Adam’s hearty laugh carried back to her as he walked through the door of the exam room, and Lauren smiled. He had the best laugh: wholehearted and genuine and completely infectious.
“Alright my dear, if the universe is going to have its way with you tomorrow, then let’s get you in fighting shape.”
Lauren climbed up on to the table and laid on her side, and immediately Adam came up beside her, placing one hand on her hip and the other on her shoulder. But instead of aligning her the way he always did, his hand slid over her hip and came to rest on her lower back, just above the curve of her bottom. She lifted her eyes to his face.
It was strange, because these procedures were strictly medical. He was never inappropriate with her, never crossed any lines, and yet she couldn’t deny how intimate it seemed: his hands on her body, moving her, manipulating her, speaking to her softly and making eye contact with her as he made her body yield to his will. She inhaled slowly as she watched him.
His brow was furrowed, his eyes downcast, and she felt his fingers curl against her lower back. Just as he applied slight pressure, she winced slightly.
“Mm-hm,” he nodded. “After I adjust you, I want to work a little on that trigger point on the right side.”
“Okay,” she said softly, looking away from him, because he was her doctor, and he was touching her this way because it was his job, and she needed to pull it together.
Adam adjusted her with his usual efficiency and precision, and then he asked her to lie on her stomach.
“I’m going to put direct pressure on the trigger point and hold it there. It will break up the lactic acid and help release the muscle. This is going to be a little uncomfortable, but I don’t want it to be excruciating, so tell me if it gets to be too much, okay?”
“Okay,” she said again, and she felt his hand run over her back until he found the area he wanted and applied the pressure. She couldn’t tell if he was using his thumb or his knuckle, but the pressure was instantly intense, and she curled her hands into fists at her sides.
“Too much?” he asked gently.
“No, it’s okay,” she said through bated breath.
“Alright. Hang in there, you’re doing great. About ten more seconds,” he said, rubbing her shoulder with his free hand.
When he released the pressure, the instant relief almost made her laugh, and then she felt Adam take the pad of his thumb and gently rub across the knot.
“Oh, that’s already much better,” he said softly, and she closed her eyes at the gentle pressure that now felt so good. “Ideally, you should do this three or four times in a row. Can you handle one more, do you think?”
She whimpered softly. “Fine, one more, but only if you do this again afterward.”
She heard his quiet laugh before he soothingly laid his palm over the trigger point. “Okay, try to keep breathing this time,” he said, and when she felt the firm, concentrated pressure again, she pulled her brow together and focused all her energy on taking slow deep breaths.
After what seemed like forever, he finally released his hold. “Okay, that’s enough for today,” he said in a soothing voice as he rubbed his thumb gently over the now-weakened knot, causing Lauren to sigh.
“That feels really good,” she mumbled into the table.
“From this side too,” he said. “It’s almost completely broken up. You should keep doing this over the next couple of days. Have your boyfriend or your roommate do this for you.”
“I don’t have one,” Lauren sighed into the table, and she felt his thumb stop on her back.
“What, a roommate? Or a boyfriend?”
Lauren pushed off the table slightly so that she could turn to look at him, fighting her smile when the hope she thought she heard in his voice was written all over his face.
“Either,” she said before she lay back down on the table, burying her face like a child to hide her grin.
“Okay,” he said, resuming his ministrations. “Well then I can just keep doing it for you for the next few visits.”
“Okay then,” she said through her smile.
“Okay then,” he echoed.
And she could tell he was smiling too.
“So you’re not gonna offer it up?” Jenn said, lifting her glass of Merlot and taking a sip, her eyes pinned on Lauren. “You’re really going to make me ask?”
“Make you ask what?” she said casually as she perused the menu.
Jenn sighed in exasperation before she said, “Del. What’s going on with you and Del?”
Lauren glanced up at Jenn, her expression unimpressed. “Are we going to do this at every dinner now?”
“Oh, stop it. I asked you last time because he’d just shown back up in your life like two days before that. And now, it’s four weeks later. And you see him every day. You don’t expect me to be curious about how that’s panning out?”
“If something had happened, don’t you think you would know? I talk to you on the phone all the time.”
“Ah, yes, but I can’t see your eyes then.”
Lauren shook her head and laughed. “You’re an idiot.”
“An idiot who knows her best friend,” she said, placing her glass down and leaning across the table. “So I repeat, what’s going on with you and Del?”
Lauren sighed and placed the menu on the table, looking her friend in the eye as she answered, because she knew Jenn wouldn’t be satisfied any other way. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Sorry to disappoint,” she said with a shrug.
“How is it that you haven’t addressed anything with him yet? You talk to him everyday.”
“Just like I talk to every other parent,” Lauren said nonchalantly as she took a sip of her wine. “A quick update on their kid, answer any questions, and off they go.”
Jenn sat back in her chair. “It doesn’t matter what the topic of conversation is. You’re not starting on square one with him.”
Lauren shook her head, but Jenn continued anyway. “You guys have a ton of history. With people like that, no matter how long you’ve been apart, sometimes when you reconnect, it’s just like hitting un-pause. A simple conversation, and boom,” she said, snapping her fingers for emphasis, “you’re in too deep.”
