Page 9 of As the Years Pass

There are so many things I want to ask him, so many things we should catch up on. I just want to be part of his life and see what he’s been up to.

It’s not right of me to hope that he asks me up to his apartment, but the thoughts pass through my mind anyway. I don’t want this to end. This is our chance to reconcile. My chance to show him that I’m still here, and I always will be—that even though he hurt me all those years ago, I’m willing to give him another chance because I never stopped loving him.

I shove my hands into my pockets and stare into Adam’s blue eyes. They’re different from what I remember. Less vibrant. He’s tired. I see it written all over him.

He doesn’t make a move to go inside, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking either. The rain is starting to pick up, and maybe now isn’t the time to drag this night out. I know where he lives, andit isn’t far. He knows where I work. Tonight doesn’t have to be the last time I see him. If only I could open my mouth to tell him that.

Finally, when a car drives by, going through a puddle that almost splashes us, I’m able to speak.

“You should come by the bar again sometime,” I say.

“I’d like that.”

I nod, giving him a smile. He didn’t say no. He didn’t come up with an excuse as to why he can’t. It wasn't an “I’ll think about it,” or “I’m not sure.”

“Well, have a good night, Adam.”

I turn, hunching my shoulders and starting down the sidewalk to head back to my car. If I don’t go now, I’ll stand there and stare at him all night.

“Emmet!” he shouts, and I stop to face him. His eyes are wide, almost frantic. He takes a step toward me, then stops. My heart pounds in my chest, trying not to have hope, but I can’t help it. Hope is all I have these days. He lets out a sharp breath, then says, “It was nice seeing you.”

All the hope that bloomed in my chest deflates at those words.

Going up to his apartment didn’t have to mean sex. It didn’t have to mean anything more than him wanting to spend time with me. And that’s all I want from him. I just want him in my orbit. I just want to see him smile and hear him laugh. I want to know about his day and how much he loves being a dad and hates his job. I want all of it, every morsel he is willing to give.

Instead of telling him any of that, I force a smile and say, “It was nice seeing you too, Adam.” And then I walk back to my car.

“This young boy is going to be different, Emmet,” my mother says in a soft voice.

“I know, Mom. You told me already.”

“I just want to make sure you understand. He’s going to be very upset, and I would appreciate your help with making him feel comfortable. He’s exactly your age, you know.”

I stab a chunk of my eggs and shove it into my mouth, while Mom sips on her coffee, watching me from across the table.

“I know that, too.”

She puts her coffee down, still watching me as I pick up my piece of toast.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

“Because you’ve been acting differently the last couple of weeks.”

“I’m just… growing up.”

Her smile is slow but big. “That you are. And your father and I are so proud of the man you’re growing into.”

I get up, biting into the toast and grabbing my plate with the other hand. With the toast in my mouth, I rinse my plate and put it into the dishwasher, then turn to my mother and swallow down the rest of my food.

“I know, Mom. Love you.” I kiss her cheek, then grab my backpack from by the stairs and my keys off the hook. Saturday mornings are the only mornings we have alone in the house together, and it’s not that I hate all the other kids here, but it’s nice to have quiet now and then.

Dad is working and the kids who live here are involved in some sort of school activity that has them busy on Saturday mornings. I do too, only I start a little later. So Mom and I have breakfast together and chat about our week. Only today, I didn’t do so much chatting.

She’s right. Something is bothering me, and I feel bad lying to her about it but I don’t want to worry her. Because I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it really is just megetting older. Hormones or something, I don’t know. But it’s not enough to worry her with.

Football practice is rough, as it usually is, and when I’m done, I want nothing more than to take an hour-long shower and drop onto my bed. But the new kid should be arriving at the house by the time I get there, so I quickly shower in the locker room, get dressed, and head home. Maybe I’ll just go to bed early.