Watch Over Me

by Mila Gray

  When I pop it open I find a baseball card. I laugh out loud and carry it over to the cash desk, where I’m met by Tristan and a flustered but beaming Kate.

  She hands me something on a hanger, and I take two steps back in fright. “What the hell is that?” I ask in horror.

  It’s a swimsuit in a garish neon green, with giant red lips splashed all over it.

  “Now you can be a Kardashian,” she tells me.

  I take it as if it’s made of radioactive fibers. Used undergarments make me shudder. It’s so hideous I think Kate might have won.

  “And this,” she says, turning to Tristan, “is for you.” She hands him a Hawaiian shirt in banana yellow and tangerine orange.

  “I think I might wear this to Kit and Jessa’s wedding,” Tristan says, holding it up against his chest to check the measurement.

  Kate isn’t sure if he’s joking, and neither am I.

  It’s Tristan’s turn. He unloads his pile of goodies on the counter. “For you,” he says to Kate, handing her a Chinese waving cat.

  She grabs it in delight. “I love it!” she says. “These are super lucky! They’re supposed to bring you money. And I could use money. I need to pay Zoey back.”

  Tristan frowns, not having expected such a positive reaction. “This is for you,” he says to me, handing me a Medusa wig, green nylon hair woven through with plastic snakes. “Figured you could wear it on Halloween,” he says. “I know how much you love those Greek gods.”

  “Medusa was a monster, not a goddess.” I pull on the wig.

  “Still beautiful,” says Tristan, kissing me.

  “Disgusting,” grumbles Kate, though I can’t tell if she means the display of affection or the wig.

  “I also got you this.” He picks up a box from the floor and hands it to me. It’s the Game of Life. I start laughing, taking it from his hands. “I’m going to thrash you,” I tell him.

  “That a promise?” He smirks.

  “Okay, my turn,” I say, rolling my eyes at him. I hand Kate the MEOWY CATMUS sweater.

  “This isn’t hideous,” Kate says, holding it up. “I would totally wear this.”

  “Oh, really?” I ask. “Go on, then.”

  “At Christmas,” she prevaricates. “Obviously, I can’t wear it now, because it’s summer and people would look at me weird.”

  “I think they would look at you weird regardless of when you wore it,” Tristan counters.

  I hand Tristan his bacon suit puzzle. He stares at it quizzically, Kate peering over his shoulder. “That’s so wrong,” Kate finally says.

  “I think it looks quite tasty,” Tristan remarks. “A suit you can eat. That’s actually quite clever.”

  “Who wins?” Kate asks, looking between Tristan and me.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Shall we call it a tie?”

  Kate sighs. “Okay, I guess so. “What’s that?” Kate asks, pointing at the other goods in my hand. I show them the tin I discovered and the baseball card inside it.

  Tristan frowns at the card, then takes the tin as though it’s the Ark of the Covenant. Holding it in both his hands, he stares at the card in awe, and Kate starts laughing at him.

  Tristan looks at me, his smile vanished, his face turning pale. “Do you know what this is?” he asks in a hushed tone.

  “A baseball card,” I say. “I thought you might like it.”

  “No,” he says, thrusting the tin back at me with urgency. “You have to keep it.”

  I take the tin, confused, as he glances furtively over his shoulder at the cashier, but she’s busy ringing up another customer’s items.

  “I think it might be worth something,” Tristan says quietly.

  Kate’s eyes light up. She stares at me, then at Tristan. “How much?” she asks.

  Tristan shrugs. “It’s a signed 1959 Willie Mays. I don’t know for sure, but something.”

  The customer is done at the desk, and before I can stop him, Tristan walks quickly over to the cashier with all our things. “How much is this?” he asks, nonchalantly holding up the tin.

  The cashier pulls the glasses down off the top of her head and peers at it, befuddled. She glances at the card but seems to consider it a piece of trash. “It didn’t have a price on it?” she asks.

