Page 26 of This Is How It Started
“Move in with me, Rach. A change of scenery will do you good.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I tell Adam. It’s an understatement, of course. Within a few days, we’d be at each other’s throat. “But thank you for the offer.”
“Well, you can’t stay here.” Adam does a visual turn around the room.
Pictures of Josh are scattered across the coffee table along with the photo albums and scrapbooks I’ve been making. I feel a bit like Miss Havisham, stopping the clocks and living in my wedding gown.
“It’s not working for you.”
I nod. “I wish I could go home.” For as long as I can remember, the house on Vallejo has always been my refuge.
“How about Mom’s?”
We both look at each other and bust out laughing. It’s the first real laugh I’ve had since the funeral, and it feels foreign. Yet at the same time good.
“Besides the obvious, I don’t want to live in a construction zone.” After Mom tore out the kitchen, she decided to redo her two bathrooms. Sometimes I think she’s remodeling out of boredom rather than necessity. Her townhouse was perfectly lovely when she bought it.
Regardless of all the reasons it’s a bad idea for me to stay with her, it’s not home. It’s the place Mom went when our family was irreparably shattered. Home is what I need right now. Unfortunately, it’s an impossible ask.
“I’ll figure something out,” I tell Adam.
“You sure you don’t want to stay with me? We could have slumber parties with Josie.” He waggles his brows, and it takes all I have not to tell him that Josie is out of his league.
“What’s going on with your company?” I’m tired of talking about myself. It seems like it’s all we ever do.How are you, Rach? Did you get out of bed today, Rach? Are you ever planning to go back to work, Rach?
Adam stretches out, warming to the subject. He can clear a room when he starts talking about Switchback. At this point I don’t care that I know nothing about gaming or the technology that goes into creating a video game. I simply want a normal conversation, though nothing having to do with Adam is ever normal. Still, I’ll take it.
“I might sell.”
It’s the last thing I imagine him to say. “I thought you wanted to wait.”
“That was after Dad died. Now...well, it seems like the right time.”
“Why?” I’m perplexed by his sudden pivot. Or maybe it’s not that sudden, and I’ve been so wrapped up in myself that I wasn’t aware Adam was revisiting a sale.
“The money is good, and I’m thinking it’s time to move on.”
“Is the offer as generous as it was last time?”
He grins his big Adam grin, the one that had all my girlfriends in high school drooling over him, and says, “They’ve sweetened the pot.”
“Really?” Why didn’t I know this? “Did you talk to Hannah and Stephen about it?”
He shakes his head, vaults himself off the couch, and rummages through my refrigerator.
“Why not?” I ask. “They’re lawyers, for God’s sake.”
He returns to the sofa with two forks in one hand and a pan of my mother’s kugel in the other. Did I mention that Mom is a terrible cook? But she does make a mean egg noodle kugel. It’s always been my go-to comfort food. Adam tosses me one of the forks and digs in as if he hasn’t eaten in weeks. I run my fork along the edge of the pan, going for the crispy bits. I’m not hungry, but eating is a competitive sport in our family, the only one I’m remotely good at. Adam’s better, though. In no time at all he’s mowed through half the pan.
Between mouthfuls, he finally gets around to answering my question. “Because Stephen’s an asshole and Hannah is too busy taking his shit.”
“What am I missing here?” Stephen has always been self-absorbed, and everyone in the Gold family is aware of it, except of course Hannah. And all of us know he and Hannah are having issues, mostly because he works too much. But Adam, usually so easygoing he could be mistaken for comatose, sounds different today. There’s a hostility in his voice I’ve only heard him reserve for Brooke. “Why the sudden vitriol toward Stephen?”
Adam responds with a stony silence. It’s clear something significant has happened during my three-month mourning fog. Something that no one bothered to clue me in on.
“Adam?”
“A few weeks ago, I bumped into Stephen at Harry Asia’s.” Harry Asia’s has the distinction of being the world’s first fern bar. Supposedly, the owner invented the lemon drop. It’s gone out of business more than a dozen times, then pops up again out of nowhere. Nowadays, it’s a tourist trap, and the lemon drops are crappy.
