by Kelly Myers
I nearly jump out of my skin when I see a figure leaning against my door.
“Hey,” Zach says. He flashes me a grin, as if it’s just totally funny and casual that he’s loitering outside my apartment. “I thought I’d swing by.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long.”
I try to force the surge of happiness down, but I don’t succeed. I was just feeling a little lonely, and now he’s here. That means something, right?
I grab my keys and unlock the door. I remind myself about the need for impulse control. I can’t sleep with him again and then spend another week questioning everything. I need to get off that hamster wheel.
I pull off my coat, and Zach does the same. We sit on the couch, and for a minute I just stare at him. Maybe the Moscow Mule was stronger than I thought, because everything feels a little hazy, as if I’ve fallen into a dream.
Zach leans forward and brushes a knuckle against my cheekbone. The haziness increases as he draws closer.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he murmurs.
Then he kisses me. His lips are light but warm and firm, and I want nothing more than to sink into the kiss.
I almost succumb, but then some voice in the back of my head shrieks: Impulse control!
I pull away and hold up my hands. Zach gives me a puzzled look.
“I have to ask you some things.” My words sound stilted and hesitant, but I know I can’t keep kicking this can down the road.
Zach leans back and stretches his arms along the top of the couch. I tuck my feet underneath me and try to get comfortable.
“Ask away,” he says. He doesn’t seem nervous at all. That’s a good sign, I think. Or it could mean that he’s used to being questioned and has mastered the art of telling tall tales.
“Are you still dealing drugs?” I ask. “In any way at all?”
He’s offended. He hides it well, but I can see the clenching of his jaw and the hardening in his eyes. I’ve officially pushed us out of the fun and casual territory. I’m not sure we’ll ever get back.
“No.” Zach brings his arms to his chest and crosses them. “I’m a contractor, I run a construction company. As I’ve told you.”
“Zach, I had to ask,” I murmur. “You know I had to ask.”
My voice is soft and frail, and Zach’s face softens.
“I understand,” he says. “But I’ve left that life behind for good.”
I frown and fix my gaze on the coffee table. His definition of “for good” and mine are clearly different. Because my definition of leaving something behind for good does not involve lingering friendships with dealers, active or not.
“When?” I ask. “When did you leave it behind?”
Now that I’ve started, I need to find out the whole story. I need to hear him say that he didn’t linger in that seedy life. I need to know that it’s not something he could fall back into at any moment.
Zach lets out his breath in a long exhale. He leans forward so that his elbows are propped on his knees. “This isn’t a very fun conversation, you know.”
“Too bad.” I cock my head and press my lips in a firm line. “You show up uninvited, you have to pay the price.”
He laughs at that, and I see some tension leave his shoulders.
“It was about a year after you left actually,” he says. “I had been trying to distance myself from my dad and Finn for months, but every now and then, I still did favors for them.”
His face twists, I feel a pang in my chest at his expression of shame and regret.
“I knew it was wrong, and I knew I didn’t want it, but it was my dad,” he says. “He would ask or order or threaten, and I just had to do it. Even though I was old enough to say no. I should have said no.”
“I understand,” I say. “I never fully blamed you. Not back then.”
He was young when his dad dragged him into Finn’s messy web. I didn’t blame him. If he has continued to deal, then I do blame him. We all reach an age where we can no longer blame our parents.
Zach suddenly looks up at me.
“You should blame me,” he says. “You would never have carried drugs, no matter how many times your mom asked.”
For once, I don’t want to clobber him over the head for bringing up my mother. Instead I give him a wry smile. “Say what you want about my mother, she was not nearly as scary as your dad.”
Zach chuckles, but there’s an edge of darkness in his smile. Dave O’Malley had been terrifying. He had Zach’s dark coloring, but the similarities ended there. Where Zach moved with an athletic sort of grace, Dave had rolled through life like a steam engine, with pounding steps and hulking shoulders. He had loved to intimidate people.
Dave started to show up at my mom’s place a lot towards the end of that summer. Whenever he was in our living room, my mother would tuck herself into a corner as far away as possible, and she would flinch at his every word.
They wanted her to do some big deal at the end of the summer. I never knew the details, but I knew it was bad from the snippets I overheard. It was a lot of product, enough to put anyone caught with it in jail for years and years. And from what happened right before I left, I’m pretty sure it was stolen from some other gang. I shudder. I don’t want to think about that night. Not right now.
I focus on Zach. I can see that he is remembering his father as well. My mom got involved with drug dealing because she was weak and desperate. Dave O’Malley got involved with that life because he liked it. He liked breaking the rules and scaring people. He was a bully with a fractured moral compass.
And Zach had grown up with that. I clasp my hands together. I always knew that Zach was mostly good. But the bad parts of him, the parts he got from being raised by Dave, those had always been present. I only hope that he’s managed to fight those instincts.
“I moved out,” Zach says. “I was twenty, and I knew it was time. I told my dad I was done, and I got a job in construction to pay my bills.”