  “No,” I interject. “I found it in a box under that shelf.” I point, and she looks over at where I’m pointing.

  “Oh, those items are all on sale. Give me a dollar and we’ll call it a deal.”

  Kate spears me between the ribs with her elbow and looks ready to burst like an overfilled helium balloon. I ignore her and look at the lady holding out her palm and Tristan pulling out his wallet, rifling through it for a dollar bill. Is that fair? Are we defrauding the thrift store by not admitting we’re in possession of something that could be valuable? But Tristan is already handing over the dollar. Plus another ten for the wig and the waving cat.

  Kate keeps digging into me even harder with her elbow. I turn to her. She shoves her phone under my nose and jabs her finger at the website page she’s called up. It’s a baseball card forum, and there’s a picture of the exact card from the tin alongside a figure that makes me blink twice to make sure I’ve read it correctly.

  “You ready?” the cashier asks me. I’m too stunned to reply, so Kate dumps all our stuff on the counter and hands over a twenty-dollar bill, before grabbing the change and all the items and hustling me outside.

  Once we’re inside the safety of the car, Tristan hands me the tin.

  “But I bought it for you,” I tell him, refusing to take it.

  “No,” he says, shaking the bacon suit puzzle in my face, “you got me this. That’s yours,” he insists, pushing it into my hands.

  “But,” I start to argue.

  “Don’t argue with him!” Kate hollers from the back seat. “It’s worth almost ten thousand dollars!”

  “How much?” Tristan asks, whipping around.

  “Ten thousand dollars,” Kate repeats, showing him her phone.

  He takes the phone and studies the website and then shakes his head in astonishment. “I knew it was worth something, but I didn’t know it was worth that much.”

  I take a deep breath and then push the card back toward him. “Have it,” I tell him.

  He shakes his head at me, grinning. “Seriously, Zoey, stop offering it to me. I’m not taking it. Think what you could do with the money.”

  TRISTAN

  Payday,” I say when Zoey lands on another green square.

  As I hand over the money from the bank, she narrows her eyes at me. “You’re letting me win,” she says.

  “Never,” I answer, and it’s true. “I had a ski accident and got screwed on my taxes,” I point out.

  “You also have four kids.” She laughs, nodding at the four plastic pegs in my little plastic car. “And children are expensive.”

  “But I want four kids,” I argue.

  “Well, I hope they figure out a way for men to give birth, because no way I’m having more than two.” She slams her mouth shut and flushes a shade of beetroot. I pause, dice in hand. Zoey flusters and starts rearranging her stack of fake money, then glances up at me nervously. “I didn’t mean … ,” she begins, but before she can finish, I take her hand and pull her across the board toward me, scattering money, plastic cars, and my four tiny pink and blue babies across the living room floor.

  “What are you doing?” Zoey shrieks, laughing as I pull her into my lap.

  “Nothing,” I say, kissing her.

  “But we were in the middle of a game. I was winning.”

  “I forfeit,” I tell her, my mouth on hers. Truth is, I can’t get enough of her lips or her body, and there’s a limit to how long I can play a board game without my imagination weighing the throwing of dice against the stripping off of Zoey’s clothes and deciding I’m wasting my time.

  As my hands start to dive inside her clothes, Zoey sighs. “I have to get to work.”

  “I’ll dr
ive you after,” I murmur, my lips on her neck.

  “No,” she argues, her breath catching. “That’s why I bought the car.”

  I know she’s right. The silver RAV4 was secondhand and cost five thousand dollars. Zoey struggled with using the money from the baseball card sale on herself, but her mom and I and Kate persuaded her the car was necessary and to put all the rest of the money in the bank for her college tuition.

  “I’ll be fine,” she says, sensing my hesitancy.

