Adelaide
Maybe you don’t want a relationship.Maybe you don’t really want to be there, so you let it fade before it turns into something.
Adam’s words kept circling my head. While I’d eaten my beautiful dinner and laughed with his friends who had become mine too, I hadn’t been able to get them to leave. Tossing and turning in bed, they remained. On our morning jogs—on treadmills, since it was too cold for the park—they bounced around in my head.
He saw me so clearly in almost every way, but when it came to sex and love and relationships, I was his blind spot.
I did want a relationship. But I wanted it with a man who’d never see me that way. And so I tried, and tried, and tried to find someone else—anyone who would help me smother my feelings for Adam.
It turned out, those butterflies were immortal. As soon as I killed one, two more sprouted. There were so many, they filled me up.
I knew with absolute certainty Adam did not return my feelings. My hopes weren’t up. This was something I would have to deal with, and handle, until it faded.
Itwouldfade. Everything faded in the end. It was just…while I was waiting for that to happen, I was going a little crazy.
The game Adam and I were playing was dangerous. Not for him. His control was ironclad. We did things behind a screen or through a closed door. He never touched me. I didn’t touch him. But we were getting each other off all the same.
Each orgasm I gave him planted him a little deeper in my heart. I moved farther and farther away from thejust-friendsbox I so desperately wanted to get back to.
And I really did want to get back to it. Because this, these unrequited feelings, this pining that filled my chest and clogged my throat, was untenable. I couldn’t go on like this, but I also wouldn’t give up the closeness between us.
For now, I took what he gave me, and that wasn’t small. Adam was a generous friend. He gave me his time, his attention, his affection. And now, orgasms. A lot of people would be satisfied. On some level I was. If I could just murder some of the butterflies and give myself some room to breathe, I’d be okay.
Shaking Adam from my mind, I entered my dad’s apartment. In our family, we celebrated all kinds of things. My mother had been Muslim, my dad Jewish, so our traditions got blended. We lit candles for Hanukkah, had a Christmas tree—Mom loved the lights—and cooked all day for Eid. We always exchanged presents two days after Christmas. It was just what we did.
I hadn’t heard from my dad, but I’d called and left a message, telling him I was coming with his gift. He should have expected me anyway. Today was our day. When I entered his apartment, he wasn’t in sight, and a few things were in disarray.
Dad’s suit jacket was tossed on the floor in the entry hall. As I walked farther in, I almost tripped over his shoes. That was strange and unlike him, but it didn’t set off any alarms. Not until I encountered a second pair of shoes—red platform heels.
Oh shit.
At the start of the hall leading to the bedrooms, there was a puddle of red fabric on the floor. A dress. I stood there, staring at the dress like it was blood spray. I couldn’t bring myself to move.
I’d suspected he was dating someone, but he hadn’t told me, so I’d hoped it wasn’t anything serious. But this…bringing a woman here, on the day we always celebrated together, obviously forgetting about me…
My knees gave out. I had to grab onto the wall to stop myself from falling as I was brought right back to the first time Dad brought a woman home. My mother had been gone for six months. I had barely been cresting the tidal wave of grief, and there she was. A model in her early twenties, barely a decade older than me. He’d brought her into our home, let her sit on my mother’s chair, sip from her mug, sleep in her bed. I had to think hard to remember her name. I’d spent most of their relationship throwing myself at my schoolwork and after-school activities or hiding in my room, quietly crying.
It wasn’t just my mother he’d abandoned. He’d quit me too. He’d gotten wrapped up in his new model and had forgotten I was a thirteen-year-old girl who had desperately needed her father to keep her afloat. He hadn’tseenme.
I should have gotten used to it. I should have known to expect it. But it was a dagger to the gut to be here knowing he was doing it all over again.
I’d cried to him. Yelled at him. Begged him to stop. My dad didn’t care when I was thirteen, and he certainly wouldn’t care now. That was over.
I placed his present on top of the red dress. On my way out, I righted the red heels, hung my father’s jacket on a doorknob, and straightened his shoes. Then, with my head held high, I walked out of his apartment and slammed the fucking front door with all the force in my body.
Adam knocked on my door almost exactly an hour after his flight landed in New York. He’d been in Chicago with his family since Christmas Eve. Out of breath, I threw open the door to let him in and marched back to my bedroom. I’d settled into my rage. If I wasn’t angry, I’d be sad, and I didn’t want to be sad.
He hovered in the doorway. “What’s up, Baddie? You going bananas without me here to keep you sane?”
“No.” I bent down and lifted a corner of my bed frame off the floor, slipping the loop of black, sturdy fabric around it. “Yes. Maybe.”
He rushed over to me, pulling me away from the bed. “What the hell? You’re lifting your bed? I could have helped you if you’d asked. You shouldn’t be doing this on your own.”
I shrugged him off. “I didn’t need help. I did it.” I picked up the strap and stuck my hand through the loop on the end. “See?”
His brow dropped low over his stormy eyes. “What are you doing? Why did you attach the straps to your bed?”
“Because!” I threw my arms out, riding the wave of mania keeping me from crashing into sorrow. “What if I want to use them? I’ll have to pause the action and say, ‘Excuse me, good sir, while I unbox my sex toy and attach it to my bed frame. The kinky sex shall commence after the heavy labor.’ I don’t think so.”