I nod. It would have been hard for him. As awful as Dave was, he was the only family Zach knew. Just like I never knew my father, Zach had never known his mother, and he didn’t have any siblings.
“Even then, I ran a few deals for him.” Zach bows his head. I can tell it’s hard for him to admit this. “The last one was a few months after I moved out. Someone had tipped the police off, and they showed up at the drop-off point.”
My eyes widen. Run-ins with the police had been my worst fear. I used to be terrified that they would show up at my mother’s house. Sure, maybe she deserved to get arrested, but then what would have happened to me? Once I was eighteen I was safe, but when I was younger, I knew that the only thing worse than living with my mom would be entering the system.
“I got away, but it was a rude awakening,” Zach says. “I told my dad I was done. He didn’t believe me at first, but then I kept rejecting him when he asked for help.”
“That must have been hard,” I say.
“I should have done it sooner.” Zach sits up and looks me full in the face. “My dad got shot during a deal gone wrong. When he died I hadn’t talked to him in almost a year. Out of everything, that’s what I regret the most.”
I avert my eyes from his earnest face. Zach, who is usually so good at masking any real pain behind jokes and sly glances, is no longer hiding anything. He’s baring his pain for me to see.
And I don’t even understand. His father was awful. Why should Zach regret not seeing him before his demise? It’s sad, but if Zach had stayed in touch, he might never have fully escaped that life. He might be in jail right now. Or worse.
I don’t know how to say all that. It’s not a conversation I’m ready to have. And it’s hitting way too close to home. If my mother died tomorrow, I won’t have spoken to her in years. There would be no forgiveness or goodbyes. But I don’t want any of that. Maybe Zach wanted it with his dad, but I’m not like that.
Zach clears h
is throat. For a second, I think he’s going to bring up my mom, and I’m going to have to ruin the evening by throwing him out.
“I want you to trust me, Bea, and I know I have a past,” Zach says. “So I won’t hold it against you that this whole time you suspected I was dealing on the side.”
He leans forward and nudges my shoulder with his own. “Or did you think it was my main gig, and the contracting was just a front.”
He’s smiling now, and I can’t help but grin as well.
“You did say Finn was gone, so I figured someone had to take his place as the drug kingpin,” I joke.
Zach rolls his eyes and pulls his phone out of his pocket. I admire the tightly corded muscles in his forearm as he holds out his phone so I can see.
He scrolls through photos of a construction site, then opens up a text message exchange.
“This is my current project,” he says. “It’s an extension in Glen Elyn, and it’s big. Way too time-consuming for me to be running drugs on the side.”
I’m touched that he’s taking the time to give me evidence. He understands that I need concrete proof, and he’s doing his best to not be offended by my questions.
“Thanks,” I say as I examine the photos.
“I could even take you out to the site some time,” Zach says. “So you’ll know for sure these photos aren’t fake.”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to do that, I’m not totally cynical.”
“It would be fun though,” Zach says, his eyes twinkling. “I’ll even let you swing a hammer or something.”
We lean back into the couch, and I start to relax. I knew it would be hard to ask him questions about his dealing, but I never thought his honest answers would put me at such ease.
Zach announces that he’s hungry, so we order delivery.
Then I change into sweatpants, and we curl up on the couch and watch some TV and chat about random things. I describe my co-workers and the latest gossip I picked up that night, and he talks more about his current construction project. He tells me about how he and some of his construction workers play in a town baseball league, and it’s so wholesome and adorable that I tell him how much I miss my high school sports teams and how I joined a rec soccer league with some of my co-workers, just so I could play on a team again.
Several hours later, after we’ve eaten our fill, and my eyes are drooping, Zach gets up to leave.
I walk him to the door, wondering if it’s weird or concerning that he came all the way here just to hang out with me, nothing more. He kisses me at the door. It starts out as a peck, but I lean into it, and his lips move with feeling.
Then he leans away and pulls his hand off my neck and leaves.
I miss him as soon as he’s gone. I drift to the bathroom and brush my teeth, my brow furrowed the whole time.
I realize that this whole time, I never once considered the possibility that Zach has changed. He’s no longer the flaky and unreliable teenager. He’s grown, just as much as I have.
I don’t know what that means for us. I’m sick of analyzing it though, so I just crawl under my covers.
All I know was that I feel so much peace from hearing him explain how he no longer deals. The evening spent with him felt good, but it wasn’t a hook-up. And it definitely wasn’t casual.
Chapter Eighteen
On Saturday morning, I wake up in a good mood. The night before was strange, but it was also comforting. I now know the whole story. I didn’t even realize that the gaps between Zach’s teenage self and his adult self were bothering me so much. Now I understand how he left his father and made his own way in the world. Yes, he made mistakes, but he also learned from his errors.
On a more selfish note, it feels good that I can now tell myself I have not been hooking up with a drug dealer.
I still don’t understand why he keeps in touch with my mom and others from Torrins, but I wasn’t ready to go there last night. Hearing about how he finally got out from under his dad’s thumb was stressful enough.
