by Kat T. Masen
I assume it’s the end of our conversation and I’m surprised to hear my cell chime again.
Drew: And Zoey…
The bubble appears. And Zoey what? I’m sitting on the edge of my bed tapping my feet nervously on the floor. Staring at the screen, watching the bubble do its thing as if he’s writing some long message.
Dear God, hurry up!
Then, because the iPhone gods want to punish me, my screen goes completely black.
Battery dead.
Nooo!
Serves me right for being an adrenaline junkie. I race over to my desk plugging it in. The few minutes it takes to charge and power up feels like a lifetime. Worse yet, I need to pee again. I don’t, and instead, I cross my legs and skip on the spot trying to ignore the urge.
When the screen turns on, I enter my passcode at record speed and open my messages. Staring at the box, there it is, the long message I assumed he’d send.
Drew: I miss you.
Oh.
He misses me. It’s the perfect opportunity to tell him that I miss him, yet I don’t know how. I want to say so much more than that. Gosh, I want to pour my heart out to him and tell him how the butterflies in my stomach are all because of him.
But I don’t.
I grab my iPod and walk across the hall and into his room. The second I enter, I only smell Drew. It feels right, and it feels like home. His room, as usual, is neat and tidy. His bed is made, the navy-blue cover tucked into the sides of the bed. The pillows are positioned perfectly just like in a hotel room.
I lie down on his bed and turn the iPod on, playing All Through the Night by Cyndi Lauper, realizing that Drew and I have a past—one that can never be erased. We’ve gone through so much and leaned on each other more times than I can count. Yet, everything we experienced was as friends. Taking the next step will be huge—that’s if he wants to do that.
There’s only one thing I am sure of. Despite everything going on, I want to go to London. To finally do something for myself and be the person I know I can be.
And if Drew has any feelings for me, he will understand and encourage me to go.
Long distance—we can make it work.
The next morning, I march straight into Mr. Becker’s office.
“I’ve decided to take you up on your offer. I’m going to London,” I tell him.
With a satisfied smile, he stands up and shakes my hand.
“Smart move, Zoey. It’s only up from here. I’ll get the tickets booked. A week from today you’ll be in London.”
Wow. I did it!
A week from today, I’ll be saying hi to the queen.
I can’t wait to tell Drew. The look on his face will be priceless. I know he’ll be proud of me taking this massive leap. And if he’ll take it with me, it will be even sweeter.
We could chat on the phone every day, use Skype, and maybe once a month he could fly over or I could fly back for a couple of days. We could visit Spain and attend La Tomatina, something we both dreamed about doing after we watched a documentary about it. Drink beer at Oktoberfest, then get drunk and into a fight, Chevy-Chase style. We could fly to Paris, eat croissants, and visit the Eiffel Tower.
It could be so romantic.
Him and me, long-distance lovers.
I have it all planned out, and as soon as Drew comes back home, the first thing I will do is tell him the good news.
Chapter Eighteen
Drew
“Hand me the wrench, son.”
I pass the wrench to my dad sliding it underneath the car. The engine on Betty is way worse than I had originally anticipated, and my dad’s quick to berate me for letting her run this poor for so long.
After the drama that unfolded last week, spending the days at dad’s property gives me the quiet time I need. Being outside the city, staring at nothing but green acres, is very therapeutic. My head needs clearing because so much of what happened last week frightened me—a rollercoaster of emotions.
At first, we went from Zoey playing coy with me after the wedding. Then, the whole Jess and Callie thing, I can’t even get into how angry that made me feel. A fucking nightmare.
And, of course, Zoey dropping that massive bombshell. We had a moment. A moment that could have changed everything between us if I hadn’t been blind drunk. I’m so desperate to remember what happened, anything at all. The slightest touch, the sounds her body made.
The worst moment of them all is the peak of the rollercoaster just before you’re about to go down. Playing the waiting game. Climbing slowly, your whole body filled with fear and anxiety, seeing the top and waiting for the unknown.
