Calm Like Home

by Clark, Kaisa

  While I’m concentrating on one of the notecards Marcus plucks it from my hands and inserts it in the middle of the stack of cards between us on the table. A surprised look creeps over my face and I spread my hands wide in a what-the-hell gesture.

  “You’ve got it down perfect. You don’t need the cards,” he states matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah, yeah.” My hand moves to the stack, but he quickly pushes the cards to the side, out of my reach. I smirk and reach to take the top card off the stack and toss it at him.

  He glances at it, puts it face down on the table and recites it back perfectly even though it’s mine.

  “I suppose you’re right,” I concede and we move to pack up our things.

  All our practicing definitely paid off. Just like the first time, Marcus is amazing. He delivers his part of our argument point by point with conviction. I’m starting to wonder if he’s faking his apprehension to make me feel better about being so nervous, but even I’m starting to feel a little less intimidated by the podium and all the sets of eyes.

  After we finish and are back at our desks he scribbles a note on his notebook in his neat hand and tilts it towards me.

  Come celebrate later?

  I work, how about after?

  You know where I’ll be

  The Berg it isn’t nearly as packed as the last time and Marcus gets cut midway through his shift. He comes around to join us on the other side of the bar and his buddy takes over pouring our drinks. A tall guy in a polo shirt approaches Annabelle, her kryptonite. When she makes her way to the dance floor with him in tow Marcus tries to pull me along after her, but his body feels all wrong. He isn’t dark hair and dark eyes and charming smile. He isn’t Adam. I beg off, saying I need another drink even though the one I’m holding is still half-full.

  Marcus slides easily onto the stool beside me, eyes dancing over me, bright and vibrant. “Excellent speech today, Alexa.”

  “It was all that color-coding that really got us through, wasn’t it?”

  He nods and stirs his drink with the straw. “You know it.”

  “Although if I didn’t know better, I might think you’re starting to get comfortable up there.”

  He takes a sip and replaces his drink beside mine, leaning in. “It’s nice having a partner to get through it with. You really do make it better.”

  His eyes meet mine, ice blue like calm water. I look away, avoiding his intent stare, his too-close body. There's never been an opportune time to tell Marcus about Adam, never been an adequate segue into saying, “Hey, there's this guy, even though you and I hang out all the time. He’s never around and I never actually hear from him, but… there’s a guy.” I push the thoughts away.

  “Plus there’s always the whole picturing them in their underwear strategy,” I joke, trying to keep things light.

  He breaks into a laugh, which is rare for Marcus. He’s usually so reserved.

  “To having a great partner,” he says, clinking his glass against mine.

  I’m unlocking the door to my apartment later that night when my phone rings. I dig it out of my bag as the caller hangs up. I spin the display around, expecting to have missed a drunk-dial from Annabelle filling me in on whether or not Tall Polo has potential to be The One. Startled surprise grips my insides when I realize it wasn’t her at all. It was him. I punch the re-dial button, terrified I’ve missed my chance. Who knows when he’ll call again, if he’ll call again. It could very well be weeks before I hear his voice.

  “Hi, panda bear!” he calls out excitedly.

  His tone is bright and cheerful and undeniably my Adam, no trace of annoyance or anguish marring its beautiful sound. God I’ve missed his voice, the way it lights me up like nothing else can.

  “Panda?” I ask, giggling into the phone, wondering where he’s going with this, what it means that he’s finally calling after so long.

  “I've always thought they’re the cuddliest-looking bears and you’re one cuddly bear. So panda.” He sounds so matter-of-fact, as if it’s the most obvious name for me in the world.

  “Panda it is,” I say resolutely, surprised by his explanation. I had taken his silence for disinterest, but he’s acting like nothing’s changed.

  “Listen, I’m walking back to the house and I got a crazy idea,” he says enthusiastically.

  “What’s your crazy idea?”

  “It’s nuts really.”