“Well, there’s no need to worry about me. I’m wading safely in the shallow end. Strictly professional.”
Jenn tilted her head and made a face. “Laur, it’s me. You don’t have to put up a wall here. Why are you acting like you’re totally unaffected?”
“I’m not acting,” she said, opening her menu again. “What happened was a long time ago. We’ve obviously both moved on with our lives. What would be the point of dredging up something painful from when we were kids?”
“Because you deserve answers,” Jenn said matter-of-factly.
“Well, maybe I deserve them, but I don’t need them,” Lauren said, deciding it was time for a subject change. “Besides, if you’re looking for something juicy, you’re asking the wrong questions.”
Jenn quirked her brow, leaning forward again. “What should I be asking?”
Lauren smiled, knowing her friend was fully baited, and she took a slow sip of wine, drawing out the suspense. “Ask me about my chiropractor,” she finally said.
“Your chiropractor?” Jenn echoed, confused.
Lauren waggled her eyebrows, and Jenn’s jaw dropped.
“Are you screwing your doctor?” she asked, appalled.
“God, Jenn,” Lauren scoffed before she closed her menu again. “No, I’m not. But I do have a major crush on him.”
“Really? Your chiropractor?”
Lauren nodded, a small smile playing at her lips as she twirled the stem of her wine glass. “He’s so smart and well-spoken, but at the same time, he’s funny and completely down to earth. I feel like I’m hanging out with a friend when I’m with him.”
Just then the waiter approached the table, and the girls were temporarily distracted as they placed their order
s. As soon as he left, however, Jenn turned back to Lauren.
“But when I think chiropractor, I think graying hair and crow’s feet and a little potbelly.”
“Not even close,” Lauren said.
“No? What’s he look like?”
Lauren pursed her lips and looked up to the ceiling, thinking. “Kind of like Abercrombie and Fitch released a new line of medical scrubs.”
“Shut up,” Jenn said, her eyes lighting up, and Lauren nodded. “Well shit. That’s got jackpot written all over it. Good for you, lady.”
Lauren laughed as she moved her wine glass out of the way to make room for the salad the waiter was placing in front of her. “We’ll see,” she said, laying her napkin on her lap.
Jenn nodded, spearing a tomato and then pointing at her with the fork. “I’m so on to you, by the way.”
“On to me?”
“Yep,” Jenn said, popping the p before she ate the tomato. “This guy’s your doctor, which comes with controversy. It’s your MO.”
“What?” Lauren said through a laugh. “What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Lauren. For starters, can we agree on the fact that you jump into relationships with guys, and as soon as things start to get good, you bail?”
“I do not!”
“Tyler Ramsey.”
“He was my college roommate’s brother. Things got weird. Try dating a guy when you live with one of his family members.”
“Greg Harris.”
“He was a substitute at my school!” Lauren said, exasperated. “He was always around. I didn’t have a chance to miss him. Or breathe, for that matter. Besides, it’s like a cardinal rule that you shouldn’t date people you work with.”
Jenn grinned. “Which brings me to my point. Guys with controversy. You know it going in, but you pick them anyway. It’s like your insurance policy. It gives you a reason to get out before things get too serious.”
“Please,” Lauren said with an eye roll, taking another sip of wine.
“You can deny it,” Jenn said with a shrug. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”
“Whatever,” Lauren laughed. “All I know is that when I find the right guy, there won’t be a reason for me to leave.”
Jenn lifted her glass. “I can toast to that.” And Lauren tapped her glass to Jenn’s, her smile masking the fact that she couldn’t help wondering if there would ever be a guy she wouldn’t run from.
“What story do you want tonight?” Michael asked his daughter as she climbed into bed wearing her Disney Princess pajamas, her hair still damp and smelling of her shampoo.
“Can we look at the picture book?” she asked as she grabbed her stuffed cat and tucked it under the covers beside her.
“The picture book?” he asked, surprised. “You haven’t asked for that in a long time.”
Michael walked over to her bookshelf, squatting down in front of it as he looked for the small red photo album he’d put together the first year he moved to New York. There were only about eight pictures in it; for him, it had been a way to remember those things from his old life that he wanted to remember. And everything else, everything that wasn’t in that little book, could just disappear.
It was a nice idea, but he should have known his demons would exist with or without photographic documentation.
Still, he kept the album, even though he’d only looked at it a handful of times in rare moments of wistfulness. And then one day, Erin found it when she had crawled under his bed while they were playing hide and seek. For months on end after that, she asked for “the picture book” as her bedtime story; Michael would sit with her and they’d look at the pictures, and he’d tell her the story behind each one. After a while, all he had to do was turn the pages, and she’d be the one reciting the stories to him.
But when they had moved to Bellefonte last month, their new neighbor, a kind, elderly lady named Mrs. Brigante, had given Erin a box of fairy-tale books as a welcome present, and she had become so entranced with them that she had forgotten about the album until tonight.
Michael grabbed the little red book and walked back to her bed, sitting beside her and lifting his arm. She immediately crawled into the nook of his body, snuggling against him with her stuffed cat, and Michael put his arm around her before he opened the album in front of them.
