Love to Love Her YAC (43 page)

“Hey, Adam.” He sounds bummed about
something.

“Hey, buddy. What’s up?”

He heaves a sigh. “Not much.”

“How’d baseball try outs go today?” I ask
cautiously. He’d missed the try outs back in May because our mom
was too afraid to send him, but I’d finally managed to talk her
into letting him go out for round two.

“I didn’t even make the first cut,” he says
in his little kid’s voice. Most times when strangers call our house
and Bennett answers, they assume he’s closer to seven or eight than
twelve.

My eyebrows knit together as I lean back
against the counter. “I’m sorry, bro. Did the coach say why?”

“No,” he replies. “Nathan said it’s ‘cause I
can’t throw far enough. He made fun of me to all the other
guys.”

I curl my hand into a fist and work to get my
temper under control before responding. I swear to God, sometimes I
wonder if I could ever actually bring a child into this world. Kids
are so cruel to each other. Finally I exhale and say, “We can work
on that when you come and visit me this summer. Don’t worry about
those other guys. There’s a reason they didn’t make through the
first try outs either.”

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m not worried. They’re
all bastards anyway.”

I have to bite down on my knuckles to stifle
my laugh. I know cursing is Bennett’s way of lashing out; I can’t
really blame him for being mad, but I don’t want to encourage his
newfound angry streak either. It’s really been worrying our mom,
honestly probably more than it should. Sometimes I wonder how much
she actually remembers about what I was like when I was Bennett’s
age – I’m sure I said many things far worse.

What makes it worse for Bennett is that his
voice isn’t the only thing about him that’s underdeveloped. He was
diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when he was scarcely two years old.
Consequently, he’s been treated with insulin for over a decade, and
his endocrinologist seems to think that accounts for his stunted
growth. Regardless of the reason, it’s a shit deal I wouldn’t wish
on any kid. Adolescence is an awkward time for everyone, but
Bennett’s negative body image is further compounded by the fact all
of his classmates make fun of him, and all the girls he likes are
interested in other, taller guys. Plus, I can’t imagine having to
cope with blood sugar control in addition to all the usual,
hormone-related stressors of young adulthood.

“Well, you’ve sort of got the right idea,” I
tell him as I push off the counter. On my way back to the living
room, I pass by the window that overlooks the street and notice a
slender girl with black hair climbing out of a little red car
parked next to the front walkway. She walks around to the door on
the other side of the car and removes a large cardboard box from
the backseat. I watch as she sets the box on the ground then pulls
out another, smaller carton, which she balances on her knee as she
kicks the door shut.

I set my beer on the table and cradle the
phone against my shoulder, suddenly driven to go down there and
make myself useful. I change my mind when I notice the girl taking
deliberate strides toward the door directly beneath me – she acts
like she’s afraid of being seen.

Amelia – 7:00 PM

T
his afternoon I
went back over to the house and gathered up a few more of my
belongings while Grady was away, probably at one of the casinos
trying to win enough money to pay this month’s rent. I noticed my
note was still lying on his pillow in the bedroom, apparently
untouched. Being there was surreal in a way; I’d felt like a
specter, floating from room to room, almost like a haunting spirit
with unfinished business. I couldn’t get out of there fast
enough.

Now Lydia is in the kitchen cooking pasta for
dinner. I’ve just finished hanging up the last of my clothes in the
narrow closet when I hear a knock at the front door. Lydia’s voice
sounds from the front hall, followed by the deeper timbre of a
man’s voice. “This was in my mailbox,” he says. “Thought you might
be interested, since it has your name on it.”

“God, yes, thanks,” Lydia replies. “I don’t
know why this is so difficult for them to keep straight. It says
‘Apartment 1’ right there!”

I sneak out into the hallway but stop when I
see the man she’s addressing. I’d guess he’s in his mid- to
late-twenties, and it looks like he’s about a solid foot taller
than Lydia, who’s five foot two. He has short, dirty blond hair
sticking up in odd directions like he’s just rolled out of bed. His
face is classically handsome, with a firm jaw, full lips and clear
blue eyes that shift from smoldering to warm when a smile causes
their corners to lift and crinkle. As a yoga instructor I’m not so
easily impressed by muscles
per se
(which this guy certainly
has in abundance), but I do have a healthy respect for human
anatomy that’s been properly cared for – and his clearly has.

