June, 2002
"Be careful going back."
"I will be."
"And call me when you make it home safely?"
"Will do."
"I'll miss you..."
Adam stood there, still in his dress pants and bowtie from their lunch at the 21 Club, chewing at the bottom of his lip.
.
Since it was nearing dusk, Adam had insisted that they take a taxi to the bus station, refusing to leave Julie's side until she'd safely boarded the bus back to Hanover. Now in their final minutes together, Julie could feel her heart breaking. As she looked into those familiar blue eyes, all she wanted to do was stay in Manhattan. Stay there with him.
Never mind Laura, never mind that he was the kind of guy who thought Connecticut was the most interesting part of New York, never mind the practical challenges of being with someone who couldn't cut steak; all she wanted was him.
Exactly as he was.
She wanted her perfect cuddle partner; the kind of guy who would spend entirely too much on cab fare just to make sure that she got back a bus station that was barely a mile away.
.
"I'll miss you so much."
"You're welcome anytime. Here or Minnesota." He reminded her, taking her hand in his as they stood there together, savoring their last moments with one another. "Laura and I will always be happy to have you. You're my best friend..."
"Better than Larson?" Julie chuckled, pulling him into another hug.
"Heh, you smell better. And you never stole my He-Man action figure."
"Remind me not to steal your toys or take up chain smoking."
"I'll do what I can."
"Seriously." Julie smiled, holding him close. "I'll try to visit again in a few weeks. I'm so proud of you..."
"I'm pretty proud of you, too, Cat Lady."
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
"Okay, so uh, sure enough, practical logistics." Adam began, brushing a sprig of hair from his forehead. "You think a bunch of high school boys are going to listen to a washed-up guy who can't even go out on the ice? Because I kind of fall into that weird grey area where nobody's going to be inspired that I exist, like Travis Roy or something. But also, like, literally nothing about my life screams 'This guy is an authority figure worth listening to'."
Charlie chuckled, the two still standing outside the arena as Julie went inside to go meet up with Connie.
"Welcome to my life. These are the same kinds of kids who made fun of me when I was 15. And now I'm supposed to get them to listen to me? But yeah, they do. Most of the time."
"Yeah, but I mean..."
Charlie shrugged, running a hand through what remained of his own hairline.
"It's not like anyone is mistaking me for Gretzky. Besides, it's Varsity. They know how to play hockey. You're there to put the pieces of the puzzle together."
"I can't even sit on the bench for a full game. I'm such a loser that I have to sit somewhere with back support."
Charlie shook his head.
"That the biggest thing stopping you? Because I'm pretty sure we can figure that much out."
"Well, that and I've barely watched hockey in seventeen years." Adam reminded him, looking down at the face of his Rolex as he thought about how his house was only two miles away; his house with the nice big liquor cabinet, and the big comfy chairs, and the empty rooms where he could be alone and not really think about too many things. "I don't know what's going on with anything anymore."
"Okay, I mean, maybe you'll be a total washout, and everyone will decide to get rid of you after a year." Charlie shrugged. "I'm not saying that won't happen. If it does, you'll go get a different job."
"Yeah, but..."
Charlie sighed, his hands now stuffed down in his back pockets.
"Okay, how much time did you devote to hockey back when you could still play?"
"Too much."
"Yeah. Exactly. You fit a freakish amount of hockey into that first twenty years. And you knew more than any of our coaches...not just Orion or Wilson. You knew more than Lucia."
"I don't know..."
"Look man. Maybe you'll suck." Charlie agreed. "I don't know. Not like that's never happened before. But honestly? I think you need to do something other than what you're doing right now."
"I'm doing fine."
"No offense, but have you looked in the mirror in the last fifteen years?"
"Asshole."
"I don't mean like that." Charlie clarified, shifting his weight to his other foot as he struggled for the right words. "You're a decent looking dude. Not like, in that way, but you know. But what I'm saying is whatever you're doing isn't working. You're not happy. Your life sucks. You just got out of prison..."
"Screw you."
"Not saying that as some kind of judgment. You probably made more money off of that than I ever will. I'm just pointing out the obvious here."
"Yeah. Whatever."
