"Goodnight, Stinky." Adam smiled, leaning down to kiss the top of his eldest son's head.

"Goodnight, Jacques Cousteau." He added, turning to his younger son.

"Night night, Dad." Will replied, wrapping his arms tightly around his father's squishy waist. "I love you."

Adam's smile grew wider as he ruffled his fingers through his son's sandy hair, pausing to take it all in. Pulling Will in tighter, he just stood there, relishing the moment. Relishing the last moments of boyhood with a son who had largely grown up without him.

"I love you, too, my dear octopus. I love you and Stinky more than anything."

.

Looking on at the display of affection, Tucker's seventh grade boy instincts soon kicked in, demanding that he bring an end to the Hallmark Moment before his family could descend into any further lameness.

"Gaaaaaaaay!"

"Dude." Adam shook his head, chuckling. "You're like, The Pretty Pretty Princess all-time champ in his house."

"Just jealous I beat you."

"Well no shit, Princess Di. Don't you know you're supposed to let your dad win at that stuff?"

"Dork"

As she stood back and watched it all, Julie could feel herself melting—for all of the turns his life had taken, the best qualities were still there. The guy who had obliged many a five-year-old fan in his day was alive and well, every bit as adorable as he had been at seventeen.

"Perhaps cuter even." She thought, noting that all of those weekends spent out on the lake had had a very positive impact on his appearance.

The sun has definitely been his friend.

…

"You know," She joked a few minutes later, looking at the pink floral print walls and yellow striped ceiling that now surrounded her and Adam, "I think we might be living out every second grader's ultimate fantasy here."

"A boy and a girl in the same blanket fort?" He laughed, reaching for a Dorito. "Never! You'll still have cooties for at least another three years."

Having loved the blanket fort too much to tear it down, the two had decided to make the most of the sheet-covered living room, having set up camp under a particularly luxurious expanse of Egyptian cotton. Sitting atop overstuffed throw pillows, the two were surrounded by junk food, bourbon, and sangria, giving them an adult-friendly take on the childhood paradise.

"How do you know I don't still have cooties?"

"Well, I mean, you might, but they're called social diseases now, and I don't think we're being that kind of social."

"Eww!

"Also, can we just take a moment to appreciate your use of euphemism here? Because I'm pretty sure the last person I heard refer to them as 'social diseases' was my 80 year old Presbyterian grandmother."

Upstairs, Laura could be heard crying about a mess that had been made in the bathroom, the details of which Julie could only imagine. Feeing guilty, she turned towards Adam just as he was reaching for a handful of gummy bears.

"Do…you think one of us should go up there and make sure everything is okay?"

"Come on." He shrugged. "She knows I can't do stairs, and you're obviously needed down here to help me with these gummy bears."

It's a three-story house.

"So…you legitimately haven't been upstairs?"

I mean, if nothing else, it looks like you could afford an elevator.

"Not once."

"You bought a house that you can't access two-thirds of?"

A mischievous smile overtook his face as he grabbed an Oreo.

"Yes I did. Definitely the best part of all of this."

Geez

Realizing all too well what he was talking about, she felt a familiar twinge of irritation washing over; one that she'd first felt in HomeEc when she realized he didn't know how to wash a dish, and that had never quite gone away since.

"Has anyone told you lately that you're horrible?"

"Weirdly enough, I think Laura has mentioned that a few times, now that you bring it up…"

"I can't imagine why."

"Neither can I."

…

February 24, 2000

"I mean, I just, ugh…I just can't do this anymore. Not for like, the rest of my life."

As Julie had checked the mail that morning, she realized that the clock on their relationship had run down to the zero hour. The fat green and white envelope in hand, the Dartmouth admissions office had confirmed that there were things in her future besides being an NHL wife. Things besides following Adam wherever he went.

"No offense, but like, are you sure?"

Connie set on the bed across, clutching a blue and yellow floral pillow against her chest as the sleet outside pelted against the window.

.

In her mind, the issue was a no-brainer. Even though she and Guy had a much rockier history than Adam and Julie, she had always considered it a given that she'd be following Guy wherever the sport took him.

After all, Guy wasn't perfect, but he was the only boy she'd ever really loved. And, following him to college or the minors still sounded more interesting than going to the community college and becoming a dental hygienist like her mother.

.

