anything less than everything
by
Heather Adkins
For Avery—
May you never compromise, in life or in love.
Chapter 1
The closer I got to my grandmother's house the more I dreaded getting there. Spending a Friday night with my extended family was not my idea of a fun time, especially not when the purpose of the gathering was to make a fuss over some second cousin twice removed that none of us had ever met.
Only a few weeks earlier I would have thought nothing of a Friday night family dinner. Only a few weeks earlier, however, I was not single. When you’re part of a couple, how you spend time on the weekends is of little consequence; when you are not, hanging with the family seems lame. But more than that, the circumstances surrounding my singleness could result in nothing good where my grandmother was concerned. Nana meant well, but had a habit of saying exactly the wrong thing in situations such as this. Not only would I have to endure the embarrassment of her remarks, but now some poor unsuspecting relative would also be subjected to the family drama.
Two months earlier I had celebrated my twenty-third birthday. The celebration was typical: my favorite dinner and presents at my parents' house. The next day, a Thursday, my boyfriend of four years emailed me and asked me to dinner at a fancy place downtown. My heart had pounded as I replied with my acceptance, and I had run immediately to my friend's classroom, only two doors down from my own.
"You're getting a ring," she said, the excitement for me showing on her face. "It's about time."
"Do you really think so? I mean, there have been so many times I thought it was coming before..." And there had. Of the four years we had been a couple, Spencer and I had spent three of them listening to others debate when we would get married. It was what everyone expected, what seemed right.
"But now," Marcie said, jerking me back to the present, "is the perfect time. You're both done with school, you've almost survived your first year of teaching and he has a great job. There are no more reasons to wait."
I thought about her words all the way home. I thought about them while I hurriedly dressed in the black and white floral sheath I had been saving for a special occasion. I thought about it while I waited for Spencer to pick me up and then as I drove myself to the restaurant after he called to say his last meeting had run over and could I just meet him there. The last part messed up my perfect image of how this momentous event should happen, but still the butterflies beat in my stomach, the grin stayed on my face.
Spencer was late. The maître d’ sat me at a quiet table for two and I waited. Twenty minutes and two glasses of water later, he arrived. He looked nervous, something I had taken as a good sign.
"I'm sorry...another meeting," he smiled apologetically.
"It's okay. Those things happen, right?" I had been determined not to let a little waiting ruin the evening. As it turned out, something much worse did.
"So, how was your day?" he asked.
"Actually, it was great!" I gushed. "J.C, you know, the one I told you about with all of the potential? He shared the most amazing draft with me today. He's turning into such a great writer. And the best part is that he's writing on his own, outside of class. And my second period class had the best discussion over Gatsby..."
"I'm sorry," he interrupted, "what did you say? I was in another world."
I sighed, disappointed that my excitement wasn’t enough to keep his attention. "Um, nothing,” I said. “Just that it was a really good day. How was yours?"
With that he went into a play by play of his own day, recapping every meeting and phone call in great detail. I tried to listen, but quickly started thinking ahead to what might be coming next.
Dessert came. We never ordered dessert, but Spencer had insisted. I moved the berries around my plate, looked under the garnish, wondering if something sparkly was hiding underneath. Nothing. So why was he prolonging dinner? I took a bite of my cheesecake, savoring it. That's when he did it.
"Can we talk?" he asked, his tone changed.
"I thought we'd been talking all night," I answered back playfully.
"I mean seriously."
"Sure. What's up?"
He looked at the remnants of his dessert, his hands, everywhere but at me. "I don't know how to say this. I mean, there's no good way to, I guess."
"Just say it," I prodded, anxious for him to get to it.
"I've been thinking. A lot. About us."
"Yes?"
"Yeah, and I think it's time..." He took a deep breath. This was it! I made myself focus on his words, wanting to make sure I remembered everything about this moment. "...that we move on. You know, to other people."
You could hear my fork clanging on my plate all through the quiet restaurant. I stopped breathing, a fact I became aware of only when I tried to speak and a rush of air came out instead of words. Even if I could have spoken, I had no idea what I would have said.
"Brooke? Talk to me."
I was too shocked to speak, and quite frankly wasn't sure I wanted to say anything to him right then. A full minute went by. Then a second. Finally I found words. "What?" Real articulate.
"Well, we've been growing apart for some time. I think we need space to figure out what it is we each want."
My reply was measured and slow. "You think...we've been...growing...apart?"
"Yeah. I mean, don't you?"
"No...I thought we were closer than ever." I felt like everything that was happening was outside of me. Like it was happening to someone else. Someone else's world was crashing down on them, not mine. I didn't know what to feel. Anger? Sadness? Hurt? I didn't know what to do. I was lost. For four years Spencer had been everything, the person I spent all of my time with, the one I planned my future with in mind. In a matter of a three course meal, that world had shattered. I had been completely blindsided. And so I had done the only thing I could think to do: I pushed myself away from the table, stood up, and walked away.
