Chapter 20
November
by TeeJay
Author's Note:
How can we write a story about Adam and not talk about November? This one developed from multiple ideas and experiences and things Deb and I talked about. Because of course we need to write something that takes place in November if this is an Adam/Joan story. But it's not all mopey and depressing. Adam's growing up, he's becoming a more confident man, and that's how it should be. We're also briefly bringing back a character long forgotten that we felt should be mentioned again.
On a side note: If you have the Cranberries album "Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can't We", put it into your CD or MP3 player and listen to it while you're reading this.
Summary:
"November may come and go, but some memories always remain. November was bittersweet like sunshine through the rain." —Anam - November, lyrics by Brian Ó hEadhra
It's Adam and Joan's first November together, living under the same roof. And both are going through their own rough patches. But it's time for Adam to realize that November doesn't always have to be bad.
Rating: PG-13 with some strong language
Disclaimer:
These characters and settings are not ours. Nor are we claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. We're not making any money out of this, although that would be really cool.
He was already up when Joan awoke, she found Adam's side of the bed empty and cold. She had kind of expected that because she knew what day it was today. And she also knew she was going to try to make it more pleasant for him, as pleasant as she could. She quickly got dressed and ready and went downstairs. When she didn't find him in the kitchen, she guessed he might be in the shed. He had spent some time there last few days after work, and she didn't question him.
He had told her once how his mom had always asked him to make her something for her birthday, something personal. She wondered if he still did that, even after all these years. There was so much melancholy surrounding him in November, and it made her heart ache. But she was determined to help him through it as best as she could, so she went outside to the back patio where it was cool enough at this time of year to hide the surprise she had prepared for him inside the grill that they hadn't used in a month.
Bringing it inside, she put the Tupperware cake plate in the middle of the table and removed the lid before she went back out to see if he was in the shed.
She found him at the table with his head resting on his arms, fast asleep. She tried to suppress a smile but didn't quite succeed. She quietly walked up to him, lightly touching his shoulders, rubbing them slightly. When he opened his eyes slowly, she said, "Should I be worried that you find the shed more comfortable to sleep in than our bed?"
He rubbed his eyes. "Oh God, did I really fall asleep?" he asked, his voice thick.
"Looks like it." She looked around, searching for something he might have done, might have built. Somehow she had expected him to be working on one of his sculptures. He had been working a lot with metal plating lately, forming these sophisticated and slightly bizarre but rather beautiful constructs that gleamed in silvery or golden shades.
"Can I ask what you've been doing out here all this time?" she said carefully.
He withdrew a very small object and put it in the palm of his hand to show to her. She carefully picked it up and studied the intricate wire and metal structures, holding it up so she could see all the details. "Wow, that's really beautiful."
He just nodded slowly. She put it down on the table and touched his shoulder again. "When do you wanna go, before or after work?"
He looked up at her, slightly puzzled. "Go where?"
"To the cemetery."
The surprise was clearly visible in his face. "So you remembered."
"Yes, of course I remembered," she said in a low voice. "Come on, let me show you something."
She took his hand and tugged at it, indicating he should follow her, which he did. She led him into the kitchen, stopping in front of the table with the round strawberry cream cake. She had made it a point to draw the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY on the icing in red letters. She pondered writing something more meaningful first, but then she thought it best to keep it simple.
Adam eyes widened. "Jane. For my mom?"
She smiled at him. "Yeah. Since she can't be here with us, I thought we should at least celebrate her birthday for her."
He didn't know what to say. Tears shimmered in his eyes as Joan went on. "You're always so sad in November, and you have every right to be. But her birthday shouldn't be a sad time, should it? I thought maybe we could try to make it a happier day. Wouldn't that be a nice change? And every good birthday party needs a birthday cake."
"We're having a party?"
"No. I mean, not really. I asked Grace and Karen to come over tonight. I hope that's okay," she asked tentatively.
He thought for a minute, then nodded. "Yeah, sure." He looked at her for a long moment. "Are you coming with me to the cemetery?"
"Of course, if you want me to."
He put one arm around her waist and drew her to him. "I want you to."
She nodded. "Then I'm coming with you."
He was holding her hand as they stood in front of Elizabeth Rove's grave in the fading daylight. He was smiling, admiring the miniature sculpture he had placed in the grass in front of the headstone.
"I think this is the first time I've come here for her birthday and not cried," he admitted.
Joan gave him a small smile. "That's good, right?"
"Yeah, that's good." He met her eyes as he said in a low voice, "Thank you. So much. For this day. For everything."
"Don't thank me. I love you. I don't want you to be sad. I'll do anything in my power to prevent it."
"How did I ever get to be so lucky?"
"Hey, I could ask the same question. Do you wanna stay a while longer?"
He turned to her. "No. I think Mom would be happy now. She's got her birthday present, we'll have a piece of cake for her later. She's seen how happy we are, how lucky I am to have you." He looked at his father's headstone, next to Elizabeth's. "Sometimes I wish I knew for sure that they're together now, that there's something like an afterlife, you know?"
"I'm sure they're in a better place—together. God would've taken care of that."
He gave her a quick kiss and then smiled. "You'd kick His ass if He didn't, right?"
"Oh, you bet!"
They laughed a little as he took a step to the side to stand in front of Carl's grave. She lingered next to him in silence for a while before she excused herself to give him some space, which he gladly accepted.
A few minutes later, he turned around and walked up to Joan. She was glad to see that there was a hopeful expression on his face, that he didn't seem as melancholic as she had thought he might on this day, in this place.
She took his hand and said, "There's someone else we should visit."
Yes. There was Judith, buried here in the same graveyard. He suddenly felt kind of guilty. He didn't stop by her grave often enough, and he did visit this cemetery every now and then.
Hand in hand, they approached Judith's headstone, stopping in front of it. Joan started speaking, even though she felt silly talking to thin air. "Hey Judith. I know, it's been a while, but you probably know that we've been busy. And I can just see you nodding knowingly, maybe frowning a little. Yeah, Adam and me." She looked at him. "I mean, it's totally weird, right? After all that happened... all these years. But believe it or not, we're gonna get married.
"It's such a shame that you can't be here with us for that. Well, maybe you kind of are in your own way. I mean, I really hope you are. Man, I'm rambling." She looked at him again, a bit self-conscious, but going on anyway. "I really miss you sometimes, and I hope you're having fun, wherever you are. And even if I don't come here too often, I still think of you. We still think of you." She squeezed his hand for confirmation. "Right?"
"Yeah," he said in a low voice. "Just the other day, I found that painting of you that I did in school." He met Joan's eyes. "Actually, I thought maybe we could put it up somewhere in the house, now that everything is set up."