As I putter around my kitchen and fix myself some coffee, I tell myself the most important thing is that I asked him some tough questions, and he gave me answers. He didn’t try to dodge the issues or beat around the bush. For once, he didn’t deflect by telling a joke. In fact, it was startling how serious he was. Some things, not even Zach can joke about.
I get a message from Zoe asking if I want to work out and then grab lunch. We both live in Lincoln Park, so we go to the same gym and often meet up spur of the moment. I text her back that it sounds like the perfect plan.
I finish my coffee and then stretch like a cat in front of my window. The sun is shining, but I know it’s not adding much warmth. It takes a while for Chicago winters to relent. I always expect the temperature to rise by February or at least March, but it oftens stays cold right up to May. When the warmth does finally hit in the summer, it’s worth the wait.
After I wash out my coffee pot, I see a text from Zach:
I’m busy this weekend at the site, but do you wanna see a movie or grab dinner later this week?
I slip my phone back into my pocket. I will respond, but I want to mull it over a bit.
The irony doesn’t escape me. A dinner invitation or a movie date is exactly what I once wanted from Zach. When I was a starry-eyed teenager, I would have been thrilled with anything resembling a real date.
After last night, I think it might be kind of fun. Or at least, I don’t think there’s any harm in it.
It wouldn’t be like we were seriously dating. It would just be a meal. Another hook-up maybe. I don’t have to integrate him into my entire life. He can be just a separate thing on the side. Something that makes me happy.
Because he does make me happy, I realize. Even last night when we were talking about serious topics, I was so happy he was opening up to me. I was thrilled that at last, after all my paranoia and stress, he was being honest with me.
Obviously, when we’re not talking about our damaged sob stories, he makes me even more happy. He has a way of being so cheerful about everything, and when he looks at me, he sees me. He sees past the noticeable red hair and my cat-like eyes, and he even sees past my quick wit. He sees me to my core.
I never thought I would like being that exposed to someone, but I do.
Maybe we can try it. I’ll still be cautious, but we’ll go on a few real dates. I can see what happens. I’ll be prepared to jump ship if it gets messy. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s escaping risky situations.
It’s possible that the past doesn’t have to ruin our present. I know it’s a long shot, but I think it’s possible.
Just before I head to my room to change my clothes, my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, but I suspect it’s one of my clients. I make most sales calls from my work phone, but I text clients sometimes to set up appointments. I don’t usually save their number though, so I figure it’s a client. I don’t like to send them to voicemail, especially if it’s a deal I’ve been chasing, so I pick up.
“Hello this is Beatrice Dobbs.”
“Honey, it’s me.”
My chest clenches, as if an iron band has been wrapped around it. For a second, I can’t even speak. I can just listen to the heavy breathing of my mother on the other side of the line.
“I’m so sorry to call you like this, but I really wanted to speak to you –”
“How did you get this number?” I don’t even recognize my own voice, it’s so low and menacing. My mother must be shocked as well, since she doesn’t answer.
I’m considering hanging up and calling my grandmother to accuse her of handing Claire my contact info, when I remember that she already had my phone number. She called me a few years ago, and I blocked her. She must have just gotten a new phone.
“Please, do not call me again, or I will change my number,” I say. “Do you understand?”
“I just –Sweetheart, please,” Claire stammers. I can practically picture her full lower lip tremb
ling, and her slanted green eyes welling with tears. It’s hard to forget a face when it’s the same one that greets you in the mirror every morning. “I thought maybe we could start over.”
I let out a bitter bark of laughter. There’s no such thing as starting over when it comes to family and relationships. It’s not like building a sand castle; you can’t just knock it down at any time and declare that you need to build it again.
It’s a testament to how childlike and immature my mother can be. I once learned in a psychology class that when a child or teen experiences something traumatic, their development freezes at that age. I’m convinced that my mom is frozen at sixteen. She makes bad choices and whines and then blames everyone else.
Every time she tries to make amends, she says she’s sorry for what she put me through, and she says she’s better now. She acts as if saying sorry makes up for everything. And then I’m the bad person for refusing to accept that.
She acts like I haven’t given her enough chances. Trust me, I gave her plenty of chances. When I was in middle school, my grandmother tried to get my mother to let me come live with her for a few months. My mom was in a toxic relationship with yet another new boyfriend, and my grandma was worried. My mom ranted and raved about how Deborah didn’t trust her and was being so judgmental, and then my mom at last told me that it was my choice.
I adored my mother. When you’re twelve, you tell yourself that your parents flaws are just little mistakes. All I cared about was how my mom used to sing funny songs to me at bedtime, or how she would let me sit on her bed and watch her put on makeup before going out.
I told my grandmother I wanted to stay with my mom.
My grandmother didn’t speak to either of us for a long time, and she never offered to take me in again. Not until things got so bad that last summer with my mother that I ran away. My grandma called me, as if some sixth sense had alerted her to my need, and I told her everything and begged her to take me in.
Last night, Zach said his biggest regret was not speaking to his father in time before Dave died. My biggest regret is not leaving my mother sooner. I could have been spared a lot of anguish if I had gone to live with my grandmother the first time she offered.