Page 121 of Again, In Autumn

“I know.” I spoon my green icing into a bag.

“She’s just going to keep doing it. The way she expects you to solve her problems for her…it’s not fair.”

I sigh. “Her mother died in a car accident when she was twelve.”

Adam puts two fingers under my chin and forces me to look at him. His brow furrows. “So did yours.”

“She’s more fragile than I am.”

“That doesn’t mean she can walk all over you.” His hand moves to gently grip my jaw. “She’s a grown up. Help her when she needs it. Finding her child in a field and taking him to the bathroom does not require your help.”

He drops his hand, and I busily organize my piping bags into rainbow order. “It’s hard to find the words to stand up for myself,” I admit.

“It takes practice.”

I’m good at practice when it’s something I feel confident I can do. I’ve never struggled to work on tumble skills or study for a test or hone my bread kneading technique. But, Heddy has tried to get me to meditate for years. I told her once that I could not do it, my mind refused to be quiet. I just can’t do it.

“It’s not going to be suddenly quiet,” she told me. “Meditation is about noticing the thought and choosing not to engage with it. Let it go. It’s a practice. You can’t do it once and all of a sudden think you’ve mastered the art of meditation.”

Adam echoes those same sentiments, saying, “The more you stand up to her, the easier it will get and the less she’s going to do that to you. She didn’t ask Kate or Caroline to take him. She didn’t wait for David to get back.”

“It’s always been me,” I explain. “Because I’m the one who has always been there. I’m the one who will never leave her.”

He says, “You told me once that she didn’t realize she was doing it. I think that’s true, too. So just make her realize it.”

The timer rings out and Adam goes to open the oven. He puts one sheet of cookies on a cooling rack, and I put the other sheet on another.

I say, “After they cool, I can ice them.”

He nods, looking around the room. “What do we do in the meantime?”

“I’m not sword fighting wooden spoons with you.”

“I wouldn’t mind some mistletoe right about now,” he teases, raising a brow.

I shove his shoulder lightly.

“What?” Adam throws his hands up laughing. “It’s Christmas! I’m just saying that I love Christmas, and I love Christmas decorations.”

“What’s a cold, windy Chicago Christmas, like?” I ask, filling a glass with tap water.

He wanders around the little kitchen, opening drawers to check out their contents. His head pops up. “It’s really cool.” He holds up a bag of small white beans, with question.

“For pie crusts.”

He puts them back. “Anyway, I go to this bar every year and they cover the ceiling in Christmas lights, it’s insane. You would love it.”

We stand on opposite sides of the kitchen.

Adam cocks his head. “…but I’ll be in Atlanta for Christmas. With my dad.”

“You don’t spend it with your mom?”

He scratches his jaw. “Yeah, no. She doesn’t invite me.”

“Sorry,” I offer.

“It’s okay.” He pushes off the counter and walks toward me while I sip water slowly. “I spend a lot of time in Atlanta, actually. My dad and I have gotten pretty close since he retired.” He sidles up next to me. “I got to teach my half-brother, Luke, how to fish over his Spring Break. We went to a Braves’ game and ate great barbecue. I like Atlanta.”

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