Good, go away, Kylie thought desperately, listening to his footsteps carry him down the aisle. Eyeing the flowers with a smile, she returned to her work with renewed motivation.
Five o’clock couldn’t have arrived sooner. She flew out the door and down the stairwell at exactly one minute after. Everyone who had passed by her desk insisted on asking about the flowers: who were they from, did she have a boyfriend, and did he have an available friend? The intermittent conversations and interactions with so many other coworkers were rare for Kylie; largely, she kept to herself when not dodging advances from Bruce.
She drove directly to her mother’s house, having already planned to have dinner with her, and parked in the driveway. Leaving her purse and the vase of flowers on the seat, she made her way up the sidewalk and allowed herself in with her spare key.
“Hi, Mama,” called Kylie, kicking off her shoes by the door.
“In the living room.”
Sarah’s voice came soft. Kylie’s heart skipped a beat as she rounded the hallway to find her mother with a mottled red face and one slender hand hovering over her mouth. Her eyes were unnaturally wide as she looked up at Kylie.
“I got the call,” whispered Sarah.
Kylie’s own hand moved to her mouth. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach as a wave of nauseating disappointment rolled through her.
Even with the drapes closed, roving lights from passing cars infiltrated the dark room. With all the lights off, the only other illumination came from the muted television. It flashed brightly but silently while Adam plucked idly at the strings of the guitar resting across his lap. His song, one he had been attempting to finish for months now, still eluded him, and the harder he attempted to pull lyrics out of thin air, the further the song seemed out of reach.
Shawn’s planned absence from the house for the evening came as a relief; silence filled the space for a change. It was peaceful, even. Adam enjoyed dinner by himself without his roommate badgering him to share, and he watched whatever he wanted on television without the volume blaring. Careful not to knock his phone to the floor, he eased his feet onto the makeshift table made of crates and plexiglass, allowing his guitar to lie flat on his nearly bare lap. He tossed his pad of paper with pages of crossed-out lyrics to the side and reveled in the dark quiet.
The front door swung inward. In stumbled Shawn with red, bloodshot eyes, towing a woman behind him as she clung to his arm. He flicked up every light switch beside the entrance. Adam closed his eyes and groaned.
“‘Sup, man?” said Shawn with a stupid grin.
“Could’ve shot me a text that you were coming back early,” he muttered, sitting up and holding his guitar against himself.
“What, embarrassed to be seen in your skivvies?” Shawn chortled while he and his date squeezed themselves onto the sofa. The woman stared, open-mouthed, until she caught on and laughed with Shawn.
“Go to hell.” Ignoring their intoxicated laughter, Adam swiftly rose, still clutching the neck of his guitar, and shot up the spiral staircase to the second-floor bedroom. He slammed the door shut behind him and leaned his instrument against the wall, resting it beside the minimally used plastic hamper. Surveying the room, he noted how disastrous it appeared: unmade bed, dirty socks and clothes littering the floor, and underwear spilling from the open chest of drawers. Kylie crossed his mind; had she heard any news yet? He had yet to hear from her.
Guttural moans sounded from below. In an attempt to drown them out, Adam opened the laptop atop the chest of drawers, turned on a playlist at full volume, and began to tidy, loudly singing along to the music.
After the last sock had been tossed into the hamper and the moans from below had gone quiet, Adam yanked a sweater over his head, hopped into jeans, and dared, reluctantly, to return downstairs. As he rounded the lowest bend of the wrought-iron stairs, he noted Shawn lay draped across the length of the sofa, his head resting in the woman’s lap, his eyes closed as she toyed with his curls.
“Your phone rang, by the way, like, half an hour ago,” drawled Shawn.
His face flushing, Adam snatched it from the table where it sat.
“We answered it for you. I tried yelling to you. Some chick. Kylie, I think.”
Heat flashed across his cheeks, even hotter. “Why would you answer my phone, asshole?” he spat.
Without pause and clutching his phone, Adam bolted up the stairs once more, only this time he closed the door with a gentler touch. He knocked his head against it while his fingers dialed Kylie. Pressing the phone to his ear and holding his breath, he listened to the line ring until voicemail picked up.
