"I hope you like chicken noodle casserole?" Laura asked, a blue LeCreuset dish in hand. "I really did intend to fix something nicer, but the day just got away. Besides, between Adam and the kids, trying to fix anything that's not fried or covered in cheese really becomes a bit of a lost cause…
"We have lasagna and tater tot casserole in the freezer, though. Or, if you like, you and Adam would be welcome to go get something that's not processed and covered in Velveeta."
"Why does something tell me he would be the wrong dinner companion for that?" Julie joked, well-aware that left to his own devices, Adam would be content to live off of chicken fingers and macaroni for the rest of his life.
One of the many reasons it never would have worked...
"Good point! But you never know. He might be on his good behavior for you; willing to pretend that he eats vegetables and things that aren't on the kids' menu."
…
Walking into the dining room, a salad bowl in hand, Julie couldn't help marvel at the perfection of everything. With deep coral walls and intricate crown molding; expansive windows and blue toile curtains, it really was quite the monument to good taste. Even with three kids, the table was set with delicate china and lead crystal that glistened in the sunlight, the grandeur on par with the formal dinners Bunny had once thrown.
The difference was, this time, it all seemed natural. Like people were just supposed to use bone china and 19th century silverware to eat chicken casserole on a Friday night; the patina and chipped plates bearing testimony to the normalcy of it all.
"Why can't you find more friends like this?" Laura joked as Julie placed the salad bowl on the table. "Scott and Larson never help."
"Well of course they don't. They're men."
Julie shot him a piercing look as Laura reached over to light the candles.
"Indeed they are. Sad, lonely, celibate men."
"Point well taken."
By that time, all three kids were seated, and as Laura passed the dinner rolls, Will started wiggling around, showing off his finest octopus moves.
"Will, sweetie, what did I say about being an octopus at the table?"
"Blub blub blub blub"
"Well, at least eat your salad. Octopi need their vegetables, too."
"Blub blub."
November, 1999
"I'm not a mom!" Julie squealed from the cramped bathroom she and Connie shared with their suitemates.
It had been three days since her talk with Adam, and finally, her period had come. They weren't going to be teen parents, after all.
"Congratulations!" Connie cheered, tackling her in a hug after she finished up in the restroom. "I'm so happy that you aren't going to be a mommy!"
The two stood there for a moment, arms still around one another, swaying back and fourth in joyous relief.
"However, that would have been the sexiest kid ever!"
"Oh my gosh, that is so wrong!"
Julie had never dreamed that she could be so happy to get her period. A wave of relief rushed over her entire body, and she felt like she was walking on white, fluffy clouds coated with unicorn dust.
A smaller part of her, though, was almost disappointed.
After her talk with Adam, a piece of her had come around to his logic. She had spent the last two days daydreaming about buying a perfect house together, with a perfect white picket fence. She could picture them sitting together on the back porch, sipping lemonade as their children ran through the grass barefoot, chasing fireflies. She could see herself standing in the front door, calling everyone inside for dinner while Adam taught their kids to play hockey in the driveway. She could see them all curled up together in a big soft bed, reading bedtime stories, and making pancakes together in the kitchen on lazy Saturday mornings.
It wasn't really the life she'd always pictured for herself, but it did sound awfully nice. Better, even, in some ways.
That evening after dinner, Julie walked back upstairs to the guest room to unpack her things and change into pajamas.
Along the way, she couldn't help but admire it all. The perfect white wainscoting that her mom had always wanted when they were growing up, but that her family never quite had the extra money for. The abundance of built-in bookshelves in every room, filled with well-loved books and old hockey trophies and expensive tchotchkes from Tiffany's and elementary school art projects. The cozy window seat in the guest bedroom, and the way that the whole room smelled like Chanel No.5. The gallery wall in the upstairs hallway, filled with artistic black and white prints of the family at the beach, and the kids having snowball fights, and Adam and Laura in their younger days.
She smiled at Adam's senior picture, remembering the boy who still had the whole world in front of him, and the picture taken a few months later of the Eden Hall hockey team holding their national championship banner, Adam's arm around her waist.
.
By the time she made her way back downstairs, Laura was still straightening up in the kitchen, while Adam and the kids had changed into their pajamas, and were now in the process of building a blanket fort in the living room.
"You need any help with anything?" Julie asked when she saw that Laura was still in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher.
