“What are you doing?” Adam says.
I jump to my feet, my imaginary guitar falling to the floor.
“There’s something you don’t know about me,” I say, and instantly I wish I could catch all those words and push them back in my mouth like they never happened.
“That you’ve had too much wine?” Adam says, kissing me on the forehead.
I steady myself on the arm of the futon. “It’s that… it’s that… I’m, I-I play guitar.”
“Air guitar?”
“Real guitar,” I say. “I don’t have one anymore. But I did play. And it’s just, it’s important. It’s the most important, and you didn’t even know.”
“Well, thank you for telling me.” Adam smiles in the way that makes his eyes crinkle.
“Thank you for being somebody I could tell,” I say, and my eyes well up.
“Hey, hey,” Adam says, wrapping his arms around me. “It’s okay. Someday you’ll tell me all of it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We all have our weepy wine nights,” he says. “It’s what makes us human.”
“I thought it was opposable thumbs,” I say. It’s the one thing I remember from science class. I like the word opposable.
“That too,” he says. “Thumbs and the ability to get weepy out of nowhere when we have too much wine. Those are the two things that make us human.”
* * *
After dinner, when we lie in bed together, I help Adam form chords with his fingers. We sing Air Supply songs to the ceiling and strum our imaginary guitars until our voices get sleepy and hoarse.
— Chapter 22 —
In my head all morning, I celebrate my one-month anniversary of being at Adam’s place. While I’m taking orders and making espressos, there are lyrics about home and the sound of coffeepots gurgling and beers in the fridge （that I finally have the courage to take） swimming in my mind, trying to put themselves together. Four whole weeks, and it’s almost Christmas, and I’ve bought him a present—a record player I found at a thrift store, some Dylan records, a best of Simon & Garfunkel, and an Air Supply LP—and tonight after I’m done with work, we’re going to get an actual Christmas tree of our very own and decorate it with strings of popcorn and make stars out of egg cartons and glitter, because Adam can’t believe I’ve never made an egg carton star.
I didn’t tell him that I’ve never had a Christmas tree. Margo always invited me over when she decorated hers: a vintage aluminum one with pink lights, and feather ornaments that all came from the same set and match perfectly. I tell him about Margo’s tree like it was really mine. Like I belonged at her place.
And I certainly don’t tell him about the first time I walked in the door of my dad’s new place with Irene and there was a Christmas tree right there in the middle of the living room with lights and ugly ornaments the boy made and a star way up top, so close to the ceiling that my dad was the only one who could have hung it there. When I saw the tree, I could see the whole situation of it in my mind—them singing and decorating, being warm and family and all that crap. It’s not like I wanted to spend an afternoon listening to Irene coo about the boy hanging painted pinecones all over the tree while a Buck Owens Christmas album played on repeat in the background. It’s just that I couldn’t help but remember all the times my dad told me we couldn’t have a tree because it was a waste of money or a waste of trees or there was no point in giving a fuck anyway.
So when we’re eating breakfast before work and Adam says we should go get a tree, I just smile and say, “Sounds great,” and tell him I’ll pick up some cider on the way home. Because it sounds like a normal thing to do, and the eggnog Margo always had when we decorated her tree used to sit in my stomach like a brick for hours.
Later, Adam comes into the cafe and has lunch with me over at the corner table, pretending we’re just friends, like always, because it’s easier. I’m used to hiding the things I really want anyway.
“So,” Adam says, “I’d like to spend Christmas with you. If you want to.”
We spent Thanksgiving together, but mostly we ignored that it was Thanksgiving, because it was all new and awkward. I worked at Decadence that morning and brought home turkey sandwiches and we watched a couple movies on TV. But even though it’s not like I had anywhere else to go for Christmas, this feels official. With plans and a tree and making a fuss.