Pod kůžíUnder the Skin

XI.

Adam stood at my door with a bottle of white wine in his hand. There were still a few snowflakes melting slowly on his shoulders, his cheeks were red from the cold, and when he saw me, he smiled that completely ordinary smile of his, the one that had made it nearly impossible for me to think about anything else for the past two days.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

For a moment we simply stood there. Not because we did not know what to say, but because we both apparently needed a few seconds to get used to the fact that this time we were not standing in a pub or at a bus stop, but in front of my apartment.

Adam lifted the bottle.

“I didn’t know what you drank, so I got white. If you don’t want it, I’ll drink it myself.”

I laughed.

“You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“I know.”

He shrugged.

“But my mum would kill me if she found out I was going to someone’s place for dinner for the first time empty-handed.”

I stepped away from the door.

“Come in, then. I don’t want your mum on my conscience too.”

He came in, took off his shoes, and carefully hung up his coat. He was in no hurry. He looked around the apartment discreetly, almost shyly, as if he did not want to seem nosy while still being interested in everything. His gaze moved over the bookcase, paused at the camera on the shelf, slipped for a moment toward the window where snow was still falling quietly, and finally returned to me.

“So this is where you live.”

I nodded.

“Yeah.”

He was quiet for a moment longer, slowly turning around.

“You know…” he began. “This is exactly how I imagined it.”

I smiled in surprise.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“And how did you imagine it?”

He thought for a moment, as if searching for the right words.

“I don’t know if I can explain it. I just… expected it to be exactly like this.”

I looked around.

“I don’t really understand.”

He walked to the bookcase and lightly ran his fingers over the spines of several books.

“I mean, there’s nothing extra here. No things that are here just because. Everything feels as if it has its own place.”

I paused. I had never looked at my apartment through his eyes. To me it was simply the place where I slept, studied, or worked on my photographs. It had never occurred to me to wonder what it might say about me.

“That’s strange,” I said quietly.

“What?”

“It never occurred to me that someone could form an impression of a person from their apartment.”

Adam smiled.

“I do it all the time.”

“Does it work?”

He shrugged.

“Sometimes.”

“And this time?”

He looked at me and smiled.

“I think so.”

I did not know what to say.

Adam took a deep breath.

“If it tastes even half as good as it smells, I should have come here ages ago.”

“You don’t know if it worked yet.”

“Do you always doubt yourself?”

I sighed.

“Pretty much.”

“That’s a shame.”

I looked at him.

“Why?”

He smiled, completely calmly.

“Because everything I’ve seen you do so far has turned out well.”

For a moment the kitchen was quiet. I did not know whether he meant the dinner, the photographs, or us. I opened the oven instead.

“A few more minutes,” I muttered, basting the meat with its juices.

Adam leaned his elbow against the kitchen counter.

“Can I help with anything?”

“Sure.”

“Excellent.”

He looked around.

“What should I do?”

I hesitated.

“I don’t know.”

He raised an amused eyebrow.

“That’s surprisingly specific.”

This time I laughed out loud.

“All right. Open the wine.”

“That’s a task I can work with.”

He went to a drawer, opened it without hesitation, and pulled out a corkscrew.

I just stared at him in disbelief.

“Wait…”

He turned around.

“What?”

“How did you know it was there?”

He looked at the corkscrew, then back at me.

“I didn’t.”

“Then how?”

He shrugged.

“I guessed.”

“And you got it right.”

“I get lucky sometimes.”

I shook my head.

“That wasn’t luck.”

“No?”

I smiled.

“Just logical thinking.”

Adam laughed.

“Then I won’t ruin it.”

We both laughed.

Only then did I realize that the nervousness that had followed me all afternoon had completely disappeared. I do not remember exactly when it happened. Maybe when he mentioned his mum. Maybe when he began moving around the apartment so naturally, as if he were not here for the first time but returning to a place he had known for a long time.

And the thought did not seem strange to me at all.

On the contrary.

I was able to get used to it surprisingly quickly.

A bowl of mashed potatoes and a baking dish of meat still steaming landed on the table between us. I carefully divided the portions onto the plates and waited a little nervously for Adam to taste it.

He said nothing.

He just cut off the first bite, chewed for a moment, and looked at me.

“Well?”

He smiled.

“I think you should stop being afraid of cooking.”

I exhaled.

“So it’s good?”

“It’s excellent.”

He paused and served himself another bite.

“If you’re trying to impress me, I have to say this is pretty unfair.”

I laughed.

“Why?”

“Because I’ll invite you to dinner next time, and after this I’ll look like an amateur.”

“Hardly.”

“You don’t know my cooking skills.”

“You don’t have any?”

He shrugged.

“I can make pasta.”

“Everyone can do that.”

“Exactly.”

“Anything else?”

He thought for a moment.

“Scrambled eggs.”

“That’s still not very convincing.”

“All right.”

He put down his fork.

“Once I even ruined instant soup.”

I laughed so loudly I had to put down my cutlery.

“That shouldn’t even be possible.”

“It is.”

“How?”

“Don’t ask.”

We laughed for a while longer before returning to our food. I was surprised by how quickly the last of my nervousness fell away. All afternoon I had wondered whether dinner would be good enough, whether sitting alone together in the apartment would be awkward, and whether we would run out of things to talk about. In the end, none of that happened. Conversation flowed naturally, and the silences between sentences were not uncomfortable. We simply ate, sometimes looked at each other, and continued where we had left off.

“By the way…” Adam lifted his wine glass. “This meat is really great.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s just a little bold to put so many nuts in it.”

I nodded.

“I like the recipe. They give it flavor.”

Adam cut off another bite.

“They do.”

Then he added, perfectly calmly:

“Considering I’m actually allergic to them.”