  I don’t want to say anything because I don’t want to bring the shadow into the light. Zoey’s dad lurks always in the periphery of my thoughts, like a monster under the bed. Although we haven’t heard anything from him for a week now, that might be more to do with the fact Zoey has changed her phone number. His probation officer says he’s always in Scottsdale on the days he needs to check in and that he also has a job now, working as a security guard for a construction company. But still, I don’t like taking chances.

  “I’ll follow you,” I say. I’m not a fan of Zoey parking and having to walk the short distance to the restaurant by herself.

  “My very own protection detail,” she jokes.

  “Always,” I tell her, nuzzling her neck. Then I grin. “What do you call security guards at the Samsung store?”

  She groans, and not with pleasure.

  “Guardians of the Galaxy.”

  She groans louder, but she’s laughing as well, her breath tickling my neck. “Your jokes are terrible.” She sighs.

  “And you love me anyway,” I say, smiling.

  She pulls back and looks at me, her hazel eyes serious all of a sudden. “I do, you know,” she says. “I love you.”

  It’s the first time she’s said it, and my heart stills in my chest. I freeze, taken aback. I hadn’t expected it, have never had anyone say it to me this way before and have never said it to anyone either. There’s that vulnerable look in her eye, the exact same look she had just before I kissed her for the first time, and I realize she’s waiting for me to say something. I cup her cheek.

  “I love you too,” I say, and then I kiss her, the shock of it hitting me. I do love her. The knowledge fills me up like helium, making me light-headed. I love her. I don’t want to live without her.

  After a few minutes, before things get too out of hand, she struggles out of my arms. She’s late for work and, despite my protests, won’t call in sick. Standing up, she disappears into the bathroom. I wait a few seconds, then pull the letter out of my back pocket, where it’s been burning a hole, and turn it over in my hands, wondering what to do with it—time’s running out. I should tell her, I think, but there’s never a good time, and how am I ever going to break it to her? I should stop being a coward and do it, but I know once it’s out of the bag, everything will change. And I don’t want things to change. That’s the problem.

  I hear the sound of the bathroom door opening and shove the letter under a pile of magazines.

  ZOEY

  Kate, be ready in two minutes, okay?” I shout through the bathroom door, where Kate has been ensconced for the last hour. We’re running late for Jessa’s bridal shower.

  I race through the kitchen, where my mom is making lunch for Cole, who is playing on his Xbox. “I’m just running over to Tristan’s,” I tell her, unlocking the front door. “I think I left my phone there.”

  My mom nods, and I race out the door and down the stairs before sprinting across the courtyard to Tristan’s door. I knock, but he doesn’t answer, which is weird because his bike is parked out front, so I use the key he gave me and unlock the door. When I step inside, I hear the shower running. I’m going to be late, but I can’t help myself. I push the bathroom door open and stand grinning, watching Tristan shower. He has his back to me and is busily soaping up while singing a Drake song—badly. Tristan has many skills, but singing isn’t one of them. I manage to hold in the laughter for about 3.2 seconds before it bursts out of me.

  He leaps around in fright at the sound, though his startled expression quickly gives way to something else. “You going to stand there and get a free peep show or come over here and kiss me?”

  I eye the steamed-up bathroom, which I know is already messing with my hair, turning it frizzy, but then the sight of naked Tristan is too much to walk away from. I step across the wet tile toward him, and he pulls open the glass shower door. I kiss his wet lips and try to pull quickly away before I get all wet from the spray, but it’s too late. Tristan has his arms around me.

  I scream and dance back out of his octopus arms. “No,” I yell as he tries to pull me into the shower. “You’re getting me all wet.”

  “That’s the plan.” He grins lasciviously at me.

  “You’re incorrigible,” I tell him.

  He shrugs, still grinning. “Pass me a towel, then,” he says.

  I do, reaching blind for one on the rail beside me, because I can’t tear my eyes off his ripped torso. He steps out of the shower and takes his time wrapping the towel around his waist. He knows full well that he’s tormenting me, but I’m already running late, and now my hair is really screwed.

