"I think you're a dork."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah."
"Jerk."
The banter in the bread aisle continued as shoppers passed by, Julie's head still rested against Adam's shoulder. Standing there beside him, she just couldn't bring herself to move from his embrace.
.
It was nice.
It was all nice.
The world was a better place with him in it. Her hands felt better when they were entwined with his.
.
For the last twenty years, her life, unlike his, had gone along according to plan. The boxes had been checked, and the dreams had been fulfilled, and the mistakes of her parents had been avoided. Even the things that had gone wrong had been of the regular variety-breakups where people said things they shouldn't, and jobs that were just jobs, and brothers who'd failed to live up to expectations.
As far as lives went, there wasn't much she could complain about.
.
But, there was an emptiness to it all.
People came, and they went, and colleagues moved to New York, and to Philadelphia, and to Chicago, and apartments were sold, and condos were purchased, and Ikea bookcases were discarded when they broke, and it seemed like nothing ever really lasted for long. She'd been in Boston for fifteen years, and yet everything still just felt like a layover for something else.
This, on the other hand?
This had lasted.
This was resilient, outliving the Flokati rug she bought with her first paycheck, or the Indian restaurant down the street from the hospital. This had survived all of the things that life had thrown at it; all of the tragedies that would have sounded unthinkable at 13.
And, despite it all, it was every bit as great as she remembered.
.
"Well, I think you're a dork, too."
"Oh you do, do you?" Julie giggled, her thumb tracing the back of his hand as she remembered the awkward kid from the Junior Goodwill Games, and the self-assured prom king, and the investment banker being wheeled out of the courthouse in handcuffs, and all of the things in between.
"Well of course. You'd have to be pretty dorky to be hanging out with a guy like me."
"Nah. You're just my community service project."
"What did you ever do to deserve such a fate..." He laughed, holding her close.
"Clearly, something very very bad."
"So bad!"
April 9, 2001
"Are you going to be okay?"
She sat in the chair next to Adam's bed, her hand squeezing his. Rubbing her thumb along the inside of his palm, she tried to commit every inch to memory; her mind building a map of the callouses and chewed fingernail nubs and the way that his right pinkie curved in a few degrees, no doubt the result of some long-ago injury that he'd never quite allowed to heal.
.
She didn't want to lose that version of him.
.
She never wanted to forget what it felt like to hold hands in the front seat of his Porsche; the wind blowing their hair as they drove through the city. She never wanted to forget the hugs where he'd pick her up and swing her around, of the feeling of his abs through a cashmere sweater, or the ridiculous goals he'd score every game.
It scared her to think that those memories might one day fade. That one day she might just see a guy in a wheelchair; an attendant cutting his food and wiping his face for him.
.
"Of course." He assured her.
"I'm going to be thinking of you. And missing you."
"You're not allowed to miss me." He laughed, looking into those beautiful green eyes.
"I'm not?"
"Of course not. That would be a dumb use of time."
"Oh really?" She giggled, leaning down to give him a kiss on the cheek. "And what would you suggest I do instead?"
"Go places! Play hockey! Have sex! Do all of the interesting things I don't get to do."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He smiled, his eyes as twinkly and clear as ever. "I was never big on any of those things, anyway. Except maybe sex...I did like that pretty well."
"Yeah. You were always pretty good at that."
"The best compliment a guy can hear..."
"You were."
"Thanks."
The two grew quiet for a moment, Julie still taking in every last bit of the Adam she knew. She inventoried those broad shoulders, and the way that his hair still looked good after having metal rods drilled into his skull, and the faded scar along his cheek. She combed her memories for the curve of his hockey butt, and the way they danced together on prom night.
"Really, I feel bad to just leave."
"Heh, I think New Hampshire will be more fun than I am."
"And what about you?" She asked, her brows furrowed with concern.
"Well, I'm not exactly going anywhere..."
"That's not what I meant."
"I think you worry too much. After all, don't you remember that I'm invincible?"
"Clearly."
"I am. Have I not made it this far?"
"Good point." She smiled, burying her face in his chest as she did her best to give him a proper hug.
"We probably need to go find everybody else." Adam noted, glancing down at his watch.
.
Forty five minutes, and all they'd done was grab one baguette and one bag of bagels.
.
"We're such efficient shoppers."
"We really are."
Julie grabbed an extra baguette and a bag of bagels, hoping that nobody would notice their penchant for distraction.