  I laugh at his attempt to downplay whatever it is that’s on his mind. “Out with it, Westbrook.”

  He takes a deep breath, letting it out as he quickly says the words, “Come visit me.” He goes on hurriedly. “Homecoming is next week, Lex. Please say you’ll come.”

  I smile into the phone, shocked by his plan. It’s the last thing I’m expecting. “You want me to come see you?”

  “Very much. I want you in my bed with me.”

  “I kind of like your crazy idea.” My smile is in my voice now, seeping out of me and into the phone line.

  “So you’ll come?” His voice is eager and hopeful. It’s everything I want to hear.

  “Of course I’ll come, Adam. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Chapter 19

  The entire week creeps by, each day dragging by slower than the last. It’s been nearly six agonizing weeks since we’ve been together, but finally I’m going to see Adam.

  Driving up Friday after class, I grow more and more excited with every passing mile. It’s like I can actually feel the road closing the distance between us, drawing me closer to him. At the exit I text to let him know I'm close. Then finally I'm turning onto his street. My mind flashes back to his return address on the letter he sent me in August, to the heart-stopping feeling of unexpectedly seeing his handwriting. It’s only a little further now. He’s only a little further now.

  When I pull into the parking lot behind the house, he’s leaning against his M3 with his hands in his pockets, waiting. At the sight of my car pulling in, his face breaks into a wide grin and he starts towards the empty stall I’m maneuvering into. As soon as the car is in park he’s pulling my door open, encasing me in his arms.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispers. Then his mouth is against mine. I can taste him, feel him, smell him. It’s like he’s exploding around me, every sense taking him in, rejoicing in his presence. His fingers work into my hair and he lets out a deep groan against my mouth.

  “Let’s get you upstairs,” he grunts, giving me a mischievous grin. It’s all I can do to contain myself. I want him here. I want him now. I want him all around me, never letting go.

  He takes my hand in his and leads me up to his room. The walls are covered in music posters, one of which is a massive black and white Jack Johnson poster taking up the entire wall next to his bedroom door. We head past it and into his bedroom. I immediately notice the CD I gave him placed squarely on his desk, on display, and my heart swells. As I take in his room, my gaze comes to rest on a giant, framed poster of a sunset hanging on the wall at the foot of his bed. Bright red, orange, and yellow rays cascade over a white sand beach. It’s stunning. He catches me staring and smiles.

  “I had to have it. I wanted that to be the first thing I see every morning. To me, it’s you.”

  I’m taken aback by the overt way he has us on display in his room. Why all the silence if he still feels this way? Why does it feel like he’s been pushing me away when it’s so obvious I’ve been here the entire time?

  Adam wraps his arms around me and kisses me, firmer this time. I run my fingers up under his shirt, wanting to be closer, yearning to feel every inch of him over every inch of me. He leans me back against the bed and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. He yanks his shirt up over his head and my eyes rake over his body, taking him in, re-orienting myself with every line, every curve, every contour. Then he’s bending over me, kissing me deeper, harder, tugging on my lip with his teeth. I’m ignited, simmering over. My body is on fire for him. I arch my back and press my chest into
him. His fingers knot in the hem of my shirt and he smoothly drags it over my head. His lips are soft and light as they find their way down my chest, over my stomach. Every kiss, every touch is agonizing and amazing. I soak him in, trying to memorize exactly the way it feels when his skin connects with mine.

  Then he’s working his way over me, moving through me, pulsing through my entire body. I feel home. I feel whole. I feel completely alive. His breath comes quick through parted lips and I feel his gaze all over me, taking every part of me in. I don’t shy away; I want his eyes on me. We’ve been apart for so long and all I want is to feel his eyes on me. And even though he feels amazing, pure ecstasy washing over me, I don’t dare close mine. I don’t want to waste one moment of my time with him. For now, he is right in front of me. He is all I want to see.