When my mother passed away, I was too young to understand the enormity of the situation. Studying for my medical exams, another terrifying moment. It was a make-or-break situation. Then, the first time I stepped foot in the ER. My heart was beating a million miles a minute, and I was certain I would choke on the spot and forget everything I’d learned.
But waiting for Zoey’s results—it almost killed me.
When the results finally came through, I breathed a sigh of relief that she was okay, but it was accompanied with much anger. How could she be so careless? Everyone knows you don’t go bareback. Not unless you’re in a long-term committed relationship. In hindsight, they were. The more I got to thinking, the more I realized it wasn’t really her fault. She was in love. She had been with the guy for well over a year. She was faithful and assumed he was too, given the length of their relationship. Although it seemed selfish to blame her, I could only think about myself. Self-absorbed and jealous that Zoey was intimate with a man I loathed.
Dad slides himself from underneath the car and moves onto the engine bay. I hand him a beer, something cold to quench his thirst.
“So how’s my girl, Zoey, doing?” Dad asks, stopping for a moment to sip on his beer.
Dad loves Zoey. She has a way of making him laugh, and he always tells her that she’s the daughter he never had. It feeds her ego. Occasionally, she throws jokes at me that she’d make the perfect daughter-in-law, and if neither one of us were married by the time we hit forty, we should consider it. Empty promises fueled by alcohol. No surprise that when I’d remind her of that the following morning, mid-hangover, she had no recollection.
“Fine. The same, I guess.”
Placing his bottle down, he grabs the dirty rag that’s hanging from his waist and opens the radiator. “What’s she doing these days?
“Uh, the same. She’s still working at that architecture firm. She’ll probably be there forever.”
Dad lifts his head glancing my way with a raised eyebrow. “Is she seeing anyone?”
“Not that I’m aware of. But who knows with her,” I respond matter of factly.
He doesn’t ask any more questions shifting the topic to Betty, cars being his favorite topic of conversation.
“You’ve really let her go, son.”
“I know,” I admit. “I was thinking of buying a new car, anyway. Something modern. Was hoping we could look at something?”
He pulls himself out of the hood. “Since when do you want something modern?”
“The chicks dig it, Dad.”
I love Betty. She’s a classic and irreplaceable in my eyes. But she’s old and hard to get around in sometimes. She’s very temperamental, and occasionally she breaks down and becomes more of a headache than she’s worth.
And every part of me hates saying this because I’m not someone who falls head over heels for a girl and follows them like a sick puppy dog, but part of the new car idea is because Zoey loves them. She forever complained about Betty, and maybe she’ll be happy that I’ve finally moved forward.
“If that’s what you want, son. When do you want to go?”
“How about this afternoon?” I say, eager to start looking.
We head out in the afternoon to a local dealership that sells almost-new cars. The second I see the sexy black beast in the car lot, I know she’s the one—only a year old w
ith low mileage and the paint in mint condition. As an added bonus, it has a sunroof and decent wheels.
“Is this your new girl?” Dad asks, lifting the hood and checking the engine.
“I think she is.” I grin, sliding my hands across the door panel and admiring the new metallic paint.
Dad utilizes his negotiation skills and manages to knock down the price. With the paperwork signed, the dealer tells us the car will be ready to pick up tomorrow.
“So, what are you going to do with Betty now?” Dad questions on the ride home.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll leave her at your place. Time to make changes in my life.”
The road home is bumpy. Dad’s truck isn’t the most comfortable vehicle to sit in. We take a turn into the local diner stopping for a bite to eat.
“I think you’re doing all right, kid. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
“I’m trying, Dad. It’s just hard.”
“Life ain’t easy, son. And if it’s easy, then maybe you ain’t trying hard enough for what you want.”
Life is complicated. Zoey complicates my life.
