Page 25 of Come in with the Rain
I’m watching her mouth move, trying to make sense of what she’s saying. Her makeup is done so well that she doesn’t even look like she’s wearing any, and she keeps pushing her long brown hair out of her face with the tip of her index finger. Beside her, I look like a ghost.
“I don’t know if you remember, but earlier this year, you posted a thing about you and your brother on the anniversary of your parents’ deaths.”
“I remember,” I mouth, but the words don’t really have any sound behind them. Mickey was always pushing me to do more on my social media accounts, since so many people were following me because of him. He thought people would want to know more about my personal life instead of just the fact that I was dating him. And so, on the anniversary of my parents’ death, I was feeling sad, and a phone call to Max convinced me to write something sappy on Instagram.
In the mirror, the receptionist shrugs. “It made me feel like, if you could go through everything you went through and be where you are today, then I could make it through it all, too.”
I bite down hard, my teeth grinding together, so that I don’t cry. God, I miss my parents. And right now, I really miss Max. I nod because I can’t say anything, can’t open my mouth, can’t tell her that yes, I made it through all of that, but where am I now? What did all that grief bring me to? A bottomless well of job interviews, a failed relationship, a lost sense of purpose.
So, I just watch her send me an awkward little smile and then leave the bathroom. And then I’m crying again. I really am a fucking mess.
I should probably leave, but now that that post is on my mind, I pull out my phone and open Instagram, scrolling through until I find it. I posted a picture of Max and myself that we took the day we moved to Baltimore together, the two of us young and optimistic. We moved out here because Max got a scholarship to study photography, and I was ready to jump into the workforce. What a difference a few years can make.
I close Instagram and dial Max’s number.
CHAPTER26
STELLA
Adam has been working on my condo for a little over a week, and it looks nothing like my condo. Max and I bought this thing together four years ago, and now Adam is bent over at a ninety-degree angle, moving the couch where Max slept to inspect a divot in the wood floor. He straightens and settles his big hands on his narrow hips. “I don’t think we’ll touch the living room floors. They’re in surprisingly good shape. I do think we should move the furniture out before we photograph.”
I cross my arms. “What, you don’t like my futon?”
He raises one blond eyebrow at me, and my stomach tightens. Standing there, looking at me like that, he looks like something out of a clothing ad, except I don’t think they have high-fashion ads for paint-stained jeans and steel-toed work boots.
Over by the fridge, a bottle of water in his hand, Ford chuckles. “Girls on futons have more fun.”
I pull my attention from Adam and turn to Ford. “Are you speaking from experience?”
Ford winks at me and lifts his water to his mouth. When I look back at Adam, he’s staring at Ford with his jaw clenched tight. He sees me staring and focuses on opening the bottle of water Ford brought him from the gas station down the street. I wonder if he’s thought at all about what happened two days ago, when I cried in front of him and he wiped my tears away. How I almost kissed him. Again. I’ve thought of it every time I’ve stopped moving for the last forty-eight hours.
“How’s the interviewing going?” Ford asks, pulling me out of the memory.
Not what I want it to be, I want to tell him, but I don’t want to sound ungrateful. Iamgrateful that when I called Max and asked for the money for the electricity bill, he asked me why I hadn’t called him sooner. I’m grateful for the weight that lifted from my chest when I came home to a fixed toilet, lights that turned on, and extra money in my bank account. I just wish I had done it all on my own.
My eyes lift to watch Adam. I’m grateful for him, too. I’m grateful that he was there at Mickey’s that day and grateful he was here to talk some sense into me and grateful that he’s ripping apart my old, rotted condo without an ounce of judgement.
“I feel like my last one went really well,” I tell them. “Hoping I’ll get a call.”
Adam stands close enough to me that I can feel the heat radiating off of him from the work he’s been doing since early this morning. I fight my body’s urge to step closer, but I can’t keep myself from looking up at him, from studying the curve of his jaw and the jut of his Adam’s apple. He pulls the water bottle away from his lips and looks down at me, his gaze sharp and hot like he knows exactly how hard I’m fighting to keep myself from him.
In the kitchen, Ford’s booming voice breaks in. “Stella?”
I clear my throat and look away from Adam, my brain all mushy. “Um, yes?”
Ford perches one hand on his hip. “Do you have plans Saturday night?”
I feel the way Adam stiffens beside me, but I refrain from looking in his direction, in case he doesn’t want Ford to know that whatever he’s said seems to be stressing Adam out. “Not as of yet.”
“My gym is having a fundraising event. You should come.”
I snort. “I’m not really in a position to donate funds.”
One side of Ford’s mouth perks up. “We need extra hands for thunderous applause. Come. You’ll have a good time, I promise.”
I glance over at Adam. I want to meet his friends and see where he hangs out when he’s not here. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.”
Ford claps his hands together and rubs them back and forth like he’s trying to rid them of dust. “Well, I’ve got to get going. Lots to do for the big event. I’ll see you both there.” He’s gone, his empty water bottle still sitting on the edge of my brand-new countertop, and I’m left alone with Adam. He’s finishing up for the day, gathering his things.