She nodded. "Yeah, that'd be great, I'd love that. See, Judith, you'll always be in our house." She laughed, then turned to him. "Just don't put it up in our bedroom. We wouldn't want her watching us, would we?" she asked.
He actually looked embarrassed. "Uh. No." Then he laughed too.
She gave him a slight nudge in the ribs. "Come on, let's go. We have cake waiting for us and guests arriving soon." In the direction of the headstone, she said, "Well, bye then, old friend. Take care and behave!"
She and Adam walked toward the car. As they did, he said, "I hadn't visited Judith in long time. I think I need to remember to stop by a little more often."
"Yeah, me too," she admitted. "Hey, uhm... Can I ask you something?"
He nodded and looked at her. "Sure."
"You and Judith, you never really hit it off, did you? It took you a long time to be comfortable around her."
"Yeah, I..." He didn't know where to start. "Maybe I was a little overwhelmed by her. She came on like a steamroller when she first showed up at our school. And you guys were so inseparable, you were like sisters. You called yourselves Joanith, remember that?"
The memory made Joan smile sadly and she nodded.
"I just felt kinda pushed aside, but it was only because I didn't know her."
She remained quiet for a moment. "Maybe... I didn't exactly make it easy either. You must have been a little jealous, right? She was suddenly my new best friend and all."
"Yeah, maybe I was. But she also scared me a little. She seemed to like making trouble. She was hell-bent on getting people's attention, no matter whether she got hurt, or hurt someone else in the process. I guess I just didn't wanna get dragged into that, or see you dragged into it."
"What really sucks is that you were right. I just couldn't see it at the time. I just thought, hey, teenagers do some pretty stupid stuff. No big deal."
"Like almost dying from alcohol poisoning?" He hadn't meant to utter such a sharp and stinging remark, and he was sorry immediately. In a softer voice he quickly added, "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant to say. I know she was a good person. She was just a little... lost. I, I mean... way more than the rest of us. I'm not saying that it was her fault that she got killed, but she didn't try awfully hard to prevent it, did she?"
Joan was trying to think rationally about his rather blunt assessment. "Yeah, you're kinda right about that. But is it really fair to say that she basically threw herself on the knife? You don't really think she meant to get killed, do you?"
"No, I'm not saying that."
"Well, what then? The night she died," she went on, "you said something to me. You said some people kill themselves all at once, and some do it a little bit at a time. Do you really think that's what she was doing?"
He sighed. "Jane, I honestly don't know. It did seem sometimes like she couldn't care less if she got hurt, like she had a death wish or something. Isn't that a little like suicide?"
"I think there's a difference between being a reckless kid and being suicidal."
"Yeah, maybe. And, you know, it's not that I didn't like her. Once I got to know her a little better, I really thought that I could. But I also knew that she was messed up and really needed help. Only back then, I had no idea how to help her."
She looked at him. "We were all just kids, what could we do? You're not saying you feel responsible for her death in some way?"
"No. I don't know. Maybe a little. Because I kind of saw the signs but I didn't know what to do."
"I never knew you felt that way."
"Well, I haven't thought about it in a long time."
"And you shouldn't. What happened was not your fault"
He sighed. "Yeah, I know, but... don't you feel that way sometimes?"
She looked down at her feet before admitting, "Yeah, kinda. I guess everyone who watched it happen does. But we did what we could at the time. We were her friends."
He nodded sadly.
"You know, Judith would totally be laughing at us right now, telling us to stop dwelling on something we can't do anything about."
After a moment's silence, he asked her, "Remember how she said you saved her life once?"
She looked at him, her eyes growing a little wider. "Yes, I remember that."
"I think it was about summer camp where you met. I'm not sure exactly what she meant, but I guess she saw it as a blessing that she got to know you."
Suddenly, tears shimmered in Joan's eyes. "Yeah, well, it didn't help much in the end, did it?"
He slid his arm around her waist and kissed her very softly on the temple as he drew her closer. "Jane," he said just above a whisper. "I'm sure you enriched her life in so many ways, even if it was only for a short time. At least she knew she had one person who really cared about her."
"She knew?"
"She knew. I'm sure of it. Everything else, what happened to her and all, maybe that was just beyond our control."
"Maybe."
"Listen, you taught me not to dwell on what-ifs. I don't want you to either."
She gave him a brave smile. "You're right. We have a birthday to celebrate, don't we? Aren't you looking forward to that strawberry cream cake?"
He smiled back at her as they approached his Forester. "Now that's the spirit."
"You know," Karen said with her mouth full of cake, "this tastes heavenly."
Joan smiled at her, enjoying the compliment. She looked over at Grace, who was chewing away on the last remains of her piece of cake, clearly enjoying it too. Adam had already finished his.
They casually grouped themselves around the dining table and talked about what had been going on with them the last two weeks that they hadn't been in touch. Surprisingly, Grace was the one to ask if Adam had gone to the cemetery. He told her about their visit to see Elizabeth and Carl. Joan was pleasantly touched that he didn't seem too sad when he spoke about his parents. Maybe this year, this November, had been a turning point.
"Oh, Rove?" Grace looked at him. "Have you heard about that Bodies exhibition coming to town?"
He raised his eyebrows. "That's still around? I saw some news item about it years ago."
"Yeah. It's been making the rounds for years but the guy is taking it all to new levels. It's so creepy. They say you're either fascinated or appalled by it. I'm halfway between interested and disgusted, and I can't really decide whether I wanna go or not."
An animated discussion about the plasticized dead bodies exhibition ensued as Karen told them about how some friends of hers had already seen it and Adam and Grace went on about the things they'd heard about it. No one really noticed that Joan hadn't contributed to the conversation. When the chatter died down, Adam finally looked at her.
"You're awfully quiet. You all right?"
Joan looked at him. "Hm?" she said, as if he had just woken her from a trance. "It's just... I have a bit of a headache. I should probably take an aspirin or something." She got up from her chair and went to the bathroom to do so.
When she came back, Karen met her eyes. "You know, we can take off if you're not feeling well."
Joan gave her a confident smile. "Don't be silly. It's just a headache."
Karen nodded and they went on discussing the new Peter Jackson movie that was coming out the next week. But Karen could tell Joan really wasn't feeling well so she and Grace excused themselves after another twenty minutes. Joan breathed a small but silent sigh of relief, because the aspirin hadn't done much in terms of pain relief. She really looked forward to just vegging on the couch or going to bed early.
Adam saw Grace and Karen to the door, and when he came back to where Joan was clearing away the dishes in the kitchen, he looked at her with a bit of a worried frown. "Jane, you feeling all right?"
"Do I look that shitty?"
He smiled and softly wrapped his arms around her from behind and whispered with his mouth close to her ear, "You're always beautiful to me."