"Yeah. I mean—" Julie paused, trying to think how to phrase things. How to avoid insulting her best friend's ambitions…or lack thereof.

I don't want to be like our moms.

I don't want to spend the rest of my life driving a Volvo that smells like feet, and having to thank my husband for the "privilege" of staying home all day and scrubbing toilets.

"I mean, Adam's great and all, but he's Adam. He'll probably want to talk about the stock market at dinner and give our kids fifteen middle names each. I don't think I'm up for a lifetime of that."

Also, he doesn't know how to use a toaster.

"Good point! Still, he's going to be like, crazy rich. And he is dreamy."

"What?" Julie squealed, throwing a stuffed bear at her roommate. "You did not just call Adam dreamy!"

"I mean, don't worry, I'm not like, wanting to steal him from you or anything, but yeah, dude's dreamy. Can't think of anyone who would disagree. That's…just one of those side effects of having eyes. Or not.

"Pretty sure Blind Brenda's into him, too."

Julie shook her head, trying to figure out how their discussion had taken such a turn for the absurd, yet also deeply grateful for her roommate's sense of humor.

"Blind Brenda is not into him."

"Umm…yeah. You notice how often she bumps into him? And how she never bumps into us? That's…not an accident. Blind Brenda's horny as hell, and she is dying to do the horizontal tango with the boy."

"Eww!"

"That's not what Blind Brenda's thinking!"

…..

Back under the blanket fort, Adam leaned against the bottom of the sofa as he poured himself another glass of bourbon.

"So, Dr. Kitty," He asked, drink firmly in hand, "is being a rich, important doctor as fun as it sounds?"

Now on his ninth refill, his eyelids were starting to grow a little heavy as he lifted the crystal lowball to his mouth, the amber liquid easing the awkwardness of 20 years apart.

"I'm the rich one?" She shook her head, thinking back to her ancient Honda and mid-six figure student loans.

Self-awareness is not this boy's gift.

"But no, honestly, it's about a thousand times less interesting than what it looks like on TV."

"What?" His heavy eyes grew wide with mock incredulousness as a smile overtook his face. "TV isn't an accurate representation of reality? What's next, are you going to tell me that Benny Hinn can't resurrect my NHL dreams?"

"Oh, of course he can, Adam. You just have to believe.

"But yeah, no. Turns out it's not really like, tons of sexy people solving sexy mystery diseases every hour. It's mostly just prescribing cholesterol medication. And paperwork. And paperwork about prescribing cholesterol medication."

"Man. If that doesn't get your blood flowing in the morning, I don't know what will."

"So what about you?" Julie asked, reaching for a handful of gummy bears. "Are you hedge fund guys all as rich and evil as you seem?"

"Evil?" He laughed, throwing a Dorito at her.

"But nope. I'm definitely not rich, and I'm pretty sure I'm not evil."

"This is an impressive house for someone who's definitely not rich…"

"Think of it as the consolation prize for being the guy who'd be most sympathetic to a jury."

Though the words were casual, they hung in the air like a bit of August humidity after a rainstorm, their meaning dancing through Julie's head far longer than Adam had intended.

Four years.

"So is the hedge fund life better than investment banking was?"

He set his drink down again, chewing on the side of his lip as he thought about the question. For a moment they sat in silence, him running a hand through his thick mane as he contemplated the reality of his situation. Finally, he nodded.

"I mean, I don't do much…I can't do much. I'm forever barred from anything useful. But, I finally have time. I get to see Laura and the kids, and spend more than like, a day a month with them. I can work with a physical therapist, and go the gym, and get enough sleep, and that stuff's…that stuff's a huge life changer. I mean, I don't feel like death every day. And I'm able to do more. I can even like, almost use my right hand again, which is really lame thing to be excited about, but it's nice, because hands are useful to have…"

Looking down, Julie noticed that he could indeed wiggle his thumb and bend his wrist. A smile spread over her face, and inside, she could feel herself squealing with delight at this unexpected bit of news.

Even that much improvement has to make his day-to-day life a lot easier.

"What?" Leaning over, she took hold of his hand and brought it in closer, trying to believe what she was feeling as his thumb squeezed against the back of her hand. "No. Not dorky at all. Hands are really useful to have. I really enjoy having two of them!"

"Conversations 17 year old me would have never imagined."

