Adam's List(80)

I nudge him to slide off the bed. It’s way too easy to push him away, and I suddenly feel guilty for doing it. Just how easily can I accidentally hurt him? “I have to go to the bathroom.”

He watches me with a wounded gaze. “Everything okay?”

“Fine. I just...I don’t think that burrito from lunch agreed with me.”

“Oh.” His eyes grow wide. “What can I order that will agree with your stomach?”

“Just a sandwich, maybe.” I shuffle to the bathroom and lock myself inside, running the water to hide my cries of anguish. As much as I’m relieved that I’ve finally unlocked the emotions that will allow me to cry again, I wish there was a way to shut them off.

The next day is pretty much the same. I watch Adam with weary eyes while he pretends nothing’s wrong, and becomes excited over everything we see. We make it to the White House, but the President is out of the country on peace talks. We visit the Lincoln Memorial and the reflecting pool, but there’s a dark overcast that duplicates our sullen mood. By the time we reach the wall honoring the Vietnam Vets, it’s down-pouring.

The city seems to be crawling with tourists, many young children in groups or with their families. The culture is so different from New York—suits and ties, wider streets, slower paced, less people, uptight—that I find myself mourning the fact that we’re no longer in my favorite city. I miss the energy and inspiration that came with strolling through our neighborhood, the various street-side cafes, and the convenience of the subway that would get us anywhere we wanted to go.

For dinner I allow Adam to take me to a five star restaurant where the linens cost more than my dress, and nothing on the menu is under $50. It’s beautiful and lit with low candles that make it terribly romantic, but Adam sees the light has gone out of my eyes.

After we’re done eating, he takes my hand over the table.

“I was thinking today...we still have to get tattoos.”

The tattoo thing was my idea, and kind of a joke, but Adam wrote it down. “We don’t have to do everything on the list,” I say with a shrug.

“Let’s go, right now. There must be a hundred parlors in this city. One will have a walk-in appointment available.”

Though getting tattoos was once one of the things I had looked forward to most, since it’s one of the few things I haven’t done, the fun of Adam’s list has diminished with our doomed future. It’s beginning to feel pointless, even if it is a list of things he wants to do before he leaves me forever. “We haven’t even decided what we’re going to get.”

The smile he gives me doesn’t look right against his tired eyes. “I know just the thing.” He throws the signed receipt on the table and stands, still holding my hand.

“Let’s go.”

It’s extremely difficult not to giggle each time I catch the tattoo artist giving Adam a sideways look. When they’re done and he’s covering the fresh ink with saran wrap, Adam catches me smirking. “What?”

I hide my mouth behind my hands with a burst of laughter. “I think Rooster’s trying to understand why you went for a... girly tattoo. Am I right?”

The heavily tattooed, hulking man with piercings in places I didn’t know you could pierce just looks at me and shrugs. “I’ve seen everything by now. Guys will get anything when they’re in love.”

Adam comes over to me, hooking my heck inside his arm. “It’s not just for her. It’s also for my love of the greatest band on the planet.”

He holds his bandaged yellow star on his forearm up to mine. I’ll admit, having matching tattoos makes it feel final, like we’ve openly professed our love for each other.

Yet I’ve already decided it will be a permanent memory of our trip together. My memory

of him, once he’s gone .

“Whatever, man. None of my business.” Rooster stands, tossing his plastic gloves into the trash. “You can pay your other three hundred bucks at the desk.”

I make an “o” with my mouth. “Wait, you meant three hundred a piece?”

Rooster smiles, his eyes flat. “Welcome to the big city.”

“These are officially the most expensive, nickel-sized stars ever known to man,” I say to Adam. “We need to call Oprah! We’re going to be famous!”

Rooster’s face clouds over, unamused.

Adam pulls me away with him, waving Rooster off. “It’s not a problem, I got it.”

After paying the rest of our ridiculous bill, we step outside into the fresh night air, laughing. Adam rests his arm around my neck again and kisses my temple. “I should’ve gotten a tattoo of your name with a heart. I’m sure our buddy Rooster would’ve loved that.”