"I hope you like chicken casserole?" Laura asked, a LeCreuset dish in hand. "I really did mean to fix something nicer, but the day got away from me.
"Besides." She shook her head. "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 you and Adam would be welcome to go get something that's not processed and covered in Velveeta."
Julie chuckled, amused to know that his palette hadn't exactly expanded over the years.
I wonder if he still orders off the kids' menu...
"Why does something tell me he'd be the wrong dinner companion for that?"
"Good point!" Laura agreed, walking towards the dining room. "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."
And, I suppose that answers that question.
…
Walking into the dining room, a salad bowl in hand, Julie couldn't help marvel at the perfection of everything. With lavish molding and a marble fireplace, it really was quite the monument to good taste. Lead crystal glistened in the sunlight; the grandeur on par with the formal dinners Bunny had once once thrown.
The difference was, this time, it all seemed natural. Like people were 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"
"What your mom's trying to say is 'quit acting like a tard'."
"Blub."
"Son of a bitch...
Adam shook his head, a smile creeping up through his features.
"Well, at least eat your salad. Octopi need their vegetables, too."
"Blub blub."
"Blub blub, indeed. Dumbass."
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 an excited 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 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 could see them living in the perfect colonial with the 2.5 children and a white picket fence.
She could see him playing hockey in the driveway with the kids, and chasing fireflies through the grass on a summer evening. She could see the family curled up reading bedtimes stories, and pancakes on Saturday mornings, and a living room with overstuffed sofas and too many books.
.
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 wanted when they were growing up, but that her family never quite had the extra money for. The built-ins, crammed with well-loved books and old hockey trophies; expensive tchotchkes from Tiffany's sitting next to macaroni art.
She noticed the way that everything upstairs smelled like Chanel No.5, and all of the black and white prints in pewter frames.
She gazed out at the family at the beach, and the kids having a snowball fight, and Adam and Laura in the Cayman's, back when he could still carry girls across the sand.
She smiled at his senior picture, remembering the boy who still had the whole world ahead of him, and the picture taken a few months later; the Warriors holding their national championship banner, his arm around her waist.
.
By the time she made her way back downstairs, Laura was straightening up in the kitchen, while Adam and the kids had all changed into pajamas for the night; now building a blanket fort in the living room.
"Need help with anything?" Julie asked, noticing that Laura was tied up with dishes.
"Oh no. I figured I'd take advantage of the fact that Caroline's occupied. I'm almost done, though. Feel free to go join whatever they're doing in there."
"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 a section of bookshelf; Tucker and Will securing the other corner to an ottoman. Caroline, meanwhile, sat in the corner talking to the family dog.
Taking it all in, Julie couldn't help but feel as if this is what would happen if Normal Rockwell had mated with Slim Aarons; the Banks' take on domestic bliss one that included soaring windows and endless parquet.
.
Taking a closer look at Adam, however, she felt a familiar pang in her heart.
.
Stripped of good tailoring, it was harder to deny the passage of time.
Harder to pretend that they were still 18.
In poplin pajama pants and an old Seaside t-shirt, there was no longer any hiding what 20 years of paralysis had done.
His right arm hung awkwardly, thinner than his left. The sculpted chest and perfectly carved abs she used to trace with her fingers were gone, replaced with a tummy that was much rounder and jigglier than it had appeared under his button down. With his loafers off, there was no ignoring the plastic leg brace that kept him from tripping over his own foot; how without his cane, he had to lean against the loveseat for support.
But then again, he was softer, too.
He was no longer the guy berating Portman in the locker room, or staring blankly ahead at his father's funeral, or being lead away in handcuffs.
He was a dad; very much the kind she'd always fantasized he'd be. A grown-up version of the teenager who'd save earthworms that washed up on the sidewalk, and indulge Eden Hall's pint-sized fans with a hug or high five after a grueling game.
The longer she looked at him, the more she found herself admiring how handsome he still was. The more she found herself thinking about how badly she'd like to snuggle up with him; broken body and all.
.
Besides, she'd never minded the physical flaws.
.
The various scars and freckles and oddly shaped bits when he was younger had always been a reminder that underneath all of the hype, there was a very real person. A real person far sexier and more interesting than any newspaper article ever let on.
And that hadn't changed in the least.
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, looking out at the paneled living and a sea of khaki-clad classmates; Coolio's Gangsta's Paradise thumping through the speakers. "Could there be a more ironic song?"
.
It was the final Saturday before Christmas break, and Luke Riley had taken advantage of his parents' trip to the Caribbean. Their Edina home was now packed with teenager revelers, all eager for a break from finals. Adam had put up his best fight, his on-again-off-again relationship with socializing 'off' for that week, but Julie was having none of it.
This sounded like the perfect break from studying calculus.
.
Over in the kitchen, Adam was talking with Larson and some Breck B-listers, leaving Julie and Connie to drink vodka punch by the fire. The logs crackled as they people watched; giggling over Portman's failed attempt at picking up a cheerleader and Erica Tate's 'Sexy Mrs. Clause' outfit.
