Of course I didn’t fall asleep that fast! I just wanted to see if Zee would want to kiss me, which of course she did because our kisses should be captured and studied by future generations. But I had to protect both of us and pretend I was asleep so she didn’t break my heart two days in a row.
* * *
When we wake up, we’re in the exact same position. This probably means we could spend forever together. Zee paid for three nights at The Last Riverbender Motel, so we get to leave our stuff there. And that feels like we have our first apartment together and I really want to say something grand about this as we walk to her truck but she has a date with Cam tonight even if she doesn’t realize it’s a date and thinking about that breaks my heart even though I thought not kissing her last night would save me from that. Ugh.
We stop at Starbucks, then go to my house so I can help my dad with breakfast. Zee comes inside because we do everything together now but I bet she wishes she didn’t because Abigail walks in while I’m putting cream cheese on Dad’s bagel and she says, pretending Zee is invisible, “Where were you last night?”
“I could tell you … but I don’t want to.” I’m a brat sometimes.
“Will you tell your friend who steals my clothes that when she sees my boyfriend tonight that she should tell him he better call me today or I’m never giving him a blow job again? Thanks.” Abigail fires a “die, bitch, die” glare at Zee and saunters back upstairs.
After she’s gone, I say, trying not to smile, “Hey, Abigail wanted me to tell you—”
“Asshole,” Zee says, which is code, in this instance, for “you’re the funniest person ever born.”
I put the bagel and coffee on a tray for my dad. This is more than I usually do, but maybe I’m feeling guilty about not telling him about Mom or that I spent the night at a motel with a girl even though he wouldn’t have noticed if I spent the next month in Istanbul. “Hey, Dad,” I say as I walk into the den, place his breakfast on the coffee table, and then open the shades so that he can be reminded that there’s a place called “The World” outside this smelly, horrible room. “I’m working the lunch shift today, if you want to come in and eat.”
“I don’t think so,” he says, still lying horizontal, eyes staring off into some netherworld.
“I have a great idea. You should walk! It’s less than a mile and it’s not too humid today, so you could get fresh air and sunshine and then I’ll get you whatever you want from the menu this time, I promise.”
With his gray, tired, numb, droopy, zombie face, my dad says, “Jesus, Art, who the hell taught you to shove your face in people’s business so much?”
I don’t say anything back because I’m trying not to cry—why would I cry? I haven’t cried in years over any of the horrible things my parents have said to me!—but a lot has happened the past couple days, even for someone who loves lots of things to happen, and I can’t hold myself together. “I’m going to go.”
And then I’m into the kitchen and Zee hugs me even before I can tell her what he said.
* * *
Once we’re back in her truck, I say, “Platonic wife, your platonic husband should get to work so he can pay for the motel room when our stolen drug money runs out.”
“Platonic wife?” she says as she starts the car.
“Yes, tell me you love it or I’ll die.”
She laughs. “I love it.”
ZEE
After dropping Art off at his job, I decide I’m going to go back to the motel and try on the tight jeans and frilly tank top he bought me at Macy’s. I haven’t told Art, but Cam has texted me five times since our big scene Saturday night. Not our old banter either. Stuff like Excited to see you Monday, Z. This might not seem like a big difference, but it’s a big fucking difference. Then after Abigail’s thing this morning, I just have this feeling …
… yeah, this feeling …
Actually, fuck it, I’m going to ignore that feeling until it’s real or not real. Projecting how a boy might feel about you is fucking dumb. You know what else? No way am I wearing these jeans and tank. It took me even longer to put them on than it did at Macy’s. And all I see in the motel mirror is a gangly imposter uncomfortable in her own body.
* * *
I text Michael, I need the letter and my money or I’m calling a lawyer. He responds a half hour later that If this goes to court, you’ll lose. I ignore it and then a minute later he sends another text: I’m sorry for getting defensive. Of course you can have your money if you want it. I’m only looking out for you, Zee. His usual flip-flopping. Going to ignore that too.
