I don’t have to poke in the linen closet, because Adam left a towel and washcloth for me on the sink. I am alone, alone, alone and the water is hot. His soap smells like peppermint and makes my skin tingle and when I’m done, I feel like a dirty window that’s been washed until it squeaks. He left the bandages out for me too. I can’t find a hair dryer, so I get dressed and eat my sandwich in the living room with one of the director’s chairs pulled up to the wall so I can hang my hair over the radiator. I want to listen to more of Blood on the Tracks, but I worry I might fall apart. So I play Red House Painters and I like it. The lead singer’s voice sounds echoey and slow and it matches the sadness that runs under Adam’s smile in that picture.
When I’m done eating, I have to run the whole way back to Decadence to make it in time, but I am warm and clean and fed and happy.
— Chapter 16 —
Adam comes into Decadence at a quarter to six. I’m standing on a chair, trying to unscrew the side panel of the espresso machine, because Bodie somehow dropped a penny in the seam and then conveniently disappeared into the kitchen. Kelsye, the girl whose shift is after mine, is in early, so she takes Adam’s order. I give him a quick wave, but I’m so scared of losing the screws or dropping the panel that I can’t manage a good look to see if he’s happy to see me. By the time I get the penny and put everything together again, Adam is sitting at his usual table by the window, but his back is to me.
I go into the kitchen to sign out. Bodie is hunched over the stove, spooning something into a bowl. “Here,” I say, throwing the penny at him when he turns. He catches it. Slips it in his pocket like this whole thing was about him getting his money back.
“Here,” he says, and hands me a soup bowl full of mac and cheese, toasted bread crumbs sprinkled across the top. “Something I’m trying out.”
“Smells good,” I say, and he beams.
“The secret is mustard.”
I wince.
He says, “Trust me.”
“Okay,” I say.
“If you like it, tell Carly?” Bodie grinds pepper over my bowl. “I want her to make it a special.”
“Sure,” I say, and the way he looks in my eyes makes me think we could be having a moment. But then he says, “Is Kelsye here?” and the turn in his voice is so obvious.
“She’s busy,” I tell him, and take my mac and cheese out front so I don’t have to talk about Kelsye anymore.
Adam is reading, newspaper folded to the exact column so he can hold it with one hand and eat his sandwich with the other. He doesn’t look up when I get closer.
I felt so sure about the plan. I didn’t ask Carly or Bodie. I didn’t look for slips of paper on the bulletin board.
“Can I sit here?” I ask, and wonder if he can hear my heartbeat.
Adam looks up, staring for a minute before he grins. “Of course.”
I pull his key from the waistband of my skirt and slip it across the table. “Thank you,” I say, and I want to say more, but I don’t have the right words.
“Everything work okay for you?” Adam asks. I nod and he smiles. I wait for him to offer for me to stay again, but he just says, “Good!”
I can’t make myself ask. It’s already a lot that he’s done for me.
Adam eyes my dinner. “I didn’t know they had mac and cheese!”
“It’s a Bodie experiment,” I say. “Want some?”
I dump a spoonful on the side of Adam’s sandwich plate and we try it together, like it’s a dare. The mac is warm and gooey and the cheese makes strings. It tastes a million times better than the stuff that comes in a box.
“Bodie’s that blond guy, right?” Adam says.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know why I expected it to be bad.”
I laugh. “I know. Me too.”
“It’s awesome.”
“You can have more if you want.” I push my bowl toward him.
“I don’t want to take your food.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “Really.” I’m eager to give him something. Anything.
“You eat it,” he says, smiling.
He tells me about the article he’s reading on a new museum in Barcelona. How interesting he thinks it must be to design a space to show off art you haven’t even seen.
I don’t want him to know that I’m not exactly sure where Barcelona is, if it’s in Italy or Spain, or it’s like Luxembourg. Maybe Barcelona is in Barcelona, and maybe if I’m nineteen I should know that. So I focus on what he said about the building. “You mean like someday paintings that haven’t even been painted yet will hang there?”