by Azzi, Gina
“Yeah. I guess I have too,” I say, lounging on my bed. Of course, my apartment is still being sublet for another six weeks, so in the meantime, I’ve moved back home.
And I don’t hate it. Especially now that I’m desperate to soak up as much time with Dad as I can before his world is plunged in eternal midnight.
He chuckles at my most sinister thoughts, but all I feel is a helplessness clawing up my throat, scraping at my teeth, desperate to escape the confines of my lips.
Except every time I open my mouth, nothing comes out.
Swallowing back anxiety moment after moment, day after day, is hard. The pressure keeps building, sitting on my chest like an elephant, and I wonder if my heart will eventually give out from the weight.
“What’s up with Gossip?” I ask, even though I don’t care. Especially if it’s about Eli.
Charlie waves a hand. “Oh, nothing. Just a bunch of stupid shit about Eli and Brooke. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”
“No, no it’s fine. It doesn’t matter,” I say to my ceiling.
The weight of the mattress dips on the right side as Charlie sits down. “Are you sure you’re okay, Zoe? You’ve barely said anything about Eli since you’ve been home. And you’re not properly grieving.”
“I didn’t know you were supposed to grieve a breakup.”
“You should at least bad mouth him a little.”
Tears swell behind my eyes, and I snap them closed. “I don’t want to talk about him because it hurts too much. I thought he loved me. He said he did, and yet, here I am in Chicago while he’s on location,” I sigh, opening my eyes. “I’m a shit judge of character.”
“You’re an excellent judge of character.”
“I thought it was more than it was.”
“It is more than it is, which is why he got scared.”
“He fired me.”
“He paid you to leave.”
“That’s the same thing as being fired.” I glare at my best friend. “It’s, like, a severance package.”
“He cares about you,” she replies, not at all affected at how much she’s irritating me.
“Charlie—”
She smacks a hand over my mouth. “Just hear me out.”
I widen my eyes at her. She bulges her eyes back and I finally lick her hand just so she’ll move it. “You’re so gross!”
“You’re annoying,” I shoot back but I’m grinning and she knows she’s won. Like always.
“He cares about you. A lot. Fine, he acted like a total idiot, but I think you scared him. I think the depth of what he feels for you scared him shitless and learning about your test results and your new diagnosis… well, that’s enough to shake anyone up, even those of us who know about your family history. I’m not trying to make excuses for him, but he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who has any experience with this type of thing.”
“‘This type of thing?’”
“You know, illness.”
“You’re incredibly eloquent.”
Charlie huffs. “My point is, he didn’t make you leave to be selfish or because of his precious movie or whatever. He did it because he thinks he’s doing what’s best for you.” She holds up her hand again as my mouth drops open. “I know, he’s being sucky for making that decision for you, but really Zo, I think his intentions came from a good place.”
Staring at her, I open my mouth to rebut everything she just said. Because while her words make sense on some logical, objective level, they don’t feel right.
Eli Holt broke my heart.
Fine, I broke his first. But the way he looked at me on the beach, like he couldn’t bear it, like my presence was too much for him to deal with, ripped my insecurities wide open until I bled vulnerability.
Then he kissed my cheek. My…fucking…cheek!
And then he walked away.
Still, no words come out as they clamor around in my windpipe, desperate for speech to make them heard.
“Zoe?” Charlie questions after a long pause.
I swallow back my indignation and shake my head. “Let’s order pizza for dinner.”
16
Eli
“How’s my favorite nephew?” I grin at Ollie on FaceTime.
“I’m your only nephew,” he reminds me, a broad smile splitting his face.
“That’s why you’re my favorite.”
He laughs. My heart warms at the sound. God, I miss this kid.
“Dad says you’re coming home soon.” Ollie bounces around, the phone screen flipping in several directions before I can see him again.
“In about a month.”
“To Chicago?” I hear the hope in his voice and it causes my chest to tighten.
What the hell is the point of having your dream career and making tons of money if you’re always alone?
“For a really long visit.”
“Will you come to my soccer games?”
“Wouldn’t miss them.”
“And buy me ice cream?”
“Even if you lose.”
“And buy some for Jupiter too?”
“Who’s Jupiter?” God, I hope Ollie hasn’t convinced Evan to buy him a puppy. I consider the havoc it would wreak on Evan’s perfectly scheduled life. On second thought, it could be kind of entertaining.
“The sea turtle you’re bringing back for me,” Ollie explains.
Wait, what?
“Um, Ollie—”
“You need to brush your teeth.” My brother’s face comes into view as he runs Ollie through his bedtime routine.
“Hey,” I grin at Evan.
“Don’t worry about the sea turtle,” my brother says. “He’ll hopefully forget by next week.”
“Hopefully. How are you?”
“Pretty good. You? How’re things going?”
“Good. We’re making a lot of progress on the film. Planning to wrap up in the next month or so.”
“And all the drama with the exes?”
I snort, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Yeah, man. Not too bad. Natalie and Gray are figuring things out and being a hell of a lot nicer to each other now that a baby is on the way. I hope they’re able to sort out some type of co-parenting system that works for them or hell, even get married again if that’s what they want.”
