“I don’t want to be a disappointment.” The words are almost inaudible.
“You are so far from that, Zoe. You know that, right?” She sighs heavily, the kind I know means it’s been weighing on her for some time.
“I’m an only child. There is no one to pick up the slack. You won’t get it. You three . . .” There’s a light, self-deprecating laugh in her voice. “There’s three of you. Less pressure to live up to expectations.”
“Are you saying I get to be a loser because Ace is going to be a rockstar?”
“Ace is so not going to be a rockstar,” she says, and I can almost hear the eye roll. But she hadn’t seen him and the look he got in his eyes when he told Dad he was going on tour with Hometown Heroes this summer. “But no. Of course not. You’re . . . you. You’re everything your dad would have ever wanted.”
“And you’re not? God, Zo, your dad never shuts up about you. Goes on for hours about his princess. And your mom? That woman lives for you.”
“My mom is a stay-at-home mom with only one child. She has nothing else to live for besides maybe waiting for grandbabies.”
“I don’t think you’re giving your mom enough credit.”
“You’re right. She also lives to feed my dad.” I can’t help but laugh because that much, at the very least, is true. But still . . .
“I don’t get it, Zoe. What are you saying? That you’re not good enough?”
“Nothing. I’m saying nothing.” I don’t speak because she’s saying something, even if she doesn’t realize it. And I’ve known Zoe her whole life. She likes to stew on things, and if you don’t interrupt her, if you don’t try to guide her . . .
Two or three blocks later, she turns to where I’m sitting in the driver's seat. “Did you ever feel like you needed to grow up?” My brow furrows in confusion.
“What?”
“Like . . . like you still have all of your little kid ideas. Like you look at things and see fantasy. Fairy tales. Every idea you have, you can only see the good outcomes.” There’s a pause while she stares at me, but she’s not looking at me. Instead, she’s lost in her mind. “But that’s not real life, you know?”
“I don’t—”
“I don’t want my parents to keep looking at me and thinking, There’s Zoe, never using her common sense. Never living in the real world. I wonder when she’ll start acting like an adult.”
“I don’t think they ever think that, Zoe.” A bitter laugh falls from her lips.
“Trust me, they do.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Well, they tell me.”
“They tell you?” A hint of anger runs through me at the thought that anyone, much less her parents, has been telling Zoe she needs to be anything but herself.
“It’s not in a mean way. It’s just . . . subtle. Like my mom will ask if I’m ever going to settle down, or my dad will ask if I really want to stick with interior design as my major instead of something more stable.” I think I’m starting to understand.
And truly, I see both sides. I don’t think her parents are being malicious about it, but she’s right—they don’t have any other children to focus on. So all of their focus is on making her successful.
But maybe their version of success isn’t what Zoe wants.
“Your parents adore you, Zoe. They just want you happy.”
“I know. But I’m . . .” She pauses like she’s trying to explain something to me that she doesn’t think I’ll understand. “Okay, so, it’s just me. There’s a lot for me to prove. My parents don’t have other kids to brag about, so I need to make sure that all the risks and sacrifices they made for me were worth it.” She looks out the window. “And I’m not trying to open a business or working to be a rockstar. So, my version of brag-worthy has to be based in reality.”
“We’re not . . . That’s not fair, Zoe,” I say because I know she’s thinking that she’s somehow less than Luna or me or Ace.
“I know that. I do, really. But I’m the only child. And I want them to be able to brag about me. Right now, I’m just a girl going to community college who has a major that has a low chance of being able to be applied to a job in the real world. I have no idea what I want to do.” I shake my head.
“You’re nineteen. You don’t have to know everything right now.”
“I know. But in a way, I feel like I do. And then my dad has spent my entire life telling me not to get myself into a situation like I just got myself into. He would be so damn disappointed if I did.”
“He wouldn’t, Zoe. He might barge into that guy's place and beat the shit out of him, but he wouldn’t blame you. You’re nineteen. It’s normal.”
I’m sure as fuck not happy about it, but it’s normal.
“I should have known better. I should have left. I shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”
I want to agree, but not because she did something wrong.
Because she should have been with me.
Woah, where did that come from?
“No one would hold it against you, Zo.”
She turns to me, her eyes nervous.
“Do you promise not to tell anyone?”
“What?”
“I don’t want anyone to know this happened. Do you promise not to tell anyone?” Her eyes are earnest, pleading. Begging, almost.
“Zoe, I—”
“I’m serious, Zander. Don’t make me regret calling you.”
And I want that.
I want to be the person she calls if she’s in trouble. The one she trusts.
So I sigh, and then I nod.
“Thanks, Zee,” she says, relief flooding her.
And I drive, deciding then and there that it’s going to be my job to make sure Zoe gets to live a life that makes her happy—not everyone else proud.
Because Zoe has been mine for so fucking long, I don’t even remember when it happened.
And I think it’s time to let her know that.
“Where’s your dad?” I ask not much later as we pull up to her house, noting there are no lights on and no cars outside.
“Date night with Mom,” she says, eyes locked on her house as well.
I watch as her hand moves to the door, but I lock it before she can open it, stepping out and moving around the car to open her door myself.
“What a gentleman,” she says as a joke, a small smile on her lips. I hold out my hand, and she takes it, using it to hop out of my car before moving toward her house.
But I don’t let go. Instead, I hold her there.
I also don’t comment on the joke, my face serious.
I feel serious.
I want her to know without a shadow of a doubt that what I’m about to say, what I’m about to do, is serious. That it means something to me.
“I’m glad you called me, Zoe. Glad I’m the person you think of to call.”
Her eyes are wide when I move, pulling her closer to me, my arm wrapping her waist.
And for the first time, Zoe Thomas is in my arms in a way that is not purely platonic.