March 1, 2002
"Did you make it back to Minnesota alright? Julie asked, grabbing her bags from the luggage carousel as she chatted with Adam on the phone, a family arguing with their screaming toddler a few feet away.
As she watched for the tattered L.L. Bean duffels, she thought back to that night at La Trattoria.
It killed her to think of those first moments; of the way his face collapsed when she saw her stare. But she also thought about the flowers she now had pressed in a Salt Lake City phone book, and how much it meant to get to spend that time with him.
She hoped he felt the same; that the good outweighed the bad, and that he came away knowing how special he was to her.
"Oh. Yeah."
"I hope you had a nice time in Salt Lake? I really, really appreciated you flying all the way out."
"Well of course. Anytime."
"And your flight was okay?"
"Yeah."
"Is everything else okay?" She added. "You sound kind of down."
"Yeah. I'm fine."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah."
"You're really sure?"
.
A thousand miles away, Adam lay sprawled across his living room sofa, still wearing the pajamas he'd been wearing since he arrived home three days ago. He stared mindlessly at an infomercial; the remote lost somewhere in the cushions and not worth retrieving.
.
His fears had been right.
Nobody was ever going to see him the same way again.
He'd known that all along-it was pretty obvious every time he looked in the mirror. Every time he had to have someone help him in the bathroom. There was really no way to overstate how obvious it was that all of the things that made him sexy and interesting and desirable were gone. His daily circumstances made that pretty hard to ignore. But still.
She'd sounded so excited every time she talked to him on the phone. Even after she'd watched the jersey retirement ceremony, she gushed about how proud she was, and she sounded like the Julie he knew. Like the Julie who still saw something in him that he couldn't see.
It made him think that the impossible was possible. Until it wasn't.
.
"Yeah. I'm just a little tired."
"I don't blame you. You must be exhausted."
"Heh, it's not bad."
"Well, it was...it was really nice seeing you again."
"It was nice seeing you, too."
"And really, it meant a lot. Those flowers were amazing, but seeing you was better."
"Well thanks. Seeing you was pretty great, too."
"And I'm uh, I'm sorry if I was awkward about everything."
"You weren't at all." He assured her, the Bowflex commercial still droning in the background.
Thanks for the programming choice, God.
"You're sure you're okay?"
"Of course."
I'm a genie in a bottle, baby.
You gotta' rub me the right way, honey.
Things had grown quiet for a moment; a phone call from Russ' wife breaking the flow of conversation. Now, the suburbs were growing grander; houses in the distance towering atop hillsides, and the old Tauruses and Equinoxes on the road giving way to Teslas and Range Rovers.
Without the usual chatter, the elephants in the room came stampeding back, filling the SUV. Adam once again seemed very interested in suburban speed limits and his half-empty pack of Marlboros, leading to a chain reaction as Russ and Ken thought back to their own mixed feelings about their alma mater.
Eager to break up the quiet, Julie reached for Adam's phone, commandeering the sound system. Looking through his Spotify, she wasn't disappointed: Charlie was right. He really could be the straight, preppy Liberace.
.
The conventional picks were all there: Dave Matthews Band. Ben Folds. Assorted frat house staples. The full collection of songs about the difficulty of being upper middle class and white. But, hidden beyond the predictable choices lie just what she had hoped for: A treasure trove of sugary pop hits from the 90's, with everything from the Spice Girls to B*Witched. Settling on Christina Aguilera's Greatest Hits, she did her best to coax the boys into joining along.
If you wanna be with me
I can make your wish come true.
"Come on. You know you want to sing along with me." She urged Adam, her hand once again resting upon his.
"I can assure you that I don't."
"Oh but you do."
"Nope. Really don't."
"Uh huh, sure..."
Adam rolled his eyes, doing his best to ignore her as she goaded Russ into a singalong.
You gotta make a big impression
Gotta like what you do
"Oh Adam, I think we need your help on this..."
