One Night

by A. J. Pine

  “Not when you’re just starting to get a hang of this friend thing. Besides, my family isn’t doing Thanksgiving until Friday this year. Zach has this new girlfriend, and she lives down south, past school. He’s going to her house tonight. So Michelle invited me to hang with you guys. What else was I going to do?”

  She’s on a first-name basis with my mom.

  “How long are you going to act pissed that we’ve been talking before you admit how happy you are to have me as a buffer here tonight?” She looks at my mom. “No offense, Michelle.”

  “None taken, Zoe.”

  She has a point.

  “Give me ten minutes, and then I’ll be happy you’re here.”

  “I’ll give you five, but I know you’re already grateful.”

  I kick her from under the covers, and she catches herself before sliding off the edge of the bed.

  “There better be coffee when I get down there,” I say, putting more effort into my pout than necessary.

  “Beans are grinding as we speak,” my mom says.

  ***

  When I get to the kitchen, I’m relieved to see my dad already outside dealing with a frozen turkey in forty-degree weather on the gas grill. No naked bird watching for me. This makes me smile.

  Zoe stands at the long, rectangular island, the place where all the food preparation takes place. She’s got two cups of coffee in front of her, and my stupid brain goes immediately to Adam.

  “Why don’t you call him?”

  Damn, she’s good. Zoe slides one of the mugs across the island to me, arching her pierced brow.

  “I can’t.”

  Her stare looks like it wants to punch me in the throat.

  “I can’t because I already did.”

  And then I tell her about the seventh night.

  ***

  Adam texted every day that first week.

  Sexy Vampire: Are you okay?

  Sexy Vampire: Just tell me you’re okay.

  Sexy Vampire: I’ll stop bothering you if you’ll tell me you’re all right.

  These were easy to ignore. They were obligatory, Adam the good guy doing his duty by checking in. And for six days, I said nothing, not one word. It was my gift to him, a clean slate.

  On the seventh day, though, I heard nothing. Adam’s daily check-ins always came before noon, but on this day radio silence. That was also the first night I didn’t sleep. My therapist would blame it on the meds, but I knew better.

  At one a.m. it came.

  Sexy Vampire: You were always going to run, weren’t you?

  I fooled myself that night that I wouldn’t. But when I saw the pity and look of betrayal in his eyes when I told him, there was no other choice. I’m much better at sprinting for the finish line, even if I’m not sure it’s there. It’s better than exploring paths leading only to dead ends.

  I loved Bryan, but I saw only one option for us. I made myself believe he left me because it was easier than acknowledging what really happened that week.

  I remember now, the nurse or one of my parents apologizing and sending Bryan away. I remember lying in my bed at home and hearing him pound on the front door, the only sound following that the slamming of his car door before he drove off.

  I shut him out for a week because I knew it was over. I knew I couldn’t live with the guilt, his and mine. This strange tragedy would always be between us, and it’s not that alternative methods for having children weren’t available, but how could I put him in the position of making that type of decision so young, of committing to such a huge uncertainty?

  I expected him to fight for me, to tell me he loved me and nothing else mattered, that we’d figure it out when the time came. But he didn’t fight. So I blamed him for being twenty years old, and scared, and still in love with me. I made him think I didn’t want his comfort or kisses or his arms around me because no matter how much I still craved his touch, there could be no comfort in it. So I stopped wanting anything at all, anything with permanence at least. And once I wasn’t under the regular care of my therapist, I stopped my medication altogether. I left my old life behind before anyone could leave me.

  I left Adam. As soon as I knew I loved him, I left.

  But on that night, the first with no text, I dialed his number. I needed to hear him one more time.

  “Jess. Talk to me.”

  But I couldn’t.

  “I don’t know what you need,” he said. “I don’t know how to help you.”

  You can’t, I thought.

  “I’m not hanging up. I’m not running. Do you get that? I’m not running.”

  But I did.

  I listened to his slow, measured breaths for several seconds, maybe minutes, long enough for the tide to almost pull me under. But I ended the call before he knew that it had.

  Silent sobs wracked my body to exhaustion—the only reason I slept.

  ***

  “Six days ago. That’s the last I heard from him.”

  Zoe marches around the corner of the island until she’s violated every rule of personal space. Her hands cup my cheeks as if she’s coming in for the kill, but instead she speaks.

  “Why haven’t you asked me yet?”

  I blink my confusion at her.

  “Why haven’t you asked me how I knew to come home on Saturday? How I found you less than twenty-four hours after Adam left?”

  Maybe it’s because her grip is a vice, or maybe it’s the self-imposed lock I’ve placed on my own logic, but I can’t respond. I know the answer, but to say it will mean it’s true, and I can’t take knowing he cared enough, ignored his own feelings when I not only freaked out but threw him out, to put me first.

  “The calendar, Jess. Our cell phone numbers are on the calendar.”

  I blink a tear that runs between my cheek and her fingers. Payback for all the months I couldn’t cry—I’m a freaking waterfall now.

