by Kelly Myers
And she is most happy when she’s on stage. When it’s her turn, she sits down in the stool and adjusts her guitar. Then she looks out at the audience with a soft smile. There’s no fear in Marianne, no hesitance. She was born to perform.
We all sit with matching smiles on our faces as Marianne does a three-song set. We all clap when she finishes, and Zoe let’s out a few hoots and whistles.
Marianne winks at her fan table and skips off stage.
After all the performances are done, Marianne joins us. Zoe pushes a drink towards her.
“You crushed that Bob Dylan song,” Zoe says. “I almost cried.”
Marianne scoffs. “You say that every time I do a folk song.”
It’s true, Zoe does always say that. And she never comes close to crying. Zoe is the most unsentimental person I know.
Elena is clearly desperate to get back to the Zach issue. She fills Marianne in on the current situation.
“Ok, I wanna see a pic,” Marianne says.
I roll my eyes, but I tell them to go to his website and click on the tab that has a picture of his crew. They zoom in on Zach and let out little oohs and ahs of appreciation, even though it’s a blurry photo, and, if I’m being completely honest, it doesn’t do him justice at all. But I would much rather they discuss his physical looks than anything else.
I’m not that lucky though. Elena looks up from the phone and gives me a quizzical look. “So what’s really going on?”
“We’ve hooked up twice,” I say. “I might see him again, I might not.”
“How can you be so detached?” she asks. “This is Zach.”
“Elena, a week ago, you wouldn’t have even recognized the name,” I point out. “It was emotional to see him again, I’ll admit, but no I’m certain our connection is just physical.”
A wicked grin spreads across Marianne’s face. “So, how good is he?”
“He’s clearly really good in bed,” Zoe interjects before I can answer. “Beatirce wouldn’t involve herself with anyone from her past without a good reason.”
She’s right, but the bluntness of the statement stings. Is my disdain for my roots really that obvious?
“Huh, I never knew Bea had a thing for the bad boys,” Marianne says.
“He’s not a bad boy.” Elena turns to me. “Not anymore, right? He just does the construction stuff?”
I run my finger over the condensation on my beer glass. Now would be the time to confess the more dubious side of Zach. I could tell them that he was still associated with drug dealers, including my mother. I could tell them that I myself don’t know what to think.
They’re my best friends. They would support me no matter what.
Even so, the lie comes easily to me.
“Yup,” I say. “He’s a bad guy gone good.”
Elena perks up. “I wanna meet him. You should invite him out with us sometime.”
“Tonight!” Marianne suggests. “We can find a place to go dancing, and he can meet us there!”
I give her a cynical look. “That’s not really his scene. Nor is it mine.”
Marianne loves to dance, but I’m not that big of a fan of clubs and crowds.
“But maybe next time,” Elena says.
“Have you guys been listening?” I chuckle at their innocent looks. “We’re not serious, he’s just a fling.”
“But he’s from your mysterious past!” Marianne says. “We’re curious.”
“I love that ‘mysterious’ is the word you use for it.” I shake my head at Marianne’s take on my youth.
“You know what I mean,” Marianne says.
“My question is why you’re so dead set on him being a fling,” Zoe says. “You clearly like him, and you’ve only been hanging out for a week, why not try for something more?”
I shrug. “I guess it’s just my sixth sense.”
“Has your sixth sense seen his shoulders?” Marianne holds up the phone with the photo, and we all laugh.
“If it gets even a little bit serious, I promise I’ll invite him out with us,” I say.
They’re all satisfied with that, so we chat some more about the performances and update each other on our weeks.
They may be enthusiastic about meeting Zach now, when he’s a mysterious and distant figure, but if they knew more about him, they wouldn’t be so gung-ho. Even if I told them a tidbit of the stuff that used to go down with Finn and Zach’s dad in Torrins, they would be wide-eyed with horror.
I haven’t looked into it, but I figure it’s extremely likely that Zach’s dad died in a violent way. Maybe Finn even took care of Dave. Finn never did put much stock in loyalty. He would have stabbed a knife in anyone’s back.
Even if Zach is totally clean, my friends would still be scandalized by his actions when he was 19. Yes, Zach complained about it. Yes, he was unhappy that his dad forced him to run drugs. But he still did it.
I don’t know why that matters so much to me, but it does. I want a good life that’s free of darkness. Zach will never fit into that because he can’t change his past any more than I can.
My friends don’t understand that, so I don’t bother explaining. I just silently resolve that they’re not going to meet Zach anytime soon.
Chapter Sixteen
Impulse control is the key. That’s what I decide. Both times I slept with Zach, I wasn’t thinking. I just dove into the moment and let go.
Sex with Zach was great, but I clearly need to think a little bit more. I can’t just act however I’m feeling in the moment.
Therefore, all weekend, I come up with the excuses as to why he can’t come over. I know the minute he’s in my apartment, we’ll be all over each other. In the kitchen again, or in the living room. He just bombards me with lust.
I do want to see him again, but I figure I could use some time to contemplate how best to proceed. I need to set boundaries and make it clear that we’re just having some fun. That’s all.
