his seatback to the upright position. He needed help finding the button, even though he’d used it just ten minutes before to recline the seat. I decided not to ask any more questions about his mother and what assumptions she might or might not be making about the nature of our relationship.
We got to Dallas. I picked up the rental car. Adam stayed with the luggage. I worried about leaving him alone, but when I pulled up at the curb, he was right where I’d left him. We got lost on the way to his parent’s house. He said he knew how to get there, but he sent me down several wrong turnings before I convinced him to pull up directions on his phone.
When we finally arrived, the house was full of people. I’d only met Adam’s parents once, a couple of years ago, when they came out to visit over Thanksgiving. Their Thanksgiving visit had been a one-off. They don’t like to travel. Adam usually goes to see them.
Surprisingly, Adam’s mother seemed to be in better shape than he was. She gave me a big hug and thanked me for making sure her “boy got home safely.” Made me feel like Adam’s nanny, but I’m sure she meant well. I was worried about Adam. He was still holding it together, sort of, but that wouldn’t last.
He wandered around the room, dragging me behind him, introducing me to assorted friends and relations. He introduced me as, “Libby.” That was it. Not, “my friend Libby,” which would still ha
ve been open to misinterpretation. No. Just “Libby.” That guaranteed that his entire family was making erroneous assumptions willy-nilly.
Even Adam’s mother didn’t seem to have things quite straight. When I said something about Sydney, she gave me a blank look. I attributed her forgetfulness to shock and exhaustion.
I don’t know if Adam’s mother had things completely wrong, or if they were just running out of room, but she put me in Adam’s old room. With Adam. It was fine. There were two twin beds, and it wouldn’t have mattered if we’d had to share a double. I think we were both feeling the opposite of amorous.
The funeral was the next day. It was a nice funeral. Adam gave the eulogy. He still hadn’t cried.
I figured I’d go back home the day after the funeral, but when I told Adam I was booking a return ticket, he didn’t want me to go.
“I know you’ll have to take leave without pay,” he said. “But I’ll make up the difference for you.”
“It’s not about the pay. Your mother needs you here. I’m glad I was able to come with you, but I’m starting to feel like I’m in the way.”
He sat down on the floor and put his head in his hands.
“I think I might be going crazy,” he said.
“You’re not going crazy. You’re still in shock. It will get worse. Then eventually, it will start to get better.”
“I can’t,” he said.
“You don’t have any choice.”
“I meant I can’t do it without you.”
He could have done it without me, but I didn’t want him to.
I almost called Dr. Maxwell and told him not to expect me for another week, but I chickened out at the last minute and sent an email, instead.
Eight
Adam’s mother didn’t seem to think I was in the way. She kept repeating how happy she was that I was able to stay a little longer. It was obvious that Adam hadn’t brought many women home to meet his parents.
That evening, after we’d gone to bed, I asked him about it.
“Has your mother met many of your girlfriends?”
“She met Frieda.”
I didn’t remember any Frieda.
“Who’s Frieda?”
“Summer of 2002.”
That was ancient history.
“Nobody since?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess I never got that serious with anyone else.”
“She thinks we’re together, doesn’t she?”
“She might.”
I didn’t say anything. I could hardly demand that he set his grieving mother straight.
“Can I come over there?” Adam asked.
“Why?”
“I’m cold.”
Adam’s mother did keep the air conditioner turned up pretty high.
“Then turn the fan off.”
“I like the fan.”
“I saw a blanket in the closet.”
“I promise not to get handsy.”
I gave in. He came over and climbed into bed with me. It wasn’t until a tear splashed on my cheek that I realized he was finally crying. He didn’t stop crying for an hour. He held me so tight I could hardly breathe. I finally eased myself free and got up for a glass of water. When I came back, I thought he was asleep, so I lay down on the empty bed. Ten minutes later he was over in the other bed with me. He had stopped crying, but he kept a firm grip on me until he finally fell asleep.
The next day Adam wanted to go on a drive, to visit all of his childhood haunts. He wanted to show me everything. His old schools, the ballpark where he’d played little league, the hill where he’d lost control of his bike and broken his arm.
He seemed to be doing a little better. At least, he didn’t say anything more about feeling like he was going crazy.
That evening we had dinner with the aunts and uncles. I was the object of undisguised and unapologetic curiosity.
One of the Uncles came right out and asked what everyone was probably wondering. “So, when are you kids planning on making it official?”
His wife kicked him under the table.
“Oh, we’re taking our time,” Adam said.
“Well, don’t take too long,” the Uncle admonished. “Cute girl like Libby, somebody will come along and take her off your hands.”
I don’t think I like being discussed in the third person.