“It’s Adam. Look, sorry about that. Don’t mind my roommate—he’s an ass. Anyway, call me back.”
Tossing the phone onto the quilt, he sat down on the mattress edge and leaned forward on his thighs. Shawn, that ass, had probably ruined any chance he had left with Kylie. Had she received the flowers? Maybe she had thought them silly or contrived and was merely calling to tell him to shove off, to leave her alone. Maybe he shouldn’t have sent them.
The phone rang, clear and loud, cutting into his thoughts. Scrambling, he snatched it up and answered, clearing his throat, attempting to sound calm. “Hello.”
“Um, hey,” said Kylie, her voice small.
“Sorry about earlier. That was Shawn—”
“It’s fine, really.”
Silence erupted. Adam sat, frozen, lost for words. Her tone had been short, clipped, and he wondered if she was in fact annoyed about his roommate. Only the sound of her breath came through, shallow and erratic.
“Do you want to come over to my place?” she asked. The words sounded slightly slurred.
“Oh.” Not at all what he had expected her to say. “Um…yeah, sure. Directions?”
“The brick apartment building at the corner of Rutledge and Sumter. Third floor. Number 327.”
“All right. I’ll be there in thirty.”
With a sharp breath, Adam knocked on what he hoped was the correct door. A gust of wind blew through the dark, open hallway, and he held back a shiver. Even for the South, the chill was bitterly cold, although it was intermittent, unlike New York’s unending winter. One warm sunny day, bringing t-shirt- and shorts-worthy weather was frequently followed by rain and near-freezing temperatures in Charleston.
The door swung inward to reveal Kylie. Her eyes were glassy and red, cheeks flushed and slightly mottled. She had dressed in black, form-fitting sweatpants and oversized white t-shirt, feet bare.
“Hi,” she greeted, almost too cheery, stepping aside and swiping a few strands of wet hair from her cheek. Adam stepped in, and she shut the door behind him, latching the deadbolt. “Do you want something to drink?” she asked, looking up at him. “I was just having some wine, but I can make something else.”
“Um, no thanks.” He waved a hand. How much had she had already?
Kylie nodded and motioned for him to follow as she padded across the tiled floor of the kitchen and into the living room. She perched herself on the middle cushion of the sofa, patting the seat to her right. Adam trailed her, glancing around the open room. It was, for the most part, plain, with nothing extraordinary about it—pale walls, neutral-colored everything; only a few framed pieces of mass-printed art hung on either side of the wall-mounted television. On both end tables stood small lamps. A half empty wine glass sat on the walnut coffee table.
Adam eased himself onto the cushion next to her, his glance looking everywhere but directly at her. She stared the television for a few moments, the volume low, and the flickering screen cast a soft glow. Reaching for the remote, Kylie lowered the volume even more. Her posture stiffened, rigid, her eyes still glassy.
“Are you…okay?” Adam asked.
Her answer didn’t come immediately. She rubbed her palms along her thighs as she chewed her lower lip. Finally, she met his concerned gaze. “Thanks for the other night, by the way. I had fun,” she said.
Not quite the answer
he was looking for. “Sure. Anytime. I had a good time, too.” He offered a small smile.
She leaned forward, reaching for the glass of wine, and drained it in one long drink. Her elongated neck was almost sensual in its graceful length, her collarbone peeking out from beneath the collar of her t-shirt. Adam bit his tongue at the sight and forced himself to look away.
“Y’know, I think I will take a drink,” he said once she had set the glass down.
A smile lit up her features. “Rum and Coke okay? I don’t have any beer, or else it’s Kahlua. Not too late for coffee.”
“Rum and Coke is fine.”
His eyes followed her as she rose to her feet and padded into the kitchen. Again, how much had she drunk already? The slightest hint of worry rested in the way her gaze seemed far away and how her shoulders hunched in the smallest way, all while she mixed his drink. Had she heard news? He leaned forward, pressing his elbows into his thighs, and one hand lazily scratched at the thin stubble on his cheek. Surveying the space again, he noted his jacket slung over a chair, and something stirred inside him. No big deal, he scolded himself.