"Look." Charlie sighed. "I'm not trying to force you to coach hockey if you don't want to. I don't care what you do. But you're still my friend, and I want to see you doing something that's a better fit for you than whatever you're doing right now."
"Heh, thanks."
"Seriously. I care about you. No matter how big of an asshole you are."
Adam laughed.
"You're a way bigger asshole than I am."
"No way, man."
"Way. So much bigger."
"Jackass."
"But thanks."
"You're welcome, man. You may be a cake eater, but you're a pretty cool guy. Sometimes. Occasionally."
"Whatever. You're okay occasionally, too. Even if you do wear cargo shorts."
Charlie chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Adam's hair; the best alternative he had to a good punch in the arm.
God I miss when he was still stable enough on his feet to hit.
"How does it feel to be bitchier than any guy in the history of the drama club?"
"They're just bitchy because their eyeliner is always smearing." Adam smirked, trying to shake his hair back into place now that he was safely out of Charlie's reach.
"Ah yes. I see you're still Mr. Sensitivity."
"I do what I can to set a good example for the boys. Can't have them dancing around to Cats or something."
"I don't see that being an issue with your bunch."
"Thank God."
June, 2002
"So tomorrow is your first day?"
"It is."
"You'll do great."
Julie sat back at her apartment in Hanover, the hum of a window unit filling the air as she straightened her bed.
.
Even though she didn't need it, she still had on the sweatshirt he'd bought her at Abercrombie. Every time she wore it, she thought of how his hair had looked in the rain, and how his smile hadn't changed a bit since the first day she met him. She thought of how they cuddled together on the couch, and how determined he must have been to have built the life he had.
The last year and half hadn't made him less desirable; if anything, it had only made his good qualities more obvious.
There was no longer any discounting his charms as having been born under the right star; no longer any questioning what he was without hockey and his chiseled abs.
Laura is very, very lucky.
.
"I hope so."
"You will. You're a pretty amazing guy."
"Well, thank you."
She glanced over at her cork board, and the old picture of Team USA pinned at the top; she and Adam still standing there in all of their awkward, junior high glory.
And, she looked at the silver picture frame below that; a freshly developed photo of she and Adam sitting together at the 21 Club, their arms around one another, their smiles beaming. His cheeks ruddy and glowing. His bowtie a tad crooked.
He was her first crush, all grown up.
And while it would never be the life she'd imagined for him, he was still every bit as dreamy as he was on that October day freshman year, when she walked over to his house to study for chemistry.
"Okay, so which of us is the bigger asshole?"
The rest of the Duck flock had made their way out to the parking lot as Charlie and Adam had resumed ribbing one another; now both insisting that the other one was way more of a cantankerous sod, while denying any personal shortcomings in such a regard.
Charlie laughed.
"I already told you. You're like, every asshole freshman I get, but in grownup form."
"Coming from the guy who tackled me last night."
"I don't exactly think you were the innocent victim there."
"Whatever."
Connie looked back and forth between the two of them, shaking her head at how nothing ever quite seemed to change. Twenty-three years, and bits of their JV rivalry still found a way to live on.
"I feel like there's no good answer to this one..."
"Seriously. Staying out of this." Fulton agreed.
"What? Come on now."
Connie giggled, brushing her chestnut mane behind her ears.
"I feel like this is like how, when I was a kid, my sisters and I would have coloring contests or whatever, and then we'd ask my mom to judge. And her answer would always be 'Well, Amber's is the best picture for 10 year old, and Lisa's is the best picture for an 8 year old...'."
"So this means Charlie's the biggest asshole for a brunette, and I'm the biggest asshole for a blonde?"
"Yeah." She shrugged. "I mean, you can pick whichever category you want to divide it up by, but I think that overall logic works pretty well here."
"That's it. I'm moving in with you. Guy and I are getting matching mullets."
"Hell yeah." Guy agreed, reaching over to give Adam a fist bump.
"No you are not."
"Want to try me? Because I guarantee Laura's not going to object to this plan."
"I'll kick both of you out. You two can go live with Guy's mom."
"Her condo does have a pool..." Guy reminded them, his eyes lighting up at his wife's consternation.