I text Arshad:
ME
thanks for lunch and helping with money. sorry i ran out.
He responds right away. That’s because he’s a drug dealer who has his phone on him all the time.
ARSHAD
Anytime. You doing okay?
I tell him “yeah” and he asks if he “can do anything” and I say “I’m good” even though I’m living in a sketchy motel with only his fast-disappearing cash to my name.
* * *
I go to CrossFit, and when I get back home—the motel room, whatever—Art’s taken over the bathroom counter with girly crap. Makeup, all that.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop thinking it,” I tell him when I see it.
“I promise it will be subtle.”
“I’m not wearing your clothes either.”
“Zee! If you go on your date with Cam—”
“It’s not a date!” It’s probably a date.
“Ugh, you’re being stubborn and dumb.”
“I’m going like me, and if he doesn’t like me, fuck him.” Who the hell knows if I mean this, but now I’m pissed and, when I’m pissed, discussion is pointless.
* * *
I shower, put on my cargos and hoodie and Jordans. I guess I check myself twice in the mirror, which is once more than usual. But I look good.
For me.
I’m me.
Fuck.
I can’t go looking like me, can I? I mean, that me. He needs to see the me he saw in Abigail’s skirt. I turn to Art, say, “Fine. Dress me and makeup me and whatever.” He leaps from our bed—my bed—and to my side.
“At your service, my queen.”
“Just get it over with, asshole.”
* * *
After I’ve shoved myself into the designer jeans, the fancy tank top (with no bra) and a pair of Art’s shiny white girly shoes, he has me add a bit of mascara but I refuse to put on lipstick.
“What do you think?” Art asks our reflections.
“I hate it.”
“But Cam will like it.”
“He better. I’m going. I’ll text you if I’m going to be late.”
“Have fun, platonic wife.”
I try to say it back, but I can’t.
“Call me your platonic husband!”
“No. It’s weird. Bye.”
art
As soon as Zee leaves, I start to crumble and disappear into nothingness—but, boy, did I fake being supportive of this terrible date with Cam!—and I need to distract myself so I go through my text messages and text everyone: Bryan, Carolina, my brother, both my sisters not named Abigail, and, god, I need to find more friends.
ZEE
I get to the pizzeria early, and Pen, the hostess chick from my class, lays down the menus we never need and says, “I forgot to give you my number last time. And no pressure if you can’t hang out with Iris and me for whatever reason.”
“Yeah, no, we can … I will.” And she really wants to hook me up with her friend, doesn’t she? Or maybe she just wants us to be friends. Which is fucking just as weird, right? I give her my number anyway.
Then she asks, “Where’s Art?” I didn’t even know she knew Art’s name. And why the hell would she think I’d be meeting Art? I’ve met Cam here a hundred times and Art once.
“I’m meeting Cam.”
“Oh,” she says. “Interesting development.” Then she
pauses, which is weird, then says, “Okay, until later,” and walks away. Her mentioning Art does make me think I should text him some platonic husband joke. But I don’t.
Then I get this anxious pulse in my stomach wondering when Cam might arrive and I realize I’m fucking nervous and holy shit that’s so dumb. I’ve known him six years! Whatever. All this stuff is in my head anyway. This will be the same Monday pizza we’ve always had.
Right.
Yeah.
Nope.
Cam walks in and he’s wearing a button-down and no Cubs hat. A clean, pressed button-down and gel in his hair. He says, “Hey, Zee,” and instead of sitting, he leans over and hugs me. It’s unbearably fucking awkward, but I try to pretend it’s nice.
“Hey,” I finally say as he sits down. He looks around, so I look around. Then he looks right at me, which is even worse than him looking around. But he doesn’t say anything. Is he sweating?
“You…” he starts, and he gets this look. Oh, it’s that look. Then he finishes, “… look great.”
I smile. I try at least. “Thanks.” I’d rather be comfortable, but whatever. Maybe if I fake this long enough, I’ll like it.