April 9, 2001
"You'll keep me updated if anything changes, right?"
After what seemed like forever in Minneapolis-after three nights of curling up with Connie in her childhood bedroom as a stuffed animal hammock hung over the bed and a faded Boys II Men poster watched over them-it was time to return to New Hampshire. Time to return to the usual routine of schoolwork and training and hanging out with friends; of being 1,000 miles from everything happening back in Minnesota.
For her, life would soon be normal again.
"Of course."
"And if there's anything I can do for him, you'll let me know?" She asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
"You'll be the first person I call."
"Thank you. For everything."
"Are you sure that's enough champagne?" Connie asked, looking down at the shopping cart intently.
Having reunited near the checkout line, Connie assessed the situation, noting that despite an abundance of food, Russ had only picked up four bottles of champagne. A bit more sober than she wanted to be, she couldn't help but think this seemed like quite the oversight.
"We're having pre-brunch. How much champagne could we need?"
Adam shrugged, sharing Connie's concerns about the alcohol situation.
"Like, at least a bottle or two a person?"
"It's 10 AM..."
"Yeah?"
"I feel like your liver deserves hazard pay."
"I feel like all of me deserves hazard pay." He agreed. "My liver definitely deserves a bonus, though-I'm pretty sure that's the one thing that still works."
"Okay." Russ shook his head. "So how much more champagne do we need according to people who aren't alcoholics?"
"Hey now!"
"Like, two more bottles?" Julie suggested. "Five if we're taking into account our Bad Idea Duo here."
Adam and Connie exchanged conspiring glances; this definitely the one thing their lives had in common.
"Bad Idea Duo unite!" Adam announced, raising his fist into the air as Julie buried her face in her hands, questioning what she had done
"As co-president of the Bad Idea Duo, I motion that five more bottles is definitely needed." Connie agreed.
"Motion seconded."
Connie grew thoughtful for a moment, her eyes widening as she spied the aisle of impulse buys a few feet away.
"I think if we're going to be the Bad Idea Duo, we need like, magic rings that clink together!" She pointed out. "And capes! Yeah...magic rings and capes."
Adam grabbed a bag of Ring Pops from the checkout line, holding them up proudly.
.
Things like meaningful employment or the ability to use a fork and knife at the same time might have proven to be beyond his purview, but this?
This he had handled.
.
"I have beach towel capes in the car! The Bad Idea Duo is official now."
"Yes! Our plans for domination are complete!"
April 9, 2001
"Do either of you need anything?"
Julie stared down at a stain on the Subaru's floor mat, a Jimmy Buffet song playing over the stereo. As they rode through the city, she picked at a loose thread on her sweatshirt, the hem slowly coming undone.
.
Though Connie had been the one to pick her up from the airport, the ride back was one of convenience: Reid Larson's flight back to Virginia was leaving within a few minutes of hers. As such, she caught a ride to the airport with Dr. and Mrs. Larson, Mrs. Larson still as eternally "helpful" as she remembered.
"Nah, we're good."
"Julie?"
"I'm fine." She assured Mrs. Larson. "Thank you, though."
"Are you both sure? I don't want you two getting hungry. We can go by McDonald's."
"I'm fine."
"What about Burger King?" She asked. "I know you like Burger King, Reid. What about you, Julie? We can get whatever you'd like."
"I'm not hungry."
"Me neither."
"I think there's an Arby's around here somewhere..."
"No."
"Well, you're both getting to the airport a little bit early." She reminded them. "It might be a good idea to have something with you for later. I don't want either of you to get hungry.
Jesus effing Christ.
"Oh, look, there's a Taco Bell up ahead. We could go to Taco Bell. You could maybe get a quesadilla for later."
"I don't want to go to fucking Taco Bell."
"Now Reid..."
"What?"
Julie sat back against the velour, watching the Minneapolis skyline unfold as Reid and his mother bickered back and forth about the need for lunch.
"I was just being helpful. I don't know why you always have to get such an attitude-"
"You're not being helpful. You're trying to live my life for me."
"Well maybe if you'd do a better job of that..."
"Whatever. Go help the son you wish you had."
"Now you know that's not true..."
"Yeah. Whatever you say."
"I can't help it that you haven't taken advantage of the opportunities life has given you."
"Uh huh..."
