by Kelly Myers
I take a sip of the tea and get my weepiness under control.
“I appreciate you taking me home and making me tea,” I say. “But I have to know something.”
One question has been nagging me this whole time. All I want to do is collapse into Zach’s arms and let him cuddle me for the rest of the night, but I need to know one more thing.
“What is it?” Zach asks.
“Have you been talking with my mother about me?” I ask. “Because at the pizza place, it sounded like you were defending her, almost as if she had been telling you things to get you on her side, and she tried to call me last weekend, and I just need to know if you’ve been talking to her about me.”
Zach stares down at my knees. I don’t even breathe as I wait for an answer.
“I haven’t been talking about you with her,” he says at last. “I haven’t talked with her much at all.”
All the tension leaves my shoulder as I let out an exhale. I didn’t even realize how devastated I would be if he had indeed been in regular contact with her until he said he wasn’t.
“If it sounded like I was defending her, that’s just because I have a different opinion on the matter.” He doesn’t say it like it’s a debate, or he’s angry with me. He just states it as a fact. “But I don’t blame you or judge you for not wanting to discuss the past. There are no sides in this. You’re doing well, Bea, I’m not judging you for what you did.”
I nod. I never thought I was the type who needed excessive validation, but it feels so good for him to say he respects my choices.
“Thank you for saying that.” I tip forward so my elbows almost rest on my knees. “I don’t want you to think I’m a cold or heartless person, I just had to do what was best for me.”
He looks up at me, and there’s so much emotion in his eyes that I can’t breathe again.
“You did the right thing, getting away from your mother,” Zach says. “But I guess I’m just on the other side of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You got to leave,” Zach says. “I’ve always been the one who was left behind.”
It hits me like a freight train. I understand everything. It makes sense that he was so curious about my treatment of my mother. He thought I was going to treat him like I treated her. In fact, I have treated him in a similar fashion. With my scorched earth policy, I cut out everyone who was even distantly associated with my mother, except for my grandma. I did leave him. Of course, he would want an explanation.
“Zach, you’re not like her.” I set my tea down on the coffee table and place my hands on his arms. I need to touch him. To let him know that I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. “You were good to me, you were a friend, I was just young and scared so I ran away from everyone.”
Zach tilts his head in a teasing manner and pats my hand. “We both know I wasn’t the most wholesome guy back then.”
“Well, yeah.” I give him a brittle smile. “But compared to my mother, you were Mr. Perfect.”
“I admire your ability to move forward.” He picks up my hand and absent-mindedly massages my palm with his thumb. “I still get bogged down and haunted by the things I did and the people I used to cross paths with.”
“Maybe you should move out of Torrins and into one of those cute suburbs you build houses in.” It’s meant as a joke, but he doesn’t laugh.
“Maybe,” he says. “I would still go back though. I always get pulled back.”
“I don’t,” I say. “I guess we’re just different.”
“You still go back for your grandma.”
I raise my eyebrow and look him straight in the eye. “I’m counting the days until I can move her into the nicest retirement home in the greater Chicago area.”
My frank admission shocks a laugh out of him.
“See, maybe I am just a little bit heartless,” I say.
Zach lifts my chin with two fingers and kisses me, just once. “No, not heartless. You’re Beatrice Dobbs, and there’s no one like you.”
I scoot forward on the couch until I’m practically sitting in his lap. He pulls me close with one arm, and I rest my head against his chest.
Zach plays with a strand of my hair, still damp from the shower.
“I didn’t know your hair got this dark when it’s wet,” he says. “It’s still red though.”
“Of course,” I say. “I’ll never dye it.”
“Because it makes you different from your mom.”
I sit up straight and look at him in alarm. “How do you know that?”
He smirks at me. “I’m a mind-reader.”
I widen my eyes. It’s shocking how well he can see right down to my core motivations.
“Bea, I’m kidding.” Zach presses his forehead against mine. “You told me why you never dye it. Back when we were teenagers.”
“Oh.” I lean back against him. “I forgot.”
He smiles, and I cuddle into his warmth. It’s touching that he remembers some random comment I made about my hair ten years ago. Why have I never noticed how sweet he can be until now? I thought he just had devilish good looks and charm, but there’s something so kind and genuine about him as well.
Maybe Marianne was onto something. Crying in front of boys can pay off. Sometimes it even brings out the best in them.
“I don’t want to be like her,” I whisper into his shirt. “I’ve always been scared that somehow I might slip and end up living the kind of life she does. It’s my biggest fear.”
Zach doesn’t say anything, he just tightens his arms, as if he knows that I’ve never confessed this to anyone, and I don’t want him to give an opinion, I just need him to listen.
“That’s why I don’t think I can ever forgive her,” I say. “I know forgiveness is important, and I try to practice it when I can. But with her – she’s made me live with this fear, and it’s dictated everything. It’s why I never took risks with my career and why I’m determined to hold onto the most reliable job I can. And I’m happy with my life. I am. I just can’t forgive her for making me so scared. I hate that she has the power over me, even when I haven’t seen her in ages.”
