“Julia, gorgeous, it’s me, Adam. If you’re screening my calls, I don’t blame you. God, I was so happy to run into you this summer. My only excuse for not calling is how busy work has been. Original, huh? But let me buy you a drink some night and tell you all about it. Please. I’d love to see you. Call me back. Same number.”
We planned to meet for drinks the next night at a bar downtown. From the outside, it looked like a very Adam place. A wooden door, no visible sign. The kind of place easily passed without notice. I’d dressed carefully, pulling my hair back and putting on lipstick, and earrings that dangled against my neck. My palms were sweaty, and my mind was jumbled. I had to remind myself it didn’t matter. He was the one who called me. There was nothing to lose. I walked into the bar a few minutes late and didn’t see him. Lots of young men with dark hair and deep voices, but no Adam. Maybe he was standing me up. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was better to go back to my own life and listen to that instinct flaring in the back of my mind—to stay away.
Then I felt the hand on my shoulder.
Adam kissed me on the cheek in greeting, the scent of his aftershave something that I’d never realized I’d memorized.
“Julia. You look amazing.”
“Thanks.” I tried not to blush.
We found a small, rickety table next to an open window at the front of the bar, where the breeze from the sidewalk drifted in. It was still warm, the last of an Indian summer. Adam picked out a bottle of wine for us to share. A Friday night, and the bar was full of people laughing off the week with pints of beer and platters of oysters on ice.
“This place looks great,” I said.
“It used to be a dive bar. We’d come here sometimes in high school. You could bribe the bouncer to let you in without ID.”
“Doesn’t seem like that would work anymore.” There were exposed bulbs, framed prints, cocktails, craft beers, the prices high enough to make me wince.
He lifted his glass. “Then it’s a good thing we’re so old,” he said. “Cheers.”
It was like days had passed, not years. Adam’s voice had that unchanged quality to it, a baritone depth that made me feel like we were actors on a stage, exchanging lines. Something about the way he leaned forward and cocked his head: it was like a cue, and the words that emerged from my mouth were more eloquent and interesting and right. The evening light came in at a low angle, casting a long shadow behind my wineglass on the table, warming my shoulders. I crossed one leg over the other, and my sandal dangled from my big toe.
I had a second glass of wine, a third. I’d been nervous and hesitant walking into the bar, but even an hour with Adam put me at ease. I was more relaxed than I’d felt in months. I was flirting, but just a little. I was still waiting for a signal that it was okay to keep going down this road.
The sun finally slipped behind the building across the street, and Adam’s face sharpened in the dimmed light. In the previous few years, since I’d last seen him, he’d acquired an appealing patina of experience. The conversation lulled, and in that moment I felt the night changing cadences. A deepening, the wine sinking in, the dinner hour upon us. The silence flustered me, and I didn’t know where to direct my gaze. A long second ticked by. When I looked up at Adam, his smile had disappeared.
This was it.
“Jules,” he said. He took a breath. “I can’t—I feel like I have to say something.”
I shook my head. I wanted—needed—this moment to happen, but I wanted the outcome without the procedure. Wake me up when the surgery is over.
“About last time, I guess. It was a long time ago. But I was a jerk. It was totally inappropriate. I should never have said or done those things. I’d like to think I’m a different person now, and I want to say—”
“Adam, it’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”
“No, I want to say it. I’m sorry, Julia. It’s been weighing on me, especially since—I guess that’s the real reason I never called. I was worried you wouldn’t want to talk to me again. I wouldn’t blame you for that.”
“It was just a misunderstanding.”
He tilted his head and smiled sadly. Apologies didn’t come naturally to Adam. “I’m not sure I deserve to get off so easy.”
“It’s fine. We’re fine.” A pause—could I say it? “I missed you.”
We talked about my job, about the last two years of school. Adam was the first person since graduation who actually seemed curious about my life. I didn’t realize how much I’d been holding back until he started asking questions.
“Well, she sounds like a character,” Adam said after I told him about Laurie’s soap-in-the-coffee bit. “I know the type. Probably spent too many years living alone.”
“It’s so strange. She’s smart—I can see that. I respect her. I want to like her. But it’s like I’m not there. It’s like she doesn’t even see me as a real person. I don’t get it.”
“That’s her mistake, Jules. It sounds like you’re too good for that place.”
I’d forgotten how much I loved the sound of Adam’s voice. “I guess I should stop whining,” I said, reaching to refill my glass. “At least I have a job, right?”
“What about Evan?” he asked. “What’s he up to these days?”