"Oh no, I was just taking advantage of the fact that Caroline's occupied for once. I'm almost done, though. You're more than welcome to go join the construction project they seem to have going on!"
"You're sure?"
"Of course. I do this every day."
Back in the living room, Adam was holding one corner of a sheet with his mouth as he tried to clear off a section of bookshelf, while Tucker and Will secured the other corners to an end table and an overstuffed ottoman.
Caroline, meanwhile, was sitting under a ticking striped couch cushion, playing with a doll that had the same haircut as her.
Taking the whole scene in, Julie couldn't help but feel as if she had stepped into a Norman Rockwell painting…if, that is, Norman Rockwell had focused his efforts on painting the rich and unusually attractive.
He really is a bit of a DILF.
.
Indeed, standing there engrossed in his blanket forts, Adam was a dad. In poplin pajama pants and a faded T-shirt, there was no longer any camouflaging the ravages of time; careful tailoring no longer there to hide what 20 years of paralysis had done to his body. It was now obvious that his right arm hung awkwardly at his side, thinner than his left. The sculpted chest and perfectly carved abs she used to trace with her fingers were nowhere to be found, replaced instead with a tummy that was a bit rounder and jigglier than it had appeared under his button down. With his Cole Haans off, there was nothing to hide the plastic leg brace that kept him from tripping over his own foot, and without his cane, he had to learn against the blue and white loveseat for support.
Still, to Julie, he was as handsome as ever, his decidedly imperfect body just begging to be snuggled.
After all, there had always been something endearing about his flaws.
The various scars and freckles and oddly shaped bits had always been a reminder that underneath all of the hype, there was still a real person. A real person far sexier and more interesting than any newspaper article would ever let on.
December, 1999
Keep spending most our lives
Livin' in a gangsta's paradise
Been spending most their lives
Livin' in a gangsta's paradise
"Really?" Julie thought, the stereo thumping as she looked around the paneled living room and her khaki clad classmates "Could there be a more ironic song?"
It was the Saturday before Christmas break, and Luke Riley had taken advantage of his parents' trip the Caribbean, filling their Edina home with teenage revelers, all eager for a break from finals. Adam had tried to stay behind at the dorms, but Julie was having none of it, the party a perfect excuse to take a break from calculus.
Over in the kitchen, he was talking with Reid Larson and some other Breck B-listers, while Julie and Connie were in the living room, drinking their vodka punch by the fire. The logs crackled as Connie and Julie people watched, laughing at Portman's failed attempt at picking up a cheerleader and Erica Tate's 'Sexy Mrs. Clause' outfit.
Unfortunately for Julie, their girl bonding time was soon interrupted by Chad, a lacrosse bro with frosted tips and a double digit IQ. On the rebound from her most recent breakup with Guy, Connie was willing to overlook Chad's penchant for hair gel and puka shell necklaces in favor of the fact that he had a Camaro and wasn't Guy.
"So what are you doing for Christmas, Chad?" She slurred, reaching over to put her hand on the lacrosse player's arm.
"Thinkin' about you, baby."
"Oh really?"
"Of course, sweet thing." Chad replied, taking another drink of his Bud Light as he stared down her shirt.
This is sadder than Thad.
Leaving Connie and Chad to their own questionable devices, Julie made her way over the kitchen, where she was greeted by the smell of beer and the sight of her favorite preppy.
"Decided you just couldn't be away from us cool kids any longer, huh?"
"You guessed it!"
"Dare I ask what tore you away from Connie?" He asked, setting his drink down to put an arm around her waist.
Held closely, Julie could smell the alcohol on his breath mixing with his cologne, and leaning into his shoulder, she found herself wishing she could stay in his arms forever, the stifling monotony of Minnesota be damned.
"Chad."
"Frosted Tips?" He chuckled, "That's sadder than Thad…"
"Thank you!"
"Seriously. Thad's a sort of decent guy, and his dad is like, one of seventy-six vice presidents at the bank. Chad is…somehow less cool."
"Perfect summary." She agreed. "Plus, Thad doesn't call people 'sweet thing' unironically. Or ironically, for that matter."
Noticing that her drink was nearly empty, Julie decided to pull herself away long enough to refill her plastic cup. At just about that same time, Rick Riley came stumbling the kitchen in search of another beer, happily plowing his way through any high school kids who stood in the way.
Bumping into Julie, memories of his quest for beer vanished, the sight of her cleavage far more appealing than another can of Keystone. A lecherous grin curled up through his lips as he looked her up and down, Adam standing just a foot away.
