Dear Adam, page 4
“What now?” Adam asks, already mentally preparing for our next stop.
“Bed, my friend,” I say, buckling myself in. Disappointment briefly crosses Adam’s face but he gets over it quickly by muttering he doesn’t feel well and leaning his head against the window. As his soft snores fill the space around us, I can’t help but to reminisce on memories of Adam and I in high school. Between soccer, surfing at the beach on weekends, and hanging out at each other’s houses every minute in between, we were practically inseparable. Along with that came plenty of time with his sister, too. It would’ve been hard for me not to develop a crush on the tan, leggy beauty back then, but now? I was a goner. I could only wonder if the glimpse we shared of each other tonight had the same kind of effect on her that it did on me.
Chapter four
Aly
Pretzel’s hot, turkey and rice kibble breath, wakes me from an admittedly strange yet glorious dream.
Levi had just saved me from a twelve-hour day at Bloomie’s. He was shirtless, and somewhere in the mix was an endless supply of ice cream. Dreaming about food is normal for me, considering ice cream makes its way into every conscious and subconscious thought, but dreaming about Levi…what in the world? Was that man really so gorgeous he managed to sneak into my dreams too? I should not be having dreams about someone who lives across the country…unless they’re Harry Styles.
The fact that I dream about food so much is actually kind of concerning, but considering all my free time is spent working at Bloomie’s and remodeling my cottage, I’m usually left heating up a subpar Lean Cuisine in the evenings. And okay, yes, it’s the kid’s version because the adult ones don’t come with those decadent ooey-gooey brownies.
I blink furiously to erase the sleep from my eyes and come face to face with Pretzel, who’s little head is dangerously close to my very open, very dry mouth. I snap it shut and throw my arm over my eyes, groaning. Pretzel, ever persistent, knocks it off with her cold, wet nose and whines. I mimic her, and she tilts her head to the side, ears perked up. It’s almost adorable until I remember it’s Sunday, mine and Emma’s one day off from Bloomie’s. From the looks of the sun barely peeking through my windows, it’s only around six thirty in the morning.
I throw the covers off and trail behind Pretzel to the front door. “No funny business,” I say as sternly as I can but my morning voice comes out a little raspy.
While Pretzel is doing her business, Mr. Barnes clears his throat, the noise floating across the road from his porch to mine. And while I do realize I’m wearing the pajama set Emma gifted me with a million Harry Styles faces plastered all over the matching tank and shorts, I also know Mr. Barnes can mind his own. I throw a pointed look his way as Pretzel and I go back inside.
I check my phone for any missed texts or calls from Adam. There’s one from 11:24 p.m. It must have come in when I was fast asleep, and when I open it, the most gorgeous sunset photo fills my screen. Levi must’ve captured it because in the bottom left corner, Adam is smiling at the camera. He’s standing on a cliff, and the sky behind him is a mixture of dark purples, oranges, and reds. Palm trees sway in the distance and there’s even a seagull flying behind him.
What really catches my attention though, is how happy Adam looks. The photo must’ve been taken as Adam was laughing, because he’s looking at the camera, and his mouth is still slightly ajar. His wide smile meets his sparkling eyes, which crinkle at the corners. I don’t normally get to see this side of Adam now that he works for our dad. Time away from the boat business and family must be good for him. I type out, Cali looks good on you, and hit send, knowing with the three-hour time difference he’s more than likely still asleep.
Emma and I have plans to go to Folly Beach today, but I know she won’t be up until at least eleven-thirty. The books I unpacked and stacked neatly on the built-ins in the living room are calling my name, but so are the boxes of tile piled in the corner of the kitchen for the backsplash. The bowl of sea glass I’ve found throughout the years of living on the coast is sitting on the counter by the tile and I’ll admit, I am a little excited to see how I can mix the two to make the backsplash unique. I saw something similar on Grant Dawes’s Instagram—who is an amazing contractor from Georgia—a few weeks ago and I saved it to my highlights. I make a cup of coffee, pull the picture up, turn on my favorite Swiftie playlist, and get to work.