But her reply was more serious than he had expected. "Actually, I feel... I don't know how I feel. I have a headache and I... just wanna collapse somewhere and not move for the rest of the night. I don't know why, because we really haven't done anything exhausting today, right? Maybe I'm coming down with something."
He disentangled himself from her and gently took the plates from her hands, carrying them over to the sink before turning to her. "Go stretch out on the couch. I'll take care of this."
She gave him a smile. "Thank you." She touched his shoulder affectionately before she left for the living room.
Half an hour later, when he finished washing up and the kitchen was back in its original state, he found her lying on the couch beneath a blanket, clearly having dozed off. Maybe she would be better off in bed, getting a good night's sleep, even though it was not even 9 PM.
He kneeled down next to the couch and softly stroked a strand of hair from her face near the temple. She stirred and opened her eyes.
"Jane, you should go to bed and get some rest."
"Uhm-hm," she mumbled, too sleepy to move.
When she didn't stir, he drew the blanket lightly from her shoulders. "Come on," he softly prodded.
"I just don't wanna move," she mumbled.
"Well, then I guess we'll have to move you," he said a little mischievously.
"Don't you dare," she growled at him.
But he surprised her by getting up and putting one arm below her knees and the other around her shoulder lifting her off the couch with less effort than she had expected. The blanket slipped off her as he did so. "Hey," she protested, "That's so not necessary. I can walk on my own," she now laughed a little.
"Okay, prove it." He let her down gently.
She stood steadfast on her legs and walked to the stairs. "See?"
He followed her upstairs and went into the guest room to check his email on the computer they had set up on a desk in the corner. When he came into the bedroom later, he found her lying in bed with the covers drawn up. "You need anything? Tea or water or juice?" he asked her.
"No, I think I just wanna sleep. Did you finish up in the kitchen?"
"Yeah, don't worry about it."
"Are you gonna come to bed too?"
He pointed in the general direction of the guest room. "I have a couple of e-mails I wanna answer. Kate sent a couple of pics of her little ones and there's this guy who's running an imaging website who's been asking about some of my stuff. I'll join you in a while."
She nodded. "Uhm-hm."
He bent down to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. "Just go to sleep, you'll feel better in the morning."
"Yeah," she said, turning around to find a comfortable position to sleep in.
He lingered in the doorway for a while, looking at how her hair was spilling down over the pillow, trying not to worry too much about her being sick; after all she said she wasn't, right?
"Hey," he greeted her with a soft kiss on her forehead.
Joan made a sour face and mumbled, "Huhmmm."
She was lying on the couch with a blanket and her hot water bottle when Adam came home from work. And somehow, she noticed, he had an odor around him that told of fryer grease and grilled meat.
"You hungry? I brought gyros."
Ah, that would explain it. Yeah, she could eat something. "I guess," she replied half-heartedly. There was nothing wrong with her stomach.
He went into the kitchen with a plastic bag and came back later with two plates that had gyros and fries on them. He handed one to her.
She sat up with the blanket still around her legs, he sat down next to her. Balancing her plate on her thighs, she rubbed her tired, achy eyes. And he couldn't help but notice the gesture.
"You still not feeling better?" he asked worriedly.
She sighed. "I... don't know. Not really."
There was that concerned frown again, right there on his forehead. "Is it a cold or something, you think?"
"No," she said wearily. The truth was, she didn't really know what it was. But it was definitely not a cold, she didn't have a sore throat or a running nose. Just chills and headaches and no energy and no patience and no drive to do anything.
She picked up the gyros and was about to take a bite when she was stopped by a noxious odor. "Hey, there's onions all over this thing."
"There is? Are you sure? I asked for one without onions."
"Yes, I'm sure," she said impatiently. "Do you maybe have mine?"
He looked at his plate. His gyros was riddled with chopped onions as well. "No, mine has onions too."
She let the gyro drop to the plate and placed it on the couch table with a loud clang. "You know I don't like onions."
He looked at her with that frown still on his brow. "You're not gonna eat the fries, at least?"
"No, they're all gooey and soft and greasy."
He drew in a long breath and placed his plate on the couch table as well. He turned around to face her a little better as he addressed her, trying not to sound irritated, "I'll put the fries in the toaster oven, so they'll get crispy again. I can pick the onions out of your gyro too."
"No, I'm not all that hungry. Don't worry about it."
He swallowed down his mounting irritation. "It's no trouble." He took her plate and went towards the kitchen.
She called after him, "Hey, yours is getting all cold. I don't want mine, really. Just leave it."
He came back with the plate and put it on the table once again. He was tired too, and, quite frankly, really hungry. "Fine," he said sharply. He picked up his plate and started to eat his now only lukewarm food. And, yes, she was right, the fries now were all gooey and soft.
How had they ended up here? All he had wanted was to surprise her with her favorite dinner from Mykonos. Not his fault that the guy behind the counter was either deaf or unfocused or just plain stupid.
He ate his food in silence. She had leaned back against the couch, watching what looked like a rerun of an early Grey's Anatomy episode. What was wrong with them? With her? What could make her fall into this weird funk that she seemed to be in.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. Could it maybe be...? No, they had been using contraception, she was on the pill. Wasn't she?
He put his half-eaten dinner away, looking at her. "Hey, can I ask you something?" he carefully addressed her.
She looked at him from the corners of her eyes. "What?"
Her tone of voice almost made him get up and say, 'Never mind.' But he fought against the impulse and made his voice gentle. "Could you be pregnant?"
"No. No, I'm not pregnant."
"How do you know?"
"I just had my period last week."
"Yeah, but that doesn't necessarily mean..." he trailed off.
"I'm not pregnant," she insisted. "I did a test," she admitted almost meekly.
"You did?"
"Yeah. I... I sorta thought the same thing at work today, so I ran by Wallgreens and picked one up. It was negative."
He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel. Were they ready for children at this point in their lives?
She looked him in the eyes, reading his mind, "You're relieved, aren't you? What if I had been pregnant?"
"No," he said quickly. "I'm not relieved." No lying this time, he reminded himself. "OK... maybe I am. A little. I... I want to have kids with you Jane, one day. When we're ready. I want it to be a decision we make together. Don't you?"
She nodded. And then he had another rather disturbing thought. She did a test. She wondered too. And she was behaving so strangely. "Hey, uhm, did you..." He didn't know how to phrase what he was meaning to ask. "You are taking the pill, right?"
It took her a moment to register what he was asking. "Yes," she said sharply. "I'm taking the pill. Every night. The blister's lying right there on the shelf by the mirror, why don't you go and check? You know, it even has a little sticker with the weekdays on it, so you don't mix them up," she spat, the sarcasm now clearly evident in her voice.
"I didn't mean to say that you didn't—"
She interrupted him. "Oh no? Sure sounded like it."