“Do you think you remember the stories, or should I tell them?” he asked.
“I remember,” she said softly, pointing to the first picture. “That’s you, Daddy, when you were a little boy and a baseball star.”
Michael smiled, looking down at the faded picture. He was in his red and white peewee baseball uniform, his oversized hat nearly covering his eyes, which were squinted against the sun despite the giant visor. He was just shy of six years old; the team’s coach had taken photos of each of the players that year and given the pictures to them in their end-of-the-season goodie bags. Michael had kept his in his drawer for months after that, with hopes that when he finally found out his father’s new address, he could send him the picture and show him that he was a baseball player now, just like his dad wanted.
He hoped maybe that would be enough to bring him back.
“That’s right,” he said. “I played second base. Nobody ever got past me.”
“Can I play second base?”
“You can do anything you want, baby girl. How about one of these days while it’s still warm, we go outside and I’ll show you how to throw and catch like me?”
“Okay,” she murmured sleepily, reaching up to turn the page. “That’s you and your Grandma Rose. You were sticky, Daddy,” she said with a giggle. “‘Cause you got in the jelly.”
Michael smiled down at her, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. “That’s some memory you got.” He turned his attention to the picture of him sitting on his grandmother’s lap, his hair wadded into sticky clumps and his face and hands covered in orange goop. “My Grandma Rose was the best cook ever. She made homemade jelly, and apricot was my favorite. And one day…” he trailed off, knowing Erin would continue.
“One day she made some and left it on the table and you ate it all up!” she squealed and burst into hysterics, the kind of youthful, genuine laughter that always made Michael respond in kind.
“I ate it all up,” he repeated with a nod. “And I made a big mess, huh?”
“Yeah, you need a bath, Daddy.” Michael smiled before she added, “My grandma lives far away.”
His smile dropped. “Yes,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual.
“When will she come to visit me and make me apricot jelly?”
He swallowed. “I don’t know. It’s a very far trip,” he said, rubbing her hair, and he couldn’t help but wonder, as he so often did, if he was doing the right thing by keeping his mother out of Erin’s life. When he had called her against his better judgment to tell her he had gotten his girlfriend pregnant, she used the opportunity to point out all the lives he’d ruined, and how this would just be another one to add to the list. She ended the conversation with, “For God’s sake, I hope you’re going to abort that child.”
And he hadn’t spoken to her since.
But he wondered—if she were to meet Erin, if she got to see how smart and wonderful and kind she was, maybe she would be the kind of grandmother Erin deserved.
Or maybe she’d ruin her, the way she had him.
“What else did Grandma Rose cook?” Erin asked, pulling him back to the present, and he smiled, thankful for the reprieve.
“She made the best zucchini bread,” Michael said, lifting his arm to accommodate her as she snuggled closer to him. “That’s how she tricked me into eating my vegetables.”
“Daddy,” she sing-songed. “Begetables don’t grow in bread!”
Michael laughed. “No, but you can bake them in bread. It tastes delicious. Almost like cake.”
“Can we make zucchini bread?”
“We can try,” he laughed. “I’m not as good as Grandma Rose, but
we can certainly try,” he added, turning the page.
“That’s Daddy and his friend at bagruation,” Erin said.
“Graduation,” Michael corrected softly, his eyes on the picture.
“Hey!” Erin squealed, sitting up suddenly, pointing at the picture. “That’s Miss Lauren!”
Michael stared at the picture, although he hardly needed to. He had looked at it so often after he first left Scranton that he could close his eyes and conjure it up with perfect clarity.
He stood several inches taller than her in his black graduation gown, his lips curved into a slight smile as he looked down at her. Lauren leaned into him with one arm extended, holding the camera away from them as she took the picture. Her head was resting against his chest, her dark red hair spilling over his gown as she smiled at the camera.
Her smile was always his favorite part.
She smiled straight up to her eyes, so happy to be next to him, so proud of him that day. She was the only one who had showed up for him, standing and clapping when his name was called, whistling loudly as he walked across the stage, and taking the one and only picture of him in his graduation attire because, as she had beamed, “Everyone needs to remember their graduation day.”
“Miss Lauren dances with us,” Erin said matter-of-factly as she laid back down.
“Oh yeah?” Michael answered, still lost in the picture.
“Yes. And if someone’s sad, she hugs them. Once, Kayla was crying because she missed her mommy, and Miss Lauren taught her the Brave Song. And then she taught it to everyone. And she promised if we sing it when we’re scared, we’ll feel brave.”
Michael smiled, pulling his eyes from the picture to look down at his daughter. “Didn’t I tell you Miss Lauren was nice?”
“Yes,” she said with a nod. “I think she’s really a princess, but she just forgets to wear her crown.”
“I think so too,” Michael said, and his voice wasn’t as upbeat as he intended; he dropped his eyes and swallowed before turning the page.
“That’s Daddy and Uncle Aaron,” Erin said. “That’s how I got my name. Aaron, Erin. Erin, Aaron,” she sang, moving her shoulders in a little dance beside him.
Kiss Kiss Page 31