"I see you grew some quality tits. Let me, uh, let me know if you ever get tired of this faggot. I can show you what a real man is like."
Adam's eyes narrowed as he stared down his freshman year tormentor, four years of rage threatening to boil over.
"Go to hell, you sick fuck."
"Aww, did somebody grow some balls?" Rick sneered, giving Adam a shove into the granite counter behind him.
With that, the last morsel of self-control left Adam's body as he landed a solid punch to Rick's jaw. Rick collapsed to the travertine floor as Adam gave a satisfied smirk.
"I sure as hell have more balls than you ever did. Prick."
By this time, the party had grown silent, everybody crowded into the kitchen to watch the melee between Varsity Captain Past and Varsity Captain Present. Looking at a slightly dazed Rick Riley on ground, a sense of excitement filled the air, the on-lookers clamoring for a bit of blood to liven up the night.
Adam, meanwhile, felt quite satisfied with his efforts, turning back around to resume his conversation with Julie, all the while doing his best to pretend that his hand didn't throb.
Disappointed, his fellow party goers started to do the same, just as Rick recovered his senses and rose from the floor. Grabbing a beer bottle from the island, he reached back and swung.
Before anybody had time to process what was about to happen next, Rick delivered a devastating blow above Adam's left ear, the amber glass shattering against the center's skull. Stumbling forward, Adam struggled to regain his balance as blood began pouring down his face; his pale yellow oxford drenched within seconds.
Keep spending most our lives
Livin' in a gangsta's paradise
The song's foreboding lyrics continued, the thumping bass now the only sound in the house. A sea of crimson pooled at Adam's feet while the whole party stood frozen, everybody too shocked to move.
Been spending most their lives
Livin' in a gangsta's paradise
The first to regain his composure, Larson grabbed a clean tea towel that had been hanging from the handle of the oven. Pressing it firmly against the side of his friend's face, he put an arm around Adam's shoulder.
"Alrighty. Looks like we're going to make a little trip to the emergency room."
.
For the majority of the guests, the stunned silence continued as Larson led Adam out the door, Connie and Julie following wordlessly behind. Still not saying a thing, the two walked out into the chilly night air, climbing into the backseat of Larson's maroon Camry as the December wind nipped at their faces.
The passenger door groaned as Julie closed it behind her, and she found herself praying as she shoved a gym bag and crumpled fast food wrappers to the side.
Please God. Let him be alright.
Retrieving a Nokia from the battered center console, Larson passed the phone back to Julie.
"Can you call Banksie's dad for me? Ask him which hospital has the best plastic surgeon."
A phone call to Phil later, everybody sat in silence for the next half hour, all four unsure what else to say. Winding their way through the dark suburban streets, the lights of the city gradually appeared, a Dave Matthews CD playing in the background. All the while in the backseat, Connie and Julie held hands, both willing themselves not to cry.
I'm sure it's not that bad.
Just a couple of stitches.
Surely not that bad.
Over and over she told herself the same thing, squeezing Connie's hand as Ants Marching played over the tinny stereo.
.
Her optimism came crashing down in the light of the emergency room.
As Adam removed the tea towel to show the triage nurse what had happened, Julie's heart sank. His once perfect, unblemished skin had been sliced open from above his ear to below the corner of his nose, the cut deep enough to expose the fat underneath. Instantly, she realized that he'd never look the same, and as she thought about the fact that she'd been the one to drag him to the party, her eyes welled with tears.
I ruined his life.
Sitting down, Julie picked the non-bloodied side, desperate to get the gruesome image out of her head. Her hand resting on his thigh as he held the towel against his face, she stared down at the floor, counting the mauve and white tiles as other people started to flow in.
I seriously ruined his life.
In groups of two or three, the room slowly began to fill as concerned partygoers trickled in, Charlie and Guy both coming by at one point to pat him on the back and wish him well. Crawford came by too, along with the infamous Thad, both reassuring him that this was the manliest thing they'd ever heard of. Finally, Scott made his way over, still flushed and sporting a wrinkled, unbuttoned shirt courtesy of the Waffle House waitress he'd been boning when the phone rang.
"Dude" Scott nodded, sitting down next to his baby brother.
The two sat in silence for a moment, Scott well aware that the perennially insecure center was hurting far more than he let on.
"It's going to be okay, man.
"And you're going to look badass as hell."