Kylie returned with two glasses filled to the brim with fizzing cola but no ice—the glasses much taller than Adam had expected—and offered one to him.
“Thanks.” He gestured in a small toast to nothing in particular and sipped from the glass. The urge to sputter and cough rose in his throat, and he fought to swallow; the drink was mostly rum, barely cola. “Strong,” he blurted out, placing a clenched fist to his mouth.
“It’s how I like them,” she said simply before drinking from her own glass. Setting it aside, she collapsed onto the cushion again and curled her legs under her.
Leaning back, Adam choked down a longer sip, fighting down the fire in his throat. He held the glass between both hands. With Kylie leaning so close beside him, her thigh nearly pressing against his, his heart hammered quietly in his chest. On every slow intake of breath, he inhaled the scent of the cucumber shampoo that clung to her damp hair. Kylie reached for the frayed, once colorful bracelet on his wrist, her fingers brushing along the inside of his arm and leaving gooseflesh in their wake.
“Looks like it’s about to fall apart,” she murmured.
“My brother made it when he was ten.” He followed the delicate way her slender fingers traced the pattern of threads.
“And you still wear it?”
“Until the day it totally disintegrates, yeah.” His jaw tightened as he paused, leaning forward to set the glass on the table. “My brother had leukemia. Whenever he was in the hospital, he got into making these to pass the time, with all the different threads and patterns and stuff. He had this book of patterns he’d follow.” Memories of the hospital flashed through his mind, from his brother’s frailty to the sound of his heart monitor.
Kylie nodded slowly as her fingers abandoned the bracelet. The television continued to flicker, intermittently dimming and flashing. Her gaze seemed to grow distant.
“You sure you’re okay?” asked Adam, reaching to the table for another drink. Hiding a grimace, he drank more deeply this time, ignoring how harshly it burned his throat. Rum had never been a friend, and it sometimes embarrassed Adam how low his tolerance was for liquor—why he typically stuck to beer.
Looking away, Kylie answered after a few moments. “It’s just…my mama got the phone call today.” Her tone grew quiet as she wrung her hands together.
He bowed his head in comprehension. That tone was all too familiar. More memories flooded the gates of his mind: the sound of his mother’s desperate, broken weeping when Elliott received his diagnosis, his father’s silence as he walked out the front door to find solace in bars.
“Sorry to hear that.” He paused for another long drink, nearly draining the glass. Already, a minor buzzing was beginning to rattle his head. “If you ever want to talk about—”
“I don’t. Want to talk about it, I mean.” In the midst of her curt tone, her words still slurred slightly.
“All right.”
“I don’t want to think about it right now. I just…need a distraction,” she said, softer now, turning to him with wide eyes, her thigh pressed against his.
Adam held his tongue between his teeth as his breath came more quickly, more shallow. No, this was inappropriate. She was drunk, if not buzzed at the very least. His own buzz implored him to touch her, to feel the warmth and softness of her skin. Even for winter, her skin held a slight golden coloring to it. She bit her lip, and Adam pushed aside the hazy, buzzing thoughts. He brushed loose wisps of sandy hair from her eyes as his entire core screamed to kiss her. Her breath warmed his lips as she moved closer, her face merely inches away. Time had suspended itself, and the surrounding room melted away.
That was almost nothing.
Kylie froze, paralyzed, with her hands halfway to Adam’s chest. Her breath had lodged itself in her ribs. Would she regret it in the morning if she obeyed her impulse? It begged for more. A part of her knew it was wrong to make this type of decision in her current state; drunken vulnerability clouded her judgment. But the fire in Adam’s eyes held a sharp, mesmerizing edge. Screw it. Any last trace of sober doubt washed away. His body was warm against her palms, his hands hot against her cheeks has he held them. With eyes half-closed, her movements held no hesitation as she leaned in until her lips were upon his. Her fingertips crept to his face, where his cheeks were sandpaper against them, a stark contrast from the softness of his lips. Her breath quickened, inhaling the scent of his cologne, the same scent that lingered faintly in the fibers of his jacket.