Not looking over from the road, Adam raised one eyebrow.
Just because Russ was willing to give up his manhood didn't mean he was.
"Do I look like Xtina?"
"I mean, you're both blonde-ish."
Yeah. And we were both better looking twenty years ago and thirty pounds ago.
"There are lots of blonde-ish people in the world. Couldn't you let me be one of the cooler ones?"
"And which one would that be? Britney? Jessica Simpson? Baby Spice?"
Adam paused for a moment, considering his options.
"Britney. All day every day. Getting to go out in public in sweatpants and no shoes? That's living the dream."
"That's definitely more Scott than you..."
"Well yeah. For Scott, it's not a dream. It's just another Tuesday."
"I could almost see those two together." Russ agreed.
"Scott and Britney?"
"Better than K-Fed."
Adam chuckled, his shoulders relaxing as he pictured his deadbeat brother and Britney Spears eating chicken wings in a parking lot somewhere, discussing how it was 'total bullshit' that the new manager at Dollar General was making customers put on a shirt before they could come in.
It was nice-the thought of Scott being happy. He deserved his own version of peace.
"Next time I hang out with her, I'll try to make that happen. He needs a woman who can appreciate the virtues of Golden Corral and pajamas at the gas station. But who's like, also not going to need his help with child support."
"A combo most men can only dream about..."
"I know, right?" He laughed, the thin scar from that Christmas party so many years ago folding in on itself as his face moved. "Like, I feel like you'd never be bored. You might gain 100 lbs. from living off of nothing but Cheetos and Mountain Dew, but you'd never be bored."
"That has got to be the most Flint thing I've ever heard..."
"Heh, the white trash runs strong in these genes."
"It does make for an interesting combo." Julie agreed, giving his hand another squeeze before reaching for the cracked iPhone. Shuffling through, she found exactly what she was looking for: The 2000 Classic, Oops I Did It Again.
The gift that keeps on giving...
"Okay, that's it, Britney. You're joining me this time or no Cheetos for you."
"This is my car, Mr. Federline. And I've got my own credit card. So I can have all the Cheetos I want."
"Dork."
"That's Britney to you, bitch."
Julie rolled her eyes, putting his phone down and reaching back for his hand.
"Why did I ever date you?"
"Probably too much lead paint as a kid. Maybe a brain injury at birth. Tragic, really. But it worked out well for me."
"You're such a mess..."
"I'm not the one who dated me for four years."
"It was a pretty great four years."
"See?" That's the brain damage talking again." He smiled, doing his best to squeeze her hand back. "But I'm very grateful that you made that mistake. It was four of the best years of my life."
March 11, 2002
"So how's everything going on your end?"
"It's going."
Julie looked down at the stacks of papers atop her desk, her cute polka dotted picture frames now dwarfed by endless piles of work.
.
If the drudgery had been daunting before the Olympics, now it was almost too much to bear.
.
There was nothing to look forward to. No end in sight. February had come and gone, but the ground was still frozen, and a literal dark cloud had blanketed New Hampshire for eleven straight days.
There was no sunshine to be found. Nothing to make the days better.
Every class sucked.
Women's hockey sucked-Dartmouth had gone from middling in their conference to a complete embarrassment. The team hated one another. Worse, one of their forwards had gotten pregnant, and that controversy was pushing the divide even further. This was no different than Eden Hall: Beneath the lofty ideals, people hadn't evolved beyond Hunter Bodencratz junior year, collecting the panties of all of the girls who he slept with, only to talk about how girls were whores if they'd been with more than three guys.
Everything in the dining hall tasted exactly like what it was-re-heated Mystery Meat, served at $8 a person, and being financed by loans she'd be paying on for the rest of her working life.
Ashley had a new boyfriend. He smelled like feet and worked at a bar and talked about how he wanted to go to culinary school one day. He was a new low, even by Ashley's standards, and now he was all her old roommate wanted to talk about.
And, of course, there was Adam.
