Anything Less Than Everything

by Adkins, Heather

  I pulled out my conference materials for the next day and read the agenda and session descriptions with intensity. Anything to keep my mind off of Aaron. And how much I missed him, too.

  The sessions had titles like THE PROBLEM OF BACKGROUND KNOWLEDGE: SCAFFOLDING CLASSIC TEXTS IN A MODERN CLASSROOM and TO TEXT OR NOT TO TEXT IN THE CLASSROOM? THAT IS THE QUESTION. Despite their catchy titles, my research was not keeping my attention, especially since all I could think about was how much fun Aaron and I would have coming up with even stupider titles.

  I pushed the thick program to the side and instead pulled out my design notebook. In it I jotted down ideas for Dwell as they came to me, sketching things I saw in the room that caught my eye. My room was really pretty, with a black, white and deep purple color scheme that I knew could be great for fall. I took some pictures with my phone, wrote my ideas down in the notebook, finally finding an activity to keep my brain entertained.

  It was nearly eleven when Aaron called. We had an understanding, ever since the night he returned from the retreat, that too late was never too late when it came to calling each other. We were under no obligation to answer, but we agreed to never worry about waking the other up.

  I wanted to talk to him, needed to talk to him, but I was so afraid that my voice and lack of intelligent speech would betray me, that I would spill my guts and make things monumentally worse. But I missed him. So much.

  “Hey,” I said. “How was the drive?”

  “Long,” he replied. “How was your day?”

  “Long. Probably short compared to tomorrow, though.”

  “Why’s that?” he asked.

  “Well, my first session starts at eight o’clock and the last one doesn’t end until four-thirty. And they don’t sound that interesting.”

  “But I thought you were excited about the conference,” he said.

  “I was, but,” the next words came out before I could stop them, “but I think it was really just about coming here, seeing you. Now it’s kind of occurred to me that I actually have to go to this stupid thing.” He laughed softly.

  “And,” I continued, “I don’t know anyone here, so it’s very likely that our conversations will be my only ones for the next seventy-two hours.”

  “I highly doubt that,” he said. I didn’t.

  “What about you,” I said, shifting the focus off of me. “What does this week look like?”

  “Two-a-days,” he said. “I am not looking forward to it.”

  “Isn’t it too hot for that?” I asked, concerned.

  “Yes. But it’s reality. We’ll start early, like seven in the morning, then break until four or so. We’ll have position meetings in between. Film study for homework.”

  “Sounds like a very full day,” I said. Aaron picked up on the sadness in my voice.

  “Yeah, but we’ll still find time to talk. Sleep is overrated, you know.” And something about the joking tone in his voice as he said that lifted some of the pain that had taken up residence in my chest.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not like you young college kids who can stay up all night and still be ready to work in the morning.”

  “Oh, yes,” Aaron said, laughing. “You’re such an old woman.”

  “Okay, maybe not,” I said. “But I am pretty tired.” I knew he had to be, too.

  “Then I’ll let you go. Why don’t I call you at lunch? Maybe we’ll get lucky and our breaks will overlap?”

  “That sounds good,” I said. “But if not?”

  “We’ll figure it out,” he said. And I knew what he meant, but I couldn’t help but take his statement and apply it elsewhere. We’d figure it out. I would figure it out. I would be okay.

  Chapter 28

  My morning session was as riveting as I expected it to be. Not that I was paying as much attention as I should have been. Between the tears of the day before exhausting me, the few hours sleep I’d gotten, and the fact that I’d only had one latte, well, it was a wonder I stayed awake.

  I sent Aaron a good morning text, telling him to have fun and not get hurt. It felt a tiny bit awkward, but he was my best friend, and I did want him to have fun and be safe. Besides, it wasn’t his fault I was upset.

  His reply made me smile: You too. Watch out for falling books.

  During the break I went in search of caffeine. It wasn’t until I took the first swig from the can that I realized what I’d picked up: Dr. Pepper. Aaron was everywhere, and yet his absence was overwhelming. I shook my head at how fickle I was being. I wanted him here, I wanted to hide. I wanted to hear his voice, I wanted the space and safety of silence. This was not who I wanted to be, but it was so hard. Harder even than when Spencer had broken up with me, when I learned he was cheating. Then I could be angry and had an excuse to wallow. Now I had brought everything upon myself. I was the one who had changed the rules in the middle of the game.

  And probably the worst part was that I had no one to talk to about this since my best friend, the person in whom I confided everything, was the central player in all of this.

  But there was Marcie. I’d kept my phone turned off all weekend, not willing to share my time with anyone but Aaron. When I powered it back up upon arriving at the hotel, I’d found several text messages, all from her and Jill. Jill wasn’t someone I could trust to really hear what I had to say on this topic, but Marcie had reached out from the beginning, and maybe I owed it to her to reach back.

  “Hi!” she said when she answered. My sessions were over for the day, so I had plenty of time to talk. “How’s the conference?”

  “It’s okay. Well, not awful, anyway. What’s going on down there?”

  “Nothing. You’re missing nothing,” she replied.

  “Okay,” she continued after a brief pause, “I asked the obligatory conference question, since that is why you’re there. Now I want the real scoop. How was the weekend?”

