by Abby Jimenez
He smelled good. Really good.
I thought about how he’d stood so close to me earlier in front of Officer Sanchez and my heart fluttered a little.
It had been way too long since I’d had sex. I didn’t date, but I didn’t object to the occasional one-night stand now and then. But as I got more famous, that got harder for me to do. I’d meet men and they’d know who I was and then it just made things weird. I was afraid they’d tell some torrid sex story about me online or take pictures of me while I was sleeping and sell them. Nothing sucks the romance out of a situation like an NDA.
My fame was isolating. It was almost as isolating as my own reasons for being alone.
And then it occurred to me that maybe the last time I’d had sex was the last time I’d have sex.
I let out a puff of air as this realization washed over me. If I was really sick, a lot of the things I was doing, I might be doing for the last time. Maybe I’d just had my last Thanksgiving. This would be my last Christmas. Then my last New Year’s. This might even be the last time I stood shoulder to shoulder with an attractive man.
I forced myself to stop thinking about it. To do what I always did—find gratitude in what I’d gotten instead of dwelling on what I’d lost.
Adrian had distracted me and helped me when I needed it. He’d given me that one video, content for my channel so I could keep earning money for ALS research. And now I had the chance to know him, something I never imagined I’d ever get to do. A few days ago we’d been strangers. All things I could be thankful for.
But I felt myself sinking deeper anyway.
Maybe it was everything hitting me at once and I just couldn’t rebound from it like I usually did. My hand acting up and what it probably meant. Dad, Brent, Annabel. Exhaustion, Mom’s ring.
There was something terrifying in thinking that I might be losing my resiliency. That I might finally be hitting my limit on how much tragedy and despair I could handle.
Rebounding quickly was my coping mechanism. I recovered in record time from devastation. I was a glass-half-full optimist. An inherently positive person. It was my thing. I lived life to the fullest, lived every day like it was my last.
But today? Today took something from me. And the weird thing was I think it had more to do with Adrian than anything else.
I was used to Annabel’s instability and Dad’s and Brent’s bullshit. I was even used to the idea that I’d be dead by thirty. But I wasn’t used to this.
Him.
Adrian was one of those milestones I’d never reach. Maybe not him exactly. He was uninterested and unavailable. But the idea of him. A man I could fall in love with.
I’d never have a husband. I’d never have a family of my own. Hell, I’d never even have a boyfriend again.
ALS took this from me, like it had taken so many other things. It was more than just a thief of life. It stole hope. Dignity. Dreams. And it would take until there was nothing left.
Not even me.
My breath came out shaky. “For someone who’s never washed a baby before, you did it right,” I said, trying to push down the dark feeling I got being so close to him.
“I had to call my mom. I didn’t even know where to begin.”
I laughed again, but it didn’t reach my eyes.
He poured a final cup of water over Grace’s shoulders, and I lifted her out with the towel.
He pulled the plug out of the drain as I snuggled my wet baby, kissing her cheek. A surge of protectiveness washed over me. Because for all intents and purposes, right now she really was my baby.
Kids had never been in my plan. I’d had my tubes tied a few years ago. Since they didn’t know what gene caused ALS in my family, I couldn’t do selective IVF to rule it out. And while I was very glad I’d been born, even with my risks, and many people in my situation chose to have children anyway, I refused to play gene Russian roulette with my own kids on principle.
I wouldn’t give ALS one more victim. It had taken enough from the Price family. I didn’t need to lay another possible sacrifice at its feet.
There were other options. An egg donor or adoption. But I’d never considered those because I couldn’t be sure I’d be there to raise a child. And that was the same situation I was facing now. I couldn’t raise Grace either.
Even if I wanted to.
I wanted to believe that everything would be okay. That Annabel would get clean, like she got clean once before. That she’d come back for her daughter. But I didn’t have time for faith. Not anymore. I couldn’t afford to bet on this and lose.
I needed a long-term plan for this little girl, and I needed to execute it now, while I still could.
“Do you know of a good lawyer who specializes in adoptions?” I asked.
Adrian leaned on the kitchen counter, drying his hands on a towel. “I know someone. Are you thinking of adopting her?”
I couldn’t tell him the truth. He didn’t need to know it. I didn’t even want to know it, that I was going to have to give her up, find her a different family. The pain in my heart bubbled up and I swallowed it. “I just think she needs stability, you know?”
“Will your sister sign over her rights?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
Adrian dropped the towel on the counter. “If she won’t sign over her rights, you could always throw money at it. Offer her an incentive. That usually works.” He crossed his arms. “Did you get everything straightened out with your family?”
I let out a long breath. “Sort of. Annabel crashed the car. Stole it, so good news, you didn’t perjure yourself to the police. She stole my dad’s phone and money and my mom’s wedding rin—” I choked on the last word. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t see it coming and I couldn’t hold it back. I bit my lip and turned for the living room. “I’m sorry,” I managed. “It’s still setting in.”
I had a rule. I didn’t dwell on things. It wasn’t allowed, no matter what it was. Life was too short. But this one hurt.