They'd never not talked. Not really.
There were some awkward patches freshman year, but that was because they were fifteen. Those days had come and gone, and in the years since, nobody had ever had a hard time finding the right words. No matter how hard things were, the words were always there. And now they weren't; Salt Lake hanging over both of their minds.
.
"How's Laura doing?"
"She's Laura."
"That's good. I was hoping she hadn't like, turned into a shape-shifting alien."
"Yeah, no. No aliens. Just Laura."
"Well, be sure to tell everyone hi for me."
"Will do."
"And you're sure everything's okay?"
"Yeah, of course. Thanks for asking, though."
.
The quiet was all too much.
She wanted Adam to say something. She wanted him to say that she'd hurt his feelings; that she was a shallow bitch. She wanted him to be angry, because he deserved to be angry. Nothing about the last year had been fair, and she hadn't helped. She wanted him to tell her to go to hell, and that his value in life was so much more than the ability to score winning goals and look good shirtless.
She just wanted something.
Because as it was, silence was the loudest thing she could hear.
"Okay, so which of these fancy-ass houses is yours?"
"Fancy-ass houses?"
"Don't be playin' like you haven't noticed." Russ laughed, looking out at a Greek Revival that spanned 1/4 of the block and featured a fountain in the middle of the circular driveway. "Like, Minnetonka ain't poor, but this is a whole other level of not poor."
Adam looked out the house in question and grimaced.
"Heh, those people may not be poor, but their taste is. Who adds a giant fountain like that in their front yard?"
Russ shrugged.
"People richer than me."
"Heh, good point. I'm not going to be adding any fountains if I wanted to."
"You and me both."
"I think you need to save up for a fountain." Julie joked, her hand still holding Adam's. She traced the edge of his fingernails as she glanced out at the stone behemoth. "Pretend like it's the White House."
"Eww. I feel like the architect on the White House was the kind of person who would think fountains belong in front yards..."
Sitting in the backseat, Ken shook his head, reveling in the absurdity.
"Are you really trying to out-WASP the White House?"
"I'm just saying. It's awfully garish."
"And that is why you're ridiculous."
"I'm not ridiculous."
"You might be kind of ridiculous." Julie nodded solemnly.
"And how am I ridiculous?"
Julie giggled as she looked over at him, remembering the one boy who actually paid attention in cotillion, and that lovely collection of pastel sweaters that were handy to borrow on chilly mornings. At the fact that his needlepoint belt matched his needlepoint key fob; assorted water fowl apparently being the theme of the day.
No way that was accidental.
"Well, for one thing, you just accused the White House of being garish..."
"But it is."
"Uh huh. And would you like to explain your children's names?"
"Tucker? William? Caroline? That's all pretty normal..."
"Adam and I feel so blessed to welcome Tucker William Wailes Talbott Monnier Claibourne Fontaine Banks to this world. We only hope that he'll one day be able to write his entire name..."
"They aren't that bad."
"They aren't bad at all. But there's uh, there's really no denying what tax bracket they're coming from."
Adam chuckled, still looking out at the road ahead.
"Technically, we're closer to the 'Bubba' and 'Brandilynn' tax bracket. But Scott's kids and are taking up all of the good names for that one."
"You know you're planning on 'Daryl' for number four." Julie laughed.
"Nah. Thought we'd go a little younger and hipper. We're trying to decide between Jaxxxton and Paxxxxtyn."
"Maybe it'll be twins. That way, you can have both."
"'This is my son, Jaxxxton Vyper, and this is his brother, Paxxxtyn Journeyman'...yup. Totally happening."
"It better." Julie agreed, reaching over to pick an errant hair from Adam's shirt. "Jaxxxton Vyper is way too awesome of a name to pass up."
"Oh the things you could have had if you would have taken Portman up on his advances..."
"Asshole."
"I guarantee he would give you a kid named Jaxxxton Vyper."