"Fuck yeah. This is a great idea."
"We already have a pool. So do you, Adam."
"But we don't have matching mullets."
"This coming from the guy who acted like it was the end of the world when they relaxed the dress code at the country club?"
Adam sighed, now looking down at the concrete.
"That was a disgrace. You shouldn't be allowed in dining room without a collared shirt. That's the whole reason they have tables by the pool. If you don't want to at least put on a polo shirt, you eat outside. It's not that difficult."
Connie laughed.
"You were literally the only person under 70 who was mad about that."
"And that's why Minnesota is being taken over by idiots."
"I don't know. I'm just saying. I think a mullet would clash with the nice little needlepoint cummerbund you bring out every Christmas."
As she said this, the two Bash Brothers looked back and forth at one another; Portman holding in a snort as he listened to this conversation.
"We have plenty of time for my hair to grow out before then."
"But what about the White Party?"
"I've skipped it more times than I've gone."
"Either way, I don't think it's going to coordinate with the overall look you've got going on." She reminded him, fixing the collar of his fleece Arc'tryx vest as they talked.
She shook her head as she noticed that the cuff of his oxford was monogrammed; his attention to such details bordering on the absurd.
"I'll just raid Portman's closet."
"Screw you, man."
"Nah, you're not my type."
"Dick."
July, 2002
"So how does it feel to be back in Minnesota?"
Adam stared out at his view of the parking lot, and a brown, sun-fried expanse of Bermuda grass, trying not to let the pain show in his voice.
He wasn't supposed to be back in Minnesota. Not this soon. Not under these circumstances.
"It's nice. I missed my car and walk-in closet."
Julie laughed, oblivious to the whole situation.
"Considering your car and wardrobe? I can't say that I blame you."
.
This was not nice.
This was not what he wanted.
.
Minnesota had never felt smaller or more stifling.
Every inch of him longed to be somewhere where things happened; where people had more to look forward to in life than upgrading to new appliances or saving up for a trip to Florida.
The houses in Edina looked smaller. The golf courses looked shittier. He thought back to his dad's office-one of the nicest offices in the state-and how it there was a small corner in the reception area where the shellac was uneven on the wainscoting, marking the handprints of the founding managers. Phil had shown it to him one time when he was five or six, and it had seemed like the most impressive thing in the world to know that his dad's handprints were there, immortalized in the wood trim.
.
Fifteen years later, it seemed profoundly sad.
That was Minnesota.
That was the pinnacle of accomplishment-to work in a place that commemorated employees in the same way the Larson's commemorated a new driveway.
.
"Yeah, I'm thinking that's why they wear so much black there." He joked, trying to maintain the pleasant facade. "They don't really have room in their closets for madras and pastels."
"Very true. And I can't imagine you without your pastels."
"You're making me sound like such a fag." He laughed, reaching over for the remote control.
"Whatever. You know what I meant."
"Yeah.
Adam looked down at his hands as he and Julie continued to talk on speakerphone; both palms still scabbed over from a fall on the subway.
.
New York wasn't made for guys like him.
Goldman Sachs let him go after two weeks.
.
The internship supervisor agreed that he was smart. Hardworking. That in another life, he might have had a promising career.
But she also recalled that he arrived twenty minutes late on his third day; his suit torn and his chin bleeding, courtesy of a slick sewer grate. The subway produced a similar outcome a week later.
He was one of the best interns, but the difference was, those other guys had more left to give. They could be shaped into what the company needed. But what Adam needed wasn't better work habits or a bit of polishing; his problem was that no amount of willpower would ever be able to get his body through the 80 and 90 hour workweeks expected of starting analysts. From a purely practical perspective, he belonged somewhere with a nice big parking lot, and an Olive Garden next door.
.
She sat him down and told him that he might be better suited to helping Duluth factory workers plan for retirement.
.
His dreams were over.
Even after he'd scaled down his hopes for the future; even after he'd convinced himself that being an investment banker was something worthy of looking forward to; that the things he could do were somehow more important than the things he couldn't, he was reminded of how little his future held. There was nothing left for him.
.
"So how are you doing?" He asked, trying to shake it all from his mind.