He sighed. "I'm sorry, but you're so... not you. You're all crabby and miserable and I just don't know what do with you."
"You don't have to do anything with me. This'll pass."
Yeah? When? he thought, but he didn't say it out loud. "Okay," he breathed out. "Okay, I'll just leave you to your TV show. I'll be at the computer, if you need me, all right?"
She gave him a look that wasn't friendly, but the fire in her eyes had gone now. She just nodded.
He almost reached over to touch her shoulder as he got up, but then thought the better of it. They were out of sync somehow, and he really didn't know how to handle that. Maybe physical contact was not what she wanted or needed right now. Maybe this would sort itself out. For now all he could do was wait and hope for the best.
"Hello?" Adam answered the phone. The familiar voice of Helen Girardi greeted him.
"Hi Adam. Is Joan there?"
"Well, she's... I'm not sure if she's asleep."
"Is she sick?" It was barely seven o'clock on Tuesday evening, so he could see how Helen might draw that conclusion.
"No. I mean, I don't think so," he sighed.
"But something's wrong with her?" Helen's voice sounded worried.
"No, no, at least not anything really obvious. It's just... She's just been somehow under the weather these past few days. Like she's coming down with something."
She was relieved to hear that. "Oh, well, then maybe you should just let her sleep. It wasn't that important anyway. How are you?"
He rubbed his forehead absently, then decided to be honest, breathing out a long breath. "Getting worried, actually."
"About Joan?"
"Yeah."
"What do you mean?" Helen inquired.
"I mean... She's been like this for two nights now."
"Like what?"
"Moody, crabby, chilly, listless, says she's got headaches on and off," he ticked off the symptoms he had witnessed and that Joan had told him about.
"But she's not sick, you say?"
"That's what she keeps telling me. She's not running a fever, at least." After a moment's hesitation, he volunteered, "And in case you were gonna ask, she's not pregnant either."
He could almost see Helen doing a double-take on the other end of the phone line, but she recovered quickly. "Adam, you're not exactly reassuring me here."
He sighed again. "I know. I just... I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be bothering you with this. She'll be fine. I'll make her see a doctor if she's not better by the end of the week."
"Don't be silly, I'm her mother. I wanna know when my baby's not well."
Yes, of course she did.
"Do you want me to come over?" she asked.
"Nah," he said. "I've got everything under control." He briefly wondered if Helen thought maybe chaos had ensued in the house with Joan not taking care of things.
"Did she stay home from work?" she asked.
"No, she hasn't missed any days. She keeps saying she's not really feeling sick, but not feeling well either. I just don't get it. She just seems so... exhausted. She fell asleep on me on the couch last night. I really want to do something to help her, but I don't know what."
"Honey, you are doing something. You're there for her, right? I think that's what she needs most of all. Just be there."
"Okay," he nodded. "I'll tell her you called when she wakes up. Should she call you back?"
"If she's up to it. And you call me if you need anything, will you?"
"Yes, of course."
"I'm sure it's nothing. Maybe she really is just coming down with a cold."
He wasn't sure if she was saying it out loud for him or for herself. "Yeah," he answered, not feeling very reassured.
He hung the portable phone back up in the kitchen and headed up to check on Joan.
She could hear him walking up the stairs and she groaned. She didn't know why, but the sheer though of being asked again if she was feeling better or if she needed anything or just making any kind of conversation made her want to turn over again and pretend she was asleep. She also knew it was completely illogical because it only meant that he cared about her and was worried about her.
When he peeked into the bedroom, she could see it all over his face. The frown on his forehead, his eyes darkened with concerned expectation.
He saw that she was awake, but before he could utter any question or remark, she cut him off, "Before you say anything, no, I'm not really doing much better and no, I don't need anything and yes, I just wanna lie here on my own. You know, it's not like I can't get up and walk myself if I want anything."
He moved to lean against the doorframe, clearly taken aback. "Okay," he said in a low and hesitant voice. He stared at her for a long moment before he turned to leave, saying, "Suit yourself."
"Wait, Adam, I'm sorry," she softened a little. She hadn't meant to hurt him. "I'm just sick of being fussed over."
He shuffled his feet a little, still standing in the doorway. "I wasn't going to fuss."
"You weren't? Then what?"
"I just came to tell you that your mom called."
"She did? What did she say?"
"She wanted to talk to you, but I thought you might be asleep. She said it wasn't important but I told her you'd call her back when you were awake."
She nodded. "Okay, I will. Later."
He hesitated for a moment. "Uhm, I... I was also gonna ask if I can have an old piece of your clothing."
She frowned. "What? What for? You need a rag or something? There's some in the closet under the stairs."
"No, I don't need a rag. I need a real piece of your clothing. An old top, a blouse, maybe a scarf. Something like that," he said, finally entering the bedroom.
"Well, I've been meaning to clean out my wardrobe anyway. There's way too much stuff I don't wear anymore just taking up space. But I'm certainly not doing it right now. Can this wait till I feel better?"
"Well, I... I kinda need it right now," he nudged carefully, scratching the back of his head.
She was already getting fed up. "What the hell is so urgent?"
"You'll see," he said mysteriously.
Impatiently, she told him, "Okay, so you don't wanna tell me what in blazes you're up to, but you want me to get out of bed and go through my whole friggin' wardrobe when that's clearly not something I'm keen on right now."
"Jane," he softly pleaded, "please, just this one thing. I'll totally leave you alone after that. It's just that without it I can't really go on with what I'm doing."
"All right," she sighed, unnerved. "I'll give you your stupid blouse."
She made it a point to get out of bed slowly and deliberately, trudged over to the wardrobe and leafed through her blouses. Listlessly, she held out a light blue blouse that she hadn't worn in at least a year, mainly because the sleeves were too short. "Am I gonna get that back?" she asked.
"Uhm... no. At least not in its original form."
She drew her hand with the blouse back, suddenly not so willing to give it up. "Geez, Adam, what are you up to? I might still want to wear this."
She thought about how she could still wear it under a blazer in the winter, because she really did like it despite the too-short sleeves. And all the other blouses were way too nice to give to him to destroy—or whatever he was planning to do with it.
But he just wouldn't back down. Where was this sudden determination coming from? "Jane, come on, surely you've got something in there that you don't wear anymore. You have tons of stuff and you just said you were gonna clear some of it out."
She sighed, completely out of patience with this. "Fine. Take the fucking blouse," she thrust it into his arms, "Knock yourself out."
He stood, silent for a moment, as he watched her climb back into bed. When he didn't move after Joan had adjusted her covers, she shot him another impatient look. "What? Are you waiting for Santa Claus or something? I gave you what you asked for, didn't I?"
His gaze on her was thoughtful, even sad. In a quiet tone, he said, "This whole thing, it just feels too familiar, you know."