Five hours later, I’m covered in mortar but my backsplash is complete. Different shades of blues and whites mix together in an abstract pattern, and now I’m itching to take the doors off the oak cabinets and paint them a seafoam green to match. I’ve got the last door halfway off when my phone rings and Emma’s face fills the screen.
“Good afternoon, sleeping beauty,” I answer. I peek around the living room to check on Pretzel. She’s been gnawing on a bone I bought her from the grocery store yesterday. She’s still happily chewing and wagging her tail.
Emma yawns into the phone. “Yeah, yeah. Are you ready?”
“Considering I’ve been up since six-thirty this morning and have already managed to tile the backsplash in the kitchen and take the doors off the cabinets to sand and paint, yeah. I’m ready.” I manage to sound like I’ve been laboring away all morning, which don’t get me wrong, I have. But really, the kitchen isn’t that big. There’s only eight cabinets and a few feet worth of backsplash that needed to be done.
“Remind me to buy the coffee you drink next time I go shopping,” Emma rasps, yawning again.
“Pretzel actually woke me up,” I admit. At the sound of her name, her tail thumps against the hardwood floor. “I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes?”
“See you then,” Emma says and hangs up.
I look at Pretzel, who is sitting pretty at my feet. “You ready to go to the beach?”
I swear she smiles in response.
Pretzel has her head out the back window and Emma’s in the passenger seat. Sunglasses are pushed atop her hair, which is dip-dyed purple at the ends, and she’s wearing her favorite unicorn bikini and denim cut offs. She’s staring down at her phone and squealing.
“What?” I cry, pulling into a parking spot.
We’ve driven to the far end of the island where the beach is a little less crowded. Don’t get me wrong, I love the beach right by the pier and the ability to walk across the street and eat as much Taco Boy as my heart desires, but having Pretzel makes me a little nervous to be around so many people.
“Have you seen Adam’s Snapchat stories?! Levi is fine. Where has he been for the past ten years, and how did he grow up to look like that?”
“What? No,” I mumble, fighting her for the phone. I could easily pull up Snapchat on my own phone, but it’s in my beach bag in the back seat that Pretzel is currently using as a cushion to sit on.
“You’re friends with my brother on Snapchat?” I ask, finally winning the phone from her grasp and replaying his stories. They’re littered with photos of the past few days in California. I hold my finger down on one with Levi for admittedly too long. I know Adam meant to capture the scenery but Levi’s headed into the ocean and his backside is a glorious sight. Broad, muscular shoulders taper down into a firm, tight…
“Aly? Where do you keep your napkins?”
“My napkins?” I repeat, my voice unusually high.
“Yeah, the ones you get from drive-thrus. Where do you cram your extra ones?”
I open the glovebox and blindly feel around, unable to peel my eyes from the heavenly scene on the screen in front of me. “Here you go,” I answer absently. I drop the crumpled wad onto her lap, missing her upturned palm. She picks them up and begins dabbing at the corners of my mouth. Reluctantly, I tear my eyes away from her phone. “What are you doing?”
“Wiping the drool from your face.” Emma continues to dab, a smirk resting on her lips, while I swat ineffectively at her hand.
Why do I feel like this? I don’t even know Levi, not anymore at least. I drop Emma’s phone into her lap and reach for the handle to get out of the car. Pretzel thumps her tail impatiently, waiting to be let out too.
“Why would you think I’m drooling over Levi?” I ask, playing dumb.
“Listen, Aly. All I’m saying is he's more your type than Hudson. You should talk to him.” Emma says, slinging her sequined beach bag over her shoulder.
“No,” I say vehemently. “He lives in California and I live here. It would never work. Plus, I have zero idea what he’s even like now. He could be a major weirdo and I’d have no idea.”
Even to my own ears, these excuses are lame. But there is one big, legitimate reason why nothing could ever happen between me and Levi.
“He’s obviously not or Adam wouldn’t be having so much fun with him,” Emma says.
And there it is: Adam. My brother would never allow it.