  Tristan cocks his head toward the bedroom. “You want to … ,” he starts.

  “No,” I tell him firmly, trying to ignore the way my body is responding to the sight of his slick, smooth chest and the water dripping down his neck, which is begging to be dried off. I wonder if we’ll ever lose this physical craving for each other. “I’m just here for my phone,” I say, backing out of the room.

  “I think I saw it in the living room,” he shouts after me.

  I search down the sides of the sofa and on the coffee table, picking up a pile of magazines. A letter falls out from between them, and I stoop to pick it up, then freeze. I hear Tristan shouting something to me from the bedroom, but I can’t make out the words because my ears are filled with screeching white noise.

  “Zo?” Tristan asks, entering the living room.

  I glance up at him, dazed. He’s wearing jeans and pulling on a shirt. “I found it,” he says, holding up my phone. “It was in the bedroom.”

  He pauses when he sees my face. “What’s the matter?” he says, but then he breaks off as his gaze drops to the letter in my hand.

  He looks up at me, his smile gone. “I was going to tell you,” he says.

  “When?” I say, my voice shaking.

  He takes a deep breath and bites his lip. “I don’t know.” He takes a step toward me. “Look,” he says, “I haven’t decided if I’m going.”

  “What do you mean?” I say, waving the letter at him. “It’s pilot school. It’s what you’ve always dreamed of. You have to go.”

  “No, I don’t,” he argues weakly.

  I blink at him, astonished. “Tristan, you told me that spots never open up, that you’d have to wait years. You can’t say no to this.”

  “But it’s in Florida,” he says. “That’s the other side of the country.”

  There’s a lump in my throat, and I try desperately to swallow it. I can’t show how I feel about this. I can only let him see how happy I am for him. This is what he wants. “You have to go,” I say.

  His shoulders slump as he stares at me, his caramel-colored eyes filled with worry. “But what about you?”

  I take a deep, shuddering breath and try not to let the tears fall. He didn’t even really try to argue with me. I know I didn’t want him to, but the words reveal he’s already decided, without even talking to me. That hurts. I give him a shaky smile. “I’ll be fine.”

  “No,” he says, stepping toward me. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “I’ll be okay,” I say, but I can’t look him in the eye.

  He steps closer, and I feel his fingers beneath my chin, gently raising my head so our eyes meet. “Zo, I can’t leave you.”

  Can’t. Is that because of the promise he made to my brother? Or because he’s worried about my dad?

  “I love you,” he says, his voice cracking.

  A piece of m
y heart breaks, because I hear in his voice how much he wants to go and I know how much it means to him and how he’s torn over the decision because he doesn’t want to hurt me. I need to make the decision for him. The lump in my throat is so big I can’t swallow, but I force myself to speak. “I love you too,” I say. “And that’s why you’re going. Because I want the best for you.”

  Tristan pulls me into his arms, my cheek against his bare chest. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the tears still come, leaking out the sides and sliding down my cheeks. I’ve just found him, and now I’m going to lose him. It’s two and a half thousand miles between here and Florida. I’ll never see him. And I know what happens with long-distance relationships. All I need to do is look at Lis and Kate and Tristan’s sister, Dahlia, and her ex Lou. Time and distance wear holes in even the closest relationships. It won’t work out.

  All these thoughts flash through my mind in a matter of seconds as I stand pressed to Tristan’s chest, my brain already trying to imprint the memory of his arms wrapped around my waist, the feeling of his lips pressed to my forehead, the husky sound of his voice saying my name. I try to hold on to all those things because I know I’m going to lose them.

  This is why it was so dangerous to open my heart. This is what I was afraid of, and I was right to be. I should never have let myself fall for him.

  No, a voice in my head says with fervency. It was worth it, worth every single second.

  I can’t let Tristan see, though, just how much it hurts. He might not go if he suspects. “It’s just a few thousand miles,” I say to him, forcing a smile to cover my lie. “We’ll find a way to make it work.”