I wave and wait until they head inside to retrieve my phone.
Just dropped Jared off at your place... I guess he and Bryce are finally friends.
Before I can rev the engine, I hear a vibration.
FINALLY!!! Knew our master plan would work out someday.
My face burns and I tear at a cuticle with my teeth.
He says you’re coming home soon?
Yeah. I meant to tell you. Make time for me? Breakfast at Diane’s? Saturday?
My heart swells and I nod my head up and down as if he can see me.
Def.
I close out of our conversation but before I can look away, I see the last message from the night before, the one I had been avoiding.
It’s Rachel Calloway.
But this time, I’m not scared. Adam will know what to do. He always does. We’ll figure it out together. Saturday.
FIVE
I HEAR ADAMbefore I see him. Some old punk band blares from the speakers of the same vintage Mercedes he’s been driving since his sophomore year at Prep. The sound is so familiar, I’m dizzy with déjà vu. When I climb in next to him, it feels so different from Bruce. Cozy and lived in.
“Hey, kid,” he says. Adam’s dark hair curls and swoops in a tousled, adorable mess. I brace myself for my favorite Adam trait, his left dimple. It only pierces his cheek when he smiles wide. Thank God it emerges as soon as I buckle my seat belt.
I beam back at him and he wraps me in a hug across the console. He still smells like lavender soap and the faint trace of tobacco.
“Diane’s?” he asks.
“Please. I’m starving.”
He starts the car and dials up the stereo, making swift turns as we head up the Cove. I used to go to the diner every Sunday morning after Hebrew school with Mom, Dad, andJared when we were little. We’d split mountains of blueberry pancakes and overstuffed bowls of hash browns. Hot chocolate for me and Jared, mug after mug of coffee for Dad, who loved to tell us stories about growing up modern orthodox in Williamsburg before it was cool. We’d listen patiently as he went on and on about his grandparents who only spoke Yiddish and died before we were born and before Dad became less religious. Going to Diane’s alone still feels like riding without training wheels for the first time. An adventure of epic proportions.
“So, senior year?”
“Senior year,” I echo. “It’s chill.”
Adam laughs. “That’s my Jill. Totally unfazed.”
I flush at the notion that I’m his. “It’s probably all so boring to you now.”
Adam laughs. “Nothing you say is ever boring, Newman.”
The hair on the back of my neck tingles and I turn to him and take in his profile. His arms bulge just slightly out of his heathered T-shirt, and the muscles in his forearm stiffen when he reaches one hand to push his clear plastic glasses up the bridge of his nose.
I lean back in the seat and try to relax. I take note of my limbs and my posture, how I sit and how my arm fits just so on the window ledge.Is this right?I wonder as we pass the vacant Mussel Bay tollbooth, the skinny one-lane road that’s bordered by water on both sides, the tiny fisherman’s dock that sells the best stuffed clams in the summer. I can almost make out Ocean Cliff through the fog. It’s all so familiar.
Adam pulls into the tiny parking lot, only six spots deep. The bell chimes when we push through the door and a waft of cinnamon and sausage grease smacks me in the face.
“Well, look at you two! My favorite babies!” Diane tucks a pen into her firetruck red bouffant and skips over, wrapping both of us in a giant, sugary hug. As usual, she’s wearing bright red lipstick and an old-school white waitress uniform that’s been neatly pressed. She looks like one of the servers, even though she owns the place. “Any seat in the house!” She winks, already knowing our booth is free. Adam makes a beeline toward the one with the thick crack down one side.
“Good to be home,” Adam says when we sink into the red leather.
“Nothing like this in Providence?” I ask, pulling open the laminated plastic menu. It’s as thick as a book.