“I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry.”
“It’s all good. You look nice too.” I’m the lamest person ever born.
“Zee…” he starts.
“Yeah?”
“I’m really sorry about not being there.”
“It’s okay.”
Then he takes this deep breath. “Abigail and I broke up today.”
It’s getting real fast. “Yeah?”
“Yeah … we were always fighting. You saw us Saturday. So much drama. Even before I saw you, every time I was with her I’d wish I could just be chilling watching the Cubs game with you.”
I like hearing that. I do. Wish he’d said it months ago. But it’s good. “You’re my best friend, Cam.”
“Is that all you want to be?”
“What do you mean?” I’m gonna play the airhead. Maybe.
“It’s just so great hanging with you.”
“I love hanging out with you.” I think I say this coyly or suggestively. Fuck, I don’t know. Probably not. Whatever. It works.
He says, “I know, when I saw you last Saturday, I just knew…”
“Knew what?”
“We could … could be perfect together.”
He just said what I’ve been fantasizing about him saying since I was eleven. I must be happy. I mean, I should be happy. I mean, I am happy. Really.
Then he says, “’Cuz when you try just a little bit, like tonight, you’re fucking hot, Zee. So hot.”
Cam’s not exactly artful, is he? Nor is he Art-ful. The kid would have liked that. No thinking about him! Don’t sabotage this, idiot. Fake it until you like it. “I like looking like…” Don’t gag. “… this for you.”
He gets this childlike grin. “Can I sit on that side of the table with you?”
Oh. Uh. Not ready. But, “Yeah.”
He flings himself out of his seat and is next to me in less than a second. “Hey,” he says with this macho attitude thing.
I laugh because I think he’s being funny. Nope.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Jesus, no sorries, Cam. It’s cool. I’m nervous.” Am I still?
“Me too. I’ve been with Abigail so long and we’ve been friends so long. I’m not sure how to act around you.”
“I know…” Wait. “… me too.”
“Should we just kiss to break the tension?”
Oh, shit, I’m about to kiss Cam. I’ve thought about this since I was eleven years old and it’s about to fucking happen.
“Zee?” he says to silence.
“Yeah. Okay,” I say. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth and—
art
No one’s texting me back! So I go through my phone trying to find someone, anyone (!), that will distract me from images of Zee and Cam kissing. (OH-MY-GOD, IT HURTS TO EVEN THINK!) And so I text a bunch of people I barely know, including that boy Jayden, even though my gut says he’s got the potential to be a stalker and not the good kind.
ME
I know Carolina wanted me to tell you that
midwest suburbia was just as great as manhattan
but you should know up front I’m a terrible liar;)
Of course, out of everyone, he’s the one that texts back three seconds later:
JAYDEN
If you lied, I would have still found you gorgeous,
I just wouldn’t have respected myself in the morning;-)
Yep, definitely stalker potential. So I respond with just a smiley face to let him know I can’t text anymore. But he ignores my obvious signal:
JAYDEN
I apologize for being so forward.
I’m a new yorker until death!
But I promise I’ll temper my aggressive flirtations henceforth.
Maybe only because he used the word “henceforth”—and because no one else has texted me, not even Bryan, that bitch! Ha—I give Jayden another chance:
ME
You watch HGTV?
JAYDEN
yes, I also breathe.
That is funny. Kid is funny. So I ask if he’s watching it now, he says yes, so then we start texting about whether they’re going to “love it” or “list it” and I’m never wrong but Jayden says he’s never wrong either and we disagree so we decide to make a bet. Jayden says the loser has to buy dinner when we meet. I tell him it will probably have to be a lunch because of my work schedule. (And dinner would send the wrong signal.)
Of course I win the bet because, unlike Jayden, I really am never wrong. Ha. Then he sends me a Facebook friend invite, and even though I know he’s probably the stalker type, I click Confirm and click on his page to see what he looks like.
