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Kirby had been right that I needed to broaden my horizons, and now that I could go out to lunch again, I’d have to tell her that—if I still had a job at the Smithsonian, that is, which was anything but certain with the way Krause felt about me.
I kissed the note. “I feel the same way, Adam.”
I folded the paper. This was going with me.
I went out to his kitchen after showering and pulled eggs from the fridge, but then I stopped. If I was going to change things up, I might as well start first thing in the morning. I rooted around in the cupboards until I found something I definitely had never had for breakfast: one-minute oatmeal. Trying new things could start one spoonful at a time.
The message arrived while I was eating.
ADAM: Did you get the note?
I put down my spoon and typed a reply.
ME: Yes
I decided that wasn’t enough and took another risk.
ME: Thank you and I feel the same way
The hot cereal became warm, then almost cold as I spooned out itsy bitsy swallows, waiting for a reply.
ADAM: What way?
Well, there it was. I’d leaped for the golden ring and missed. Life had just slapped my face to wake me up.
I took the bowl to the sink, washed it out, and typed out the most face-saving thing I could think of.
ME: See you tonight
My finger hovered over the send icon. The screen taunted me. I was such a wuss. I didn’t send it.
The morning Adam had accused me of being a cyborg who never took a single risk came flooding back, and so did my determination to prove him wrong. I modified the message and sent it. A baby step.
ME: I look forward to seeing you tonight too
I didn’t have to wait long for my answer.
ADAM: As soon as I can
The walk from Adam’s place to mine was refreshing. The ability to walk outside alone, not needing someone—even if it was Adam—to watch over me was invigorating. Freedom of movement was underappreciated, I decided. I took the long way on purpose, just because I could.
Instead of major thoroughfares with buses going by, I chose the smaller side streets. I traded diesel exhaust for birds in the trees. The sunshine and bird songs brightened the trip considerably.
* * *
Around two in the afternoon,I finished cleaning up the kitchen. Another cup of tea and a bowl of soup became my reward. My house was starting to look like itself again. Downstairs was cleaned up enough to be livable, and upstairs would be next.
My phone rang, and the Smithsonian central number came up.
“Hello?” I answered tentatively.
“Is this Kelly Benson?” the lady asked.
“Yes.”
She’d called me, so the answer should have been obvious, but I held back the sarcastic answer.
“Adriana Stebbins, Smithsonian Institute HR. I need you to come in this afternoon.”
