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I sat on the bed to absorb my new reality. Time to regroup. I had my own food, given I’d planned to spend the long weekend in a house filled with my friends. I could survive up here in this room on snacks and cooler food. Probably for a solid week since I’d clearly overbought. Not that I planned to stay for a week. Nope, I was out of here by tomorrow.
But to go where? Back home I had an apartment begging for a deep clean after my roommate moved out. As if I wanted to rush home to scrub baseboards and tub grime. No classes. No boyfriend. My post-doc didn’t start for another few weeks. This weekend was supposed to be a celebration.
A pang of loss hit. Alone, no boyfriend. Alone, no college besties. Only me.
Since the initial shock had worn off from Stu ending our relationship, I realized I didn’t miss him all that much. I missed the idea of him. Someone to share my day with who knew my exact struggles and frustrations because we were going through them together. But if I was honest with myself, our relationship had been a convenience. It had just taken me longer to understand.
With school ending for the last time, and not having the familiar crutch—er, companion, well… I had to admit, I felt a little lost. I was out here rudderless with a busted anchor. Well, who was to say my anchor was busted? I could fix up an anchor right quick. Fashion a rudder out of good old determination. Wait, what was happening? My boating metaphors confused my own brain.
All this thinking made me hungry. I reached for pretzels when an unmistakable scent hit, wafting through the open window. A grill.
Adam. How dare you. How absolutely dare you.
I shut the window and stuffed pretzels into my mouth. Dry. Pointy. Harsh. I cracked open a can of root beer from the cooler. Took a swig and paced the room.
My salivary glands betrayed me. I was helpless against the siren call of smoky charcoal. Summer evenings on the lake were meant for grilling. Adam knew that. He was literally smoking me out.
Fine. I’d humor him for dinner. I grabbed the pretzel bag and my root beer and slipped down the stairs. More like creaked down.
Sliding glass doors led from the kitchen to a deck where smoke lightly curled from a grill. The deck covered the back length of the house. I stifled a laugh. Adam wore an honest-to-goodness apron reading Chillin’ and Grillin’.
“I’ve got burgers, hot dogs, and meatless dogs. Preference?” he asked without looking up.
I started to answer when the reality of our situation slammed into me again. After all these years with no communication, he assumed we could have a normal cookout together? As if nothing had happened?
Now Adam made eye contact. “I’ve got vegetable kabobs. You like vegetable kabobs?”
I threw my hands up in exasperation. Fizzy root beer splattered against my arm. “What are we doing, Adam? This isn’t high school. I’m not visiting with my family for the summer like the old days. You ended our relationship, ditched out on college, and ghosted. And you want to know whether I want a vegetable kabob?”
One single nod was the only indication he acknowledged what I’d said.
I licked root beer from my arm and drained the rest of the can. Stared at Adam some more.
A faint grin appeared and disappeared almost as quickly. “You’re right. I owe you a better explanation.”
“An explanation at all. And your mom telling my mom things to pass along does not count. It never has.”
Of course my parents had been concerned when he’d first broken up with me. I’d been devastated and they went into immediate protective mode. Naturally, we were all confused why Adam suddenly changed his mind about college. All I knew was he’d needed “time to think.” Sure was an expensive change of mind for his parents losing out on a residence hall deposit and whatever else they’d paid by then. For a time, our parents’ relationship had been strained, though as years passed, the moms re-established their friendship. After all, they hadn’t broken up. By then, I refused to hear updates on Adam. I’d moved on.
I’d attempted to move on. Clearly, embers of our flamed-out relationship remained or I wouldn’t have blown a gasket a minute ago.
He held up a finger and removed the grill lid to add the burgers. The grill’s sizzled response made my mouth water.
“I wasn’t ever like you.” Adam closed the lid again. “You always loved school.”
“So much so I made a career out of it. I’ve only ever known school.”
He assessed me for a long moment. “I’m proud of you. A PhD—wow. Look at, you Jillian. Or, I should say, Dr. Jillian.”
His flattery meant nothing. Okay, it meant something. “Dr. Jillian Levesque. That’s going to take a long time to get old.”
He lifted his bottle of craft beer as a cheers. I held up my sticky root beer can and we both took a drink. Except mine was empty.
“Here.” Adam handed me a can of flavored carbonated water.
“Um, thanks.” So, he was hospitable. So what? “Not liking school doesn’t explain what happened.” In case he thought I’d moved on subject-wise, I hadn’t. “You applied to University of Michigan. You got in. You never said a word about not wanting to go. We made plans and I…I thought that’s what you wanted.” I thought he’d wanted us. Together.
Adam looked at the lake before returning his gaze to mine. “I thought I wanted those things too. I figured my doubts were nerves—like I was scared to move on from high school or something. But that wasn’t it at all. The doubts got louder. So loud I couldn’t think of anything else.”
