by Emily Nealis
“I’m an equal-opportunity grape enthusiast,” she raised a hand as she continued, “but the red stains my veneers and, as Dolly Parton would say, it takes a lot of money to look this cheap!” I gladly accepted her offer. I didn’t want to be rude. I liked wine, and who was I to argue with the iconic Dolly Parton, anyway? We strolled through Phyllis and Richard’s townhouse, wine glasses in hand, Phyllis pointing out the finer details of the interior and the corresponding stories associated with each. Either they had someone come to clean periodically or they were impeccable housekeepers because the townhouse was nicer than any other rental I’d ever seen. The price was also relatively reasonable, considering the location. I knew I’d have to pay more if I wanted this kind of environment.
“What do you do, dear? Are you married?” Phyllis asked as we arrived back in the living room.
“I’m not. I took a new position with the university, so I’m planning on moving up here at the end of the month. I grew up in Lexington, though, so I know the area well.”
Phyllis clapped her hands together.
“That’s good to hear, welcome back! I love travelling but the thought of completely starting over somewhere and not knowing anyone would give me the creeps! The only reason I agreed to move to Madeira is because we have quite a few friends who already live there. Oh—before I forget, do you have that application I sent you?” I reached into my bag and pulled out the folded packet of papers she emailed me.
“Wonderful! I’m sorry you couldn’t meet Dick, he’s been in Italy on business. He’s a corporate attorney—technically retired—but he still does some consulting occasionally. He’s flying back this evening.” Gazing at the horse racing paintings in the dining room and photos of Phyllis and her husband posing with horses on lush, green lawns, I couldn’t help but wonder if corporate attorney Dick Dewberry was somehow part of the rumored mafia in Lexington that allegedly ran the racing industry.
“That’s the other wonderful thing about this location—the airport is right down the road! A beautiful, professional woman like you can jet off whenever you want!” Phyllis tapped my arm with her tanned forefinger, “This is a one year, lease, though, so remember that when all the men start trying to snatch you up!” She winked at me with her long, black, fake eyelashes. I wanted to tell Phyllis my life was a lot less exciting than she thought, but I wasn’t about to destroy her image of me. Upon finishing our wine, Phyllis told me she liked me and would love to rent the townhouse to me. She wanted to discuss everything with Dick when he came home, and the next morning she called and asked if I would come back over to sign the lease. On the first of the month, I moved into my townhouse on Pine Needles Lane, one mile from the airport and two miles from Keeneland Racetrack. Just like Dick Dewberry, corporate attorney for Lexington’s mafia, I immediately felt at home as soon as I set foot in the ceramic tile foyer.
My alarm went off at 6:00AM on weekdays with enough time for me to get to work by 7:00. On Tuesday, I set my alarm for 5:15 to arrive at the Starbucks at 6:00. I wouldn’t be drinking coffee at my house, so that cut my morning routine almost in half. At that hour, it took me about 20 minutes to travel from the southwest side to the north side of town depending on how many red lights I hit. That’s the benefit of living in a town like Lexington—I could live on the far south side, at the edge of the airport and horse farms, but work on the opposite end of the city with a 15 to 20-minute commute if I didn’t drive through town.
The coffee shop was on the way to my office, thus the reason I chose that location. My reasons for choosing the time and place of our meeting that morning was purely convenience. At the time, I didn’t know Adam Hunt’s schedule or where his place of work was located. If he really wanted to see me again, I didn’t mind making it as difficult as possible. Although I considered our friendship platonic, I was not going to go out of my way to see him or make any additional effort on my part. In my mind, that’s what maintained the platonic nature of our relationship.
I arrived a few minutes before 6:00 and parked in a space near the back of the lot, removed from where the morning rush to the drive-thru would form. At exactly 6:00, I saw Adam’s truck pull into the parking lot and take the space to the left of me. After stepping out of my vehicle, I turned around and noticed the passenger side window was down. I leaned into the window, Adam nodded hello.
“Are you ready?” I asked, waiting for him to turn off the engine and get out of the truck.
“Are you?” I followed Adam’s eyes down to the console, where two travel mugs were sitting. He’d come already prepared with coffee, even for me. I opened the door and climbed inside of the truck. It felt familiar, even though I’d only been inside one time, eight months ago. I was relieved; being a colossal cheapskate, I never liked to buy coffee if I could make my own. Apparently, Adam had the same idea.
“This is great,” I said, peering down at the mugs. One was stamped with the Dallas Cowboys logo and the other with his company’s logo, GenTech, “I usually make my own every morning anyway.”
“Buying coffee every morning is going to get really expensive really quick.”
I paused after he said this, mulling over the implication of his words in my head.
“Every morning, huh?” I gave him a side-eye, popping open the tab on the lid of the mug. Adam rolled his eyes, smiling playfully. He reached behind me into the backseat.