I shoot her a glare and she throws her hands up in the air in mock surrender. I turn all my focus to Pretzel, who is straining her leash for the nearest seagull, requiring two hands on her leash and all my strength to hold her back.
“Remember how weird Adam used to get when we’d so much as glance in the other’s direction?” I remind Emma. Pretzel lurches for a bird, misses, instead pouncing on a man wearing a Speedo, waking him up. Dazed, he looks around for the culprit who’s now digging for a crab, kicking sand on nearby sunbathers. “Sorry!” I say timidly with a little wave.
“All I’m hearing from you are lame excuses as to why you shouldn’t give it a shot.” A victim of Pretzel’s digging sits up and tears off her sunglasses, like she’s about to come have a word.
“You’ll be fine,” Emma tells the girl, flashing her palm. The girl, either too stunned to speak or genuinely scared of Emma, only lets out a huff and stays where she is.
“You’re such a baddie,” I say to Emma, picking up a wriggling Pretzel and tucking her under my arm. Emma reaches over and takes Pretzel from me, putting her back on the ground. Pretzel gives her an affectionate lick and settles immediately. “Why is she only bad for me?” I whine.
“Don’t avoid the question.”
I stare at her, purposefully. “Fine, whatever. I know the truth. You do still have a crush on him after all these years.”
I think of ways to circumvent her statement and settle on mocking her by sticking my tongue out in my best attempt at being a five-year-old.
“Real mature, Aly.”
“Real mature, Aly,” I parrot.
We find a spot in the sand far away from anyone else, and I set up Pretzel’s long leash, allowing her to enjoy a ten foot radius for chasing seagulls. Only, she surprises me by curling up beside Emma’s beach chair and promptly falling asleep. I roll my eyes, settle into my own chair, and pull a fun rom-com novel out of my bag.
Emma is slathering SPF 70 all over her body when she looks over and says, “I bet I can tell you how that ends.”
“No you can’t,” I scoff.
“They fall in love and live happily ever after. They all end the same way. Doesn’t that ever get boring to you?” Her tone isn’t patronizing. She’s asking because she seriously doesn’t understand how someone can waste hours reading a book knowing it’ll probably end exactly as she said. She just doesn’t understand; it’s a book lover thing.
“Happily ever afters never get boring to me, thank you very much,” I say, and ignore her as I fly through the next half of the book uninterrupted, happy as can be.
Cracking my eyes open, I blink a few times before looking around and noticing several beach goers have already packed up and left for the day. My novel is splayed out across my torso and when I move it, I find a weird tan line forming underneath. Emma and Pretzel are gone, so I can only assume they went for a walk. The sun has moved across the sky and the tide is coming in again, and I wonder how long I was asleep.
I pull back our chairs and bags to avoid a rogue wave and catch sight of my phone lit up in my bag. I pull it out and notice the time. It's late in the afternoon. I rub my eyes, wondering how I could’ve slept that long, and unlock my phone. There are several missed calls from an unknown number and almost the same amount from my parents.
I click on one of the voicemails, hold it up to my ear, and immediately wish I hadn’t.
A woman’s shrill voice filters out. She’s very factual, to the point, and I only catch bits and pieces of what she’s saying before the world around me shifts, the sand beneath my feet feeling like quicksand. It sounds like she’s speaking another language. I must be dreaming. No, this is a nightmare. My worst nightmare. I look around for anything to help wake me up, but come up with nothing. This is real life. My head spins uncontrollably. I can’t gather my thoughts, can’t swallow properly, can’t move, can’t do anything.
My mouth dries and my heart threatens to beat out my chest as I fall to my knees. I hear a wail and realize it’s coming from my own lips. It sounds strange to my own ears, like it’s coming from miles away. Unable to bear anymore, to know the outcome of this phone call that seems to be never ending, I drop the phone before I finish the rest of the message. Bits and pieces of what I did manage to hear swirl in my head.
San Diego Hospital…Adam Bloomington…bad wreck…coma.
Emma and Pretzel come into view, and when she realizes something’s wrong, runs toward me.
“Aly!” She screams. “What happened? Are you okay?”