My brother shakes his head. “Wow. Never expected that, but you know what? I hope so too. Having a baby will change their lives and if they both commit to that kid, maybe it will bring them back to where they once were.”
“Yeah,” I agree, not mentioning all the fertility issues they experienced that led to their separation.
“And Zoe? Have you heard from her?”
“No.” I clear my throat. It shouldn’t bother me that Zoe hasn’t messaged me or reached out at all. I made her leave. I essentially let her go.
Still, I think about her all the time.
The last two weeks, I’ve been incredibly grateful to my job to fill all my waking hours with focus and preparation. Somehow, though, Zoe manages to slip into the cracks and invade my sleep with her sweet smile and violet hair.
God, I miss her.
“Have you…you know—” I bite my tongue.
Evan, thankfully, puts me out of my misery. “She’s doing okay. I grabbed a beer at Shooters the other night. I’ve kind of been kicking it with Charlie.”
“Blondie?”
“Yes.” Evan grins and he suddenly looks ten years younger. “Anyway, I saw Zoe. She looks…”
I clench the phone tighter, desperate for his words. “What?”
“Good, man. She seems okay.”
My heart sinks and I silently curse myself out.
I should be happy that she looks good. Obviously, I am because it means that she’s not sick. Doesn’t it?
I should be relieved that she’s okay. That she’s not heartbroken and sad and mopey.
It shouldn’t bother me at all that she doesn’t need me in her life. I shouldn’t care one way or the other i
f —
“Was she working at Shooters or…”
“She was grabbing drinks with Charlie. They were both off the clock.”
“By themselves?”
Evan chuckles, but it’s laced with understanding so I know he won’t rib me too badly about my need to know all the things pertaining to Zoe Clark.
“Yes. And then some guys they seemed to know, like friends, joined them and they all played pool.”
“Pool?” I ask, thinking of all the ways pool can segue into other pursuits.
“She went home with her dad.”
Relief fills my veins and I nod. “Good. That’s good.”
“Yeah. I bet you’re dancing on the inside from that tidbit of information.”
“Yep,” I laugh. “From the information and for how it was so freely given. Thanks, brother.”
“Yeah, well, you speak about Zoe the way you once spoke about Natalie. But with more…I don’t know, emotion. Whatever you feel for her, it’s real, Eli.”
His words fill up the cracks over Zoe and I clear my throat, “It’s not going to happen, man.”
“Maybe not. But that’s on you, brother.”
* * *
The next week passes in a blur. I throw myself so completely into playing Dr. Henry Shorn that I almost forget about Eli Holt.
Without Zoe around to distract me with her glorious curves, bewitching eyes, and witty banter falling from luscious lips, it’s not even that hard.
The days are filled with moving pieces: running lines, shooting scenes, hours in hair and makeup, eating calorically balanced meals, workouts with the trainer Harlow flew in…what the hell is his name? All of it keeps me grinding, focused on the moment, giving this movie my all.
It’s the nights that are tough. Hours of silence that hum with loneliness. An empty penthouse that echoes when you walk through it. Bottles of alcohol that call out to me, beckoning me closer, but I won’t chance another trip down that confusing rabbit hole. Not when I’ve got work to do.
And not when my insides are so damn tangled up with worry over Zoe.
I spend the nights thinking of her. Remembering her laugh, the way her eyes would flash when I said something to piss her off, the trust that would spark in her eyes right before I slid inside of her.
Then my thoughts turn sinister, swirling in a downward spiral. I force myself into considering the possibility of her being really sick—her body frail, her eyes dull, her skin pale.
I think and imagine and torture myself until sleep finds me. I’m so grateful to drop into its numbing embrace that I sleep soundly until my alarm rings early the following morning.
For a week, this is my routine. Then Harlow shows up, walking into the kitchen of my penthouse with an iced coffee clutched in her hand, a frown marring her mouth.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, shoveling another forkful of scrambled egg whites into my mouth.
She absently fiddles with her nose ring. “Nothing.”
I chew my food slowly, studying her. She glares at me, but her fingers keep twisting her piercing. The condensation from her coffee collects on the cup.
“Cut the bullshit. What’s wrong?”
Harlow sighs, placing her coffee on the countertop and turning until she boosts herself up as well. She sits on the edge of the counter, kicking her feet back and forth, the heels of her sandals hitting the island in an annoying clunk-clunk-clunk.
“Stop doing that,” I say, drinking some green smoothie shit Harlow likes. Wheatgrass or lemongrass or some kind of fucking grass. But not the good kind.
Exasperated, I push my plate away and glare back at Harlow. “I’m serious. You’re starting to annoy me.”
“Shocker.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“You’ve been in a bad one all week.”
I try to control the irrational swell of anger that bubbles up inside. I know Harlow’s been trying to protect me—she’s good at her job. I also know she’s warring with herself whether or not to tell me whatever’s eating at her. Now, with my curiosity piqued, I’m losing my patience over not knowing. “Harlow.”