“If you don’t drink it black...” He tossed a zip-lock bag into my lap. It was full of creamer containers and sugar packets. I opened the bag, grabbing two creamers out of the bottom. I laughed, internally admitting that I was impressed with his forethought.
“You don’t like to be prepared, do you?” I zipped the plastic bag shut and set it on the dashboard.
“Honey,” Adam handed me the travel mug stamped with GenTech and leaned onto the center console, lowering his head and looking me in the eye, “You have no idea.”
I looked down as I unscrewed the cap and held the mug between my legs, emptying the creamer containers into my coffee. Clearly, Adam was right, I didn’t have any idea. The coffee wasn’t great. It was probably regular grocery store coffee, but it was strong and tasted better while sitting next to Adam in his truck in that parking lot early in the morning, watching the sun continue to rise.
From that day forward, Adam and I drank coffee together every morning. The only mornings we didn’t see each other were Saturday and Sunday. Even after leaving the Starbucks parking lot each morning after drinking our homebrewed coffee, we spoke throughout the day by text message. When he left work, he called me on the phone to talk while he drove home. That was our routine. Every day.
To anyone else, we would have appeared to be a normal couple with the same routine every morning. But that’s where it stopped. We rarely saw one another past 7:00AM. We spoke all day, every day, but at the end of the work day, I went home to my house and Adam went home to his. He always called me on his way home, and our phone calls always ended at the top of his driveway, outside his house—two little girls banging their fists on his door or window. That was the divide between these two lives we lived—one for us and one for everyone else.
Each day, we watched as dozens of people walked into the Starbucks or drove past on the way to the drive-thru line. We discussed the merits of old-school versus new country music. We debated the quality of the zombie genre and I accused him of being afraid of the undead when he claimed it was a ridiculous concept. He convinced me to drive his truck around the block after I told him I thought his vehicle was too large and impossible to drive. He told me about his daughters, what they liked, and how the oldest, June, was trying to convince him to get her a go-kart so she could learn to drive. We discussed our jobs and what the future of each industry looked like for each of us.
“Do you think you’ll stay here?” I asked him one day, referring to whether he would stay in Lexington for the foreseeable future. By then, I knew Adam so well that part of me already knew the answer.
“Probably
,” He laughed, “I’m a homebody, I’ll probably live on the farm til I die.” I used to be like Adam; it took me until I graduated from college to be ready to move away. I may have moved back to Lexington for a job opportunity, but I wasn’t afraid to leave again. I conquered the big city down south and, although I left to escape the memories of a failed relationship, there were still other places I could see myself living in the future. That is, until I met Adam Hunt.
I was changing, and my attitude regarding the future was changing. Suddenly, staying in Lexington didn’t seem like such a foreign concept. This wasn’t that surprising; Lexington is a beautiful place, after all. People leave and come back all the time. The city has enough going on to keep someone busy, but drive ten minutes in one direction and there is nothing but rolling hills and horse farms as far as the eye can see. I began to question whether Lexington was also the place I was supposed to be. This question weighed heavier on my mind after one particular Friday morning. I was finishing my coffee, putting the GenTech travel mug in my bag. After a few days, Adam told me I could take it home and use it permanently. That morning, I was preparing to exit Adam’s truck and leave for work.
“Hey,” He touched my arm as I was checking my bag for my keys and phone, “Will you let me kiss you before you go?” I stopped what I was doing and just looked at him. For once, I didn’t know how to respond. This may seem surprising, coming from someone who spent every morning with Adam, knew what seemed like everything about him, told him everything about herself, and suddenly couldn’t decide whether she wanted him to kiss her. Adam noticed my hesitation and continued.
“You’re the first person I talk to every day,” He began, sensing my hesitation, “And I hate when 7:00 rolls around because it means I have to leave and won’t see you again for another day—or in this case, two days. It feels wrong just to say goodbye to you every morning.”
I hadn’t thought about it, but he was right; leaving each other every day with nothing but a goodbye seemed bizarre. Speaking to Adam every single say, engaging in one continuous conversation, he became an element of my everyday existence. He became a part of how I functioned. If I went more than two hours without speaking to him, I felt like something was off. I couldn’t concentrate. Adam became a high; those conversations got me through each hour until I could see him again. After looking at him for a moment longer, I dropped my bag back onto the floor by my feet.
“Yes.”
Afterward, I just sat there in the passenger seat, wondering why I hadn’t done that sooner. For weeks, I loved seeing this man’s face before anyone else’s, speaking to him more than anyone else, and waiting for it to happen again the next day. I knew the reason was because there had been a clear line drawn down the middle of the cab of his truck. Mutually understood and abided by, until Adam asked if he could cross it. When he reached for me, a small part of him became mine.