  This was it. Where I made it all real by saying it out loud. “It was good. Incredible really, but way too short.” I paused, took a deep breath. “Hey, Marc? I need to talk about something, but I don’t really need advice or feedback or anything. I just need to say some things. Out loud.”

  “About?” She sounded confused.

  “Aaron.”

  “Oh. Okay,” she said slowly. “Go ahead. I won’t comment.”

  I took a deep breath and summoned my courage. “I love him. I mean, I’m in love with him.”

  She clapped. “I know! I’m glad you finally figured that out! Oops! I wasn’t supposed to comment. Sorry.”

  “What do you mean you know?” I’d only realized my feelings for him a week ago, and I’d only seen her for a couple of hours since then.

  “I mean that everyone around you could see how you felt about him. It was all over your face every time you talked about him or to him. It’s been the first time since I’ve known you that you looked happy. At first I thought you were just not going to talk about it, but then I realized that you really didn’t know. I didn’t even know that was possible, but you didn’t. I was hoping it would become clear to you on this trip.”

  Huh. But if Marcie knew how I felt about Aaron, did that mean that...? No, he couldn’t possibly. If he realized it, it would have come up at some point. Things would have been more awkward.

  “You don’t sound real happy about it, though,” she continued.

  I sighed. “Just because I love him doesn’t mean he loves me.” I told her about the weekend, about those electric moments, about him holding me before he left and not really knowing why I was upset. “And it hurts because I want so much just to be able to be his friend and not have these feelings, but it’s hard.”

  “Can I comment now?” she asked.

  “You’ve been commenting the whole time.”

  “Whatever. I think you should tell him. Take a risk.”

  “I can’t do that! I...I can’t risk something that big.”

  “What? Embarrassing yourself?”

  “L
osing him.”

  “If you lose him over that, then you weren’t as good of friends as you thought.”

  “Maybe someday. But I can’t yet. It’s too new.”

  “I get that,” she said, “but I don’t think you’ll ever really move on until you do.

  My call waiting clicked then, and I knew without looking that it was Aaron. “Go,” Marcie said. “You need to talk to him, even if you don’t tell him what you feel.” I said goodbye and clicked over to the other line.

  “You’re early,” I said in greeting. As I said it his first call from football camp entered my mind. “You’re not hurt, are you?” I couldn’t keep the concern out of my voice.

  “I’m fine. Coach wrapped a little early because it was so hot.” His voice was gentle, sensitive to my worry.

  “Oh, well, hi.”

  I could sense him smiling. “Hi. I’m sorry I missed you at lunch. How was your day?”

  “Boring. You and Marcie are the only two people I’ve talked to all day. Well, I told the barista how I wanted my latte, but that hardly counts. Yours?”

  “Pretty good. We had more drills and lectures than actual hitting. That comes tomorrow. But it was good to be back on the field. I’ve missed it.”

  He told me about his practices in detail, about which of his teammates were showing improvement, which plays he was most excited about. I told him about my sessions, about the eccentric presenter wearing a too short skirt and running shoes with pencils stuck behind both ears and pairs of glasses both on her face and perched on her head.

  “That makes Coach Greer’s random practice outfits seem almost stylish,” he said.

  “Yeah, it was bad, but possibly the most interesting part of the day.”

  “Maybe I should have just brought you back to school with me, saved you from the misery.” He was teasing, knowing I’d be equally as bored there, but there was a note of seriousness in his voice.

  “Maybe next time,” I said.

  “Yeah. Hey, I hate to let you go so soon, especially since you’re all alone, but I have to be in the film room in fifteen minutes. I just wanted to make sure I got to hear your voice today.”

  “It’s okay. I should probably go eat something. I kind of forgot to do that today.”

  “Are you serious? Brooke!”

  “What?” I said. “Some of us don’t have to eat nine times a day to be satisfied.”

  “Whatever,” he said, laughing. “Be careful, though. The city is pretty safe, but I don’t like the idea of you wandering around out there by yourself.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll text you when I get back though.”

  “Good. Have fun. Eat something for me.”

  We hung up, and I felt better than I had in the last thirty-six hours. Maybe it was sharing with Marcie, or maybe the distance between Aaron and me was allowing me to breathe some.

  I found a mostly deserted sports bar type place just down from the hotel. It felt good to be out of that building, to get some fresh air. And I was hungrier than I realized, apparently, because I ate a salad and chicken sandwich and dessert. Guess I took Aaron’s request to heart. Or maybe I was just trying to avoid the TVs tuned to myriad sports channels, all of which seemed to be covering Michigan. How could I possibly get over Aaron if I couldn’t avoid his image? Especially when his image was too gorgeous to want to avoid.

  I left the restaurant and looked around for something else to kill time. Next door was a fancy stationery shop, one of my weaknesses, so I ducked inside to look around. I smiled at some women who were obviously English teachers also in town for the conference. I browsed the fancy journals, daring one to catch my eye. I’d been neglecting my writing, hadn’t really written anything since that poem a few weeks back, and thought maybe a pretty place to write would inspire me.