She looked at him, puzzled. "Familiar? What do you mean?"
"I mean, you, this funk, you being depressed."
Her tone became exasperated now. "I am not depressed."
"No? Then what is this?"
"I don't know. But it's a little early to start diagnosing me, isn't it?"
"I'm sorry, I just thought..."
"What? Are you worried this is clinical depression? I think it takes more than a few days of feeling crappy to be pathologically depressed, don't you?"
"Yeah? How do you know? I mean what do you know about depression?" he suddenly snapped at her.
Joan propped herself up on her elbows. "That wasn't necessary."
He looked at her, trying to come up with an apology, but she continued. "You know, while we're talking about depression, how the hell do you think I felt when you shut yourself off completely after you found your mom's letter. Remember that?" she said.
"Yeah," he whispered, suddenly ashamed. "God, Jane," he sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jump all over you. Guess it's all catching up with me."
Her demeanor softened somewhat before she made a pretty big admission. One that had bothered her for a while, even after Aunt Lou had tried to reassure her. "It's kinda ironic that you'd think I'm depressed. That's what I was thinking about you after your episode."
Adam's brow creased in confusion and he had to swallow. "You were?"
"I even talked to Aunt Lou about it. I mean, with your family history... Maybe it's hereditary, maybe your mom passed it on to you. Bipolar Disorder usually manifests in early adulthood, doesn't it? All the signs were there. The mind-crushing depression, the manic upswing afterwards. Didn't you even consider the possibility?"
He shook his head. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly enough at the time."
"You don't really think that about me, that I suffer from clinical depression, do you?"
He was totally taken aback. He hadn't really thought any of this through. "Jane, I... I'm not sure what I thought. Guess I was being a little biased, jumping to conclusions. I didn't mean to imply that you were..." He stopped there, sighing again. It was still hard for him to talk about these issues that would haunt him his whole life, always there, somewhere buried under the surface. "Of course I don't think you're sick or anything but maybe I did get a little scared, just for a minute there."
"Scared?"
"Yeah, you know, that I'd have to go through all of that again."
So that was it? He was afraid that he might be faced with another stretch of hardship in front of him, maybe even afraid he wouldn't have the strength to deal with it. "Adam," she said, sitting up. "I don't think you have to worry about that. I'm just feeling under the weather. I'm telling you, that's all it is."
He looked up at her, the worry still not completely gone from his eyes. "Are you sure? You said before you can't figure it out. And you're still not feeling okay, otherwise you wouldn't be in bed."
"Well, of course I can't be sure. Would it help if I made an appointment with the doc next week and had myself checked out?"
He moved a step closer to the bed. "I think that would be a good idea."
"Then I'll make an appointment, okay?" She smiled a little.
"Okay." He moved closer yet and crouched down right next to her, gingerly touching her forehead. "In the meantime, just rest. I'll get out of your way."
She nodded. "Okay."
"If you need anything, I'll be in the shed."
"'kay," she affirmed once more before he left the bedroom to go downstairs.
Back in the shed, he placed the blouse with a few other items of clothing and just sat in his chair with his arms propped on the table in front of him. What was going on with Joan? She wasn't pregnant, she said she wasn't sick, she said she wasn't depressed.
He looked at the pile of clothing and the canvas in front of him and got up. Suddenly he didn't have the energy to go on with this anymore, so he went back to the house.
A while later, she found him on the couch watching TV. She'd had a nice, long nap and she felt like moving around a little now.
"Hey," she came around the couch, trying to make her voice sound cheerful. She was surprised to see that there were tears on his cheeks. With one look at the TV screen, she knew why. It struck her as kind of ironic that he would have picked her "Sweet November" DVD to watch right now.
He wiped at the tears. "Geez, I shouldn't be watching this emotional crap," he said ruefully.
She sat down next to him. "Any particular reason you're watching this 'emotional crap'?"
He looked over at her. "I don't know," he sighed.
She gave him a sly smile. "Do you know that there is nothing more sexy than a man who can cry shamelessly."
He couldn't help smiling back. "Wow, that's deep."
"Hey, it's true," she joked.
But his gaze on her was serious, not acknowledging her attempt at humor. "I know you don't like the fussing, but are you doing any better?"
She sighed. "I don't know. I'm just sorta mush-brained and headachy." She saw this eyes clouding over with that all too familiar concern, but she didn't know how to reassure him. She wasn't going to lie just to make him feel less worried. "Let's not talk about me, I'm sick of talking about me for once."
"Okay." He looked contemplative for a moment. "Earlier... you said..." He stopped, unsure how to broach the subject. "You said were worried in the summer that I might be bipolar, like my mom. Is this something we should talk about?" He leaned his back against the couch all the way.
She didn't know to respond at first. "I... I don't know. I mean, I don't think you are. I think that was just me overreacting. Aunt Louisa said so as well. You know, with you still dealing with your father's passing and everything. I think it was your way of grieving."
He nodded. "Yeah, probably. I... I just wish I hadn't been such an ass to you all that time. But it's this weird, unexplainable thing. You know you're not being fair, but you just can't help it."
She nodded. "Yeah, look at me, right now. That's what I'm talking about. I mean, it's totally illogical, isn't it?"
"Illnesses rarely adhere to logic."
"No, I guess not. But I really don't think I am ill. Just... out of sorts."
Silence settled for a long while before Adam asked, very carefully and hesitantly, "Jane, what would you... what would happen if... if I did inherit my mom's illness?"
She gave him a long look before she replied, "It's hard to talk about in theory. But there are better medications now than she had access to."
He nodded. "Yeah, I guess so. But... it's still kinda scary to think I might become one of 'those people' some day, you know?"
"Yeah," she said just above a whisper. "So you never actually considered it before? That your mom might have passed it on to you?"
He shook his head slightly. "To be honest, no, not really. Well, maybe I've had a fleeting thought now and then, but it's the kind of thing you push away to the back of your mind because it's all just too overwhelming to think about."
She nodded.
"But Jane, ever since we've been back together, I've felt great. Except for the rough patch in the summer, I'm the happiest I can ever remember being."
She smiled at that and lightly touched his arm. "Same here," was all she could say.
He placed his hand on hers and just left it there. She looked down at their hands together and another thought occurred to her. She looked at him, her gaze intense. "Adam, you know that if you did ever get sick... If you were ever diagnosed with your mom's disease, or any disease, you know I'd never abandon you, right?"
He returned her gaze, met her eyes. He opened his mouth slightly to say something, but it took him a few seconds to form the words. "Are you sure?" he finally muttered.
"Oh honey," she said, threading their fingers together to underline the words that followed. "You don't ever have to be afraid of that. I love you, healthy or not. I would do anything in my power to help you, and that would mean staying right there by your side if you were sick. Especially then. Because I know you'd do the same for me."