It shouldn’t be too difficult or complicated. Guys are supposed to like the casual thing, don’t they?
Zach has never once indicated that he wants anything serious. He’s probably on the same exact page as me: fun hooking up, nothing more.
On Monday morning, after a whole weekend of trying to get my impulses in check, I don’t feel much better. I still feel like the moment I see Zach, all my control is going to fly out the window. When he came over to my apartment, even when I was so mad at him, I lost all my ability to think critically. As soon as he kissed me, I was a goner.
As I scroll through my daily calendar at work, I frown over the implications of this. I’ve been attracted to plenty of people. I’ve even had great chemistry with a few. But the amount of desire that pulses through me every time I see Zach is like nothing I’ve ever felt.
I know what my friends would say.
Bea, you’re falling for him!
You’re so in love, Beatrice!
Just admit your feelings!
But it’s not like that. Sure, we have a connection. It’s physical, but there’s also personal compatibility. We were friends back when we were teenagers before we ever kissed. Despite that, he’s not my soulmate.
He can’t be. After everything I did to leave Torrins behind, after all the hard work I’ve put into building myself a life outside of where I came from, my soulmate can’t be Zach O’Malley, the drug dealer from around the block.
It’s just not my destiny. Hell, I don’t even believe in destiny. I don’t think so anyway.
As for what kind of man I’m looking for, who the hell knows? I know I want someone. I don’t want to die alone after all. Plus, the idea of being part of a real family that isn’t fractured in about a dozen ways has its appeal.
I’ve never put much thought into outlining the specifics of my future soulmate. I figured it would happen when it was supposed to happen. He would be mature, responsible and have a good job. I imagined he would be from a happy and healthy family. Maybe not too happy though. I wouldn’
t want to feel embarrassed by my own lack of a happy family.
One thing I know for certain: Zach is not that soulmate. He’s too complicated. I know too much about his worst moments, and he knows too much about mine.
Besides, both of us come from messed up families. How could we possibly establish our own healthy family? Neither of us know anything about that.
I’m jolted out of my bleak thoughts by the chipper voice of my manager Laura.
“Whatcha got cookin today, Bea?”
I hide my grimace at the sales terminology and answer. “I have some scheduled pitches plus a few follow-ups.”
“Good stuff!” she says once she glances over my calendar. Then she moves on to someone else, and my fake smile disappears. Since I’m already above quota, she won’t pester me too much for the rest of the month.
I’m free to slack off and mull over Zach as much as I want. I decide that I won’t commit to any plans until the last-minute. I’ll give uncertain and vague answers to his texts until Friday or Saturday, and then I’ll invite him over for a hook-up.
That way, it’s clear that he’s not my priority.
It sounds cruel, but I think this is for the best. I’ll stay in control, and that way I’ll be safe. We can never be anything other than casual. It’s just not meant to be.
Plus, there’s the fact that we already tried.
If we were meant to be together, wouldn’t we have stayed together all those years ago? Despite our parents and our youth, wouldn’t our relationship have lasted if it was actually strong?
I think of how Zach was back then. Whenever he was around, he was like this beam of light, warm and effervescent. He could make me laugh with just the way he wiggled his eyebrows.
The thing was, he wasn’t around a lot.
We never made any real plans because Zach didn’t stick to them. He showed up whenever he felt like it.
Sometimes he would meet me after my shift at the diner for three nights in a row and walk me home. Then, without a word, he would disappear for a week. I would exit the diner and look around, like an idiot, every night.
Then, when he finally did turn up, I was so young and smitten with him that I never actually said anything. I never called him out on his flakiness.
I never even asked where he had been all those evenings. I always assumed he was running drugs for his dad and Finn. Illegal activities or not, he wasn’t someone I actually depended on.
I cried about it once. It was about two weeks after our first kiss. I thought that any day Zach might ask me to be his girlfriend officially or even take me on a real date. I would have been happy with burgers and a movie.
After two weeks and a few makeout sessions in the park or in an alleyway, it was clear that he was never going to ask me out. So I played sad music and wept into my pillow.
The next day, Zach showed up, and we kissed again, but my sadness had left. I had accepted that Zach and I were not some great romantic couple. We were not the love story of the century. And I was ok with that because it was fun to kiss Zach, but I didn’t want to be stuck with some drug dealer in Torrins for the rest of my life.
It sounds harsh, but that’s how I had to think. Zach was never going to be the picture-perfect boyfriend, so I had to see him for what he was: a guy from the wrong side of the tracks who was fun to flirt with.
We ended not just because Zach was enmeshed in his father’s world, or because I was determined to get into college and away from Torrins. We also ended because neither one of us cared enough to fight. We let it fizzle out. It was a summer romance, bright but short-lived. There was no staying power. We liked to make out to distract ourselves from the stress of our lives. We weren’t soulmates, determined to stick it out through thick or thin. And we’re still not.
Zach was never serious about me. And he’s not serious about me now.
We just have some chemistry. A physical connection.
My friends can think whatever they want. They can tell themselves elaborate stories about how Zach is the one that got away, and now maybe I have a chance to win him back or whatever. It’s not going to happen.
