For All You Have Left

Chapter Twenty-Eight Amsel

“Jeez, Ada, you really do smell like a garbage can,” Amsel says, following me into my apartment.

He fans the air and laughs as he does it.

“A ferret,” I correct him. “I smell like a ferret.”

“And they smell like that when they’re alive?” he asks.

I give him a sideways look. “Yes,” I confirm.

“And someone raises those things?”

“Believe it or not,” I say, throwing my computer bag onto a chair and making my way into my bedroom.

“Ada, honey, you’ve gotta get a new hobby,” he calls out after me.

I come out of my room a few seconds later with a bathrobe wrapped around me.

“But it’s the only hobby I have that pays, Amsel,” I say, sending him a wink.

He looks my way and laughs. “Well, do us both a favor and wash the stink off of ya all ready.”

I shoot him a sarcastic glare, and then I disappear into the bathroom and close the door behind me. And the first thing I do is smell my hair. It does kind of stink. Dang ferret. I turn on the shower and shimmy out of my bathrobe. Then, I slip behind the shower curtain and wash off with my new body soap. It kind of smells like dryer sheets. Hannah bought it. She loves buying me things; I never complain. I lather shampoo into my hair next and then conditioner, and then I lather myself with the soap again — just to make sure there’s no leftover ferret perfume on me. And when I’m done, I step out of the shower, towel off, throw on my robe again and twist my hair into another towel.

“Amsel,” I call out to him as I open the door.

Steam pours out of the little room.

“Hmm?” he asks.

“I picked you up some soda. It’s in the fridge.”

“Oh, thanks, A,” he says.

I hear him get up, and then I hear the refrigerator door open.

I, meanwhile, wipe the mirror with my hand. My reflection is distorted and blurry. I stare at it for a second. I feel as if I look young, but sometimes, I don’t feel so young. I grab some lotion and massage it into my face before I scurry back to my room and throw on some old sweats.

On my way back to the living room, I drape the towel over the towel rack in the bathroom and run my fingers through my damp hair a couple times.

Amsel’s sitting on the couch taking a big swig out of the can of soda when I walk in. I notice the ring on his finger against the red aluminum, and instantly, I suck in a quick breath. It’s a gentle reminder that he’s moved on and I haven’t.

“You know that stuff’s not good for your teeth,” I say, plopping down onto the couch next to him.

He looks at the can in his hand.

“Then why do you always buy it for me?”

I narrow one eye at him and push my lips to one side. “I guess that does kind of make me your codependent.”

“My what?” He starts to laugh.

“Your crutch.”

“Well, crutch,” he says, raising his can. “You smell much better.”

I laugh and then shove his shoulder. He moves away from me but still manages to steady the soda and keep all the liquid inside the can. Then after he recovers, his dark brown eyes meet mine. And all of a sudden, there’s a sobering look on his face.

“I heard you brought someone home,” he says.

I don’t say anything until I see a faint smile lingering on his lips.

“Well, word still does travel fast around these parts, doesn’t it?” I ask.

He sits back and smiles liberally. “As fast as always,” he confirms.

I make sure to keep an eye on him. “It doesn’t bother you?” I ask, gingerly.

I wait for his eyes to find mine again. They do in the next second.

“Ada, what we had lasted but a moment and ended so long ago,” he says with a straight, slightly sad face.

I just stare at him with a vacant expression until he starts to crack another smile.

Then, I shove his shoulder again and press my back against the couch.

“I’m just kidding, Ada,” he says, laughing. “Well, sort of,” he adds.

I shoot him a sarcastic glare.

“Ada,” he says and then stops.

My sarcastic eyes quickly turn soft as I notice the change in his voice.

He takes a second and stares at the coffee table before he looks back up at me.

“Do you remember when we were kids and we used to play in that old barn on your grandpa’s farm?”

I start to smile. Only every other memory.

“Of course,” I say, simply, nodding my head.

“Remember that day when that big storm rolled through, and all of a sudden, it was lightning and thundering and pouring rain and we were stuck in that hayloft until it passed us?”

“Yeah,” I softly say.

He looks into my eyes. “I was scared, but you weren’t.”

“I remember.” My voice is almost a whisper as I lower my eyes. I remember the wind and how it howled through the alley below us. “But I really was scared,” I confess.

He smiles. “Well, you didn’t seem like it that day. You held my hand. That was the first time I ever fell in love.”

The sincerity in his voice makes my heart swell.

“You broke my heart, Logan.” His eyes falter and fall to the leather in the couch. “Ada,” he corrects, lifting his gentle gaze again.

He tries to smile, and I do too before I scoot closer to him and wrap my arms around him. And a moment later, I feel his hands come to rest on my back.

“I love you,” I whisper near his ear, holding him tight.

I feel his chest rise as he takes in a deep breath.

“I love you too, Logan,” he exhales, not even bothering to correct himself.