Helena | Adam

Is there really no way you could track him down for me?

I'm surprised you haven't pawned the phone already. I probably would've.

And nope. When my brother falls off the grid, he's good at making sure he can't be found.

Oh my God, who is this guy? He sounds like he'd be in some biker gang, or just, you know, my sister's boyfriend.

Mysteriously disappearing is his specialty.

No offense.

None taken.

And you're close. The last time we spoke, he was high and trying to convince me of all the reasons I should cover his monthly rent.

Landlords these days are vicious. It's a case of pay up or die, you see.

That could be it. Hopefully he's keeping a low profile then. Or maybe there's a top secret spy mission involved and that explains why he rarely calls.

Please tell me you don't use that line to comfort your sister.

No dice?

Terrible.

Duly noted.

How old is your sister's boyfriend? He must still be part child, part teenager. Some free advice, it's best to avoid high school guys. Take it from me.

I didn't realize you moonlighted as a dating helpline. Lucky me.

He's nineteen, which means I just debunked your theory, haha. I hope your life's work isn't to analyze why guys act the way they do, because you kind of suck at it.

Feel free to take offense this time.

I'll have you know that there's a second part of my theory.

        I knew I should've probably tucked the phone away, put a stop to this, but our conversation was so easygoing and fun. Nothing in my life felt easygoing or fun anymore. Depressing, I know, but true. So far, my twenties weren't all they were cracked up to be.

        Vowing not to overthink it, I tapped out and sent: There usually is.

How old is your sister? She's clearly too young to know better.

She's seventeen, but, like, a mature seventeen, you know?

In other words, my theory still stands.

I've gotta admit, Adam, you're not making the best impression over here.

An ageist and a generalist? You're overreaching.

Fuck.

        The night train finally rolled to a stop, and I reluctantly lowered the vibrating phone, signaling another incoming message. I gathered my bag from underneath the seat. 

        I wasn't surprised that Adam had immediately sent me another text. He was probably scrambling to defend his honor. I laughed softly at that thought, the sound echoing throughout the empty carriage. 

        Stepping out of the train and onto the platform, I tried my best to ignore the phone in my pocket—the one that didn't belong to me—but it felt like it was burning a hole in my jeans. I exhaled a puff of air, watching my breath fog before me and then as the seasonably cool February wind diffused it. 

        Making my way out of the station and turning onto the rain-drenched street, I was too busy wondering what the new message from Adam said. My brain started to break down and sort through the infinite possibilities.

        Despite my valiant efforts, I found myself reaching back for the phone. I'd managed to wait ten minutes—a certified record for me. I held it in one hand and clutched my coat closed with the other. My eyes slowly traveled down, squinting at the glowing screen that lit my path. 

I want to make it very clear that I am neither an ageist nor a generalist, okay? I am, however, a willing opponent. What can I say, Helena, you bring out my competitive streak.

        My mouth curled into a grin, and my thumb hovered over the keyboard as I scanned his reply.

        My house was at least seven blocks away, and I'd started to walk alongside the tracks now, reflecting on everything that had happened in the last half an hour. Talking to Adam Bauer was a different kind of time warp—one I wasn't expecting, one I hadn't experienced before. The night was ticking by so fast now that I could barely keep up, but what was even more surprising was that I really didn't mind. 

        I normally treasured my forlorn walk home—just me and the wintry peace—but the idea of a relative stranger sharing my thoughts didn't seem so bad, either. Taking the quieter lanes, I listened to the ghost of my own footsteps and tuned out a loud car that whizzed past every once in a while.

        Eventually, I fired off a response, feeling slightly hare-brained as I tried to change the subject. The last thing I wanted was for us to run out of things to talk about.

So, why are you up this late? It's 12:39 a.m. on a weeknight.

        After a few minutes, I got another text.

I'm on a business trip to LA. It's only 9:39 p.m. here.

A business trip to LA? How fancy.

Hello from the future! And just to clarify, I'm not talking to you from now on because there's a decent chance that you're rich. Definitely not.

You know, you're actually pretty funny.

Please tell me you're the older sister? I swear to God, if you're fourteen, I don't know what that'd make me right now.

Well, I do. I think the word you're looking for is creep. Oh, and ageist. Again.

Wow, I'm really not doing myself any favors, am I?

It's okay. I forgive you. And no, I'm not fourteen. You're in the clear. I actually just turned fifteen last week.

...

Oh my God, I'm joking. Relax. I'm twenty-one.

You really need to lighten up. How old are you, like, ninety?

Hi pot, meet kettle. 

Shit, you're good.

        I tucked an errant strand of dark hair behind my ear, my smile growing to epic proportions. And I wondered how long I'd be able to abstain from Googling his name, or what my best friend liked to refer to as "brushing up on my stalker skills." 

        Adam Bauer, I mused. Where the hell did you come from? 

        I'd walked all the way to my tree-lined street by now, and I could see my house just up ahead—Emmy had left the light on for me. I smiled softly. Pushing the gate open, I made my way up the steps to the porch. I unlocked the front door as I heard my phone ding again, the sound echoing in our empty, dark entryway. I pulled up my text thread with Adam, telling myself I'd still be in bed by two o'clock.

        Besides, this was probably the only night we'd be texting back and forth. There was no harm in indulging a little, making the most of it.

To answer your question, I'm twenty-five. Still a big kid at heart, though.

Whatever helps you sleep at night, old man.

I know a great lawn bowls club, if you're interested, that is. I'm sure my grandpa would give you a run for your money... and I'm assuming you have a lot, seeing as you never denied that you were rich.

Yes, this is me fishing for confirmation.

And here I thought I'd finally met someone who didn't care how many zeros were in my bank account.

Hmm. I'm sensing that this might be a sensitive topic for you.

So you're perceptive, too?

Geez, Adam. And you're so highly strung.

For your information, I honestly couldn't care less. I'm so broke that in order to rub two nickels together, I'd have to borrow one. So yeah, it's safe to say that money isn't everything to me.

Okay. Sorry. I guess I'm a little paranoid. I've had some... bad experiences with women before. You know the kind of women I'm talking about, right? The ones who have this internal radar that goes off whenever they spot a guy who even remotely looks like he has money.

Gross. In that case, I don't blame you. Rest assured, if we ever met in person, you'd see I'm not like that.

And if it wasn't already obvious, I have a twisted sense of humor. Don't take everything I say so seriously.

Good to know. For a minute there, my feelings were deeply hurt, Helena.

Were they? Aw, you poor thing. I hope you're doing okay over there now. Maybe it's time to order up some room service and have a cry. Let it all out.

Sorry for replying late, my driver just dropped me off at the penthouse suite I'm staying at this week. Tell me, how's the train ride going? Or are you walking home now?

Fuck you, Adam Bauer.

And here I thought you weren't capable of outwitting me again.

Don't underestimate me, Helena. I'm just getting started :)