Each day after that, I met him for coffee and we started our day together. And each day, we kissed one another goodbye before going our separate ways. After that, he began finding ways to see me on the weekend. I never asked him to do so, but I never turned him down. Sometimes it was picking me up and driving the country roads in the afternoon, crisscrossing in and out of Fayette and Jessamine County, driving under the end of the airport runway just in time to see a plane take off. Other times it was lunch on Saturday, after coming into town for an errand that just couldn’t be run elsewhere.
Sitting across the table from one another on a Friday, finishing stray French fries and sweet tea inside a deli on the side of Old Frankfort Pike, Adam told me about his upcoming travel plans for work. He would be gone the following week working with a client in Georgia, training their crew on a new system. I rolled my eyes in exaggerated despair at the thought of him being gone for so long.
“I know, I don’t know how you’ll survive.” He laughed, shaking the ice in his cup and adjusting the straw.
“Whatever, you won’t know what to do with yourself in the mornings.”
“You’re probably right.”
My phone vibrated on the table top. I glanced at the screen, illuminated with a text message notification. I unlocked the screen and clicked on the message. Travis’s name was at the top of the screen.
“Hey, stranger.”
I furrowed my brow, peering at the screen. The last time I’d spoken to Travis was at the party on Adam’s farm. Even then, we didn’t speak very much. As I recall, I decided to leave after realizing I was vicariously reliving Travis’s glory days in college, which, I understand from mutual acquaintances, weren’t so glorious. Something told me that when Travis reached out to a woman after months of no contact, it was not about the next barbecue. If observing the habits of Travis Parker taught me anything, it was nothing if not predictable.
Travis—ugh—how gross can you get?
I turned the screen toward Adam, letting him read the message. He raised his eyebrows.
“I’m not even answering that.” I shook my head, “I think the last time I talked to Travis was at your house. I think he has too much time on his hands…” As I spoke, I noticed Adam staring at the table top, lightly tapping the scratched and gouged wood with his fingertip. His eyes were vacant, like he was somewhere else, deep in thought. I stopped speaking.
“What?” I asked, peering across the table at him. He looked up, as if I’d startled him, and shook his head. He began to laugh.
“Nothing. I just surprised myself.”
“How so?”
“I just felt myself get really angry that Travis is trying to talk to you, which sounds really dumb because I feel protective over you even though you’re not mine to be protective of.” Adam leaned his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his palm, “I’m sorry if that’s weird for you.”
I shook my head. Honestly, I was completely flattered. I turned and slid my phone inside my bag. I couldn’t help but smile, which he obviously noticed.
“What?” He asked, grinning as he reached across the table to collect the wads of sandwich paper and straw wrappers to throw away. I shook my head once more.
“Nothing.” I mimicked his previous response to the same question.
“Oh,” Adam raised his eyebrows, emphasizing the word, “You liked that, huh?”
“I didn’t say that.” I zipped my bag shut and turned back to face him.
“OK,” Adam shrugged, “We’ll leave it at that. But you let me know if he keeps bothering you.” He stood up and stepped to the side, waiting for me to step past him on my way toward the door.
“Deal.” I nodded my head, scrunching my nose in disgust. We exited the deli and started across the gravel lot, which was significantly emptier than when we arrived during the lunch rush. I was in no hurry to head back to work, playing a waiting game with a few lab techs for data that should have been delivered yesterday, but really, I was just hoping it existed in the first place. The sun was high in the blue sky and the summer heat was already intense. The dense humidity settling in the air probably wouldn’t let up until the sun went down.
“What are you doing the rest of the day?” I began as we reached our vehicles parked next to one another across the gravel lot.
“I need to run back to the shop to pick up some equipment and then meet with some of the managers about this trip. Probably start packing and getting everything together tonight. How about you?” Adam cracked a smile, “Shootin’ the breeze with your old friend, Travis?”
I glanced at Adam facetiously as I pressed my key fob to unlock the SUV. I tugged on the door handle and tossed my bag over the center console into the passenger seat.
“I’m sorry,” I sat down behind the wheel and retrieved my sunglasses from the console, sliding them over the bridge of my nose. I looked back at Adam, standing next to me in front of the open door, “I can’t help that I’m so popular.” Adam laughed, gazing off into the distance toward the goat farm the next field over.
“Don’t worry, I love you anyway.” When he turne
d back to me, I just looked at him. I didn’t say anything at first. It was a common phrase, a humorous quip everyone’s said at least once to another person in jest. I didn’t pause to overthink the meaning—I already knew that, in this case, there was only one meaning. Adam looked at me with such a calm expression, his eyes soft, his jaw relaxed in a content smile. I didn’t think about it, what I said next came so naturally.