“Have you talked to Zoe at all?”
My throat dries at the mention of her name, my hands growing clammy. I work a swallow, my mind ping-ponging through all the reasons Harlow would ask me that. “No,” I rasp out.
She nods, twirling a piece of hair.
“What the fuck, Harlow? Is she okay? Did something happen? Is—”
“It’s her dad,” Harlow rushes to explain, her hand outstretched. “I spoke to Zoe last night. She’s worried about her dad. The doctors have given him six months or so before he loses the rest of his vision.”
“Damn it.” I slap the countertop, the stinging in my palm comforting. Why can’t she catch a goddamn break? Why does a girl who cares so much about everyone else have to endure so much loss?
I stand, toss my plate into the sink, and walk a few paces away to burn off the energy coursing through me. I lace my hands together and raise them to the back of my head, staring off into the wide expanse of sand and sea beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I turn back to Harlow. “Wait a minute… she called you?”
Harlow nods, her expression wary. “We’re friends.”
“Yeah, good for you,” I bite back. I should be happy that Violet found a friend in Harlow, and vice versa. I should be happy she’s reaching out to talk to someone.
My stomach sours and twists nonetheless.
Scrubbing my hand over my face, I let my arms fall to the sides. I walk closer to the windows until my nose is practically pressed against the glass, and gaze into paradise below.
I’m jealous. Of my assistant. For being friends with my girl.
I tap my forehead against the pane. What is wrong with me?
“You should reach out to her,” Harlow says and I whirl around, watching her. “I’m serious.”
“You think that’s a good idea?” I ask, wondering if Zoe confided more in Harlow than about just her dad. Maybe she told her about me? Or us? Or the lack of us?
“Can’t hurt.” Harlow hops off the countertop and strides toward the elevator. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that Gray and Natalie’s twenty-four-hour visit to some remote island is delayed. Brian’s calling the shots this morning until Preston gets back, so it’s going to be a long day and night.”
“Yeah, okay,” I wave a hand, my thoughts still caught up on Zoe. Should I message her? Call her? Email just seems way too formal for someone you’ve literally been inside of.
“And you need to be in hair and makeup in forty.”
“Cool.”
What if I send her flowers? Too cheesy. A card? That would be unexpected. But it could also be weeks before she receives it. No, I should—
“Just send her a message, Eli. You’re not solving quantum physics.”
I flip Harlow the bird as she cackles and skips out of my place. She literally skips.
I walk around the living room several times, my fingers twitchy.
Stop being such a pussy. Just message her. It’s what a friend would do. It’s what any decent human being would do.
Picking up my phone, I scroll to her name and open our message box. The last heart emoji she ever sent me—over a month ago—rattles me more than it should. I sigh, placing the phone down.
What if she doesn’t want to hear from me? What if she thinks I’m being insensitive?
“Ahhhh!” I scream out into the silence of the penthouse.
This is ridiculous.
I pick my phone back up, tap out a message, hit send, and leave it on the couch so I don’t check it incessantly for a response.
Then I shower and head down to set.
17
Zoe
Eli: Hey. I heard about your dad and just wanted to see how you’re doing? I’m really sorry the news blows so hard. Thinking of you. If you want to talk, hit me up.
“What do I do with this?” My stomach somersau
lts as I turn the phone screen around so Charlie can read Eli’s message.
“Okay, okay!” she chants. “We can work with this. See, he’s worried about you.”
“Or being courteous.”
Charlie rolls her eyes. “Please. From what I hear, he doesn’t go out of his way for anyone except a super select group of people. Seems you made the cut, girl.”
“Yay me,” I deadpan. “Wait a second, ‘from what you’ve heard’? From who? Evan?”
Charlie’s cheeks redden, and I cheer. “I knew it!” I push her arm and she sets down the bottle of Bombay Sapphire she’s wiping off. “Are you guys, like, hooking up consistently?”
“Oh really? Now you drop your voice?” Charlie laughs, gesturing around the mostly empty Shooters.
Grinning back, I continue, “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Ahh.” She blushes again and I pinch her cheek. “It’s complicated. We’re…I don’t know what we’re doing, but we’ve hooked up a few more times since that night.”
“The one where he hustled you out of his place?’
“Yes. But since that night, we’ve only hooked up drunk, of course.”
“Of course.” I roll my eyes so hard, I worry for a nanosecond that they’re going to get stuck.
Charlie shrugs, “I don’t know. He works a lot and is hard to read. Hot and cold.”
“You think he’s playing you?” I wonder aloud, a swell of anger filling my chest. First Eli, now Evan. What is wrong with these guys?
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Charlie replaces the Bombay Sapphire and swipes a Tito’s. “But no, I don’t think that’s it. He’s just…closed off, I guess. Anyway, let’s discuss the matter at hand.” She points to my cell phone.
“What do you think I should do?”
“Respond.”
“And say…”
“A sentence.” Charlie says slowly. “Just be yourself, babe. He wouldn’t have reached out if he didn’t want to talk to you. So, just talk.”
“Just talk.” I mimic.