I walked through the sliding-glass doorway to Adam’s hospital room. I couldn’t see him right away because the privacy curtain was pulled around his bed, but I could detect movement behind the curtain. And then I heard his voice. He was talking to a female nurse.
“Bald is sexy, right?” he said. I laughed to myself quietly as I waited for the nurse to open the curtain.
“Yes, Adam, bald is sexy,” she said, sounding amused.
“I mean, think about it. Bruce Willis, Vin Diesel . . . Natalie Portman . . . Adam Bramwell.”
She laughed and then very abruptly pulled the curtain open, the metal hooks screeching along the curtain track, startling me. Suddenly, Adam and I were face-to-face. He was completely bald and had two distinct scars just above his forehead on the left side.
He opened his eyes wide and grinned, but only one side of his mouth went up. I found it completely heartwarming and heartbreaking all at once.
“Hi, Adam,” I said just above a whisper.
“Come here, Charlotte.” I had been hanging back a few feet, cautious and apprehensive. The nurse, a young, blond woman, appraised me.
“Hello,” I said to her as I walked toward Adam.
“Hello,” she returned. “I’ll leave you two alone. Adam, your lunch will be here in a minute. Do you want me to help you, or . . .” She looked at me. I was looking at Adam.
“I can handle it, Leah, but thank you.” He wouldn’t take his eyes off me. From what I could tell, he had lost a little use of his left side but he seemed spry and aware.
I stood next to his bed, trying to hold it together until the nurse left the room, and then I started crying.
“Don’t cry, please,” he said.
“Thank you . . . for painting that mural and . . . for the letter.” Tears poured from my eyes.
“Thank you for making my night so starry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. I was scared you’d run.”
“It would have been the opposite.” I could barely speak.
“I know that, too. I didn’t want you to stay just because I had cancer.” Adam’s eyes were sympathetic. “But here you are.” He smiled and then pointed to the scar on his head. “They operated and got some of the tumor out, so my brain works better, but my left side is pretty useless. I was left-handed. I can’t paint anymore.” He paused. “At least I got to make that one last mural for you before I went into surgery. I’m starting to have seizures more often, so that’s a bummer. Oh, and I drool a little now. How’s that for progress?”
I laughed because he was smiling the whole time he talked, like nothing could ruin his day.
“So making out is gonna be a little slobbery,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
My lips flattened.
“I’m kidding, Charlotte.”
I let out a breath. “Oh. Okay.”
“Well, thanks for coming by, and you’re welcome for the mural. I figured if I didn’t make it through the surgery, you’d have something to remember me by.”
“And the letter?”
Adam’s warm, chocolatey eyes searched mine. “I meant all of it.”
Out of nowhere, I felt the urge to kiss him, so I did. I leaned down, cupped his chin, and kissed him, gently and slowly. The left side of his mouth was a little slack, but it didn’t matter; he braced the back of my head and kissed me back.
When I pulled away, he said, “Wow. It was true.”
“What?”
“That feeling was real. I didn’t make it up.”
I closed my eyes. My chest was aching. Right at that moment, a member of the hospital cafeteria walked in with a tray. “It’s your favorite, Adam. Chicken fajitas!” the woman said.
“Woohoo!” Adam was genuinely excited. It was charming. “This is the best day ever! Charlotte, sit down, I’ll share. It’ll be like a date.”
This was why I had fallen for him. He was dying in a bed and he was still joyful, buoyant, and charming.
I started laughing and crying at the same time. “Adam, where is your family? How come no one is here with you?”
“My dad can’t be pulled away from his job, you know? And all this is too hard on my mom. It’s no big deal; I mean, I could live ten more years like this. They don’t need to be sitting around waiting for me to die.”
He started pulling lids off the containers. I got up, walked over, and began to help him arrange his lunch so he could use his right hand. “Is that true? You could live ten more years?”
He looked up at me, straight-faced. “What, you don’t believe in miracles anymore?”
I swallowed hard and noticed that my hands were shaking and my voice wouldn’t work.
“I’m kidding. Lighten up, Charlotte.” He put his hand over mine and looked right into my eyes. “Relax, okay? I’m probably gonna die soon.”
I shook my head. There was a small container of broth. I took the lid off and held a spoonful to Adam’s mouth. He opened wide and swallowed the soup.
“I did that for you,” he said, smiling. “I don’t need you to feed me, but I totally enjoyed it.” He held up his right hand. “I can still use this hand, and other body parts, too.” He waggled his eyebrows. What was I doing? I was stumbling all over the situation like a fool. I was about to tell him that I had a boyfriend, but I stopped myself. “And, also, the broth is for people who can’t have solid food.” He lifted the lid off the fajitas. “I got these babies.”
I couldn’t imagine that Adam was dying of brain cancer. He was chipper and so coherent. “What exactly have they told you about . . .” I tensed up.
“About what?” he said, looking concerned.
“About . . . how long you have?”
Half of Adam’s mouth went up.
“Why are you smiling?”
“My beautiful Charlotte. Listen,” he implored, “I’m a ticking-fucking-time-bomb, okay? I could be happily enjoying my fajitas and then just”—he shut his eyes and made a croaking sound.
“That’s terrible!”
“I’m serious, but it’s true for all of us. I’m running out of fucks to give. You could have a stroke or an aneurysm or a freaking heart attack and drop dead right in front of me, lights out.”
“And you wouldn’t give a fuck?”
“No, I would, but I’m not going to waste one second on the possibility of it happening.”
“Adam, please.” He was joking but it was hard for me to laugh.
He took a bite of his fajita. I noticed he was trying very hard to keep the food in his mouth. Once he swallowed, he smiled again and said, “It’s not pretty but it works. Pull up a chair, Charlotte, you’re making me nervous.”
“Why would you be nervous?” I reached for a tissue from his bedside table and wiped my nose.