I close my eyes and let out a shaky breath. It feels better than I ever could have imagined to speak that truth out loud. I’ve mentioned my fears before, mostly to friends in vulnerable moments. But I’ve never cut right to the heart of the matter. I’ve never admitted to anyone that my mother still has such a strong effect on me.
I always thought it would be agonizing to say it, but it feels good. It feels like I’m fifty pounds lighter. The anger and the fear still exists, but just by talking about them, I have gained some control.
I think wryly to myself that maybe I should try therapy after all.
Zach plants a gentle kiss on the top of my head. “I wish I could take some of your fear, just to hold it for you for a bit.”
I smile hard against his chest. Maybe he’s even better than therapy.
I start to drift off. All the crying on top of the soccer game and the day at work has made me beyond exhausted.
I fall asleep in his arms, and only wake when I feel myself being carried to my bed.
He sets me down and starts to tuck me in.
I push past layers of drowsiness to force my eyes open. I reach out to grasp his arm and ask him for the thing I want most in the entire world: “Will you stay?”
He doesn’t say a word, he just crawls into the bed next to me. In an instant, I’m back in his arms and fast asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When I wake up Zach is gone from the bed. At first, I think I was dreaming the whole thing. Then I decide that not even in my strangest of dreams would I end up crying while stuffing pizza in my mouth.
For a second, I think he must have left in the middle of the night, like he did the first time we had sex. I feel empty at the thought. I wonder if maybe last night wasn’t as big of a deal for him. He wasn’t the one crying his eyes out, after all.
Then
I hear a pan being set down in the kitchen.
It was all real, and the fact that I can hear him in the other room just confirms it.
I stretch and smile to myself. What a turn of events. We went from just hooking up and maybe dating to something far more serious. And I’m not upset about it. In fact, I’m thinking that I may have sold Zach O’Malley short. I evaluated his potential for a relationship based on the boy I once knew, not the man he has become.
I’m still not sure what’s going to happen with us, but I feel like there’s potential.
I make my way to the kitchen, where he’s just finishing up with scrambled eggs.
He flashes me a grin. His eyes are bright, and he’s fully dressed. It’s seven, but he looks like he’s been up for hours.
“Good morning.” He places the plate of eggs on the table, and I sit. “You should call in sick today.”
I open my mouth to object, but I realize that I have no good reason. I’m at quota for the month. I haven’t used a sick day in ages. And, to be quite honest, I’ve had a very emotional 24 hours.
“Ok,” I say. “I’m assuming you have some fabulous plan for the day.”
“Why do I have to come up with the plan?”
He places a cup of coffee in front of me, and I give him a teasing glance while I take a sip.
“You’re the one who made me cry last night,” I say. “You owe me.”
Instead of looking guilty or awkward, Zach just moves his chair closer so his knee is touching mine. “If you’re going to be so easily placated, I guess I’ll have to make you cry more.”
He kisses me on the lips, right as I’m putting my coffee cup down, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. He acts as if this is an ordinary morning. I realize with a start that I want this to be an ordinary morning. I want to wake up and drink my coffee with him.
He pulls back and rests one hand on my knee. “I have to swing by a site really quick, but then I can come pick you up, and we can hang out here or go to a museum or the movies, whatever you want.”
“Can I come to the site?”
Zach raises his eyebrows. “You really want to?”
I nod, and it’s not an act. I’ve been curious about his work ever since I saw the nice houses on his website. It’s so interesting to me that a guy like Zach, who grew up so far from a luxurious home, would be in the business of creating them.
“You might be bored,” he says. “It’s a lot of mud and stakes in the ground and not much else.”
“I have hiking boots, and Iwant to see it,” I say. “But I can stay here if you don’t want me to come along.”
“No.” Zach squeezes my knee with urgency and looks me in the face. “I want you to come.”
“Great!” I start shoveling the rest of my eggs into my mouth. “I can be ready in 10 minutes!”
Zach shakes his head, but I can tell he is touched by my enthusiasm. “You have more time than that. I’m the boss, I can show up when I want.”
“But I bet you want to show up early,” I say.
“Very true,” Zach says.
After I finish my meal, I send a quick text to Laura saying that I woke up with a killer migraine.
Zach does the dishes while I dash to my room and pull on a faded jeans, a blue crewneck sweater and my hiking boots, which still have dried specks of mud from when Elena convinced us all to go camping two summers ago, which was coincidentally the last time I wore the boots.
Zach watches me as I pull on my coat and gloves. All of a sudden, he grabs me around the waist and pulls me close for a firm kiss. My arms wrap around his neck in an instant.
When he draws back, I let out a breathless little laugh. “What was that for?”
“I’m just glad I saw you outside that 7-Eleven.” He kisses me once more, and then we walk out.
I smile to myself because I think I know what he means. He’s glad he saw me by chance, but he’s also glad we’re doing this. Even though we haven’t defined what “this” means, it feels right to me, and it must feel right to him. It’s as if I’m getting a second chance at something I didn’t even know I was missing.