By the time they approached their exit, Reid was shouting at her to go fuck herself, and Mrs. Larson was in tears, reminding him that she'd paid for fourteen years of private school, thank you very much, and that as such, he should be more grateful to have a mom who cares about his friends and his future and whether or not he starves to death, because some parents who shall remain nameless don't care at all about those things.
.
Dr. Larson, for his part, just turned up the stereo.
"Why do you get the sea turtle cape?"
Adam and Connie's 'Bad Idea Duo' checked out with their Ring Pops and champagne; the two would-be superheroes now standing in the Meijer parking lot, negotiating the most important piece of their plan: Magic capes.
A trio of beach towels were spread out across the back of the SUV; chlorine-smelling remnants of a trip to the country club pool a few weeks earlier.
Adam stood proudly, a sea turtle beach towel draped over his shoulders and a cherry Ring Pop gracing his index finger. A morning breeze blew through his hair and picked up the end of his cape, giving further credence to disheveled superhero persona.
"Because it's my towel."
"Didn't your parents ever teach you to share?" Connie pouted, eyeing his cape/beach towel with jealousy.
.
There were two other towels to pick from, of course, but sailboats and cabana stripes just didn't compare.
Not to a tie-dyed sea turtle.
.
"Did you ever meet my parents?"
"Okay. fine." Connie laughed. "Didn't you ever like, flip through the channels and accidentally land on something about sharing? Because I really feel like Mr. Rogers tried to cover that one a time or two."
"Well yeah, probably." He agreed. "But my dad was too busy yelling at Scott for me to hear any of it."
"Good point."
Connie reached over and tried on the towel with the rainbow sailboats, pink and orange and lime stripes accenting the sails.
.
It was perfectly nice. She couldn't deny that the Bankses had good taste, even in things like beach towels. But still, those options just couldn't compare to sea turtles. Pouting, she removed it from her shoulders...a move that made Adam take notice.
.
"Heh, well, I guess I can't talk to my kids about sharing unless I'm willing to be a good example." He smiled, removing his beloved sea turtle cape and placing it over her back. Smoothing it over her twinset, he shook his head.
"I hereby bequeath you my Super Extra Magical Sea Turtle Cape. May it bless you with all of the powers of horrible decision making."
"I'm honored, oh Great Horrible Decision Maker." Connie giggled, wrapping him in an excited hug. "Thank you."
"You are very welcome! I'm trusting you to live up to my standards of idiocy."
"I'll do my very best to honor your moronic legacy."
.
So many years.
So many years of his hypocritical preppy bullshit, and attitudes that somehow made Scott look evolved, and more arguments than she could count over whatever stupid thing they'd found to argue over that month, and it all still worked.
She still somehow considered him one of her closest friends.
.
"That's all I ask."
A few feet away, Kenny shook his head.
"This. This is why colleges have to have affirmative action for white people now."
"Are you making fun of the Bad Idea Duo?" Connie asked, her head cocked innocently to the side.
"Me? Make fun of an illustrious institution like that? Never!"
"That's what I thought."
"We have an extra cape..." Adam reminded him, his eyes twinkling.
"I just don't think I could live up the standards you two have set."
"What? You're good with being an honorary Bash Bro, but life-ruining stupidity is a bridge too far? Come on, man!"
April 9, 2001
"I'm glad I get to go back to Virginia."
Larson stared quietly down at his boat shoes, self-conscious about both the things he was thinking and the scene Julie had watched in the car earlier; fights with his parents hardly the sort of thing he'd intended for public consumption.
"Same."
"I feel like such an asshole to admit that..." He continued, not really sure where the statement would go.
Where it could go.
.
Other travelers passed by, hurried men in their business suits and families dressed for vacation; kids already donning their Mickey Mouse ears and pint-sized fanny packs. He'd never dreamed that going back to an all-boys school could seem like such a relief. That he could be looking forward to classes in accounting and dealing with a bunch of pricks in Range Rovers; to a world that had more to do with his dad's glory days than anything he'd ever wanted for himself.
But compared to the vortex of obligation swirling back in Minnesota, Hampden-Sydney meant freedom.
It meant that his life wouldn't have to be defined by someone else's tragedy; that unlike Scott and likely Laura, he would be free to go back his normal life, and nobody would judge him for sitting around and playing video games in his underwear all day, surrounded by a pile of empty Miller Light cans.
Or at least, nobody would judge him for more harshly than they'd normally judge such pastimes.
.
"I know. Same."
"This fucking sucks."
"Yeah. It does."