His look became even more intense. "Of course I would," he immediately acknowledged.
She smiled at him. "'Til death do us part, I believe in that. Don't you?"
He gave her hand a little squeeze. "Totally."
She went quiet, a thoughtful look on her face. Ever since she had talked to Lydia last week, a thought had been forming in her head, growing and growing. She just didn't know when or how to bring it up with him, but maybe now was the time. "Adam," she carefully began.
His eyes were on her face, all attention focused there now. She looked so serious all of a sudden. "What?" he asked softly.
"There's... there's something I've been meaning to say. To suggest. I just..." she stammered. "I just don't want you to take it the wrong way or..." she trailed off.
His brow furrowed. "What is it?" he gently prodded. "You can tell me anything, you know that."
"Yeah," she breathed. "I know, but..."
"Come on, out with it," he pressed on, but the gentleness never left his voice.
"You know how you have this tendency to hide out when you're sad or something bothers you and you don't wanna talk about it?"
"But I'm getting better about that, you said it yourself—"
"Yeah, you are. But hear me out. And please don't just dismiss this. Because I know you'll want to."
He let out a long breath. "Okay. What?"
"Have you ever heard of Emotions Anonymous?"
He thought for a second, then shook his head. "No. It sounds like some kind of support group."
"It is," she said in a low voice.
"What does it have to do with me?"
"I think it's something you might want to consider checking out."
That left him stunned for a moment, he leaned his body forward. "Why would I go to a support group?"
She sat up a little straighter. "Adam, for a moment, just for a moment look at everything you deal with. You lost your mom when you were—what? Twelve? You lost your dad this year. We lost Judith in high school. Earlier in the year, you were having problems at work. Your cousin went through that serious illness. We've had our ups and downs, mostly ups. Then you found that letter that threw you for five solid days. You keep telling yourself you can handle all of this on your own. And then every November, you crumble. Like this," she pointed at the TV screen that was now showing the credits for the movie. "You were crying before, and not because of the movie. I understand that you're different than me, that you don't always wanna talk about what's going on in your head. But it's not good for you to keep it all bottled up."
She stopped there, waiting for his reaction. "Jane," he almost whispered. "I'm sorry. I promised I'd talk to you when something's bothering me, and I'm trying, I'm really trying."
She interrupted him. "Yeah, I know. And you are getting better. But you're still hiding."
He looked down at their hands still entwined together.
"Look at me" she said gently. "I know nothing about what it's like to go through the emotional hell of losing first one parent and then the other. Yes, I lost Judith, but I had friends and family to help me through all of that. And I let them. I guess... I just can't understand the depth of your sorrow sometimes." She watched as his eyes watered again, but he blinked the tears back as she added, "That's why I think it would help you talk to people who know what it's like, people who've been through similar things."
He sagged with his back against the couch again, as if he suddenly didn't have anymore strength left. He gazed past her for a silent moment, then focused his eyes back on her. "No," he shook his head. "I'm not one of those people."
"One of what people?"
"One of those people who needs a support group to help them through every little crisis. And, I mean, what crisis? Yeah, my dad died this year and my mom died ten years ago. It's perfectly normal that I'd be sad about that from time to time, don't you think?"
There it was. She knew he wouldn't take it very well, she had anticipated a reaction like this. How could she make it clear to him that seeking help was nothing to be ashamed of? "Yes, it's normal. That's the point. I never expected you to be prejudiced against those people," she said with air quotes.
"I didn't mean it that way—"
"I think you did. You make it sound like they're cripples or tainted or some form of lower beings or something. Adam, believe me, they are people just like you and me."
"Have you ever been to a support group?"
"No," she said plainly. "Well, not since camp anyway."
He nodded.
"But we both know someone who has."
"Yeah, Grace," he said dismissively, "and she hates it."
"I'm not talking about Grace," Joan told him.
"Then who?"
"Lydia."
Lydia? No way! She was so together. He racked his brain. Why would she be in support group?
Joan saw his confusion, could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "Yes, Adam, my friend Lydia. Does that make her any less of a decent or normal person than you and me?"
He answered her question with another, his voice less fiery. "What group is she in?"
"It's called S.A.R.A. Stands for Sexual Assault Recovery Anonymous."
He swallowed, suddenly feeling very foolish. "She was raped?" he said just above a whisper.
"Yeah," Joan boldly stated. "Happened when she was just a kid. It's a support group for people who were assaulted as children. She still goes to the meetings every week if she can."
"And she told you that?"
"She's talks about it freely if you let her. She's one of those people who aren't ashamed to admit something horrible happened to them. I met her through work, actually. We organized one of their S.A.R.A. events. I thought she was an amazing woman. You know, I really admire her."
He was speechless. He hadn't expected that. Being raped as a child—he didn't even try to fathom that. It was too horrible.
She could read his expression, so she told him, "See, that's what happens, people always get that look, she says."
"What look?"
"That look that spells pure pity. She hates being pitied. She would tell you to quit seeing the abused child in her and start seeing the woman she is now. She would also probably stick her calling card in your hand with her group's web address on it."
"Okay, I get the point," he conceded.
"Do you?" she asked. "Adam, she would never have come this far if it hadn't been for S.A.R.A. We were talking about it just last week. That's what got me thinking about EA." She looked into his eyes, trying to convey what she wanted to say to him. "Please just consider it. I know I can't force you to go, and I won't try, but I really think it might help you. Better than I can. Will you promise me you'll at least think about it, look it up online? If you still don't want anything to do with it, I won't bring it up again."
He nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll think about it."
Joan smiled at him weakly, "Thank you." The she kissed him on the top of his head and went back upstairs to collapse in bed again.
Adam awoke when Joan stirred next to him. When he turned to face her, he could see she was still very groggy, having just opened her eyes to another new day.
"Hey," he half whispered. "What time is it?"
She mumbled something incoherent at first, then turned around and looked at her alarm clock. "Oh God. Ten past six," she muttered.
"How are you feeling?"
That question again. But could she blame him? "I don't know. Kinda muddy. I hate it when I wake up with a headache."
There was the faintest shimmer of worry in his eyes. "Okay, then here's the plan. You stay in bed, nurse that headache. I'll call in sick for you. Maybe you just need to stay home for a day and really sleep to get this out of your system."
She sighed. "Adam, even if I do stay home, I really can't lie in bed all day. I mean, look at this place. It's a mess. There's clothes all over the place that need to be put away or washed. Or ironed. We haven't been grocery shopping for days. The bathroom needs cleaning. You know, I hate it, but I don't really wanna do anything about it either." She let out a frustrated sound. "God, this needs to stop." Then she looked up at the ceiling. "You hear me? God? This needs to stop!"
