Page 71 of Love in the Stacks
“No, of course not,” I say softly. I try to take his hand, but he pulls away. I feel panic inching up my throat as my heart hammers in my chest. I have the sudden sense that I’m losing everything and that nothing I can do will stop it.
A thought comes from the back of my mind, like a pinprick of light in the fog.Breathe, it says.Breathe. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, holding it for seven seconds before exhaling gently through my mouth. Once I do, the panic slowly recedes, and I’m left feeling solid and strong.
I take Adam’s hand again, softly rubbing my thumb against his palm. This time, he lets me.
“I would never ask you to fight my battles for me,” I tell him.
His expression changes again, to remorse as the brown of his eyes sharpens into amber.
“And I would never let you fight alone,” he rejoins, his voice gruff.
“I know.” I look him straight in the eye so he can see my sincerity and my trust in him. “I’m sorry.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry, too. I overreacted.”
I smile slowly and squeeze his hand. “Was that our first fight?”
“Yeah, I think it was,” he answers, but he sounds tired.
Fluttering my eye lashes, I grin and tease, “Too bad we can’t make up, since we’re at work and all.”
He finally smiles, and my relief at seeing him back at ease with me is palpable. He squeezes my hand. “Later,” he promises.
Chapter thirty-three
Adam
Iemail Herb my spreadsheet of the graphic novels and we wait. Two weeks go by, and we don’t hear anything else, but Nicole’s nervous energy is ramping up, and I’m on edge. Not really because of the graphic novel controversy and not really because of Nicole, but because my daily routine is no longer as consistent as it was. I’ve been stretching and growing my comfort zone on a weekly basis, or so it feels.
I remember my mom’s questions back around Christmas.Is she the type that will get you out of the house? Who won’t let you miss out on life?I’m now out of my house a lot more, much to Joan’s consternation, and life is coming at me so fast, I’d have to be blind to miss it. Apparently, I am now the type of person who makes out with a woman in the library where he works. I’m the type of person involved in defending against book banning plots. I’m a person whobuys junk food, not that I really eat it, mind you, but buys junk food just to see Nicole’s shoulders scrunch up, her eyes squeeze shut, and that closed-lipped, satisfied smile spread across her face. I’m the first to admit that I’m happier than I remember being ever, but I’m also tense more often. I’ve traded my loneliness for, like, the entire spectrum of human emotion and it’s throwing me for a loop.
Ever since my overreaction after our meeting with Herb, Nicole watches me more closely as if trying to tune into my emotions and get in front of them. Her anxiety about how I’m feeling adds another emotion to my mix: guilt.
Soon after Nicole shared her depression and anxiety struggles with me, while I was in Naples with my mom, in fact, I started researching. I learned more about the conditions, and found lists of ways I can support her.
I want her to feel secure with me. I want her to rest in my presence, not worry. I want her to want me as much as I want her. I want her to be successful in everything she does at work. I want her to be all of her and feel confident in that. And all the wanting is leaving me exhausted.
Nicole notices. One evening, we’re at my house, lounging on the couch after eating the dinner I cooked for us. Joan is snuggling against one of my sides, and Nicole’s laying back against the armrest on the other, her thighs and knees across my lap. We’re bingingGilmore Girls, which I unabashedly love, thank you very much, and don’t feel emasculated for it at all.
In between episodes, we pause to decide whether to watch one more or call it a night. Nicole sits up, and linking her arm throughmine, lays her head on my shoulder. She was not kidding about being affectionate. Other than at work, she always has her hand on my arm, or my shoulder, or wrapped in mine. And I was not kidding about appreciating her affection. When we’re touching, I feel balanced, like she’s the ballast that holds my body steady.
“Adam,” she starts, and I hear the hesitation in her voice. “Is everything okay? Are you still feeling good about us?”
The worry in her tone crushes me, and I recommit then and there to be as transparent as possible with this woman, to communicate with her so she doesn’t have to wonder or worry. She still will, I recognize, but I can at least make sure she knows how I’m feeling.
I kiss the top of her head. “I feel amazing about us. You’re literally my dream woman, Nicole.”
She tilts her head up to look at my face. “But something is bothering you.” It’s not a question.
I sigh. “It’s just uncomfortable being out of my comfort zone,” I admit. “You’ve turned my world upside down, and I needed it, but it’s just a lot.”
She frowns. “I’m a lot?”
I lean forward and kiss her lips gently, leaning my forehead against hers. “No, you’re not a lot. You’re the perfect amount. But just all of this living life instead of just existing in it is a lot to adjust to. But well worth it, mostly because of you.”
With her so close next to me, I feel her shoulders loosen, the tension easing. “Because I’m a good kisser?” she teases.
My lips curl into a smile. “Because you’re a good everything,” I answer.