My head feels like it’s stuffed with gauze and I can’t think straight. I drop my face into my hands and choke back a sob. “It’s Adam,” I manage.
Her face drains of color and she spots my phone in the sand, picking it up and hitting play. As the nurse relays her message again, I let out another strangled sob. Eventually, she tucks my phone safely into her pocket and wraps her arms around me.
“He’s okay,” she says reassuringly, although the concern and worry etched into every detail of her face tell me otherwise. Her brow is furrowed, her eyes wide with fear. She takes my hand in her own and gives it a gentle squeeze, but the tremor she’s trying to suppress works its way through anyway. “Did you listen to the entire message?”
I shake my head, tears streaming down my face. “I don’t want to know,” I whisper.
“He’s alive and he’s at the hospital getting the best care possible right now,” she tells me anyway. Pretzel sticks her cold, wet nose against my hand and lets out a whine, as if she can sense something is wrong. Emma picks me up and brushes the sand from my shins and knees. “Let’s get you home.”
When I wake, the sun has settled lower in the horizon, deepening the sky to a burnt orange. I reach for my phone to check the time. It’s not there, but Emma is. For a split second, I’m confused, until the events of the day come rushing back, forceful enough to make my head start pounding again. Immediately, my chest heaves, and I throw my arm over my eyes in a weak attempt to block out the world around me. Gently, Emma pries it off and tucks a salty, tear-matted piece of hair behind my ear.
“How did you get me home?” I ask faintly. Every moment from listening to that voicemail to now is a blur.
“I drove you home.”
“You can’t drive a stick shift.”
“It wasn’t the smoothest ride, and I did get flipped off more than once when I stalled out at an intersection,” she confesses. “But I did it. You were needing a new transmission anyway.”
A small laugh escapes me, but it feels wrong. I shouldn’t be laughing with Adam, my best friend, my twin, my other half, a million miles away from me…in a coma.
“Have you heard any updates?” I ask tentatively, afraid of the answer.
“He’s pretty banged up, Aly, but he’s still stable.” I can tell she’s trying to protect me from the entire truth of exactly how bad it is. She takes a raggedy breath, mustering the courage to continue. “Your parents called from the airport. They were getting ready to board a flight to San Diego to go be with him.”
“They went without me?” I cry, sitting up so fast that Pretzel, who was curled up next to me, lets out a yelp of protest and moves to the other side of the bed. A mixture of rage and guilt instantly courses through my veins.
I should be the one sitting beside Adam right now, not mom and dad. I understand everything about Adam, not them. Selfishness over falling asleep when my twin needs me crashes into me. I throw back my covers, ready to stand, to leave, to do something, but Emma gently forces me to sit back down.
“Aly, wait,” she says, placing a hand on each of my shoulders. “They called you a little while ago and I answered it. They made it to the hospital in California and talked to his doctors. They’re saying he’s stable enough to transfer to South Carolina. I think your mom demanded to meet the CEO of the hospital or something and got the job done.” She attempts a halfhearted smile. That sounds like Mom. She’s a royal pain ninety-nine percent of the time, but occasionally it’s useful. She hands me my phone, and I place it on the side table.
“Did they say when he’ll be here?”
“In the morning,” she says. I sit on the edge of the mattress and Emma joins me.
Suddenly, I remember Levi was probably in the car too. “How’s Levi?” I ask, panic seizing my chest again.
“Levi is actually doing okay from what I understand. Most of the impact was on your brother’s side. Levi was driving when a teenager ran a stoplight and t-boned them,” Emma gently explains. She’s trying her best to stay strong for me, but I can still see the worry and fear in her eyes.
Panic begins to loosen its grip on my chest and my heartbeat slows, returning to its normal rhythm. I close my eyes and whisper a silent prayer of thanks.
“I’m going to turn on a Meg Ryan movie marathon and let Pretzel out. Don’t move, okay?” I settle back into the mattress and she tucks the covers around me before hitting play on the TV. Under Emma’s tough exterior is a heart of gold for the people she loves, and I know how lucky I am to have her.