  “He said I needed to get home, that you needed me. He made me promise I’d get on the first bus back, and I did. I was scared, Jess, even more so when I found you. You could have told me what was going on. I could have helped you see that this boy loves you too, whether you let him in or not. We all fucking love you. You push every one of us away—your parents, me, Adam—and we still love you. Hell, it sounds like you did the same with Bryan, and I get it. God, I get it. Something shitty happened to you, and you’re having a shitty time dealing with it.”

  Her hands are wet with my tears, and she lets go of me to wipe them on her jeans. I want to back away, to turn and leave this room, this house, where I’m held prisoner by memories of someone I used to be.

  But she won’t break her stare, and though she’s no longer holding me with her hands, her dark, lined eyes keep me rooted, unable to turn, unable to run.

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask.

  I’m ready for a continuation of her tirade, but Zoe smiles.

  “Give the people who love you a chance. Give yourself a chance. Stop running.”

  I attempt a smile through the tears. Because despite the two weeks I’ve had, Zoe Adler still makes me want to smile.

  “I don’t know how.”

  She drags a bag of potatoes from the center of the island to where we stand, pulls one out, and hands it to me. Standing behind me, she places her hands on my shoulders and directs me toward the sink.

  “You peel. I chop. We talk. Start with me.”

  She hands me a potato and readies herself at the cutting board.

  “I don’t deserve you.”

  “I know.”

  The routine begins. I skin a potato, hand it to her, and she dices it into cubes. Again. And then again. At one point Zoe looks at me, and I shift my stance so the potato skin flies onto her cheek instead of in the sink.

  And then the unexpected happens. I laugh, and Zoe’s laughing with me. We’re interrupted by the whoosh of the sliding glass door and my dad coming in from the cold.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks, visibly pleased at the
sound of laughter.

  “Nothing,” I say, but we keep laughing anyway.

  21

  By noon the potatoes are boiled, mashed, and we’ve kept the conversation going the whole time. For the last hour we’ve been munching on the vegetable tray that’s supposed to be appetizers for the guests, and I’m learning more about Spock.

  “So the band thing is for fun?” I ask.

  Zoe nods, and her cheeks redden. “He wrote a song about me. The band hasn’t played it live, but he sang it for me once with his acoustic.”

  Her voice lilts as if a song itself, and my stomach twists with its own longing.

  “You do have feelings for him,” I say.

  She shrugs. “Of course I do. But I respect the distance. I’m so not getting attached to someone who’s taking off to travel the country in four weeks. You’ve seen him, right? He’s hot, plays guitar, and writes all the band’s lyrics. I’m not gonna fall for that and expect him to be faithful when he could be having the type of fun he should be having. I won’t be the girl he resents.”

  I let my hand rest on hers, and she breathes out a long breath.

  “He says we can do the artist thing together someday—him writing, me drawing. I don’t know what that means, really, except that he sees me somewhere in his future.”

  Her blush grows.

  “I’m not an idiot, though. Not gonna get my hopes up. But I wouldn’t say no to him in my future if it really happened.”

  I squeeze her hand.

  “It’s going to happen. And it’ll be fabulous.”

  Her smile shifts to a hesitant stare.

  “What?” I ask, knowing the conversation is no longer about Zoe and Spock.

  “I wish you could just be twenty-one and date this great guy and see where it goes. Why do you have to worry about all this grown-up shit?”

  I sigh. “Because I grew up,” I say. “I didn’t want to, Zoe. I had to.”

  She nods.

  “Is surrogacy an option?”

  Here we go.

  “Yes,” I answer, looking down at the baby carrot I’m swirling in the veggie dip. “But nothing is guaranteed. I have no idea how egg extraction will go. Then there’s the issue of a surrogate. It’s not like my doctor hasn’t gone over this with me. And believe me, I’ve done my own share of research. It’s not like I don’t think about this . . . all the time.”

  She puts her hand on mine, the one still stirring the carrot, and I let go, letting it sink into the quicksand of the dip.

  I take a deep breath before bringing my eyes to hers.

  “My mom had a hysterectomy a few years ago. She’s devastated she can’t do this for me.”

  She purses her lips, and I already know what will come after her hesitation.

  “What about your sister?”

  Apparently Zoe’s learned a lot from her talks with my mom.

  “Liz and her family live in Arizona. She’s ten years older than I am, with three kids. I couldn’t do that to her, disrupt her life like that.”

  And it’s not like she’s offered, I think, and I don’t blame her. It’s too much.

  “Have you asked her?”

  “No.”

  I’ve always looked up to my sister, and there’s no question how much she loves me. But there’s always been distance between us because of our ages. And now she’s almost two thousand miles away. What would I do, move to Arizona for a year or more? Ask her to come here?

  “What about adoption?”

  I’ve thought about it. A lot.

  “Of course that’s an option, but what do I do? Bring that up on a first date? Or do I wait until things get serious before I fuck it up? I did that to Adam even though I promised myself I wouldn’t, and look how well that worked out.” Options or not, I don’t know how to think about today without thinking about tomorrow or five years from now.

  Zoe shrugs. “You’re setting yourself up for this one possible future without exploring the options. Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Zoe shakes her head. “Sorry, not good enough. Why, Jess?”

  The knot rises in my throat. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s me. Tell me why.”

  The only way to swallow the knot is to scream through it.