"Oh come on." Julie laughed, "Technically, we probably had this exact conversation at some point. You just didn't imagine it being so permanent in nature."

"Okay, true. Also, my standards for functionality were way higher!"

"Lowered ex-pect-ations" She sang in a deep alto, referencing the old MadTV skit as she gently squeezed his hand back.

"Seriously. It's not even funny how much that sums up my life."

"Ditto.

"Do you ever stop to think what our seventeen year old selves would do if they could like, see into the future and see what becomes of their lives?" She pondered, leaning towards him as she chewed the side of her lip.

"Heh, I'm pretty sure if 17 year old me could have seen into the future, there wouldn't be an adult me. He would have borrowed Dwayne's lasso and joined ol' Garrett.

"The kid from Shattuck who hung himself." Adam clarified, noticing her confusion. "Did it in the old Hawk ice rink like, a mile down the road from here."

"Shit. I'd forgotten about that.

"But yeah, that's warped. I mean, not that 17 year old me wouldn't be tempted to join you..."

"Whaat?" His incredulousness real this time, he did his best to play it off, unsure how to handle the real conversation at the core of it all. "This coming from Dr. Kitty? The one person on the planet whose dreams actually did come to fruition? Nope. Seventeen year old me isn't allowing that."

"And how are you going to stop me?" She challenged, leaning closer yet.

"Damn it, Cat Lady." She thought, remembering the words of her old Catholic school principal. "Better leave some room for Jesus there."

"This is seventeen year old me we're talking about! Thirty eight year old me isn't quite up to leading a parade of disabled turtles, but seventeen year old me could totally take you."

"Not if he's dead."

"Shit, I guess you have a point there." He chuckled, reaching for another Dorito. "Fine. Seventeen year old me will stick around if it means you will. But only because I care about New England's fatasses getting their cholesterol medication."

"Now that is the selfless guy I remember."

"I do what I can.

"Besides," He added a moment later, the earnestness returning to his voice. "This, right now, is pretty nice. And not just in a 'lowered expectations' way."

….

February 26, 2000

"Is everything okay?" Adam whispered, leaning over towards Julie.

The two were sitting together in fourth period AP English, listening as Mrs. Connely droned on for half an hour about the symbolism in Moby Dick, leaving the class full of second semester seniors close to tears from sheer tedium of it all.

Her mind on other things, Julie had spent the period doodling in her black and white speckled notebook, the endless string of boxes and swirls helping quiet her nerves.

No. No it's not. Because I'm about four hours from breaking up with you.

"Yeah, just bored. That's all."

"I'd be worried if you weren't. Those look like some quality notes you've been taking there."

Looking over at his paper, she smiled.

Nothing.

"You're one to talk. What are you going to do when some ESPN reporter asks you for your thoughts on the symbolism of whale blubber?"

"Well, for one, I'll know that that person's journalism career definitely hasn't turned out the way they'd hoped."

I'm really, really going to miss him.

"I don't know. I think if I were a reporter, and my boss would let me get away with it, I'd totally ask something like that, just to watch everybody squirm. I mean, imagine asking a guy like McSorely about literary symbolism."

"That's just evil, Cat Lady."

"You know you'd do the same."

"Maybe."

Turning back to her paper, Julie resumed doodling a chain of interconnected boxes as the clock ticked by. Meanwhile, Adam resumed his attempts at balancing his pen across his nose, having long given up on even pretending to pay attention.

Just as Mrs. Connelly turned to write something on the board, she was interrupted a rap at the door.

Turning back around, she waddled towards the back of the class, opening the door to reveal a weary-eyed Scott Banks, standing there in a flannel shirt and dirty work boots. The last four years having taken their toll, he was a far cry from the privileged badboy Julie remembered, his dark hair thinning and his flannel shirt straining at the buttons.

"Geez," She thought, imagining Adam's embarrassment. "Couldn't the guy have changed clothes first?"

"Adam."

Wordlessly, the center grabbed his bookbag and walked out the door, the tinge of pink in his cheeks not escaping Julie's notice.

…

For the rest of the period, the chair next to her sat empty.

At lunch, she noticed that he was still gone, his absence felt as she realized that she didn't have anybody to steal a french fry from. Still, as she sat there eating her turkey sandwich, she mostly felt that she'd been given a reprieve; the empty spot beside her making it easier not to think about the conversation she knew was coming.