The room spun faster around her. Adam’s hands moved to her hips, drawing her closer, and she fumbled her eager way onto his lap, clutching onto his shirt for support. Heat engulfed her, her pulse raced, and her heart hammered in her chest, pounding in her ears. As she tugged at the hem of his shirt, her fingertips grazed the skin of his torso, inches above his belt. Adam yanked his shirt off and slung it to the floor, his hands wasting no time in returning to her hips. His lips found her neck, and his kiss trailed along her jaw. A chill traveled down her spine, and she shivered. Even through the thick fabric of her shirt, his hands felt warm, fueling her urgency, and his breath was even warmer against her ear as he spoke in a low voice.
“You sure?” he asked. But his hands slipped under her shirt, his fingers sweeping across her stomach.
“Yes.” The single word was fierce. Raising her arms, she allowed Adam to slip her shirt over her head, revealing her nude-colored undergarment. Her lips returned to his, and her fingers fumbled with his belt, almost frantically; her breath came in a gust as she unbuttoned his jeans. This is happening. I’m doing this. I’ve made up my mind. Adam pushed his weight against her, flipping her onto her back along the length of the sofa, his hands tugging at the hem of her pants as she lifted her hips.
A loud knocking sounded at the front door, startling them both. Adam sat up straight, his eyes widening.
“Are you expecting someone?” he asked, his glance flicking to the door.
Kylie slipped out from beneath him, her pants halfway down her thighs. “No, unless—”
The deadbolt turned and the lock clicked. Cat stepped in, dressed in her work attire of teal scrubs. Her eyes landed on the pair, and she froze, her mouth popping open in a small O, her hand hovering at the knob.
“Um, wow, yeah. Okay.” Cat quickly rearranged her features, but she had never been skilled at poker faces as long as Kylie had known her.
Kylie blushed a deep shade of pink, tugging up her pants and hastily reaching for her shirt and yanking it on. She flashed a glance at Adam, who appeared utterly unperturbed as he leaned back, pulling up his zipper and buckling his belt.
Cat imitated a cough and cleared her throat, looking everywhere but at the pair. “Right, so, I’ll either leave y’all to it, or—”
“No, please stay,” Kylie intervened, pushing herself to her feet and stumbling slightly, and closed the distance between them. “You didn�
��t answer my texts or calls, so I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Well, I’m here. You sounded upset, so I came straight from work.” She dropped her bag beside the kitchen sink and studied Kylie, then surveyed the bottle of liquor and cola on the counter. “How much have you had to drink?”
She leaned against the cool counter to support herself. “A little.” But Cat, she knew, could read through all her pretenses.
“Then what’s wrong? You only drink like this when you’re upset,” said Cat, folding her arms and pursing her lips.
Kylie puffed out her cheeks and focused on the cold tile under her bare feet, taking a moment of reprieve to collect her thoughts. “Mama found out she has cancer.”
“What?” Cat stared, her gaze disbelieving, until her face paled and grew ashen.
The room was quiet. She wondered idly if Adam had remained on the sofa, but couldn’t bring herself to look. In a weak attempt to collect herself, she chewed the inside of her cheek. Cat wrapped her arms around Kylie’s shoulders.
“It’s not a death sentence. Lots of people beat cancer. Whatever you need, I’m here.” She rubbed her shoulder blades in a slow, circular rhythm.
Kylie’s words tumbled out. “It might be. They said something about different tumor markers or something. They think it’s advanced. She has to go for a PET scan and some bloodwork tomorrow.” She breathed in the somehow comforting scent of Cat’s shampoo.
Adam, fully dressed, stepped into the kitchen. His sheepishness had been tucked away, hidden behind a smile. It made him appear younger. Not physically, Kylie thought, but emotionally. Perhaps overhearing about her mother’s cancer brought back too many memories of his brother. His smile faded as he nodded at Cat, then reached for Kylie’s hand. The gentle squeeze of his fingers felt foreign.
“Anyway, I’m going to get out of here and leave y’all, uh, to it.” Cat smirked and kissed Kylie’s cheek before turning to the door. “Call me tomorrow and let me know how Mama’s appointments go. Love you.”
The Days Without You: A Story of Love, Loss, and Grief Page 6