Mom’s ring was one of the few family heirlooms I cared about. I had so little of my mother left.
And now that was gone too.
“Did you file a police report?” he asked from behind me.
I nodded, laying Grace down on the sofa to put a diaper on her. I swallowed hard before speaking. I didn’t want to cry in front of him. “I did, but the diamond is small. The whole thing comes to less than a thousand dollars. They won’t look very hard. It’s got a kismet inscription, so I guess it’s not totally impossible, but they’ll probably never find it.” I sniffed. “It is what it is. It’s fine. It was just sentimental is all.”
He came up behind me and handed me the little outfit he had picked for Grace. I took it without looking at him.
“Did you lose your mom?”
I nodded. “Yes. When I was six. Car accident.” I slipped the pajamas over Grace’s head.
“Your sister’s nine years younger than you. A half sister?”
“With my dad’s second wife. That’s Brent’s mom too.”
“And where is she?”
I finished buttoning the outfit and picked up Grace. “As far away from us as humanly possible. And I don’t even blame her,” I mumbled. I turned to him and wiped at my eyes. “I’m sorry I took so much of your day. Thanks for watching her. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”
“Do you want to join me for dinner?”
The question took me so by surprise I had to stop and stare at him. He was sitting on a chair. He had his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, gazing at me.
“You want to have dinner with me?” I asked, blinking at him.
“Yes.”
“You’re not sick of my shit yet? Or her shit?” I nodded at Grace.
He chuckled. “No, I am not.”
He wasn’t hitting on me. This was totally platonic. But I liked him and letting myself spend more time with someone I could develop feelings for wasn’t in my best interest—or his. He had no idea what he was g
etting himself into. My life was like a warehouse with one of those THIS MANY DAYS SINCE THE LAST ACCIDENT signs, and the number was always at zero.
I licked my lips. “Getting close to somebody right now isn’t a good idea for me.”
“Why?” he asked.
I let out a sigh. “Adrian, my life is a mess. It’s a mess. You have no idea. My whole world is like a muddy hill of shit, and if you get too close, you’ll be sliding down it with me.”
“Because you have family problems? There’s no such thing as a perfect family. There are just families that do better PR than yours.”
The corner of my lip twitched.
“I like hanging out with you,” he said. “And I need to watch more of The Office. I’m still not hitting on you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Well, at least there was that. God.
My fucking life. Imagine the hot, smart, incredible guy not hitting on you being the preferred scenario.
“I’ll make lamb shanks,” he said.
I wrinkled my forehead. “I thought you said you don’t cook.”
“I may have misstated that a bit. I don’t like to cook just for myself. It’s not worth it. But I do very much enjoy cooking for someone else. Especially someone who will appreciate it.”
I bit my lip. “I don’t know. I have to do laundry, and if I eat with you, I won’t get to it until tonight. The laundry room is crowded after eight.”
He shrugged. “Do it here. I have a washer and dryer.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You do? Really?”
“My apartment’s a lot bigger than yours, remember? Do as many loads as you want.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I smiled. “You’re making this very hard to say no.”
“That’s what she said.”
I snorted. “Ha! Office humor. I’ve already changed you for the better. All right. Let me go take a shower. I just cleaned a house that should have been condemned,” I said, looking down at my clothes.
He stood and reached for Grace. “I’ll take her.”
I tilted my head. “Really?”
He smiled at Grace in a way that made my heart hurt. “Yeah, I don’t mind. I’ll leave the door unlocked. Let yourself back in when you’re ready.”
* * *
I got ready. I got more ready than he’d ever seen me. Not because this was a date, obviously, but because having somewhere to go and getting dressed up was a luxury I hadn’t been afforded in weeks. I was usually just different versions of rolling out of bed these days. Plus, my personal presentation had to be equal to the dish. The man was making lamb shanks.
I put on a slouchy pink sweater and jeans, curled my hair, and did my makeup. When I let myself into his apartment an hour later, classical music was playing. Harry Puppins was curled up in his diaper, sleeping on his dog bed by the sofa. Grace was sitting in her swing at the mouth of the kitchen, where Adrian could see her.
Adrian had a fire going and he stood in the kitchen with a spatula over a copper frying pan, a black kitchen towel draped over his shoulder. He was wearing jeans, a white apron, and a burgundy sweater with the sleeves rolled up. The whole thing looked like a page in a damn Williams-Sonoma catalog.
There had to be an imbalance in the universe. Some poor guy probably got shorted so Adrian Copeland could get his disproportionate share of good looks.
“Hey,” I said, bringing in a basket of laundry and a bottle of wine.
All my fan mail was by the door, carefully organized and in banker’s boxes.
“I had Becky take the donations to the Salvation Army for you,” Adrian said over his shoulder. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving.”
The place smelled amazing.
He nodded to the hallway. “The laundry room’s the second door on the left.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Can I help you with anything first?”
He looked up at me for the first time since I’d walked in and paused a second. “No. I’ve got it.” His eyes lingered another moment and then he went back to his cooking.