He raised his eyebrows at her, rolling out of bed. As he put on a t-shirt over his boxers, he said, "Honey, don't worry about all the chores and stuff. I can take care of that tonight when I get home from work."
"Nah, that's not fair to you. Plus I know how much you hate ironing."
"Well, I guess I could leave that one thing for you." He smiled. "Maybe you can drag your butt out of bed and take care of that later?"
She smiled and gave him a shrug. "OK, I can do that."
He went over to her side of the bed, kissing her softly on the lips, which she welcomed. "Just lie back down and relax, okay? Be back in a minute," he told her.
Ten minutes later, he returned and put a plate with toast and a mug with tea on her bedside table. "Thank you," she told him with honest gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'd be miserable all on your own," he said slyly.
"That would definitely suck." She watched him slip on his work clothes. "What's the plan for today, then?"
"Well, let's see..." He pretended to think hard. "I gotta go to work. After that, I kinda remember someone complaining about the house being a mess and the bathroom needing cleaning. I'll take a trip to Publix for those much needed groceries. And then there's the garden. Don't the roses need cutting down, so they'll make it through winter?"
Her eyes widened a little. "No. I mean, yes, but they... you know, you need to..."
He smiled openly at her now. "You don't trust me to cut the roses, do you?"
Caught in the act. Joan had to smile a little now too. "Well, they are very headstrong plants, with all those thorns. We don't want you to get your precious artist's hands all scratched up, do we?"
He laughed a little. "Okay, I get it. I'll leave the roses to your skillful female expertise. Maybe I should have a go at the weeds though."
"In November?" she asked.
He suddenly grew quiet, as if that reminded him of something. She looked at him questioningly. When he didn't say anything, she said, "Well, have fun with the chores. Just don't touch my roses, all right?"
His gaze focused on her again, nodding. "Yeah, fine."
Why did he suddenly go all quiet, she wondered. She watched him turn to go, but called his name before he did. "Adam? You okay?"
He turned around to look at her. "Sure," he said, forcing a smile that did little to convince her as he left the room.
Joan frowned. Was her relentless crabbiness getting to him? She sighed and wished that this would pass already. She was totally sick of herself and she was also beginning to wonder if Adam and her mom were right and it was time she go see a doctor about this lack of energy and the constant headaches.
Adam didn't even hear the shed door open, so deep was he lost in thought. But his head shot up when he heard Joan's voice.
"Whoa, you okay?" she asked as she stepped in and indicated the CD player and the Cranberries CD with the black cover lying next to it. "You only listen to that when you're feeling low."
He gave her a small smile that was supposed to be reassuring. "Yeah, well, Dolores and me go way back."
She actually had to smile at that. She went over to where he was sitting. "I think I have good news."
"You're feeling better?" he asked, his voice hopeful.
She nodded. "Yeah, I think the funk I was in might be coming to an end."
He swiveled around in his chair to face her, but deliberately didn't get up. He wasn't sure just how much physical proximity she really wanted, seeing how she had made it clear the past few days he'd best leave her alone.
She answered his unspoken question by closing the gap between them and sitting in his lap, her arms slung around his neck. That sweet smile could only mean... He leaned in and very softly sought her lips out with his own. They were a bit chapped so he kept the kiss gentle. She still seemed fragile in his arms. So pale and precious.
He couldn't stop the dull pang of disappointment that was welling up again in his stomach. It had been following him all day. It was November 11, the day his mom died, 10 years ago now. And Joan didn't remember. He felt slightly guilty for expecting her to. She had been feeling so down and off-kilter herself the last few days, and he didn't want to place his burdens on her on top of everything she was already going through.
She gave him a look when he withdrew from the kiss so quickly. "What's wrong?" she softly inquired. "Dolores have you in her throes after all?" she tried to joke.
"Yeah. No." He didn't want to upset her with the real reason for his holding back. "You just really had me worried there." He affectionately smoothed away a few hairs that had gotten stuck on her eyelashes. "You're really doing better?"
"Still got a bit of a headache, but at least the moodiness and chilliness is gone."
"So, what was this?" Adam wondered.
"God, I wish I knew. Honestly, I have no idea. This has never happened to me before. Just some weird funk I can't figure out. Maybe a virus I picked up that my body was try to fight. Guess the old immune system won in the end."
"Important thing is that it's gone. And stays gone," he said.
Silence settled that was only broken by Dolores O'Riordan's soft Irish voice. For the first time, Joan noticed the object that was lying on the table in front of Adam. She got up off his lap and stood before it, reaching out with her finger to touch the piece of artwork.
She recognized the blouse of hers that she had given him. It was now part of a collection of different clothing items arranged in a way so that they formed an imaginary torso of a person fastened to a wooden board that was painted to match. Her finger slid over the surface of the garments, which were completely solid and felt like they were frozen in place. "How did you do that?"
"I soaked them in water and wood glue. When they dry, they harden like this. Pretty cool, isn't it?"
"Totally." She was amazed. "I can see my blouse right there," she pointed at it, "and that looks like one of your old t-shirts. Is that the one with the red lion on it?"
"Yeah," he nodded. He pointed out a few more items of clothing. "That's an old tie of my dad's, and this is a blouse my mom often wore. There's even a small piece of her wedding dress right here," he showed her.
She could just make out a piece of embroidered white satiny fabric woven in. "Wow, Adam, that's beautiful. So this is like a family portrait, only different."
He nodded, a glint of pride in his eyes. "Exactly."
"I love this. We need to put it up in the house somewhere."
"Okay," he agreed.
She studied the arrangement again, getting stuck on that piece of Elizabeth's wedding dress. And then it suddenly hit her. Today was November 11, wasn't it?
Oh my God! She felt suddenly queasy.
Adam noticed her discomfort. "What is it?" he softly inquired.
She could barely meet his eyes, she was so ashamed. "Adam," she whispered. "I forgot."
"Forgot what?"
"You know what. Your mom. What day it is today."
"Yeah," he said just above a whisper.
Her shoulders sagged slightly. Of course she had hurt him with that. This day ten years ago was probably the day that had made the biggest impact on his waking life.
There was so much she wanted to say; she wanted to make it up to him so badly. But her thoughts all crashed into each other in her head, and none of them, nothing at all, would come out of her mouth. So she stammered, "Adam, I... God, I... How could have been such a bubblehead? I... I should've remembered. There is no excuse—none—for me not remembering. I mean, I should have seen it—you here in the shed, with Dolores, and I just... I..." she stopped for air. "I am so, so sorry. You must be so disappointed in me—"
"Jane." He interrupted her, getting up from his chair to stand across from her with the table between them.
