“What?”
“That must be new. Or at least, I’ve never known you to be like that.” We hit a bump, and her hand goes to the handle of the Jeep, grabbing on. “When we were younger, it was Luna who was cautious. Luna was the one who wanted things explained before we jumped in and wanted to go over the pros and cons. You were always first to go on an adventure.”
“Yeah, well, I grew up.”
I hate that.
I hate that she thinks that’s what she had to do in order to be an “adult,” to lose all spontaneity and turn her life into predictability.
“And became what?”
“An adult, Zander. Some of us do that, you know? Grow up? We can’t all live in some kind of fantasy land of flirting and playing cops and robbers.”
It’s meant to hit somewhere that hurts. She didn’t say that without intention. She wants me to be offended, to stop the conversation before it gets too deep.
Before she’s forced to reveal things she holds too tight.
And maybe it would have if I didn’t know it was a defense mechanism.
“There aren’t many robbers in Springbrook Hills, Zo. You’d know that best of all.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and god, she’s so fucking pretty.
“You know what I mean.”
I do.
But it’s so much more than that.
Silence fills the space as I wait for her to expand, but this time, she doesn’t, instead staring out the window, biting her lip as I drive.
“Why did you change?” I ask eventually, my voice quiet.
My expectations are low. I don’t think she’ll give me an answer.
So really, I’m not surprised when she asks me another question in response.
“When did I change? Because I think you’re missing the difference between changing and growing up,” she says, and the question is like a challenge.
And I think, for some reason, if I answer it right, I’ll get an honest answer.
If I answer it wrong, I’ll be losing some kind of test.
“After that night. That night I picked you up. That was the day you changed.”
A long minute passes and although I can feel her eyes on me, trying to read me, I don’t look at her.
I wait until she speaks.
“How did you notice that?” I smile and shake my head because she still just doesn’t get it.
“I notice everything about you, Zoe.”
She doesn’t respond.
I don’t think she knows how, to be honest.
So this time, I do her a favor and I fill in the silence.
“That night, we were in the car, and you told me you didn’t want me to tell anyone because they would think you were irresponsible, that you’d be a disappointment. I tried to explain how fucking wacked that was, but you ignored me. You were so wrapped up in supercharged emotions—”
“I wasn’t wrapped in emotions, Zander. I was coming to an understanding. I was realizing that everything my parents feared was actually valid. That night, I decided that living with my head in the clouds was leading me in a bad direction, just like my dad always told me it would.”
“That’s not—” I start, but she’s on a roll now and keeps talking.
“I thought I liked that guy, even though my gut said it was a bad idea. I knew he was too old. I probably knew he was a piece of shit. That’s why I didn’t even let him meet Luna. I thought he liked me. It wasn’t even a big deal. But then . . . well . . . you know.”
“Oh, I fuckin’ know,” I say, remembering that night, my voice low.
Even now, ten years later, my blood heats with the memory.
“After that, I was more careful. Now everything is planned, no surprises. I think things out. I think . . . No, I know. It’s for the better. It’s safer.”
“Safe is boring.”
“Safe is safe.” I shake my head in disappointment.
I don’t know if I’m disappointed in her or for her.
“You sound like your fuckin’ father.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Not if your job is to keep people safe and to foresee every outcome. But if you’re a young woman with a life of excitement out there to live? No. If you’re a woman living so safe, she’s making herself miserable? No, it’s not a good thing.” She thinks about that, and I let her, resisting the urge to speak and fill in the silence for another few minutes. I let her stew on it, give her the opportunity to speak first.
But she doesn’t.
She just keeps staring out the window, ignoring me.
So I ask what I’ve been wondering for a week.
“So if you think everything out, what happened last week?”
Her body freezes.
Ding ding ding. Target hit.
“What?”
“What happened last week? You quit your job and dumped that boring stockbroker—”
“He wasn’t boring.”
I’d met the man briefly at Luna and Tony’s wedding.
He looked exactly like what you would expect: a well-tailored suit, refused to eat anything that looked processed or out of his hyperspecific diet, and had hair combed perfectly with gel or hairspray or who the fuck knows.
He looked like a salesman.
I remember wondering if that’s how he won Zoe over—if he got her by selling himself instead of stocks or companies. Just a tiny shift in language and Zoe was sold to the safe, boring man of her reality.
“He was as interesting as watching grass grow.”
“Just because he wasn’t your type of person, doesn’t make him boring, Zee.”
“Was he your type of person?” I ask impulsively, and I almost regret it.
Almost.
But then she scrunches her nose and tips her head from the left and to the right, and I know the answer before she even says it.
“I guess not.” She sighs, and I’m actually a bit shocked she answered honestly. “Okay, yeah, he was a little boring.” She looks at me with a tiny smile. “He organized his socks by colors.”
I scoff out a noise, head tipping back with a laugh, and then listen to her giggle along.
The most gorgeous fucking sound known to man.
I’ll die on that hill.
“So, I guess you don’t organize your socks by colors, huh?”
“Only if by that you mean I buy all the same color socks and throw them in one bin.”
“You don’t pair your socks?” she says, aghast, like I committed some terrible sin.
“They’re all black, and they’re all the same height. So, no.” Her eyes are wide like that’s absolutely insane.
I shake my head, letting that settle for a minute as we drive before I try again.
“What changed last week, Zoe?” I ask.
I think she’ll ignore me.
I think she won’t tell me, or at least won’t tell me the truth.
But then she starts.
“It’s silly, really.” When I look over, her fingers are playing with that frayed edge of her shirt again. “So silly.”
“Nothing is silly if it matters to you, Zoe.”
It’s silent before she picks up again.
“When Luna and I were kids, we had this box of wishes. Your mom made us make it once and it became a time capsule, almost. It was . . . It was special. I thought Luna lost it, or it was stuck at your parents or whatever, but she found it and we were going through it last week when I was over there.” She sighs, looking out the window, avoiding my gaze.