Ugh … I think he’s a better dresser than me. Of course, he grew up in Manhattan and now lives in Winnetka, which means his parents are rich and he probably has his own high-limit credit card like Bryan except he clearly knows how and where to buy clothes.
He’s also prettier than me, but this doesn’t bother me as much as his superior wardrobe. And, if anyone ever calls me pretty again, all I’ll have to do is pull up Jayden’s profile, point to his picture, and say, That boy is pretty, and if that boy is pretty, that clearly makes me flawlessly handsome.
* * *
Time-out.
Why?
Do you think Zee is making out with Cam in the back of his Nissan Rogue right now?
Oh.
ZEE
His stubble.
Cam’s kissing me, but all I feel is his stubble. Yeah, now I feel his tongue. A little weird to go for the tongue two seconds into our first kiss while we’re in a restaurant, but whatever. I remind myself I love him, I do, I always have, and I need to stop being such a bitch. So I concentrate on what I like.
Mmmmh. What do I like about his kiss…?
You know what I like?
That he did it. That it’s happening. That even if it took me playing dress-up for him to see it, Cam finally saw we belong together. (Belong together. Lame thing to say. But you get it.)
Eventually the kiss ends, he pulls back, and fuck, I’m glad that’s over. (Stop being a bitch!)
“That felt awesome,” he says.
“Yeah.” I smile. I do. I’m happy. For sure.
* * *
We spend the rest of the meal eating and watching the Cubs game, which I have never cared less about. I mention how Bryan has been coming to CrossFit and he’s super athletic and he’s got the build for football.
“Did Art tell you to talk to me about him?”
“No. Why?”
“Never mind. I don’t know if Bryan would fit in.”
“Because he’s gay?”
“Christ, Zee, Art did tell you to talk to me about him!” He just yelled at me, didn’t he? He’s never yelled at me. Guess what? It’s not hot at all.
So I sa
y nothing and simmer.
“I’m sorry for yelling. It’s not because he’s gay. Fine, I’ll talk to Coach Pollina even though that’s a lot of drama for his first year as the head of varsity. But you have to kiss me first.”
I do, and we go back to watching the game. Like we’re friends again. Except we’re not friends again. We’ve kissed. But this is why I always thought it would work. Because we’re friends that can also kiss.
The bill comes. He reaches for it. That’s awesome. But I’m awesome too, so I say, “Want to split it?”
And he says, “Yeah, oh, yeah, cool.” Art would never have let me split it with him—STOP THINKING ABOUT ART! Cam fishes out some cash, lays it down on the bill, and slides it over. He put exactly half of the total, forgetting about the tip. But whatever. I don’t care. I don’t. I throw down my half plus the tip and we get out of there.
* * *
He walks me to my truck, which he has never done, and then kisses me again. This one’s better. It is. But it’s all mouth; his hands never reach for me. I’d reach for him if I thought he was ready to see my aggressive side, but I don’t know if Cam will ever be ready for that.
I say, mostly because I need a break, “You’re a great kisser.” WHY AM I LYING FOR NO REASON! Maybe I think this is what girls do.
Then he says, “Am I the first guy you’ve kissed?” Motherf-er. He thinks I’m the bad kisser!
“No,” I say, and crap, I think I laugh.
“You’ve been with other guys?” His lips are doing this macho pout. Like I’ve wronged him.
“Yeah.”
“Who?” Dude wants me to name names.
“Why, you gonna beat them up?” I try to lighten things up. Doesn’t work.
“Yeah, maybe!”
Then the raw me can’t stop myself from saying, “Holy shit, Cam, ease back on your stupid jealous-dude thing. You’ve been with Abigail for almost two years. I’m not the type to sit in my room and pine for a guy.” Even though I sort of did.
“I thought you were a lesbian!”
“Are you telling me that seeing me in that fucking skirt is the first time you thought, ‘Hey, wait, maybe she’s straight’?”
The Handsome Girl & Her Beautiful Boy Page 15