That night, Adam got into my bed without even asking. I didn’t kick him out, and the last three nights we stayed with his mother he did the same. He didn’t cry again. At least not in front of me.
We left for home on Friday afternoon. Adam’s mother wasn’t ready to let him go, but it was his decision, so I didn’t interfere. As we were collecting our luggage, I asked if he’d called Sydney. I don’t think he’d called her all week, but I knew she’d called him. I’d heard Adam talking to her right after the funeral.
“I’ll do it later,” he said.
“You’d better. Or you’re going to find yourself short one girlfriend.”
“What if I don’t tell her that you came along with me?” Adam asked, without looking at me.
“Do what you want.”
“Is that your way of saying I should tell her?”
“Let me put it this way: If I were her, I’d be a little upset if you told me you’d taken another woman to your father’s funeral.”
“So I shouldn’t tell her?”
“I’m not finished. I’d be a little upset if you told me. I’d be livid if I found out you’d withheld that bit of information.”
“Even if you knew the woman in question was just a friend?”
I didn’t say anything.
“We’re not really ‘just friends’ anymore, are we?” Adam looked at me. I looked away and didn’t answer. It seemed better not to. If I hadn’t been so worried about him, I’d have suggested that maybe we needed to spend a little less time together for a while, but he was so fragile
Sydney didn’t break up with Adam, which made me think it was either because she was too nice to break up with a man who’d just lost his father, or that she liked Adam so much she was willing to wait things out and see what happened.
I invited her and Adam over for dinner the next Sunday, in the hopes that spending some time with me would put her mind at ease. I invited Shasta and Brad, too. Brad couldn’t come. That made it just Adam and three women. He didn’t seem to mind. I thought it might be awkward, but it wasn’t.
At least it wasn’t awkward until Shasta put her foot in it. Shasta knew all about me going to Dallas. I guess she assumed that Sydney did, too. I mean, Sydney should have known. Adam should have told her, but I guess he hadn’t.
We were clearing the plates when Shasta said to me, “I heard it got up to a hundred in Dallas last week. Hope you brought along your shorts.” It was a strange thing to say. Shasta isn’t the type who talks about the weather. Looking back, I’m convinced she did it on purpose, just to blow Adam’s cover. That surprised me. Shasta usually goes out of her way to make sure no one gets mad and no one’s feelings get hurt.
I didn’t say anything, but Sydney was looking at me. Guilt—not that I had anything to feel guilty about—must have been written across my face, because then Sydney looked over at Adam.
“What’s Shasta talking about?”
“Who knows,” Adam said.
“Libby went with you, didn’t she?”
“You didn’t tell her!” I couldn’t believe it.
“I was going to,” said Adam.
“When?” Sydney sounded mad.
“I don’t know. There’s nothing to be mad about,” Adam said.
“Nothing? I might have believed that if you’d told she’d gone in the first place.” Sydney looked ready to spit.
I could have sworn there was a little smile flickering on Shasta’s lips. I can’t imagine why. I certainly wasn’t finding the situation very amusing.
Sydney and Adam left right away. I didn’t hea
r yelling, but I’m betting there was some on the way home.
“Why did you do that?” I asked Shasta, after they were out the door.
“Do what?”
“You did that on purpose.”
“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.”
“How did you even know that Adam hadn’t told Sydney?”
“Adam and I talk.”
Great. I used to be the one Adam confided in. Now I’m the other woman, but with all the responsibilities and none of the benefits.
“Adam loves you,” Shasta said.
“I know he loves me.”
“No, I mean he loves you.”
I snorted a very unladylike snort in response to that statement, but it didn’t faze Shasta. She’s tougher than she looks.
I guess Sydney and Adam managed to patch things up, because I didn’t see much of Adam for almost a month. I imagine that was a condition of staying together—that Adam would be seeing a lot less of me.
I was half relieved and half sad. I hoped Adam was doing all right. Sydney may be a nice girl, but she doesn’t know Adam like I do.
After dropping off the map for almost a month, Adam abruptly reinserted himself into my life. Five weeks to the day his father died, he stopped by my office and announced that he and Sydney had broken up, and would I like to go out to dinner?
“Tonight?”
“Are you free?”
I was free, but I didn’t feel like letting him off that easy.
“You know, you take me very much for granted,” I said.
“I do know. And I very much appreciate that you let me.”
“What if I stopped letting you?”
The smile vanished from his face, and he looked a little scared. “I really need to see you.”
When he put it that way, I couldn’t refuse.
That evening I met him at the restaurant. Told him I was working late. For some reason that I can’t explain, I didn’t want him coming to my house to get me.
It felt like a first date. We’d never gone so long without seeing each other. I was a little angry with him, to tell the truth.