  It’s a relatively warm evening in mid-October, so after reacquainting ourselves in his bedroom Adam and I join Damien and a group of their frat brothers who have congregated out in the back parking lot and the adjacent lawn, drinking and talking. Adam hands me a red plastic cup and I’m surprised to find it doesn’t contain beer.

  I make my voice low and playful, leaning in close so no one can hear me. “Isn’t this breaking the rules, Westbrook?”

  He takes advantage of my proximity and kisses me long and hard. “I knew you were coming. There’s no way I was letting you drink one of these.” He raises his Natty Light and grimaces.

  Adam reclines against the car at the end of the row and summons me to him with a flick of his wrist. I settle in beside him, our sides flush, his arm draped over my shoulder, softly stroking my skin. The fingers of my free hand find his leg, trailing smooth lines along the fabric of his shorts. It’s like they need to feel him, need some reassurance he’s actually here after all the time away.

  A group of four guys strolls into the far end of parking lot, probably on their way back from an early trip to the bars up the street. I can’t tell if they live here or are just passing through to one of the other frat houses in the row. One of the guys near the front of the pack looks over and his eyes linger on Adam and me. He approaches Adam, and I assume it’s because they know each other, but instead of greeting Adam he smugly says, “Hey man, you need to get your ass off my friend's car.”

  Adam’s eyes slowly drift from my face over to the guy’s, as though just realizing he’s there. He looks him up and down before replying. “Relax man. We’re just leaning on it.” He shifts to one side to expose the paint below, but keeps his arm draped around me. “See, no scratches.” His face is impassive, if not slightly amused.

  One of his frat brothers shouts out a warning to the guy. “Leave it alone, man. Don't you know who that is?”

  “It doesn't matter who he is. They need to move their shit.” He turns to eye his group of friends incredulously, his expression saying can you believe this dude?

  Adam laughs, but it’s nothing like the laugh I’m used to. It’s taunting and condescending and rude. His body is relaxed, but his eyes are frigid, showing complete disregard for the person standing in front of him. I never see this hardness in him. When we’re together he’s always so light, so easygoing, so carefree.

  “I'm not moving. And neither is she.” He gestures towards me with a flick of his head, his eyes never leaving the guy’s face.

  I'm starting to feel uneasy, but I'm not about to move after what he said. Hopefully the guy will just leave with his friends. He obviously doesn't live in the house so I have no idea why he cares so much about the car, especially when this so-called friend doesn’t even seem to be around. It’s hardly the nicest car in the lot either, a stock Honda amidst souped up SUVs and sports cars.

  The guy takes a step closer to us. He's less than a foot away from Adam when he says in a low, gravelly voice, “I said move. I’m not about to let you fuck some bitch on top of my buddy’s car.”

  The muscles in Adam’s jaw tighten.

  “All right, I'll move,” he says flatly, still eyeing the guy with cold, blank eyes. I feel him release me and in one fluid motion he rises off the car and punches the guy square in the temple. The force and speed of the blow startle me and the guy is definitely not expecting it either. He falls straight backwards, one hand reaching to claw at Adam’s shirt as he goes down. I hear yells all around me as I lurch out of the way.

  “Oh shit!”

  “Westbrook!”

  “Golden gloves!”

  Then Adam is on top of him, raining down punch after punch. The guy attempts to swing back, but Adam is unfazed. His face is tight and vicious and nothing like the charming laid-back Adam I know, his knuckles crimson with blood. All the frat boys who were scattered around the yard and parking lot before are swarming around the fight, whooping and yelling and staring down the guy’s friends, daring them to jump in. One of the brothers protectively pushes me back, away from the fight and the oncoming swarm. Not a single one of them moves to break up the altercation. A few near the front even extend their arms wide as though they’re holding anyone who tries back.

  The guys are obviously enjoying the scene, while I stumble backwards in dumb surprise. I’m stunned at how it took so little to elicit this incredible rage. I can hear the guys cheering Adam’s name and chanting “golden gloves” as I edge further away.

