It took him a long beat to nod. “He’s invited too. I’d like to see his treatment of you with my own two eyes.”
“If you’re unkind to him in any way, we’ll leave.”
His nod was curt. “Fine.”
The car double parked outside the building my class was in. I patted my dad’s hand.
“Thank you for the ride.”
He held my gaze, and I thought he would say something else, maybe that he missed me or he loved me, but he only jerked his chin toward the door.
That was my dad. I shouldn’t have expected more.
I’d been cranky when I’d arrived at Adam’s place, which was unofficially my place now. It was only unofficial because I still had my other apartment, but I never slept there. I hadn’t for a couple weeks. Adam’s closets were filled with my poofy dresses. There were sparkly things on random surfaces. My satin pillowcase was on his pillow, which was now my pillow.
We were living together, and it was nice. So nice. Better than being neighbors. I didn’t have to knock. He was just there, always. Morning smiles, nighttime kisses, after-work hugs.
Tonight, I walked in the door, kicked off my shoes, and tossed my keys down harder than strictly necessary. Adam came striding from the living room in only a pair of gray sweatpants, which instantly lifted my mood. He took my arms in his hands and swept his gaze over me.
“Bad night?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Accosted by Saul.”
“Shit.” He wrapped me in his arms without another word, holding me and swaying with me. Adam’s hugs always had a little dancing thrown in. That was who he was. Always in motion, even when he was holding me.
“I love you,” I mumbled against his shoulder.
“Love you too, baby. You want to talk about it?”
“Not really. It was more of the same, except we’re having brunch with him on Sunday.”
I inwardly cringed, waiting for him to tell me hell no, but he simply nodded against my head and held me tighter.
Eventually, after he fed me, we snuggled up on the couch. I was watchingSlasheron Netflix while Adam rubbed my foot and read something on his phone. My attention turned to him when he cackled loud enough to rattle the walls.
“Oh fuck, you have to read this ‘Am I the Asshole.’ Tell me what you think.”
I paused my show to read the post on Adam’s favorite Reddit forum. The title was “Am I the asshole for being annoyed by my boyfriend’s constant Winnie the Poohing.” The image of what that looked like—a grown man wearing a shirt but no pants—had me giggling before I even read the rest of the post.
A text message popped up, interrupting the story. I would have swiped it away, except for the contact name. Molly was texting Adam. Molly, the girl who got away. Molly, Adam’s bloom. Molly, the girl he loved big. Molly, the archetype.
With my heart in my throat, I clicked on her text.
Molly:Hey, stranger. I’d love to talk actually. I’ll be in New York on a business trip next week. Can we meet for dinner? Or I can come to your place if going out in public doesn’t work. Let me know! xoxo
My thumb rolled back to the beginning of the text exchange. There was only one more. That one was sent by Adam.
Adam:Hey, Moll. I’m wondering if maybe we can talk?
“You’re not laughing,” Adam said.
“Oh.” I quickly marked her text as unread and went back to the post I’d been reading. “I don’t think I’d be a fan if you suddenly started Winnie the Poohing, so let's not do that, okay?”
How I kept my voice steady, I didn’t know. I set his phone down and handed him the remote.
“Pick something for us to watch. I’m tired of horror,” I said.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him watching me, probably perplexed by my sudden change in mood, but he kept quiet and flipped through Netflix until he settled on a true crime show.