Page 109 of Again, In Autumn

He opens the glass door separating the bathtub and shower head from the rest of the room. “This seems impractical. It’s a shower room. Who needs a room to shower in? This is bigger than my closet.”

“I need it. And it’s not impractical, it’s fancy,” I insist, walking inside and running my hand along the porcelain claw foot tub. “I am bathing in this tonight. You know what, I’ll sleep here, you can have the bed.”

Adam walks in, stands on top of the drain and looks at the two flat rectangular shower heads. “Why are there two shower heads?”

I turn around. We’re nearly touching, chest to chest. I clear my throat. “So, you know, two people can shower at the same time.”

He feigns confusion. “But why would people want shower together?”

I roll my eyes and walk out of the room.

He calls after me, “Tell me, Vienna, I’m so very confused.” He smiles and leans against the bathroom door hinge as I touch every textural object in this room. He watches me do it, saying, “You know, we’re not far from the lake, I can just take your car and go back home tonight.”

“No.” I pick up the old-fashioned gold telephone on the nightstand and coo with admiration when I hear a dial tone. “This is your friend’s place. We wouldn’t be here without you, you’re not missing out.” I stare out at the hedge maze in the English garden. “And I’m not leaving because…I don’t want to.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” He laughs. “I know how badly you want to take Copper’s place in my bed tonight.”

That phrase pinched something needy not too far below my surface. I exhale, picking up the complimentary bottle of red wine on a table and studying its label. I buy wine based on the price. I don’t know what I’m reading, I just need to look in a direction that it not Adam’s.

He walks up and takes it from my hand. “This place is pretty romantic,” he muses, peeling off the foil. “You know, if we were…”

“Romantic?” I finish.

He doesn’t respond. The cork is popped, and the bottle opened. I lay my head against the wall and watch Adam pour me a glass.

“You were always romantic,” I sigh. It came out more swoony than intended.

He gazes up at me from under his eyebrows.

Just then comes a knock at the door, pulling us both out of a potentially dangerous moment. When Adam goes to answer it, I grab his arm and pull him back for fear that it’s Francesca, but the voice announces: “Ma’am, sir, I have your luggage.”

I relax, and Adam collects our bags.

“This feels like it’s full of bricks. What do you have in here?” he demands, dropping Heddy’s quilted overnight bag on the bed.

“Essentials.” I sip my wine.

“That sounds suspicious.”

He bends over to open his bag and the bottom of his shirt rides up. I allow myself this tiny moment to wonder why he has defined abdominal muscles if he just writes music all day, and then warmth runs straight to my face.

Tonight, I might sleep in a bed next to Adam.

We only did this once, toward the end of that summer.

He had brought me into his bedroom one night when his parents were already asleep. I was silent as a mouse, but not him.

“Aren’t you going to get into trouble for having a girl in your room?” I whispered.

“I’m eighteen,” he responded incredulously. “I could get you pregnant, and they would be like, welp, have fun buddy, welcome to adulthood.”

That statement rendered me mute.

“They don’t care what I do,” he said.

“Must be nice.”

We entered his room, which I had pictured different in my mind.

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