"Brooke? Brooke!" he called after me, but I kept walking, never turning back or even pausing. I was immediately relieved we had driven separately. Maybe that had been his plan all along. I got in the car, started it, adjusted the radio, pulled into traffic--all of this robotically, without thinking. It wasn't until I was home, sitting in the driveway of my house, that the gravity of what had just happened hit me. Tears ran down my face, sobs shook my body. I cried until there were no more tears.
Two months had passed since that night, but the memory was still raw, as though it had happened only the day before. And, yet, in some ways it seemed a lifetime ago. I turned into Nana's driveway and consciously forced myself back into the present. I could put on my happy face and be nice to the stranger-relative for one night. It wasn't like I hadn't been putting on a happy face for everyone else--my friends, my family, even my students. As far as any of them were concerned I was just fine. Couldn't be better. I doubted that any of them really believed me, but no one questioned my good mood.
I took a deep breath, braced myself for the worst, hoped for the best, and walked up the steps to face my family.
I was the last one there, a fact made plain when I stepped through the door into a living roomful of expectant faces: Mom and Dad; my sister, Jill; Nana, and Brad the mystery cousin.
That's when I saw him.
Chapter 2
Him was Aaron Davidson, the starting quarterback for the University of Michigan. Most girls are not football fans. Most Southerners are not fans of Michigan. I, however, am. Despite the fact that I was born and raised just outside of Nashville, I spent every Saturday in autumn cheering on Michigan, watching each play intently. And so, while no one else in the room recogn
ized Aaron, knew of his accomplishments, admired his talent, I did.
"Brooke!" my grandmother exclaimed. "I thought you'd never get here. This is your cousin Brad and his friend from school, Aaron."
"Hi," I said. It was not the most profound greeting, but I was trying to play it cool, trying not to let my excitement of meeting my favorite college athlete show.
Aaron stood. "Nice to meet you," he said, extending his hand to me. A gentleman. My eyes traveled up to meet his gaze. I knew that he was 6'6"- it was listed at the start of every game-but it was not until he was standing two feet from me that I really comprehended his size. His dark hair and tanned skin set off the most crystal clear light blue eyes I’d ever seen. I had never noticed this watching him play on TV. He was gorgeous.
My grandmother, for once chiming in at just the right time, broke my reverie. "Well, now that Brooke is here we can eat! I hope y'all are hungry, boys."
We all walked into the dining room, and I took my usual seat. Aaron ended up sitting two seats down, out of sight. This was probably good, as staring at him through dinner would not have made the best impression. It would, however, have been nice to talk to him. As it turned out, my grandmother talked for all of us.
"So you boys go to Michigan?" she asked. Something else was coming. I could feel it.
"Yes, ma'am," Brad replied. "That made Grandma Betty happy since that's where she met my grandpa."
"Oh," she continued, "I thought they met at that other school...what's it called? Michigan State? Brooke should have gone there, as much as she talks about them." I saw Aaron’s eyes snap upward out of the corner of my eye.
"Michigan, Nana," I mumbled. "It's Michigan."
"Michigan, Michigan State. It's all the same to me. Don't know why you'd want to watch a football team from up North play anyway when you've got a dozen teams right in your backyard you could cheer for."
My face burned. She had no idea, of course, that the star of the team she was insulting was sitting right across the table from her. I glanced up from my plate to sneak a look at him. He was smiling amusedly, the way you often do with old women who talk too much. Nana babbled on; I tried to concentrate on my roast. Suddenly she said something that jerked me back to her conversation.
"...Of course, I should say Brooke was a fan of that team, whichever one it is. Now that she's not dating Spencer she won't have to spend her Saturdays watching those silly boys hit each other. I never did understand why she watched those games with him anyway, it..."
"Uh, Nana? Where did you say you put the dessert plates?"
I had never been more grateful for my little sister before in my life. Her interruption was enough to distract my grandmother away from the embarrassing topic at hand. She got up to find the plates that I was pretty sure my sister knew the location of, leaving me with the guys and my parents, who were so deep into a discussion about where to go on vacation that they might as well have been in the other room.
"Well, I see that grandmothers are the same down South as they are up North," Brad said as he placed his napkin on his plate.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You know, great cooks with lousy timing."
I smiled, relieved. My new found cousin had heard her remarks, but understood. It's not that I really cared what these boys thought. Brad may be family, but considering we hadn't met in the two decades we'd been alive, the possibility of us getting together on a regular basis was slim. And Aaron, well, he was a complete stranger to whom I had no ties other than a shared devotion for the same football team. I'd never see him after tonight save on ESPN. And truly, why would either of them care that I'd been dumped? My embarrassment was really hurt. Hurt that various family members continued to throw salt in my still raw wounds, to continually remind me that Spencer and I were no more. Not that I ever forgot.
I hoped Brad's comment would be the end of the discussion, but at that moment Nana came back in carrying her homemade banana pudding, talking about how she didn't care what Nancy Rudolph at bridge club thought, she wished I had tried harder to make things work with Spencer.