  My feet take me through the line of cars, away from the crowd. Before I know it I’m walking alone down Jefferson Avenue. Even if the fight is breaking up, I don't really want to be there for all the machismo and backslapping. This is not Adam, at least not the Adam I know.

  I make my way along the street, staring up at frat house after frat house, trying to sort out what I just saw. Adam’s actions over the last few months are completely at odds with the guy I know from this summer. Summer Adam is carefree and easygoing and light. This Adam seems to be someone else entirely, someone dark and angry and threatening. I wonder which is the real Adam. I wonder why it took me so long to see that there is so much more to him than meets the eye.

  Gradually the street winds and curves up a steep hill, and afraid I’ll get lost, I turn back. I figure he's had plenty of time to cool off and the guys have hopefully all moved on by this point. Maybe we can get back to being us again.

  When I get back to the house, Damien intercepts me on the stairs and pulls me down to sit beside him. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and studies me. There is caring warmth to his eyes I’ve never seen there before, replacing the cool stare that typically occupies his face. His demeanor is surprisingly relaxed and open, with none of his usual hardness or bravado. When he opens his mouth, the words are soft and friendly and completely at odds with the Damien I know.

  “Where’d you run off to?”

  “I walked up the block. Figured I’d let you boys handle it. I’m not really used to this type of thing, especially not with Adam.”

  He regards me a while before going on. “Just take it easy on him, Alexa. You don't know everything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He tilts his head back and forth as though weighing whether to go on. “He's dealt with some shit and sometimes he needs to let it out.”

  “I was surprised is all.” I shake my head dismissively, trying to push away the rage in his eyes, the ferocity of his blows. “The whole thing seemed so trivial.”

  “That's not the point. Adam doesn't take shit from anyone, least of all some punk from another house referring to you as some bitch. There’s no way he was going to let that go.”

  He gives me a look that is calm and placid and brotherly. It’s obvious he knows more than he’s saying, about Adam’s history, about Adam’s feelings for me, but I don’t ask. I’m still struggling to align my image of easygoing Adam with the guy I saw taking someone down in a single blow, the guy who apparently does this all the time. No matter how hard I try, the two disjointed pieces simply don’t fit together in my mind.

  Damien rocks me back and forth, his arm still slung over my shoulder.

  “This doesn’t change any
thing, Alexa.” His eyes bore into me, like he’s trying to make me understand something I have no clue how to grasp. Finally he says, “You should get up there. He's been looking all over for you.”

  I nod and give him a reassuring smile, trying to let him know whatever it is, whatever this side of Adam is, this new piece to the puzzle, I won’t judge him for it.

  When I enter their room people are everywhere reliving the fight. So much for me thinking things would be over and done with.

  “Man, I’ve never seen anyone go down like that!” one guy exclaims.

  “He practically killed the dude.”

  “Did you see the guy’s face?”

  All these people are thinking how cool it was, when all I can think is what underlying rage elicited such a reaction?

  Adam is sitting on a futon looking reserved, a drink in his hand and a pretty girl on either side of him vying for his attention. When he sees me in the doorway he lurches towards me and leads me out into the hall.

  “Lex, where’ve you been?” His eyes are concerned and his voice is low.

  “I took a walk to avoid the fight.”

  “You should’ve told me. I would’ve come with you instead of you going out alone. It isn't safe. You forget you’re on a street full of frat houses. What if something happened?”

  I imagine me announcing I’m going for a walk mid-fight and Adam dusting himself off and coming with me. The thought makes me chuckle.

  “Adam, I'm fine, really.”

  “Please don't do that again, okay?” he pleads, looking down at me. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

  The severity of his gaze surprises me. I hadn’t realized he’d be so worried. I smile up at him trying to assure him everything is all right.

  His serious stare cracks and a hint of a smile plays on his lips. “Come have a drink with me?” he asks, the sparkle back in his eyes.