"That has to be cold." Julie laughed, shivering at the very thought of a mini-skirt and velvet crop top in December.
"Maybe her chest is insulating her?"
"She does have a lot to work with there..."
"Those can't be rea-" Connie began, suddenly trailing off as Chad Schweir came and put an arm around her shoulders.
"Well what a surprise!" She exclaimed, turning around to give him a kiss on the cheek, her eyes filled with delight.
.
Two days earlier, she and Guy had gotten into their latest fight.
.
For reasons that were inexplicable to most, her rebound hookup this time was Chad, a lacrosse bro with frosted tips and a double digit IQ. Between his Z78 Camaro and fondness for puka shell jewelry, he was straight out of central casting cheesy teen movies; a fact that everybody but Connie was well aware of.
For Connie, though, Not Guy far outweighed any aesthetic concerns about bleached sideburns and short-sleeve plaid shirts.
.
"What're you doin', baby?"
"Thinking about you."
"Aww, sweet thing."
"I am, aren't I?"
"Yes you are."
"This is worse than Thad." Julie thought, shaking her head.
.
Worried that her dinner was going to come back up if she spent another second with those two, Julie made her way over to the kitchen; trying not to think about the fact that Connie would be bringing Chad back to their dorm room in another couple of hours.
.
Adam's eyes lit up as she walked into the kitchen; setting his drink down to give her a hug.
"Decided you couldn't be away from us cool kids any longer, huh?" He joked.
"You guessed it."
"Dare I ask what tore you away from Connie?"
"Chad."
"Frosted tips?" He chuckled. "That's sadder than Thad."
.
Held close, Julie could smell the alcohol on his breath. The familiar cologne on his neck. Leaning into his shoulder, she thought again of forever, and how she could certainly think of worse people to spend the rest of her life with.
.
"Thank you!"
"Seriously. Thad's lame, but he's a good guy when he's not like, bragging about Cancun or how his dad is one of seventy-six vice presidents at the bank.
"Chad is...somehow less cool than that." He added after a moment, shuddering at the thought of his friend actually hooking up with such a tool.
"Definitely. Plus, he doesn't call people 'sweet thing' un-ironically. Or ironically, for that matter."
Adam chuckled.
"Yeah, that's definitely one thing he and Chad have in common. Pretty sure they could neither define 'irony', much less aim for it."
"Next time, we're setting her up with one of the guys from the debate team..."
"Yeah."
Looking down at her drink, Julie noticed that it was empty.
As much as she hated to leave Adam's embrace, she pulled herself away just long enough to refill her plastic cup. At the same time, Rick Riley came stumbling through the kitchen in search of another beer, happy to plow through any high school kids who stood in the way.
Bumping into Julie, his quest for beer vanished; the sight of her cleavage far more appealing than another can of Kesystone.
.
He looked her up and down, his lips curling into a lecherous grin as Adam stood a foot away.
"Let me uh, let me know if you ever get tired of this faggot." He joked. "I can show you what a real man is like."
As he said it, Adam's eyes narrowed; four years of rage threatening to boil over.
"Go to hell, you sick fuck."
"What is that?"
"I said Go. To. Hell. You. Sick. Fuck." Adam repeated, no longer the scared 15 year old he'd once been. "You want me to spell it out any clearer for you?"
Rick sneered.
"Aww, little Ducky grew some balls."
Giving Adam a shove into the granite counter behind him, Rick walked right past, resuming his quest for a beer.
Slightly intoxicated himself, it took Adam a second to regain his footing, the corner of the granite having jabbed into his back.
As soon as he did, he landed a punch to Rick's jaw, sending his freshman year tormentor to the floor. As Rick laid face up on the travertine, Adam just smirked.
"I sure as hell have more balls ball than you ever did."
.
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. As onlookers noticed Rick Riley on the ground, the air filled with excitement; everybody clamoring for a bit of blood to liven up the night.
Unfortunately for them, Adam's wrist was throbbing, and he was much more interested in hanging out with his girlfriend than kicking Rick's ass.
Turning back around, he resumed his conversation with Julie, all the while surreptitiously icing his hand with a can of beer.
The disappointed audience started to do the same, conversations about past hookups and lame parents resuming. Just as all hope of a proper fight was lost, Rick regained his senses; getting up from the floor and grabbing a beer bottle from the center island.
Smashing the can of Miller Light against the countertop, he took a swing.
.
Before anybody could even process what was happening, the bottle connected with Adam's skull.
.
Shards of amber glass sliced through his face, and he stumbled forward, struggling to regain his balance as blood filled the corners of his vision. Within seconds, blood soaked his oxford and dripped to the floor, more gushing out with every breath as a grisly pool formed at his feet.
Keep spending most our lives
Livin' in a gangsta's paradise
The song's foreboding lyrics continued, the puddle only growing He was now alone in a sea of crimson, the party otherwise silent as people stood frozen.