We’ve been texting, but like always, she’s reverted to normal as if nothing between us has happened. I struggle with not responding to her and unleashing my thoughts. Instead, I’m cordial and polite in my responses.
But then, I caved.
I told her I miss her.
Because I do. I just fucking miss her.
I don’t know how to articulate my thoughts, tell her that I have these feelings for her without ruining our relationship.
***
On Friday, I wake up refreshed and with a clearer headspace. With my bags packed, we drive into town and pick up my new car. I’ve never a fan of the new-car smell, and I’m still not. Zoey reckons they should capture the new-car smell in a can and make it an air freshener.
To be honest, the smell is kind of nauseating.
I say goodbye to Dad, and with the keys to my new car in hand, I’m ready to hit the open road.
That plan is shot down, heavy roadwork delaying the drive home. Thanks to my new sound system, I’ve hooked up the Bluetooth, and I scroll through my phone settling on some Ed Sheeran to ease the annoying drive back.
By five o’clock, I’m still an hour out of the city. I text Zoey saying I’ll be late, and that I will meet her at the amusement park. I still think it’s an odd choice for a birthday party given she’s turning thirty, not thirteen.
The traffic moves at a snail’s pace, cutting short the time I need to make a pit stop to pick up Zoey’s present. I’ve put a lot of thought into her gift, yet the more I think about it, the more uncertain I become. What if she doesn’t like it?
The second I lay eyes on it, I smile. It’s her, all her.
Thanking the shop assistant, I grab the paper bag and rush back to the car. The traffic has eased, making the trip short.
I turn into the parking lot and make my way to the entrance. The amusement park is busy, families and kids scurrying around trying to line up on all the popular rides. The screams from the rollercoaster can be heard combined with music coming from the merry-go-round. Everywhere I look, there are booths. Some with games, some selling food. All junk food.
Gigi is the first person I see walking away from one of the booths, busily eating some cotton candy. Dressed in her usual attire, she’s wearing a long, purple dress and draped in different colored beads.
“Drew,” she calls, walking over to where I stand.
I give her a quick hug, scowling at her choice of food. “You’re really getting into that, Gigi.”
“To be a kid again,” she beams. “I’ve also eaten a corndog and candy apple. Very naughty, I know.”
I laugh, placing my arm around her in a friendly gesture. “You only live once, right?”
“Maybe twice. Reincarnation is making a comeback,” she notes with dark amusement. “How was your trip to your dad’s?”
“Good,” I say. Then I add, “Great. Nice to spend time with him.”
She links her arm into mine, guiding me toward the bumper cars. There’s a very long line, many whiny kids impatiently crying as they await their turn. Their frustrated parents are on the verge of nervous breakdowns.
“And did you think about your relationship with Zoey?”
Gigi knows me too well. She’s been there for me more times than I can count. Zoey’s a great friend, but sometimes I need wisdom. An old soul to vent my frustrations to, especially with all the emotional baggage that comes along with working at the hospital.
I contemplate telling her how I feel, but we’re interrupted as hands cover my eyes.
“Guess who?”
I can smell the tips of her fingers. They smell like pineapple.
A smile spreads across my face. I place my hands over hers, and as our skin touches, it electrifies every inch of my body. This wonderful, electrifying jolt which takes my senses to a place it’s never been, yet at the same time, calms my anxious nerves.
The breath I’m holding in gently releases. Removing her hands off my eyes, I turn around slowly until her eyes meet mine.
And there she is, standing before me, her beauty killing my soul.
There’s this light shining all around her, radiant and sweeping me up as I stare, unable to turn away.
I’m seeing Zoey.
Not my roomie.
Not only my best friend.
But Zoey.
This beautiful woman.
Despite her braids and what appears to be a new Rainbow Brite shirt, this beautiful woman is staring back at me. Her cheekbones are covered with a tint of pink, and her lips appear luscious and soft. My focus on her lips shifts, the effortless grin on her face causing this unknown feeling inside my stomach. Like a million bees let loose, or what Zoey often refers to as butterflies.