She looked down, going on, "I should have considered that the world doesn't revolve around me, right?" She snorted a cynical laugh. "While I was so wrapped up in my own misery, you were—"
"Jane," he said a little more forcefully, "listen to me."
She looked up at him.
"It's okay."
"No, it's not okay. It's not even close to okay," she shot back, then crumbled. "I wish I could make it up to you somehow. Tell me how I can make it up to you. Please."
His voice was still so quiet, the disappointment gone from it now. "Come on, you weren't feeling well. I don't blame you for being a little selfish. It's only natural in your situation. And you did remember, didn't you?"
"Yeah," she whispered hoarsely. "More than half a day too late. I should have been there for you, I should have—"
He couldn't take the look of shame in her eyes, the way she was beating herself up. He came around the table, and gently took her by the upper arms. "Hey," he said in a soothing voice. "I'm doing okay. As long as I know you're feeling better, I'm feeling better."
There was silence for a while before Joan asked, "Have you been to the cemetery at all today?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Were you going to? You should go, or we should go. If you want to..."
He shook his head again. "No, I don't think I want to."
She looked at him questioningly. "Why? You didn't leave work early today and stay home because you were worried about me, did you?"
"Well, yeah, I figured I should be here, with you in bed, but that's not it. I don't think I need to go back today. We went there on Monday, I think that should be enough. She wouldn't want to see me standing there, all miserable and sad.
"You couldn't have given her a better birthday present, with the cake and having Grace and Karen over that night. It was such a wonderful way to remember her, to celebrate her life instead of marking her death. I think we should do that from now on. I've had ten years to mourn. Maybe it's time to focus on what I had of her before she passed. You know, hold on to the good ripples instead of choking on the bad ones."
He withdrew an envelope from the shelf next to them. He took out the letter and read a passage of it to Joan. "'And the ripples spread from boat to pond to sea to sky. And nothing can stop them, nothing ever will.' See? She knew all about the ripples. And she wanted me to cherish them, I know that now."
He held the letter out to Joan, and she took it gingerly, like it was something sacred. She had held it once before, when he had asked for her to read it to him, back in high school, when he had been too scared to face what it might say alone.
She stayed silent for a long moment until she felt his finger softly stroking a strand of hair away from her temple. "Hey," he whispered. "Why aren't you saying anything?"
"I..." she began, "I'm so proud of you. And your mom and dad would be so proud of you. You've really come a long way."
"Yeah, something I couldn't have done without you."
"No," told him. "Don't say these perfect things today. I don't deserve it. I've been such a selfish bitch."
"No, you weren't."
"Yes, I was," she objected.
"Okay, maybe you were, a little. But you didn't do it on purpose, and I'm just glad you're okay again. You asked me how you could make it up to me. How about we just spend a quiet evening on the couch. I'll be perfectly happy to just have you by my side, you know, without the hot water bottle and the blanket and the flannel pjs."
She had to laugh a little at the image she must've presented. "I was pretty pathetic, wasn't I?"
"Do you want an honest answer?" he asked mischievously.
"No, lie to me."
"You weren't."
"Thank you." She gave him a big smile now. "Why don't we go to The Local on Saturday for the brunch buffet? We can stay in bed till we're ready to get up, and then languish over a late and copious feast with no dishes to take care of. It'll be my treat."
"How could I say no?"
"Okay, then let this be part of me making it up to you."
There was a twinkle in his eye when he looked at her. "There are more parts? Can I make suggestions?"
"Only if they don't entail sexual activity."
He poked his lower lip out into a mock pout and she slapped his arm jokingly.
"Cut it out, doofus."
He feigned shock. "Did you just call me doofus?"
"Yep." She laughed. "Let's see how I feel tonight, okay?"
"Jane," he said with a more serious undertone. "I was kidding—"
She reached for his hand, "Ask me again tonight, okay?"
"Okay," he smiled as she leaned in for a sweet kiss. "I'll take you up on that."
"I'm glad you're feeling better, honey. Adam, thanks for taking care of my baby," Helen said as she gave him a goodbye hug at the Girardi's front door.
"My pleasure," he smiled.
"Well, that's a lie, but OK," Joan grinned, taking his hand.
They laughed. Helen looked at her daughter a little chidingly. "You two should drop by more often."
Joan gave her a look that bordered on incredulous. "Mom, we see each other all the time. When have I ever missed Family Night? And you know we're gonna be spending more and more time together with the planning as we get closer to the wedding. I think pretty soon you're gonna wish I wasn't under foot all the time."
"Never gonna happen."
"I can't wait to say I told you so."
"Well... with Luke being away and Kevin being so busy, is it wrong that I at least want to see my daughter a little more often?"
Joan smiled slyly. "Whatever happened to you being glad all your kids were out of the house so you could have a little alone time with Dad."
Helen looked at her, an almost shocked expression on her face. "What? When did I say that?"
"Joke, Mom, relax."
Helen gave her a teasing scowl and smiled at Adam.
"Thanks for dinner, Mrs. G. It was great," Adam said as Joan moved to open the front door.
"It's Helen. We've talked about this," she said.
"I know, I'm sorry, Helen," he smiled, stressing her name. "Might take me a while to get used to that."
"I'll keep reminding you." She grew more serious as she told him, "Adam, you know, it's good to see you happy on this day."
That threw him for a moment. He wasn't sure why. Of course she knew what day it was. She was the one to read his mother's note to him all those years ago, after all. She knew all about it. And even after years of separation, she remembered. He was blown away. He felt so lucky to have the Girardis in his life. They were all amazing. And soon, they'd be his family. "Thanks," he whispered to Helen, fighting the sting of joyful tears.
In the car on the way home, he just couldn't believe his good fortune. Again. He looked over at Joan, who was driving. "Thank you," he told her, out of the blue.
"For what?"
"For dragging me over to your parents' house tonight."
"Actually, it was my mom's idea," she admitted.
"It was?"
"Yeah," Joan sighed a little. "She remembered. Unlike me. And she thought it might be good for you to get out of the house and be with people tonight."
"Is that a mom thing?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's a Helen thing."
"You're really lucky, you know?"
"How so?"
He looked over at her. "You have this great family. They're always there for you, no matter what."
"They're your family too now, you know."
He nodded. "Yeah, I know. Might take me a little while to get used to that, but you're all making it really easy."
"They really care about you. They always have. So don't you dare jinx it." Joan's voice took on a mock Italian accent. "My pop's connected, you know."
"Uh oh," he said jokingly. "I promise not to cross the Girardis. Ever. Especially the ladies. You know how to keep a guy in line, don't you?"
Continuing in her faux Italian accent, "O mio bello, you don't know nah-thing."
He laughed at the face she made then, very Sopranos. She joined him as she continued to drive toward their home. This was probably the best November he'd had in a long time. A very long time. And it felt good.