Been spending most our lives
Livin' in a gangsta's paradise
.
The first of the bunch to regain his composure, Larson finally grabbed a tea towel from the stove. Pressing it against the side of Adam's face, he put an arm around his friend's shoulder and took a deep breath; doing his best to remain calm for everybody else.
"Alrighty. Looks like we're going to make a little trip to the emergency room."
.
For the other guests, the silence continued as he led Adam out the door.
Julie and Connie trailed behind, still too stunned to do much other than follow.
.
Wind blasted their faces as soon as they stepped outside; Julie's coat and purse still back in the Riley's house. The walk to Larson's Camry seemed to stretch on for miles; time slowing as those final moments replayed in her head. She just kept picturing that pool of blood, and the scared look in his eyes. The way that everything had been so normal until it wasn't.
The car's door groaned as she opened it. To sit down, she had to clear a space amidst the fast food wrappers and dirty gym clothes; an empty Skoal can falling out as she tried to shut the door behind her.
"I think I can see why he's single." She thought, finding an old french fry as she buckled her seatbelt.
Reaching into the battered console, Larson handed his Nokia back to Julie.
"Can you call Banksie's dad for me? Ask him which hospital has the best plastic surgeon?"
.
Two phone calls later, silence once again filled the car.
Julie and Connie held hands in the backseat, both willing themselves not to cry as they wound their way through the dark suburban streets. Mile after mile of suburbia passed as the lights of the city slowly came into view; Julie praying the entire time that he'd be alright. That he hadn't lost too much blood. That he'd look normal again.
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 Larson turned on the radio; Ants Marching filling the car.
Surely not that bad.
..
Her optimism came crashing down once they reached the emergency room.
As Adam removed the tea towel to show the triage nurse what had happened, her heart sank.
.
His once perfect, unblemished skin had been sliced open from above his ear to down below his nose; the spongy fat visible beneath.
Just looking at it, she realized that he'd be scarred for life. That at long as he lived, this night would be one of the first things other people would see. Thinking about how she'd been the one to drag him to the party in the first place, her eyes filled with tears.
I ruined his life.
Sitting down, she picked the non-bloodied side, desperate to get that image out of her head.
Her hand rested on his thigh as he held the towel against his face. Staring down at the floor, she counted the mauve tiles as other people flowed in, thinking about what she'd done.
I seriously ruined his life.
.
In groups of two or three, the room began to fill.
Charlie and Guy came in, both patting him on the back and wishing him well.
Crawford came by with the infamous Thad, both assuring him that this was the manliest shit they'd ever heard of.
Scott was the last to make it; having finally returned Larson's call. When he was arrived, he was still flushed; still sporting a wrinkled oxford that he hadn't buttoned, courtesy of the Waffle House waitress he'd been boning minutes before.
"Dude." He nodded, sitting down next to his baby brother.
.
He drummed his fingers against the wooden armrest, wishing that he could switch Adam places. Wishing that it could be him.
.
"It's uh, it's going to be okay, man.
"And it's uh, I'm sure it's going to look fuckin' badass."
"Yeah."
...
A bit later, Adam was taken back to the trauma bay.
Before long, the crowd disbursed, and as people left in those same groups of twos and threes, Julie found herself all alone.
She flipped through an old issue of Family Circle as she sat in the waiting room, thinking about how Adam hadn't even wanted to go to that party.
.
It had all been her.
And now his life was forever changed.
.
For the next four hours, those same thoughts kept replaying, no article about chili recipes or family calendars enough to touch her guilt. Her eyes were so red and tear swollen that she could barely read, and she kept staring at those magazine models; their faces all so perfect and smooth.
"I'm not that hideous, am I?"
.
Julie glanced up with a start.
There he was.
Her beloved preppy, still in his blood soaked oxford, his lip curled in a nervous smile.
.
A long train track of stitches now ran along the side of his face; over a hundred tidy little black knots holding the pieces of his cheek together. His face that had once been so perfect now...wasn't.
.
Once again, all attempts at being strong for him flew out the window, her whole body shaking as tears ran down her cheeks.
Sitting down beside her, Adam pulled her in close as he leaned down to kiss the top of her forehead.
"Seriously, I'm sorry if I worried you. I didn't mean to ruin your night."
The sobbing continued as she struggled to speak; choking over her own words as her nose and throat became clogged with snot.
"I-I'm sorry I ruined your life."
"Wait, what?" Adam asked, taking hold of her hand. He intwined his fingers with hers; tracing the edge of her thumb with his.
"I'm the one who dragged you there. It's my fault you're going to be deformed."
Realizing what she'd just said, Julie cried even harder; the guilt swallowing her whole. On top of everything, she'd just insulted him. Just confirmed everything that he was probably fearing. She really was the worst, and she was so sorry that she'd ever come into his life.
Adam, meanwhile, simply 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." He reminded her. "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 gin 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 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 weren't 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.