Page 41 of Sunrises & Salvation

ADAM

“ I have a date,” Trent announces loudly as he walks into the office. I roll my eyes and then watch as he happily skips to his desk. He doesn’t actually skip, but there’s a definite pep in his step that I haven’t seen since his ex left town.

Good for him.

“You know you don’t have to take your hand on a date, right? It’s already attached to you.”

“Okay, you fucking smart ass.” He hits me in the head with a balled-up piece of paper, and I watch as it falls onto my desk. I cut my glance over at him, and he’s smiling way too wide. He kind of looks like a psycho.

“Quit smiling like that, it’s weird.”

“Can you be happy for me, dude? You know how rough it’s been…” He trails off, and I do feel bad for the guy. I never thought he would get over Kian, but here we are.

He’s what my therapist wishes I were.

“Yeah, I know. I am happy for you,” I offer, even if it doesn’t sound the most sincere. But I tried my best, that’s all he can ask of me. “When?”

“I’m going over to his house for dinner tomorrow.” My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline.

“And where did you meet this man?” He’s probably a serial killer… or worse. He could be the type of person to barbecue jackfruit and say it tastes the same as pulled pork. It definitely does not taste like pulled pork. I shiver just thinking about it.

“Home Depot. I was picking up extra supplies for today. Joseph needed some epoxy for the concrete.” Trent, the one person everyone can count on to go above and beyond to be helpful.

It makes me sick. But I guess it also helps me out, because I would rather our building be up to code rather than fail and put us behind schedule.

The family that is moving in needs the house soon rather than later after their last one burned down.

I stare at him, waiting for him to continue. His face flushes, and I can’t stop the wide smile that overtakes my face. “You’re embarrassed? Seriously?”

He doesn’t say anything, but the red grows brighter, and I cackle maniacally, thumping my fist against my desk in my fit. “After everything we’ve been through, you’re embarrassed of telling me you have a date?”

“I’m not embarrassed to tell you about it.

I’m just…” I wait impatiently for him to continue.

“I just know that you don’t date, so I don’t want you to feel bad.

” It’s a cop out excuse, he and I both know it.

I haven’t dated anyone; heck, I haven’t even felt attraction to anyone in the past eight years.

If I think about it hard enough, it probably stems from my parents emotionally stunting me as a child.

I’ve accepted that I’m not gay, or straight, or anything.

I’m… here. That’s the best thing I can come up with because saying I’m Hunter-sexual doesn’t make sense.

“So, are you more embarrassed now or when the wind blew over the porta potty you were in?” He visibly gags, pressing his hand to his mouth and breathing deeply. It was a train wreck when it happened, but it was so fucking funny. I will never, ever let him live that down.

“I thought we agreed to never bring that up again,” he says when he finally gets his gag reflex under control.

We probably did, but I’ll never admit it. It’s too much fun giving him shit for it. I have to hold in the snort that wants to escape from my pun. He wouldn’t appreciate it, but it would have been the perfect timing.

We work in silence, him rapidly typing away on his computer while I stare at the blank screen in front of me.

The temptation to research Hunter is there, niggling at the back of my mind.

But since that night at Cheryl and Daniel’s, I silently agreed to cool it on my obsession with their son.

It’ll always be a part of me, but maybe that’s all it’ll ever be.

I’m not accepting defeat, that’s not in my blood.

But watching Cheryl and Daniel talk about how excited they were for Hunter to come home made me realize that I should back off so I don’t scare him away.

I don’t want to do that to him or his parents.

Not after everything they’ve done for me.

They’ve given me back a piece of my childhood that I didn’t know I was missing.

Watching movies and eating popcorn on their couch without a care in the world about showing emotions or being concerned with saving face.

With them, I could laugh loudly and even swipe away a tear or two during a particularly heart-wrenching scene.

I’m specifically thinking about when Cheryl had to watch Marley and Me .

That was the best/worst movie in existence.

My fingers graze across the keys, certain letters worn out more than others from my obsessive checking, but I yank my fingers away, pushing the thoughts away and trying to focus on something else.

My brain won’t focus, though, it can’t. Too many thoughts are zinging across, and there’s nowhere for them to go.

“I’m going to run to the gym real quick, you in?” Trent normally goes with me, so I offer even though I really don’t want him to. I want to be alone so I can try and process the erratic ideas running around in my head.

“Nah, you go ahead. I’m going to finish up this invoice for Mary and then head out. Mitch is expecting me tonight.” He says that almost every night, so I’m not sure what makes tonight any different.

“You good for your date? Do you need anything? The restaurant outside of town isn’t quite done yet, but if you want to use it for the next date, feel free.”

I push away from my desk, leaning from side to side to pop my back and stretch my muscles so that when I get to the gym, I’m slightly more limber than I am now. There’s nothing worse than trying to lift heavy weights with a stiff leg or back.

“I’ll be back, call if you have any problems.” Trent doesn’t lift his head, but he waves his hand goodbye.

I shut the door behind me and grab my gym bag from the back seat of my Mercedes. I always make sure to keep a bag in here just in case. Never know when inspiration, or desperation, calls to me and I need to find a way to burn the extra energy running through my veins.

The sun is beating down already, the heat waves coating my back as I walk the half mile to the gym.

A bead of sweat prickles the back of my neck, and I feel it trail down the length of my back.

At least they have showers I can use. I would hate for Trent to be stuck with the smell of my musky sweat, if he’s even there when I get done.

My shoes thwack against the cement of the sidewalk, the noise loud enough to be heard over the quiet. That’s something that took a lot of time to get used to, living here. The stillness that comes from living in a town this size, so different from the town I grew up in. I can’t complain, though.

When I was looking for places to relocate to, I originally chose the same town that Hunter grew up in.

Somehow, Daniel and Cheryl talked me out of it.

They brought me to this town one day and showed me around.

The ice cream shop, old movie theater, and bowling alley, and a variety of shops lined the main road.

It instantly felt like home, and I still don’t know what kind of Houdini trick they pulled on me to convince me of that. But even all these years later, I still get the same feeling.

A now-open banner waves gently from the light breeze blowing. When I get closer, I see a small black chalkboard propped up in the middle of the sidewalk. A riddle is written in bold, bubble letters.

Until I am measured, I am not known. Yet you miss me when I’ve flown.

Angie would have loved this one. And Hunter, too. The pang in my heart solidifies thinking of everything I’ve lost, no matter how much it seems like I have gained.

Time. I think to myself, checking out the painted windows of the new story.

New Beginnings Books is painted in an array of colors: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple.

The rest of the window is painted with cartoon characters holding books in their hands.

Sonic, Ash, Goku, SpongeBob, some other characters I don’t recognize.

Whoever drew these is talented. I could reach my hand out and trace the yellow paint of SpongeBob, and I’m convinced I could feel him for myself.

I don’t touch it though, on the off chance that I fuck it up. Wouldn’t that be something?

The other window has a version of The Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh, but in the little details, I can make out words.

A story. Someone wrote out a whole story and created a piece of art with it.

I’m stunned, openly gaping at this craft that’s being wasted because no one besides me is here to see it.

I snap a picture, and later, when I get back to the office, I’ll upload it to our website, letting all the locals know what they’re missing out on.