And now that I’m aware of how much I want it – how much I want him – I’m determined to take advantage of this opportunity.
It will be hard to be with someone who is so familiar with my past. I’m not used to someone knowing about all the darkest corners of my life. But last night showed me that there are perks to being with Zach. It’s so much easier to talk about difficult things with him. He listens to what I say, but he also understands what I can’t say. It could be so wonderful to have him by my side through the ups and downs.
I force myself to focus on the presence once we’re in the car. I’m not usually the type to imagine some perfect future right off the bat. That’s Elena’s way, and sometimes Marianne is like that when she gets a big crush. Zoe and I have always been more practical.
With Zach, it’s more tempting to picture a vivid future. I already know him so well, and I’m excited to learn new things about him.
I resisted because I was terrified of my past, but last night I looked my past full in the face, and he was there. He made it better. He won’t push me anymore. When he apologized for causing me upset, I could tell he meant it. He sees where I’m coming from when I insist on keeping my mother far away, and I understand why he feels different, but we don’t need to fight about it.
I don’t think so anyway. I haven’t felt this much hope about someone in a long time.
The construction site is for a house in Kenilworth. As we speed along the highway, I get giddy. I feel like a kid cutting class (which I never really did, but I imagine it felt like this), and I ask Zach a bunch of questions about the project.
It’s a five bedroom, he explains, and they will probably want a pool in the future, which is good since he just hired a guy who specializes in pools.
He tells me I won’t see much. In the winter, they mostly lay foundations, as long there isn’t too much snow. The house won’t take shape until spring.
I ask about the architecture anyway.
“The clients wanted to go modern, which we can do, but I don’t enjoy as much,” Zach says. “Luckily the architect is on my side, and got them to lean more into a classic colonial look, but with a really big kitchen. The modern people always want a massive kitchen.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Yeah, if the fridge isn’t basically industrial size, they riot.”
“I’d like a big kitchen,” I sigh. “But I think I mostly care about a fireplace. I used to read these children’s books growing up, and the families always used to sit by their big fireplaces in the winter.”
I watch Zach’s hands clench a bit around the steering wheel. He has a small scar on one of his knuckles. It must be from some construction incident.
“I like to build fireplaces,” he says. “Big stone ones.”
A vision flashes before me, bright and glorious. Zach and me in our big house, snow falling outside while I sit right by a crackling fire. Maybe a dog or two lounging nearby. Someday maybe even kids.
I blink and turn to look out the window. When the hell did I get so sappy? I must be getting soft. Soon I’ll be subscribing to Country Living Magazine and rhapsodizing about how I want 2.5 children and a white picket fence.
Although, if I’m being honest, I do kind of want all that. Obviously, I don’t want to be a Stepford Wife or a bland soccer mom, but I’ve been daydreaming about the suburban middle class life ever since I was stuck in Torrins, IL, being told that girls from my neighborhood didn’t get to have that kind of happy ending.
And now, it could be possible. I’m not in debt, I have a good job, and Zach could be the right guy. So of course I’m going to want to reach out and grab it with both hands.
“We’re almost there,” Zach says.
I push the white picket fence out of my mind. I need to take it one day at a time.
He drives down a side road that winds
through a bunch of trees until we come to a large patch of dirt, lined with big maples on either side.
A few guys mill about, taking measurements and sticking stakes in the ground.
“I told you,” Zach says. “It’s not very impressive.”
“A week ago, I thought you might be dealing drugs,” I joke. “Compared to that, this is extremely impressive.”
Zach snorts, and I feel a burst of gratitude that he is ok with my sharp sense of humour. Someone else might have gotten offended, but Zach is able to laugh at himself.
We hop out of the truck, and he shows me around. He introduces me to his employees, and they are polite and not at all nosy.
“They don’t seem shocked I’m here,” I whisper to Zach as he points out the cornerstones. “How often do you bring girls to your sites?”
“Never.” Zach gives me a wolfish grin. “But I texted my foreman that I was bringing you and to tell the guys that if they even thought of catcalling or teasing, I’d fire them.”
He grabs me around the waist and pulls me close so he can peck me on the cheek, in plain sight of everyone else. It’s different kissing someone outdoors in the light of day. It means something. I’m not just someone he’s hooking up with. Maybe I never was.
Zach chats with his employees for a bit, and then hands over some diagrams. We get back in the truck, and I’m already thinking that I want to just go somewhere warm and kiss him. A lot.
I’m already buckled in when Zach spots a piece of paper on the floor of the cab.
“I gotta go hand this Doug,” he says. “Hang tight, I’ll be right back.”
He hops out, and I watch him cover the ground with his long strides.
His phone buzzes, and I glance over to the seat where he left it.
I would never have picked it up in a million years, only I see the name without even meaning to. For a second, my heart stops beating, and a roaring sound fills my ears.
The phone is in my hand before I even realize I’ve reached for it.
I stare down at the screen, and at the little message icon, my mouth trembling. Not with sadness and tears like last night, but with rage.