My pulse quickens, and I flash back to the
rainy, windy night at the karaoke bar when I met Grady for the
first time. As I recall the way I’d fallen so blindly into my
relationship with my former fiancé, suddenly the butterflies in my
stomach and the dryness in my throat feel less delightful and more
terrifying. It’s a good thing I’ve developed a certain aptitude for
shutting down any unwelcome emotional response – even if it does
seem like sort of a sad thing to be good at.

Adam – 7:15 PM

I
suck in a breath
when I see her, momentarily taken aback by her
looks
. I’m
well aware of how corny or shallow that may seem, but I can’t
apologize for the truth. The subtle slant of her almond shaped eyes
lends an exotic quality to her beauty; her olive skin tone
contrasts with the lightness of her gray irises, framed in a pair
of wire rimmed glasses, and glossy black hair flows in a smooth
sheet around her shoulders. Add to that face her flawless bone
structure and apparent lack of body fat (her chest being the
exception), and you have a human being that’s pretty damn close to
perfect.

“I didn’t know you had a roommate,” I
say.

Lydia looks confused for a second, but then
she turns and sees the girl lurking behind her in the hallway. “Oh
hey, Mimi. Come here and meet Adam. He’s our upstairs
neighbor.”

The girl joins us in the entryway as Lydia
completes the introductions. “Adam Cross, this is my dear friend
Amelia Franklin. She and Gretchen are staying here with me for a
little while.”

I flash her my best smile as I extend my
hand. “Gretchen?” I ask.

“My dog,” Amelia clarifies.

“Ah. And you go by Mimi?”

She cringes, and Lydia laughs. “No – just
Amelia.”

“She hates nicknames,” Lydia explains. “Only
I can call her that, right, Mimi?”

“Only you,” Amelia agrees, humoring her. “And
only because you’re giving me a place to stay.”

Lydia chuckles again as she turns and walks
back toward the kitchen, which is in the same place as mine – our
apartments are laid out according to the exact same floor plan. “Do
you have dinner plans, Adam?” she calls over her shoulder. I glance
at Amelia; she’s regarding me curiously, her thumbs hooked in the
waistband of her shorts.

“Does ordering a pizza count?” I ask.

“Eww, no!” Lydia volleys back. “Come on, grab
a seat, both of you. I made pasta, and there’s enough here to feed
a small country.”

Amelia offers me a weak smile, then turns to
take her place at the table. I take a tentative step forward, torn
between elation and nervousness because she doesn’t really seem
like she wants me here.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I ask,
addressing the question more to Amelia than Lydia.

“Of course not!” Lydia pipes up. “Sit!”

I pull out the chair across from Amelia just
as a large brown-gray dog pads around the corner and lowers herself
onto her haunches next to her owner. “This is my dog,” Amelia says
as she massages her ears. “This is Gretchen.”

“She’s pretty,” I say. “Does she have some
lab in her?”

Amelia looks up and grants me the first
genuine smile I’ve seen from her; I’m blown away by the appearance
of dimples in her cheeks. “She does,” she replies. “And Weimaraner.
She’s amazing – the perfect pet.” She turns back to the dog,
patting her on the head as she lays her chin in Amelia’s lap. I sit
back with my arms crossed over my chest as I study her interaction
with the dog – it’s almost like she’s coddling a small child.

“Careful, this is really hot,” says Lydia
suddenly as she walks out of the kitchen with a steaming bowl and
places it in the middle of the table. For a few minutes all
conversation ceases as we pass around the pasta and salad and a
bottle of wine.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you more in the
kitchen,” Amelia says.

“Don’t be,” Lydia laughs. “I’ll just let you
know the next time I want to test the smoke detector.”

Amelia winces but then smiles good-naturedly.
“Not much of a cook, huh?” I say.

She shakes her head. “That would be an
understatement.”

“Me neither,” I tell her. “Except scrambled
eggs. They’re my specialty.”

“Well, I have a pretty decent track record
with toast, so between the two of us it sounds like the breakfast
of champions,” she replies with a daring grin.