Similarly, seventh period trigonometry came and went, a certain cute preppy nowhere to be found.

He probably just had grandparents come to town.

As practice arrived, though, her heart sank when Coach Wilson asked where he was.

After all, missing a few classes was one thing. Even missing a practice wasn't out of the question. What sent a chill down her spine, though, was the fact that Coach Wilson didn't know where he was.

While The Banks family may have taken a lackadaisical approach to telling teachers who was doing what, Phil could hardly go an hour without talking to Glenn Wilson.

Still, as shot after shot flew past her, Julie tried to shake the thoughts out of her head.

Phil probably just forgot this time.

….

After practice, she walked back to the boys' dorm with Guy, hoping to find Adam in bed, a pen in his mouth, catching up on the day's homework. When she found his bed sitting empty, she straightened Suge Knight's tie on the way out and walked back to her dorm, feeling dejected.

Back at her desk, she called every number for him she could think of, yet to no avail. Even Scott's cell phone and pager went unanswered; a rarity for the guy who's life revolved around selling coke and getting laid.

Finally, after seven phone calls, there was nothing left to try. Looking over at her alarm, she realized that it was already past eight, the evening having slipped away with little to show for it. Worried or not, she had a mountain of homework to tackle, and she knew that if she procrastinated much longer, she'd be up half the night.

Doing her best to ignore the pit in her stomach, she gathered her books and headed down to the commons room, preferring it to her own distraction filled dorm.

Setting out thick tome for A.P. History, she got to work; the endless paragraphs about World War I helping to calm her racing mind.

….

"Sleepy?"

Noticing that their conversation had petered out, she looked over saw that Adam had slowly slouched further and further, until he was essentially laying across the floor, his head propped up at a 90-degree angle against the bottom of the sofa.

"Nah, just getting comfortable."

"That…doesn't look very comfortable." She smiled, reaching up to grab a throw pillow off the loveseat for him.

Handing it to him, he slid the rest of the way down, curling up with the needlepoint pillow of a whale's tail under his head. Wiggling around until he finally found a comfortable position, he sighed with contentment.

"Has anyone told you that you're the best?"

"Heh, you're not too bad, yourself."

Grabbing another throw pillow, she laid down beside him, looking up the candy stripe canopy above.

"You really do have an impressive variety of sheets." She laughed, glancing over at the sleepy hedge-funder beside her.

"Well of course. That's why people move to the suburbs, you know—more room for all the different sheets."

"I knew it!"

….

February 27, 2000

"Julie?"

In her mind, she was floating through outer space…a different outer space, one filled with cotton candy and licorice. Riding a spaceship made of taffy, she reached out and grabbed a bit of Jupiter, it's atmosphere blue raspberry flavored.

"Julie?"

"Mnn"

The voice beside her not registering, she continued on her way, floating out towards Saturn and it's bright, gummy rings.

"Julie"

This time the voice was a bit louder, snapping her back to Earth.

Opening her eyes, she cursed the end of her delicious space exploration, blinking as the florescent lights above seared at her corneas.

"Guess I feel asleep." She realized, looking down to see that her trigonometry textbook was dotted with drool.

Groggy, she turned and noticed Adam standing behind her, still in the Harvard sweatshirt and chinos he'd had on earlier that day.

"Oh, hey. I'd tried calling you all evening. Where've you been?"

Reaching up to rub the sleep out of her eyes, she caught a glimpse at the time on her lavender Baby-G watch.

"2:15?" She realized with a start. "What's he doing in here at 2:15?"

Her attention piqued, she looked back over at him, glancing up and down for some clue as to what was going on.

His chinos were a bit rumpled, and his hair wasn't quite as tidy as it had been that morning. As he stood there with his hands in his pockets, staring down at the floor, she couldn't tell that something wasn't right. The sparkle in his eyes was missing, replaced with a deep blue abyss that left her unsettled.

"You okay?"

For a moment, the words just hung in the air, Adam not saying a thing as he shifted his weight onto his heels.

"My dad died."

Oh my God.

Snapped from her daze, she got up and wrapped her arms tightly around the boy standing in front of her, holding him as tightly as she could.

"I'm so sorry." She repeated, her face buried against his maroon sweatshirt. "I'm so, so sorry."