  I chose one with a green and white trellis pattern. It was spiral bound, my favorite, and the pages were lined on the front and plain on the back. Perfect.

  I checked the time as I waited for the elevator to take me back to my room. Nine o’clock. Surely Aaron would be back. I sent him a text as soon as I put my purchases down. Back safely. No novel incidents.

  He replied just a minute later: Good. Headed to bed now. Exhausted, but wanted to make sure you got back okay. I miss you. Sweet dreams.

  Those two words, “sweet dreams,” were what he’d been telling me all summer, since the beginning, and they gave me hope that maybe things could be normal between us after all, that I could find a way to make this work.

  Chapter 29

  I could describe the next two days, but “See Above” would probably suffice. It wasn’t awful--I did learn a few strategies that I thought would be useful--but it was very much more of the same. My nightly talks with Aaron, though short, were the only real variety.

  I packed my suitcase the night before I left so everything would be ready. My flight was not scheduled to leave until the late afternoon, but I thought I’d spend some time at one of the art museums in the city.

  I didn’t even bother to set an alarm, but I woke up at six o’clock anyway. Not that I’d really slept. The night before when I talked to Aaron he had seemed really distant, distracted. More than once I had had to repeat myself. That was not like him; he was the best listener I knew. I’d asked him what was wrong, but he’d brushed it off, said he was just tired. I was worried about him, though. This was a big year for him in terms of his future, and being a captain brought even more responsibilities. He had always done okay with pressure, from what I could tell, but this was uncharted territory. I mean, even though practice had only started a few days earlier, he had already become a popular topic on ESPN. I hoped he’d be okay.

  I asked him if he was drinking enough water. Michigan was having a record heat-wave, and he was outside in pads for several hours a day. “Yes, Mom,” he’d answered, but he was teasing, not annoyed.

  What worried me most, though was how sentimental he got right before we said goodnight. We’d gone through that “well, I should probably go” and then kept talking routine a couple of times, neither of us quite ready to hang up. But when my phone beeped a warning that it was about to die, he’d spoken with urgency. “You know you’re my best friend, right Brooke?”

  “I know.” Something about the way he said it made me expect bad news to follow. But it didn’t.

  Instead he’d said, “Good. I just want to make sure I never take that for granted.”

  My phone beeped one last warning, and died before I had to chance to respond.

  I spent the rest of the night thinking about those words, about the words he didn’t say before we were cut off. What would he have said next? What should I have said? There was a sadness there, or resignation, or...I wasn’t quite sure.

  What I did know was that school was starting soon for both of us. He’d be practicing most of the week, traveling at least some weekends. I was teaching two courses I’d never taught before, meaning many hours in prep, and I’d agreed to continue working and teaching at Dwell. Was he saying goodbye? He’d promised me just days earlier that we were past that possibility, but maybe now that he was back at school, he’d realized how impossible a long distance friendship was. I’d already resolved to let him go in one respect; I couldn’t bear to do it again.

  Since it was obvious I wouldn’t be sleeping any more, I got up and showered, letting the hot water stream over my muscles, sore from lack of use and a fitful night.

  Even with taking my time, I was still ready before seven. At least there won’t be a line for coffee, I thought.

  I walked to the elevator, waited for it to reach my floor, got in, pushed the button for the lobby. All of this groggily, on auto-pilot. Then I stepped off the elevator and headed toward the coffee shop.

  That’s when I saw him.

  Chapter 30

  He was sitting in an armchair outside the lobby coffee shop, bent forward, elbows on his knees. He looked gorgeously rumpled, his hair obviously combed with fingers, his face unshav
en.

  The sight of him jerked me awake, and now fully aware, I walked toward him with slow, measured, hesitant steps.

  He stood when our eyes met, waiting for me. That half smile--my smile--was there, if smaller than usual. I noticed how tired he looked, like he’d slept even less than I had.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I got you a latte,” he said, not answering my question. “Double caramel, no whip, right?” His voice was soft, shy.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the cup. He was quiet for several moments before finally speaking.

  “I had to talk to you.”

  “Okay...,” I said. “Couldn’t you call, though?” A thought entered my mind. “Did something happen? Is--”

  “Everyone’s fine,” he interrupted. “I just...I had to see you.”

  I didn’t know what to feel. I was nervous, especially considering our conversation cut short from the night before. He must have left shortly after, driven all night. But he’d driven all night to see me.

  “Can we get out of here?” he asked as he looked around the lobby beginning to fill with people. I nodded and followed him out the doors into the just-waking city.

  Neither of us said anything as we walked. I had no idea where we were heading, and wasn’t sure he did, either. We entered a park right on Lake Michigan, sat down on a bench overlooking the water, still silent.

  He gazed out over the water, one arm draped casually over the back of the bench, the other on the seat between us, lost in his thoughts. I waited for him to speak, knowing he would when he was ready, but I felt the need to do something, to be there for him like he’d had to be there for me so many times. I touched his hand, to try to bring his attention to me. He flinched, but didn’t draw his hand away. Instead knitting his fingers with mine, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb.

  “I wasn’t completely truthful with you the other day.” His words drew my eyes to him, away from our hands. His eyes were still trained on the water. “On the hill.”