My fork clinked against the plate.

“What?”

He looked at me.

“Well… yeah.”

“Adam!”

My heart began racing even faster than during our first kiss.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because—”

“You just ate them!”

“Elias…”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

He watched me for a moment and then started laughing. Not quietly. He really burst out laughing.

“You were really scared.”

“Of course I was scared!”

“Sorry.”

He was still smiling.

“I’m only allergic to raw nuts.”

I stared at him, confused.

“How… only raw ones?”

“When they’re baked or cooked, they don’t do anything to me.”

I still looked doubtful.

“Really.”

“You swear?”

He nodded.

“If something were wrong, I’d probably know by now.”

I watched him suspiciously for a few more seconds. Then I rested my elbows on the table and hid my face in my hands.

“You’re such an idiot.”

There was silence for a moment.

Then I heard him laugh softly.

“Someone’s told me that before.”

I looked up.

“Who?”

He smiled.

“I think you have.”

This time I laughed too.

The tension that had built up inside me over those few seconds vanished as quickly as it had arrived. A moment earlier I had been wondering whether I should call an ambulance, and now I was sitting across from someone whose laughter was so infectious that I simply had to laugh with him.

By then, dinner had nearly disappeared from our plates.

“So…” Adam finished his wine. “Can I come again sometime?”

I looked at him.

“Only if you stop hiding additional allergies before dinner.”

He put a hand over his heart.

“I promise.”

“And you’ll write all the others down for me beforehand.”

“That’ll be a short list.”

“I hope so.”

He smiled.

“Me too.”

When I carried the plates into the kitchen, Adam offered to do the dishes. I refused. Partly because it was my kitchen, but mostly because I had a feeling that if we both stood at the sink, we would not fit there.

“Then at least I’ll dry the glasses.”

“That’s even worse.”

He looked at me, confused.

“Why?”

“Because then I’ll feel like I invited you here just to help me clean.”

He smiled.

“Then I’m relieved.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m sure that wasn’t the main reason.”

I did not know what to say to that. I just smiled and turned back to the sink.

The dishes were washed within a few minutes. Adam sat on the kitchen counter, slowly sipping wine and telling me about the time at college when he accidentally turned on the grill instead of the oven and managed to burn a frozen pizza in ten minutes.

“That’s impossible.”

“It happened.”

“How?”

“I still don’t know.”

“That must have taken talent.”

“It did.”

“Did anyone survive?”

He looked at me with complete seriousness.

“The pizza didn’t.”

I laughed so hard I almost dropped a plate.

When everything was tidy, we carried our glasses into the living room. It was still snowing outside, and the silence beyond the windows was the kind one experiences in a city only rarely. I switched on just the small lamp beside the couch. The overhead light suddenly seemed unnecessary.

“A film?”

Adam shrugged.

“Sure.”

“Anything specific?”

“I don’t mind.”

I went through the selection three times and eventually chose a film I had already seen anyway. I do not even know why. Maybe because I did not care what was playing on the screen.

For the first ten minutes we still tried to follow the plot. One of us occasionally commented on something, and sometimes we laughed at a line, but as the evening went on, we paid less and less attention to the television and talked more and more.

I do not even know how we ended up talking about singing.

“You hum along to the radio sometimes,” Adam remarked.

I looked at him in surprise.

“Did I?”

“About three times.”

I shrugged.

“I don’t even notice.”

“You sing well.”

I laughed.

“You can’t know that.”

“I can.”

“How?”

“I’ve heard you.”

I hesitated for a moment.

“I sang in a choir in high school.”

Adam smiled.

“Me too.”

I looked at him in disbelief.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Seven years.”

“Me too.”

For a moment we just looked at each other, then we both laughed.

“Another thing.”

“What?”

“Another thing we have in common.”

I do not know why, but that ordinary sentence made me happy.

The film continued playing. The heroes on screen were dealing with something important, but neither of us knew what it was anymore. Adam sat leaning into the corner of the couch, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent. I sat sideways, leaning against the armrest, slowly finishing the rest of my wine.

The conversation gradually slowed.

There was more silence between sentences.

The comfortable kind.

The kind you do not feel compelled to fill.

Snow continued falling quietly outside.

The apartment was warm.

And suddenly I realized that I had not felt this calm in a very long time.

Adam was telling me something about a lecture the previous week. I tried to listen, but after a while I noticed that he was speaking more and more quietly.

I looked at him.

His eyes were closed.

“Adam?”

He did not answer.

He had fallen asleep.

I smiled.

The images continued changing on the television, but I turned the sound almost all the way down so I would not wake him. I wanted to get up and bring him a blanket.

Instead, I just leaned deeper into the couch.

“Two minutes,” I murmured to myself.

“Just two.”

Morning light woke me.

For several seconds I had no idea where I was. Then I felt the ache in my neck and remembered.

The film.

The wine.

Adam.

I slowly opened my eyes.

The television had gone dark long ago.

Outside, everything was white.

Adam was still asleep.

His head rested against the back of the couch, and he was breathing so peacefully that I did not want to move.

Only after a while did I realize why.

Our legs had tangled together in our sleep.

One of his hands had slipped, without intention, onto my forearm.

He was not holding me.

He was simply touching me.

I probably only had to move my hand.

A few centimetres.

It did not occur to me.

I sat perfectly still and just watched him.

Adam shifted slightly in his sleep.

His fingers closed around my hand without him realizing it.

Very lightly.

He had no idea.

I smiled.

Outside there was complete silence. More snow had fallen overnight, and the world beyond the window looked as if someone had turned down every sound. We did not have to go anywhere. No one needed anything from us. For the first time in a very long while, I felt no need to plan, think, or be afraid of what would come next.

It was enough to sit there.

It was enough that he was sleeping beside me.