He texts me that afternoon. He asks when we can meet up again. I write back that I’m not sure of my schedule yet.
No way am I making plans on Monday for this weekend. That screams “serious” and “committed.” I’ll give him non committal answers until maybe Friday. Then I’ll ask him to come over. Late. So we won’t have dinner or anything. Just sex.
I’m not scared of commitment. I just know that with Zach, it’s impossible. I went down that road before, as a wide-eyed teenager. I make mistakes, everyone does. But I will never make the same mistake twice.
Chapter Seventeen
On Friday, I go out for drinks with my co-workers. I’m feeling a bit tired, but I accept the invite anyway because if I don’t, I’ll just go home and think about Zach.
I need to continue living my life. He can’t be like this meteor that knocks me entirely out of my routine.
My teammate Tony leads the way to his favorite post-work bar where you can make your own Moscow Mules. I accept a cup with vodka from the bartender, then follow my co-workers over to the table to add ginger ale and toppings. I dump a handful of gummy worms on top since I’m honestly more interested in the candy than the drink.
Here’s a secret I would never tell my work friends: I don’t actually like drinking. Not the way they like it, anyway. Sure, I love grabbing a drink to chat over at one of Marianne’s performances, or sharing a bottle of wine after a long week.
But salespeople don’t drink like that. The concept of moderation is totally foreign to them. There’s no such thing as going out for “just one drink.” They start with one drink, and they end at two in the morning, throwing up on the sidewalk.
I’m sure not every salesperson in the world is like this, but the ones I work with definitely are. I think it’s a combination of the stress of the job and the extroverted nature of most salespeople.
So I go out with my teammates because they’re my friends, and I do enjoy their company, but I always slip away before things get too crazy. And if I’m cornered into taking a shot, I’ve mastered the art of faking it.
When it comes to alcohol, I’m just not interested in getting out-of-my-mind drunk. I saw my mother use alcohol as a crutch too many times over the years.
I settle into the corner of the table Tony selects, and I take dainty sips of my Moscow Mule. I know it’s only a matter of time before Tony orders shots, but the bar is dark enough and there are enough of us that he surely won’t notice if I toss mine on the floor.
Sometimes I wonder what the point is of all the faking. I could just not go out with them. I could just sip a coca-cola.
I guess I like spending time with my co-workers. They’re fun and charming. And also, part of me wants to prove that I don’t have to alter my life choices because of my mother’s actions. I’m not like her. I can be around drinking without succumbing to addiction. I don’t want to sacrifice any part of my life because of her. I already sacrificed enough.
I spend an hour or so at the bar, chatting with Laura and Sara, who is new to the team. Sara is really funny, and it also turns out she has all the gossip in the office since she’s hopped around a few different teams in the last few months.
For a while, I don’t think about Zach. I just laugh and gossip and chat.
Around 8:30, Tony wanders off to get the third round of shots, and I decide it’s time to make my exit. I say a quick goodbye and walk towards the door. A few minutes later, I’m on the brown line.
The buzz of the one drink I had and the socialization begins to fade as the train carries me north.
I thought I might text Zach, but now it feels too late. It would be such an obvious booty call. I thought that’s what I wanted, but now it feels a little rude or insensitive.
I’m overthinking everything, that much is clear. I don’t see any other option though. Not thinking led to two great nights
of sex, but all of my questions about Zach have remained unanswered. I’m still not sure when or if he gave up dealing. I don’t know why he still lives in Torrins.
I’ve got no answers, I’ve only run into more questions, like why he associates with my mother.
The more I think over how often I’ve let Zach dodge my questions, or how many times I haven’t even bothered to ask what’s on my mind, the more frustrated I get. I’ve never been a coward. I’ve never had a problem speaking my mind.
What is about Zach that makes me so terrified to just ask him my questions? Am I scared that I’ll offend him? Or am I just scared of his answers?
The train jolts to a stop at Fullerton, and I step off.
The night is cold and bitter gusts of wind pull at my hair. I wrap my coat around me and shove my hands deep into my pockets.
I’m all of a sudden feeling very sad and lonely. I almost wish I had made plans with Zach. But, he didn’t push it though. After I said I wasn’t sure what my week was going to look like on Monday, he didn’t text until Wednesday. I texted back that I was actually pretty swamped at work, but I would let him know if I had time.
He called me Wednesday evening, but I didn’t pick up. He didn’t leave a message.
After that, there was radio silence. I suppose I could have texted him, but I was too busy overthinking.
It’s clear that Zach is not the clingy type. I would have been surprised if he had badgered me or called me a bunch of times. In fact, he’s probably got girls on rotation. If not me this weekend, he’ll go pick up somebody else. He’s certainly charming enough for that kind of life.
I didn’t expect him to pester me. So why am I so disappointed?
I’m not a glutton for punishment. I was never the type to sit at home waiting for some guy. I never fell into the trap of unrequited love. If someone doesn’t want me, I don’t want them. How come Zach is the exception to each one of my rules?
I walk up the two flights to my apartment with my head down.