That was more than I could take. I stood up from the table. "I'm still full," I said. "I think maybe I'll take a walk before dessert." I said this like taking a walk after dinner was something I did often. In fact, I had not walked around my grandmother's neighborhood in...ever. I had to get out of there, though. Even if she continued to talk about me and my losses in love, I wasn't going to sit around and listen to it. I figured I'd just walk around the block, and maybe by then the guys would have left and Nana would have moved on to other topics.
“Mind if I come?"
The question surprised me. I looked up and then around trying to figure out where it had come from when I realized it had been Aaron. Again I was mesmerized that this guy, a celebrity in my eyes, was talking to me. To me. I nodded dumbly, too entranced to say anything.
"You don't mind, do you Aunt Grace?”
This was Brad, for some reason bringing Nana back into things.
"No, of course not," she said. "But I expect you boys to eat double helpings when you come back."
We were out the door before she had a chance to say anything more. We headed up the driveway and down the street going nowhere in particular, walking four-wide. Aaron and I were on the outsides of the lie, while Brad and Jill walked next to each other, talking about nothing. As we all kept walking and they kept talking, they started to break away from Aaron and me, leaving us behind. Or maybe we slowed down. I'm not sure which is was, but by the time we reached the end of Nana's street, they were in the lead, and Aaron and I were walking side by side.
"I have this friend that you have to meet," Jill was saying up ahead. "She..." I didn't hear the rest because at that moment Aaron spoke.
"So you're a teacher."
It wasn't a question but an acknowledgment. I nodded in reply, still not trusting my voice. We walked in silence for several hundred feet before I realized how stupid I was being. Walking next to me was a player on my favorite sports team. It was the closest I would ever come to the team, and I was squandering it. Who cared if I made an idiot of myself? It wasn't like I would ever see him after this. I took a deep breath and began.
"Um, what kind of team do you think y'all will have this year?" Not my most brilliant speech, but not completely inarticulate, either.
He stopped and looked at me, wonder touching his eyes.
"You know about that?" he asked, curious.
"Well, yeah. Didn't you hear my grandmother talking about my strange fascination with Yankee football?
"I guess I assumed she was just making conversation," he said with a shrug. I wasn't sure how to take his reaction. Was he glad I recognized him? Or was it weird to him that a fan would know him so out of context? I wasn't sure, and didn't know quite what to say next. I took a deep breath and continued.
"No," I said slowly, thinking through my next words as I spoke. "I've followed UM for several years now. Since my freshman year of college, actually. It's more interesting to watch than the SEC. They don't play much defense down here."
He laughed softly. "You are absolutely right on that one," he answered. "So you prefer defense to offense, then?"
I knew where he was going with this, that he was baiting me to make a comment about quarterbacks, and I decided to play along. "Well, most of my favorite players are linebackers," I glanced at him to see his reaction. He raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed that I seemed to know something about his sport. "But offense is important, too, obviously."
"Obviously," he said, a smile twitching on his lips.
My courage was building; I could see he was a good sport. "I mean, no offense or anything, I just think quarterbacks get a lot of credit for things other players actually do. No offense."
"None taken." He was smiling full on now, a good sign. "It doesn't matter how great a passer I am if my receiver can't catch it, or if my line doesn't give me time to get the play off."
"Yeah, t
hat's what I'm talking about. The left tackle never gets his name in the box score." He laughed and shook his head. "What?" I asked.
"Nothing. It's just I've never met a girl who actually knew what she was talking about when it comes to football. Some will watch it, but can't discuss it. It's weird. I mean, it's great, just unusual."
"Yeah, well." I didn't really know what to say next, so we just walked for a while in silence. "So," I said finally. "When are y'all heading to the beach?"
"We're not," he said. "Brad is, and he's meeting up with some other guys down there. He's leaving sometime Sunday."
"Why are you here, then?" My confusion sounded more like rudeness, but he answered before I had a chance to recover, unfazed by what I'd said.
"Quarterback camp. I was invited to attend one here this year. It keeps me in shape over the summer and is good for networking. Lots of pro scouts. Brad was coming through anyway to meet up with his friends, so I offered to ride down with him."
"And so here you are."
"Here I am." He looked at me as he said that, and I couldn't help but think he meant something more, like that he was here for me. This, of course, was just wishful thinking; it had been a while since anyone had offered a shoulder to me. Friends tried to help initially but didn't know what to, say so they stopped saying anything, afraid of upsetting me. Aaron was a stranger, someone who would be gone from my life in a couple more hours, making any deeper intent all but irrelevant, but still, the thought of it was nice.
Up ahead my sister was babbling on and on, too loud. I rolled my eyes as she bemoaned her lack of closet space, something I was pretty sure Brad had no interest in. Aaron smiled.
"Is she older or younger?" he asked.
"Younger. But just by eighteen months. By listening to her you'd think it was eighteen years, though."
"Yeah, I know how sisters are. I have two of them."
“Older?"
"Younger. Sara is sixteen; Maggie just turned five."
Anything Less Than Everything Page 1