So this is it, this oddly nauseating feeling mixed with excitement.
“Glad you could make it, roomie.” Zoey punches my arm softly, grinning from ear to ear.
“Wouldn’t miss your birthday for the world, kiddo.”
“Kiddo?” She grimaces.
“Not a fan?”
“I’m thirty. It’s so old.”
“Age ain’t nothing but a number, baby.” I gently tug on her braid, teasing her. “If it makes you feel any better, you look eighteen.”
“Would an eighteen-year-old have this?” She glances back and forth, then pulls a flask out of her jacket. “I got some juice.”
“The last time I had some juice, I did things that um…” I trail off.
“You stuck your finger in my ass?”
“Zoey!” The kids beside us stare at my outburst. “So, haunted house. Terrifying, right?”
The kids continue to rudely stare. I yank Zoey’s arm and pull her closer to me. “Curb the ass-talk until we’re alone, Richards.”
“I may have drunk some juice already.”
“Oh… you think?” I answer back sarcastically.
Gigi and Mia join us handing Zoey a bunch of tickets.
I pull Mia aside wanting to apologize for what happened at the wedding. “I’m sorry, Mia. It was really immature of me.”
She folds her arms, keeping her distance, then follows through with a smile. Am I missing something here? Women confuse me. I never can predict their next move.
“It was immature of you, but I get it. It’s easy to get jealous when the person you love is the apple of somebody else’s eye. On our honeymoon, one of the old maids kept batting her eyelashes at Troy. I didn’t think I could be so jealous, but turns out I can be.”
Brushing it off, not wanting to admit any truth to what she said, “It’s not like that.”
“Then tell me what it’s like, Drew.” She laughs. “It’s so frustrating watching the both of you. It’s like watching a trapeze. Both of you are swinging, but no one will let go. It’s about being in sync and trusting the other person.”
I turn my head to the left where a trapeze is set up with
a big net beneath it. A couple is swinging and failing miserably at letting go.
“Did you come up with that because you’re staring at that couple trying to do it?”
“Yes… no. It all makes sense now,” she says to herself.
“That’s nice. Because what you’re saying makes no sense to me.”
She shakes her head, breaking her sudden daze and grins. “It’ll all work out. Plus, London is so romantic. Some of the greatest love stories began there.”
“Mia, what does London have to do with Zoey and me?”
“Uh hello, because Zoey’s moving there in the next week for wo—” She stops, her face pulling back in shock. “She hasn’t told you.”
“Told me what?” I grit.
“I thought she told you. Don’t rat me out, Drew. I had no idea.”
“She’s moving to London?”
“Mr. Becker offered her a role with his brother’s company. It’ll be a step up from what she’s doing, a promotion really, plus they’re footing the bill for her apartment and moving expenses. She’d be silly not to take it.” Mia’s voice fades out, and my head turns to where Zoey’s standing with Gigi. She’s clutching over, laughing along with Gigi. Her annoying yet cute braids are in the way so I can’t see her face. When she composes herself, she’s all smiles, and the vibrancy in her eyes displays her happiness.
Yet, on the inside, my anger’s slowly bubbling. How could she not tell me? Pick up the phone and give me a call. Our relationship must mean more to me than it does to her. I told her I missed her, and she didn’t even fucking respond!
In a daze, filled with animosity, I walk back to her.
“Oh, there you are. Let’s go.” She smiles.
The man takes our tickets, and we walk toward the black door. “Enjoy,” he says before the doors swing open, and all we can hear is moaning.
“I can do this,” Zoey breathes. “I won’t crap my pants. I won’t crap my pants,” she chants repeatedly. She links her arm into mine, and I try my best to contain my thoughts until we get home, not wanting to cause a scene here and ruin her birthday. I’m biting my tongue—barely.