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Authors: Annabelle Costa
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little velvet box out of his pocket. And this time the box won’t just have earrings in it.
I’ve been sitting there for at least forty-five minutes, scrutinizing everybody who came in or out of the building, when I finally see a guy come out lugging a bike, bouncing it down the stairs rather than bothering with the ramp. I squint at him a little and my heart starts pounding in my chest. It’s him. It’s Adam.
And he’s young . Oh my God, is he young. He’s got his helmet hanging from the handle of his bike and I can see there isn’t a thread of gray in his slightly shaggy dark brown hair. He’s a little too dorky to be handsome, but he’s definitely really, really cute. As promised, he’s wearing a white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and khaki slacks for work, and he’s got his pants tucked into his white tube socks. I love how he doesn’t give a shit if he looks like a complete doofus.
And he’s walking. There’s that too. His hips, knees, and ankles bend and move like he’s not even thinking about it, which I guess he isn’t. It’s never even occurred to Adam that walking is something special, something he might not always be able to do. He has no idea what’s about to happen to him.
Except it isn’t going to happen. I’m going to stop it.
I’ve had the last forty-five minutes to think about what to say to him, but all my ideas sound terribly stupid as I take big strides in his direction. He’s bent over his bike, adjusting the seat, as I stand in front of him. I clear my throat. “Um, hi.”
Adam lifts his eyes to look at me, lowers them again, then does a double-take. A slow smile spreads across his face as he straightens up. I can’t help think about the first time Adam and I met, a year ago at that dinner party. He did the same thing—the double-take followed by the slow smile. I guess even though I’m old and fat, he still thinks I’m pretty.
“Hello,” he says back.
I swallow. Up close, Adam seems even younger. He has no lines on his face. None! Well, maybe one or two at the corner of his eyes (still behind wire-rimmed glasses) when he smiles, but that’s it. And he’s so tall! How did I never realize how tall he is? I look down and see that he’s missed two buttons on his shirt. I guess some things don’t change.
“Listen,” I say, wringing my hands together, “this is going to sound really weird, but …”
Adam raises his eyebrows at me.
“I’m psychic,” I blurt out.
“Psychic,” Adam repeats. I’m certain he doesn’t believe in such things, but he’s still got that amused smile on his lips. I’m getting the feeling that I could say pretty much anything and he’d still keep on smiling like that.
“Just an amateur psychic,” I babble on. God, this is awful. I’m not going to convince him of anything. My boyfriend is going to get hit by a taxi today because I’m the worst liar on the face of the planet. “I don’t have, like, an office or do professional readings or anything.”
“Right …” Adam says. He cocks his head to one side.
“So the thing is,” I go on, “I had this premonition. About you.”
“About me?” Adam stares at me in amazement.
“Yes,” I say, trying to look confident. “The thing is , you can’t ride your bike today. Because if you do, something terrible will happen. To you.” I take a deep breath and conclude: “So you can’t ride your bike today.”
Adam looks at me, looks down at his bike, then back at me. “Okay,” he finally says.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Okay?”
He shrugs. “Sure. I mean, if you had a premonition and all, better be safe than sorry, right?”
I don’t think he believes me in the slightest. But as the older Adam had suspected, he’s doing it for me because he thinks I’m pretty. Even though I am way, way (way) too old for him.
“I’ll leave the bike in the lobby, okay?” he says to me. “I’ll take the subway to work.”
“Great,” I say.
“Just
I’ve been sitting there for at least forty-five minutes, scrutinizing everybody who came in or out of the building, when I finally see a guy come out lugging a bike, bouncing it down the stairs rather than bothering with the ramp. I squint at him a little and my heart starts pounding in my chest. It’s him. It’s Adam.
And he’s young . Oh my God, is he young. He’s got his helmet hanging from the handle of his bike and I can see there isn’t a thread of gray in his slightly shaggy dark brown hair. He’s a little too dorky to be handsome, but he’s definitely really, really cute. As promised, he’s wearing a white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and khaki slacks for work, and he’s got his pants tucked into his white tube socks. I love how he doesn’t give a shit if he looks like a complete doofus.
And he’s walking. There’s that too. His hips, knees, and ankles bend and move like he’s not even thinking about it, which I guess he isn’t. It’s never even occurred to Adam that walking is something special, something he might not always be able to do. He has no idea what’s about to happen to him.
Except it isn’t going to happen. I’m going to stop it.
I’ve had the last forty-five minutes to think about what to say to him, but all my ideas sound terribly stupid as I take big strides in his direction. He’s bent over his bike, adjusting the seat, as I stand in front of him. I clear my throat. “Um, hi.”
Adam lifts his eyes to look at me, lowers them again, then does a double-take. A slow smile spreads across his face as he straightens up. I can’t help think about the first time Adam and I met, a year ago at that dinner party. He did the same thing—the double-take followed by the slow smile. I guess even though I’m old and fat, he still thinks I’m pretty.
“Hello,” he says back.
I swallow. Up close, Adam seems even younger. He has no lines on his face. None! Well, maybe one or two at the corner of his eyes (still behind wire-rimmed glasses) when he smiles, but that’s it. And he’s so tall! How did I never realize how tall he is? I look down and see that he’s missed two buttons on his shirt. I guess some things don’t change.
“Listen,” I say, wringing my hands together, “this is going to sound really weird, but …”
Adam raises his eyebrows at me.
“I’m psychic,” I blurt out.
“Psychic,” Adam repeats. I’m certain he doesn’t believe in such things, but he’s still got that amused smile on his lips. I’m getting the feeling that I could say pretty much anything and he’d still keep on smiling like that.
“Just an amateur psychic,” I babble on. God, this is awful. I’m not going to convince him of anything. My boyfriend is going to get hit by a taxi today because I’m the worst liar on the face of the planet. “I don’t have, like, an office or do professional readings or anything.”
“Right …” Adam says. He cocks his head to one side.
“So the thing is,” I go on, “I had this premonition. About you.”
“About me?” Adam stares at me in amazement.
“Yes,” I say, trying to look confident. “The thing is , you can’t ride your bike today. Because if you do, something terrible will happen. To you.” I take a deep breath and conclude: “So you can’t ride your bike today.”
Adam looks at me, looks down at his bike, then back at me. “Okay,” he finally says.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Okay?”
He shrugs. “Sure. I mean, if you had a premonition and all, better be safe than sorry, right?”
I don’t think he believes me in the slightest. But as the older Adam had suspected, he’s doing it for me because he thinks I’m pretty. Even though I am way, way (way) too old for him.
“I’ll leave the bike in the lobby, okay?” he says to me. “I’ll take the subway to work.”
“Great,” I say.
“Just
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