"And from the sounds of things, your kids could kick Jaxxxton Vyper's ass."
"My kids could kick Muhammed Ali's ass." He agreed. "They're representing that bottom tax bracket in a way that some kid named Jaxxxton with two loving, well-adjusted parents will never be able to."
March 27, 2002
"So how is everything going in the exciting world of Adam Banks right now?" Julie asked, walking across campus to the library.
All around, the world had finally begun to thaw. From the ice-coated tree branches that canopied campus, to her friendship with Adam, the harshness of winter had started to fade, and new signs of life were emerging out from under their icy blanket.
.
The last weeks had been awkward; those uncomfortable moments in Salt Lake not forgotten. But slowly, things were improving. Her best friend was back, asking about the melodramas of New Hampshire, and filling her in on frat house antics.
She'd waited forever for the sun, and now she was basking in every bit of it she could get.
.
"Heh, at the moment, mostly trying not to disturb the random girl on my couch."
"What?"
"Yeah. She's uh, resting really comfortably. Kind of ready to have my apartment back, though."
"Okay, that's not actually answering my question."
"Oh, uh yeah. No idea what her name is, where she lives, who her friends are, or anything useful like that. If I did, she wouldn't be on my couch right now. But apparently she decided that the Sigma Chi house would be a good place to chug everclear for the first time, so here we are."
"And how did she make it from there to your couch?" Julie asked, noting that there was normally only one reason guys ended up on her couch.
"I may not be much to look at anymore, but I'm still a gentleman." Adam reminded her. "Or at least, I try. And I'm pretty sure frat house basements aren't the best place for girls who're too drunk to remember their own names."
"How chivalrous of you."
"Really regretting that chivalry." He clarified. "She's laying on the remote."
"Have you tried waking her up?"
"Not really. I'm not actually sure what to do about this.
He paused, glancing around his apartment.
It was more tastefully decorated than most, with framed art on the walls and a potted orchid on the bureau. Little hockey memorabilia remained; the majority of it destroyed in various fits of despair over the past year.
Still, between the big screen TV and Suge Knight in the corner dressed in a Bulls jersey, it was a distinctly male space.
"Like, It seemed like the right thing to do last night," He continued, "but then again, I was also kind of drunk last night, so I wasn't fully thinking shit through. Now, I'm realizing that it would probably be creepy as hell to wake up in a random dude's apartment."
"Did you accidentally kidnap a person?"
"That's pretty much what it feels like, yeah."
"Nice going, Ted Bundy."
"No kidding." He agreed, glancing through his closet to try to find as non-creepy of an outfit as possible. "I bet ol' Ted was just misunderstood. He probably never meant to hurt anybody at all. Girls would just like, get in the car with him, and he'd run out of things to say after a minute, so he'd just panic and kill them. Not the best way to deal with social anxiety, but sometimes you've got to do what you've gotta' do..."
A thousand miles away, Julie shook her head.
"You know, if investment banking doesn't work out, I think you have a real future as a defense lawyer."
"If I were a jury, I'd acquit based on that. The awkward plea."
"And what if people try to fake the awkward plea?" She asked, now standing outside the library as she basked in the ease of their conversation.
I've really missed him.
"I don't think anybody can fake that level of awkward."
"Good point."
"Also, speaking of awkward, what would be like, the least creepy thing to wake up and find a guy wearing?"
"A Jason-mask and a leather bikini."
"Heh, the leather bikini is at the dry cleaners. Khakis or sweatpants?"
"Split the difference. Jeans and like, a sweatshirt."
"Thanks. You're the greatest."
"Anything to keep from having to visit you in prison after the awkward plea fails."
"No way that defense would ever fail." He reminded her, pulling an old Warriors Hockey sweatshirt from his closet. "I mean, you've seen what it's like when I try to talk to people. Everyone will understand as soon as I like, accidentally compliment the judge's glass eye or something."
"That does kind of sound like something you would do..."
"It 100% is."