…...
Four hours later, the crowd was all gone, and Julie sat alone in the family waiting room, fighting back tears as she thought about what she had done. Thinking about the fact that she had been the one to drag him to the party; that she had been the one he was trying to defend.
It's my fault.
I ruined his life, and it's all my fault.
She was flipping through an issue of Family Circle, attempting to quiet her guilt, when she heard footsteps enter the room.
Looking up, she saw her beloved preppy, still in his blood soaked oxford. Along the side of his face ran a thin train track of stitches, over a hundred tidy little black knots holding the pieces of his cheek together.
Once again, all attempts at being strong for him flew out the window, her whole body shaking as the tears ran down her face.
Sitting down beside her, Adam pulled her in next to him as he leaned down to kiss the top of her forehead.
"I'm sorry if I worried you."
The sobbing continued as she struggled to speak, choking over her own words as her nose and throat became clogged from all of the tears.
"I-I'm sorry I ruined your life."
"Wait. What?"
"I dragged you there. It's, it's my fault you're going to be deformed."
Just as even more guilt washed over her at the realization of what she'd said, Adam let out a chuckle, holding her in even closer.
"Well, this deformed guy doesn't think it's your fault at all! But even if it was, I'd love you just the same.
"Besides, my dad brought in the best plastic surgeon in the state. I'll probably only be like, 1/3 of the way deformed by the time it's all said and done."
"Ah, Jules" He greeted, removing the sheet from his mouth "we need your engineering expertise over here! Want to help us figure out how to use that other sheet over there as a door without collapsing everything?"
"I don't know, I'm not much of a blanket fort engineer."
"What?" He laughed, his smile still as intoxicating as ever. "You go to some fancy, Ivy League college, and they don't even cover Blanket Forts 101? I knew I was right to pass up Harvard!"
Before long, they had not only successfully constructed a door for the blanket fort, but also room dividers, a decorative pitched roof, and a moat. The blanket fort compound now spanned not only the entire living room, but spilled into the hallway and kitchen, filling the colonial with flowers and polka dots and airplanes.
How many sets of sheets do these people even own?
Standing by the kitchen island, the two looked out amid the sea of linens and admired their handiwork, Adam swirling his glass of bourbon as they took their creation in.
"And you tried to claim you didn't know anything about blanket forts…"
"You were the developer, architect, and lead engineer on this project." Julie pointed out, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I was just the foreman."
"The foreman is the one who makes things happen."
January, 2000
"What do you want to do?" Julie asked, laying next to Adam.
Outside, the snow was falling, while inside, the two lay side by side in his bed, the fluffy down comforter covering their half-naked bodies.
"I mean, I want to go the NHL, but I want to make as much money as possible when I do."
.
For months, the topic had been hanging in the air, creating an ever-present cloud of uncertainty: What to do after high school.
For every senior, it was at once an exciting and dreadful topic, the far stakes higher than what any of them had faced in their eighteen years prior.
For Adam in particular, it was a fraught matter.
On one hand, he was good.
Extremely good. All-American, two national championships, NHL draft good.
On the other hand, at 18, he couldn't walk through metal detectors for all the titanium in his body. He'd already been under the knife more than half of the guys in the pros, and the scouts knew it.
Time was a complicated enough matter for any top athlete, but for him, it was exceptionally problematic. A year of D1 hockey would give him more time to develop, and more time to prove that his battered body could hold up to the harder hits of the next level. However, it would also be another year of running down the clock; a clock that he knew didn't have enough time to begin with.
.
Julie wrapped an arm around him, pulling herself closer. Close enough to smell the hints of cologne lingering on his neck, and to feel the rise and fall of every breath. Nuzzling up against him, she ran a finger over the scar along his cheek, happy to note that he wasn't deformed in the least, the thin pale scar having only made him more delicious.
"So what are you thinking if you don't go right into the draft?"
"Harvard. Minnesota. One of the two."
"Heh, guess there's no escaping the maroon for you, is there?"
"It is a flattering color."
All the while as they lay there next to one another, Julie realized that the clock on his pro career wasn't the only one ticking. The relationship that had felt so infinite two years before was now nearing its logical end; regardless of where he went, and regardless of where she went, medical school and the NHL were not going to be good bedfellows.
Still, as the snow fell outside, she tried to push all of that out of her head. In this moment, curled up next to him in the warm cocoon of his bed, life was wonderful.