  “What if it doesn’t fucking work? What if I trap a guy into a future with me by giving him hope, and then it doesn’t work? I’ve heard my sister talk about my brother-in-law, that there was nothing like the change she saw in him when he held his own flesh and blood in his arms. I’m terrified of not having that to offer, of not having guaranteed options.”

  Zoe paces between the counter and island. When she finally stops to look at me, all understanding leaves her eyes.

  “Do you have any idea how many people start relationships, get married, whatever, and have NO idea what will happen when they try to have kids—whether they’ll be successful or not? God, you may have some obstacles ahead of you, but at least you have an idea of what they’ll be. You can start planning now. But instead you’re wallowing in what you’ve lost and punishing yourself for something you can’t change. Enough already, Jess!”

  Her palms grip the edge of the island, steadying her as she heaves, and the tips of her fingers go white.

  “You’re . . . you’re mad at me?” I’ve been expecting the pep talk all day, but this isn’t how I thought it would all go down.

  Zoe groans, exasperated, and stalks past me to the foyer and out the front door.

  What the hell just happened?

  I follow her, and it’s a good thing I do. Her coat hangs over the bannister at the foot of the stairs, which means Zoe is equal parts pissed off and freezing. And it looks like she’s also too stubborn to come back in for her coat. I grab it along with mine and head out the door in my socks. Looks like Zoe neglected shoes as well.

  She’s balled up on the porch swing, no doubt trying to contain her own body heat.

  “Here.”

  I hold her coat out to her, and she grabs it with force.

  “Can I sit?”

  She shrugs. That’s yes enough for me to take the spot next to her.

  “It’s your turn to talk,” I say.

  I rock the swing slowly using the balls of my feet. The cold of the cement burrows through my thick socks, sending a jolt up my spine. I’m not sure if it’s nerves or the low temperature causing my insides to shake.

  “Do you know why my mom started drinking?”

  There’s accusation in her tone, but I answer honestly. “No.”

  “No. You don’t. Do you want to know why you don’t?”

  When I turn to face her, she’s all profile, rigid and staring straight ahead like something carved from ice.

  “Zoe, please.”

  “Because you never asked.” Her anger is gone, her voice small, too small for the presence that is Zoe. “Lots of fraternal twins or other multiples, they’re conceived through infertility treatment. That’s me and Zach. Three years and seven miscarriages—that’s how long they tried to have kids with no medical intervention.”

  My stomach turns at the sound of the word—miscarriage. I think of the fear strangling me when I told Bryan I was pregnant and the clarity in his reaction. I knew I would keep the baby, but I steeled myself to lose Bryan in the process. When he told me he wanted the same thing, I couldn’t imagine anything more perfect. I think that’s another reason I waited when the bleeding started. I wanted to believe it was some freaky side effect of early pregnancy. It was more than the baby I never knew I wanted or the ability to conceive, but I lost an entire sense of self. I didn’t know who I was without the part of me I took for granted, and I didn’t know how Bryan and I could be us anymore. I pushed him away, even blamed him for the end of our relationship. But I never grieved with him. I never took into account what all of this had done to him. And apparently I never knew what something similar had done to Zoe’s family. Because I never asked.

  “I’ve been selfish,” I admit.
“For a long time. I swear if you would have met me two years ago, I would have been an amazing friend.”

  She finally looks at me, her solemn stare replaced with an exaggerated eye roll.

  She laughs, more of a scoff, really. And I realize I’m not off the hook yet.

  “The treatment took its toll on them, not only physically but financially as well. Our birth should have been a relief, a celebration. And I’m sure it was at first. But it was also the final thread at the time.”

  Zoe’s eyes shine, and her voice is tinged with something like regret.

  “It’s because of us my dad never left, but it’s also because of us she battled for years before getting healthy.”

  She blinks soaked lashes.

  “Did you know we have another brother? Wyatt?”

  God, I really have been in my own world. I shrug, then lower my head.

  “You mentioned him when you told me about Zach, but I . . .”

  She lets out a sigh, cutting me off so I don’t have to say it again. I never asked. This is Zoe’s turn. She’ll talk, and I’ll listen.

  “When she got healthy and things were good again with my dad . . . it’s not like they thought birth control was needed. He’s their little miracle, and my mom never lets us forget it. I love my brother, but you’ve never met a favorite child until you’ve met Wyatt Adler.”

  I lean my head on her shoulder.

  “It’s not your fault, Zoe. How she handled the stress is not your fault.”

  She laughs unconvincingly, her arms still hugging her knees.

  “That is the logic behind it. Isn’t it? Yet, here we are. Would you believe me if I told you what happened to you wasn’t your fault?”

  “Zoe, don’t.” I push up from the swing, ready to head back to the door. But she’s behind me, her hand on my shoulder in seconds as she spins me to face her.

  “I know what you think. I know what you said to Adam, about waiting to tell your mom. She told me what the doctor said, that if you’d made it in sooner, they might not have had to be so drastic with the procedure. But no one knows if that’s true. You’ll never know. And so what if it would have been true? You were young and scared. Shit, you still are, and that’s okay. This isn’t about blame, Jess.”