Lydia snorts. “I’m so proud of you both.
We’ll have to test this little theory sometime.” She forks a bite
of salad as she turns to me. “You said you’re an architect, right,
Adam?”

I glance at Amelia; she holds my gaze with
what I hope is interest and not boredom. “Yes,” I reply, wiping my
mouth. “I’ve been a drafter with Walcott and Lewis for a couple
years now. Pretty soon I’m hoping to move up and start managing
some projects of my own.”

“Like what?” Amelia asks. I notice she’s
stopped eating and her hands are in her lap.

“They’ve got a couple things in the works,” I
tell her. “An art gallery and a doctor’s office are next up.”

“And which do you think you’d like to
manage?” asks Lydia.

“I have a few ideas for the gallery,” I reply
evenly, swirling my wine around in my glass as I shrug. I’ve never
been much of a wine drinker, but I’ve noticed most women seem to
be. “So,” I say, clearing my throat and glancing at Amelia, “what
do you do?”

“I teach yoga,” she says. I lift an eyebrow.
So that explains the amazing body.
“Ever done Bikram
before?” she asks.

“Never heard of it. I’ve done
yoga
before, but not – what did you call it?
Beak-rum
?”

She smiles, then bites her lip as if she’s
trying to suppress a laugh. “Uh huh.”

“Fuck, dude, you have to try it,” interjects
Lydia. “It’s some crazy shit. How hot did you say they keep it in
there, Mimi?”

Amelia keeps her eyes on me as Lydia speaks.
“A hundred and five degrees,” she says without blinking. “Forty
percent humidity.”

“Christ,” I mutter. “And that’s supposed to
be good for you?”

“It increases flexibility so you can do the
poses better,” she explains.

“Oh my God, and you sweat out
so many
impurities,” Lydia adds. “Seriously, Adam, you should try it. Mimi
is an
excellent
teacher.”

In any other situation, my response to that
suggestion would easily be
hell no
, but honestly, now that
I’m imagining Amelia twisted into a pretzel and glistening with
sweat, I feel I could be talked into it fairly easily. “I might
have to do that,” I say. “Where do you go to learn how to become a
yoga instructor anyway?”

“I trained in Chicago, where I’m from,” she
says. “I taught to put myself through school there.”

“School…for something besides yoga?” I
ask.

“Oh yeah, don’t let her fool you,” says
Lydia. “Amelia is a woman of many talents. You should see some of
the dresses she’s made.”

Amelia chuckles at my confused expression. “I
majored in fashion design at the Art Institute. Didn’t end up
finishing though, so I’m not as accomplished as Lydia makes me out
to be.”

“Aww,
and
she’s modest,” says Lydia
with a roll of her eyes. “Pretty sure Armani didn’t get his degree
either, Mimi.”

Amelia laughs and shakes her head as she
twirls linguine around her fork. “Let’s get one thing straight,
Lydia. There are only three things I’ve mastered in this life.” She
ticks them off on her fingers as she speaks. “Breaking and
entering. Getting my dog to let me brush her teeth. And kicking
your ass at Texas Hold ‘Em.”

I slap the table as I laugh. “Breaking and
entering?! There
has
to be a good story in there
somewhere.”

Amelia turns her gaze to me as she chews,
affecting an air of perfect sincerity. “Into Kias mainly. You can’t
imagine how many times I’ve locked my keys in that damn car.
Locksmiths are a luxury I can’t afford.” She winks, and Lydia
giggles.

“Woman of many talents, indeed,” I say. “Now,
brushing the dog’s teeth I can appreciate. Especially if it’s that
savage beast.” I nod at Gretchen, who’s languishing belly up on the
carpet at Amelia’s feet, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. A
full-bodied laugh bursts from Amelia as she reaches down to scratch
the dog’s stomach. “Don’t let her fool you,” she says. “She knows
how to put on a convincing show.”

We talk and laugh through the rest of dinner.
Sometime later, a song begins blasting from somewhere in the
apartment, apparently someone’s ring tone. Lydia, who had been
giggling hysterically only seconds before, promptly shuts her mouth
and shoots Amelia a worried look. My gaze flickers to Amelia; she
presses her lips into a line and rises to her feet, causing
Gretchen to perk up with alarm. “Sorry – I should get that,” she
says softly as she slips down the hall.