I smiled to myself. He just checked me out.
It was nice to know maybe the attraction wasn’t one-sided. Not for any practical purposes, of course. Nothing was going to happen between us. But it did wonders for my self-esteem.
I stopped and checked on Grace. She was watching Adrian cook with her pacifier in her mouth, eyes wide. I tucked her blanket around her, then took my basket and wandered down the hall.
The apartment was a three-bedroom. The master was to the right of the living room where it shared my wall. That door was closed.
Then there was the kitchen, a nice open dining room in the middle with a table that seated six, and the hallway I was wandering down to the left. I peeked into rooms as I went.
One spare room was a lawyerly-looking office with a floor-to-ceiling cherrywood bookshelf behind the desk. He’d turned the other room into an impressive home gym. There was a full bathroom between them, and then finally a decent-size laundry room.
The whole apartment was immaculate. Nothing was out of place. He was meticulous. Even the laundry room was organized and spotless. All his detergents and fabric softener were lined up in a perfect row on top of the washer.
The walls in the apartment were cool grays with white trim. He had dark hardwood floors, except for in the bathroom. That was some sort of slate-type stone. It was all very cold and masculine.
He needed plants and candles.
I started a load and came back into the kitchen. “God, your apartment is palatial.”
I peeked over his arm to look at what he was cooking. He was braising potatoes with some rosemary in a pan. It smelled so good my stomach growled.
“Why not get a bigger unit?” he asked. “Seems like you could afford it. You’re obviously very successful.”
I put my back to the counter next to the stove and leaned. “I donate most of my money. That’s why I live small. I keep only what I need—plus a little so I can have fun. And wine,” I added.
He poured a splash of merlot over his pan with a sizzle. “Right, I read that on your Wikipedia. You donate to ALS research.”
So he’d been looking into me.
Which meant he knew.
He could watch any one of my videos and get the general gist of what I was about. I talked openly about all of it: my 50 percent chance of having the mutated genes that cause ALS. My inability to test for them. My desire not to seek treatment if I was sick. It was all in there. Maybe not dumped into a single episode, but sprinkled pretty generously around. Not to mention all the articles about me and my Wikipedia page. If he did even the barest of lawyerly due diligence, which it sounds like he had, he’d get a crystal-clear picture of what my life was.
And now I could see where this conversation was going, and I needed it to stop. I didn’t want to get into a casual discussion about my possible terminal diagnosis. I wanted to enjoy this dinner.
I wanted to forget the death creeping into my hand.
I tucked my hair behind my ear. “Can I ask you a favor?”
He gazed over at me. Warm, green gorgeous eyes.
“I don’t want to talk about…anything that you learned on my channel. Ever. It’s just…being around you feels like a break. Like, you’re not my crazy family, and you’re not part of the YouTuber world or ALS side of my life either, and I like that.”
He held my eyes a moment. “Sure,” he said. “This has been a bit of an escape from reality for me too. I get it.” He did an impressive flip of his potatoes. “So what wine did you bring?” he asked.
I smiled and got the bottle and held it out for him to see.
“Nice,” he said, grinning at the label. “Were you saving it? That’s a great year.”
“I never save anything,” I said, grabbing the bottle opener on the counter. “I enjoy things as soon as possible. I burn the expensive candle, I use the fancy rose-shaped soap, and I drink
the wine, even if the only thing I’m celebrating is the fact that it’s Tuesday.”
He turned down his burner. “Well, I’m glad for my sake that you do that. I’ll definitely appreciate it. Here, let me.” He took the bottle opener from me, which I was fumbling, and opened the wine. Then he took two glasses from a cabinet, poured, and handed me one.
“Thanks.” I swirled the liquid and put my nose into the glass and breathed in. “If you like wine so much, you should visit Tuscany. Have you ever been?” I looked around his apartment for frames. “Where are your vacation photos? Are they on your laptop or something?” I put a thumb over my shoulder. “Because if you have a backup photo album, I’m gonna need to see it to look for dick pics.”
He snorted. “I don’t have a backup album. I don’t take vacations.”
I blinked at him. “Ever?”
“I drove out to L.A. for a week a few years ago, but I was there for a work conference.”
“So that’s all you do? Work?”
“Pretty much.”
I stared at him a moment. “Why?”
He shrugged, leaning against the counter. “It’s not easy for me to take time off. The firm needs me. I’m a partner. And I don’t mind the work. The money’s good.”
“Do you need it?” I asked.
“What?”
“The money. Do you need it. Like, is there some goal you’re working toward? Pay off your student loans, get out of debt? Saving up for something big?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t have any loans. Mom paid for my college. And the income from this building is decent. I just work to work, I guess.”
There was something a little tight about the way he said it.
“What?” I asked.
He looked away from me. “I don’t know…”
“What? Tell me.”
His eyes came back to mine. “I like what I do. It’s fulfilling. And rewarding. It’s just not…” He shook his head and pressed his lips into a line. “I just can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. Maybe because I just broke up with someone.” He rubbed his forehead. “It’s probably that.”
