Every Other Weekend(10)

“What was that about?”

“It’s about you being an ass,” I said. “Call Mom.”





   Jolene

The doorbell rang as I was looking over the footage I’d shot on the balcony yesterday and trying to decide if the poor lighting was a cool stylistic feature or if I’d ruined the shot. I was about to hit Pause on my laptop when those last few seconds, the ones of Adam peering at me from his balcony, began playing. The fading sunlight lit only half his face, revealing a slight pinch between his brows that said he was curious despite his annoyance.

The lighting, I decided, had been perfect.

With a sigh, I went to answer the door. It was way too soon for the Chinese food I’d ordered, unless they had a time machine. I didn’t really expect it to be my lunch when I opened my door, but nearly as surprising as time-traveling delivery guys was the person actually standing there.

“Come to bum a smoke?” I asked.

Adam started to blush, and unlike the night before, I didn’t find the muddled red color marching up his neck to be that appealing. “I have a favor to ask.”

I leaned my shoulder into the doorframe. “Yeah, no. You were a punk yesterday, so I’m not inclined to do much of anything for you.”

“You owe me,” he said, his blush continuing to spread until his ears glowed pink. “For the cigarette.”

“Wrong. Try again. No one forced you jump onto my balcony and take that cigarette from my hand. I certainly didn’t make you smoke it.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. What do you even want anyway?” I asked, curiosity winning out over the smug superiority I was feigning. Adam’s lips thinned, and my interest rose. He was not at all excited about what he was going to ask me.

“I need to take a picture of you.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

Adam was looking everywhere but at me.

“What kind of picture?”

“A normal picture.”

“Why?”

I hadn’t thought he could get any redder, but he did. “It’s for my mom.”

“I don’t even know what that means, but forget it.” I started to close my door, but Adam caught it.

“Look, I’m not trying to be creepy—”

“Well, you totally are, so let go of my door.”

“I’ll do something for you in exchange. I’ll smoke as many cigarettes as you want, whatever.”

Our tug-of-war with my door halted. He was serious. His hazel eyes were focused on mine, and even though he wasn’t really preventing me from jerking my door free if I wanted, he was desperate. For a picture of me. My skin prickled. “Fine, I’m listening.”

“Yeah?”

When I nodded, he let go of the door. So trusting. I was tempted to slam it in his face as a learning experience. I didn’t though. My cigarettes weren’t going to smoke themselves.

“I told you last night that my parents were separated—”

“You told me many things last night.”

“And I’m going to apologize about most of those things, just let me get this out.”

I could have told him that leading with an apology when you wanted something was always a better idea but I waved him on.

“My mom likes to pretend that she’s fine—both my parents do—but it kills her that we’re here. She’s not great with being alone.” He swallowed, and I wondered for a minute if he was going to tear up. The prospect made me step back. I couldn’t imagine feeling my mother’s pain so keenly that it became my pain, too. “I think she’s worried that Jeremy and I are going to pull away from her, too, and decide we like it better over here with our dad.” He shook his head like the idea was ludicrous.

I crossed my arms. “Sounds like you need to send her a picture of your apartment.” No one would willingly spend time at Oak Village unless they were legally forced to, like for a court-mandated custody agreement in my case, or if you were trying to convince a judge that you were too broke to pay more alimony like in my dad’s case.

“It’s more than convincing her I want to stay with her,” Adam said. “She can’t think I’m miserable over here either, or she’ll feel worse and blame herself for putting me through it. I don’t want to her upset if I can help it.”

Now I was getting pissed. My skin was still prickling but it was growing hot. This was heading into “Gift of the Magi” territory, and I could already feel something rising in my throat. “Get to the point of the picture, Adam.”

“I told her I met a girl. You.”

“You did meet a girl. Me.” I was being deliberately obtuse, but it seemed only fair to make him suffer a little while his parents both fought over him because they actually wanted to see him. The rising bile lodged itself in my throat and burned before I could push it—and the thought that caused it—down again.

“I led her to believe that things went a little better between us than they actually did.”

“You mean you didn’t tell her about calling my family messed up and denouncing my pettiness?” I wagged my finger at him. “You shouldn’t lie to your mother, Adam.”

“Thank you for the morality lesson. The point is I told her about the girl in the apartment next door, and it made her happy. I like making her happy, and it will make her really happy if I show her a picture of you.”