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“There’s this really great thrift store in Santa Monica where I found some cool stuff.” I pull on his arm to show him the small stand-up wardrobe unit I got, and finger all of the outfits I filled it with.
“You’re like the only wealthy person I know that still shops at thrift stores.” Wade picks through my clothes. “Adam would approve.” He plucks a pretty sundress from the hanger and holds it up to himself.
I snatch it from him and place it back on the rack. “I think wealthy is a little exaggerated,” I tease. We were successful as a band and the royalties are nice, especially from being the main songwriter, but the money means nothing to me and it can’t sustain me forever.
Wade walks around and inspects my decor, from the cozy oversized chair to the round breakfast table I picked up at the same thrift store as my sundress. Everything is meant for a party of one.
He points to the boxes stacked up in the corner, which are taking up a lot of space. “You should really let someone help you with all of that.” Somehow I took on the job of sifting through our band merch since Wade is leaving town. Jack obviously wants nothing to do with it, and Cash is MIA.
I chose to have it delivered to my loft because I didn’t want to sit at a musty storage locker.
“Because I’m so fucking important that I need an assistant,” I wave him off sarcastically.
“Because you’re a boss bitch with your own publishing company,” he replies before he sticks his tongue out at me. “Besides, you’re only going to get busier once people know Mia Stone is in the houuuuuse,” he exaggerates.
“Never use that word again.”
Dark Angel Publishing LLC is under Bret’s label but it’s all mine, so I guess I am a boss bitch. Right now it feels like this small corner of the world that I have carved out for myself.
“You might be right about getting busier but I haven’t had time to worry about it,” I explain to him.
“I’m loving this.” Wade stops at the small kitchen island and picks up a piece of fake fruit in a basket that I have placed in the center.
I snatch it from him. “Give me that.” I place it back in the bowl. “I’m trying to be a grown-up.”
Wade laughs. “God, I hope that never happens.”
“Gotta grow up some time,” I say, and raise my eyebrows at him.
“Are you ready to go, I’m starving?”
“YOU CAN VISIT me.” Wade tries his best to make me feel better.
“And what, stay the night in your bunkbed with you?” I roll my eyes dramatically and take a bite of my sandwich.
“The dorm rooms don’t have bunkbeds,” he hesitates, “at least I don’t think they do.”
“See? You don’t even know. That’s reason enough to stay here. You are not making an informed decision,” I joke.
Wade takes a deep breath, giving the moment a somber feeling. I worry about how this impacts Adam. Even though he was adamant that Wade go to Berkeley, I know this is killing him. I remember that saying, if you let something go and it comes back to you, it was meant to be yours. I think Adam is counting on that.
“How is Adam?”
Wade places his sandwich on his plate and looks at me with conflicted soft brown eyes.
“He’s been really great about the whole thing.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” I reach out to touch his arm, hoping to provide some support.
“He’s been too great about it,” Wade huffs.
I sit back in my chair. “Wade, don’t be stupid.”
“Hey!” he protests.
“Adam is in love with you.” I place both my palms on the table and look at Wade. “He doesn’t want to hold you back. Do you know how rare that is?” If Adam were selfish like me, he would guilt Wade into staying.
“It makes it so much harder to leave,” he whispers and takes a drink of his water.
