3) We fight. A lot. It’s never a big fight, and we’ve always disagreed on stuff, but I’m pretty sure we snipe at each other way more now than we used to. Is that normal? Is that what I should want from a relationship? Is that what he wants?
4) He’s perpetually annoyed by me being a vegetarian, and my occasional foray into veganism. He’ll joke that am I allowed to wear that woolly sweater, don’t I know how much I’m missing out on at his family’s barbeques, am I really going to be so pedantic about using a different pan to fry vegetables than the one he just cooked some meat in? I think it started off as some weird little in-joke that was never serious, and I always know he’s not really serious and isn’t doing it to upset me, but I don’t know where it came from or why it’s such a thing for him. I know I make plenty of comments back at him about all the sweet little piggies he’s so callously murdering just for a bacon sandwich when he’s hungover, after all. But still, it pisses me off.
5) He always mixes up the names of the characters in Game of Thrones. Like, it’s not that hard. It’s not like Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, doesn’t have enough titles. Surely he could remember one of them. And not still be saying, “Oh, look, isn’t that the girl with the eyebrows?” whenever she pops up on TV. It’s not that hard. (I don’t care if the show’s over now, it’s infuriating. I know he could do it if he wanted to.)
6) He’s shorter than me when I wear my good heels.
7) He always says I iron his shirts wrong, when it’s my turn to iron the laundry. (And yet, he still lets me do them, rather than just telling me, “Don’t bother, I’ll do them myself later,” which he should if it’s such a problem. And I still don’t understand what I’m doing that’s so wrong, even after two and a half years of living together.)
8) He organizes his books alphabetically by title, instead of by genre or by author, and I cannot deal with it. It hurts something deep inside my soul.
9) He said he hasn’t even thought about when he wants kids, or even if he wants them, which brings me back around to my first point of him being easygoing to a fault. I mean, was he seriously thinking that if we had kids, I wouldn’t want to talk about that with him first? And was he really going to just not make a decision on that for himself, and go along with whatever I wanted? Do I even want kids with someone who doesn’t care that much?
I don’t mean for the list to turn into A Series of Unfortunate Events: Zach and Serena Edition, but that’s how it turns out.
I thought it would help, but I don’t feel any better for it.
I still feel just as confused, just as crappy, just as resentful and heartbroken as I did when he ordered that Hawaiian pizza on Tuesday night. I sigh and close the cover on my iPad, and try to pay attention to the rest of my meeting before I can finally log off for the week. Maybe, I think, maybe I just need a fresh perspective like Vicki was trying to tell me last night, and she is always right about stuff.
Yes, that’s it. I’ll take a shower, try to clear my head, and then I’ll try to make a different list—one of all the reasons it should and can work out between us, and why I love him so much.
*
“What the hell is this?”
I look up to see Zach standing in the doorway of the bedroom, my iPad clutched in his hand and his knuckles white, his jaw clenched.
His eyebrows are drawn tight and his eyes look dark, furious.
I’ve seen Zach annoyed plenty of times, but in the four years I’ve known him, I have never known him to be anything more than angry. He’s been angry when he argued with me this week; his cheeks got flushed, turning blotchy, his eyes watered because if there’s one thing he really hates, it’s a proper fight.
But this is different.
Now, his face is ashen, paler even than his knuckles. I can hear his breath rattling, which is when I realize I’m holding my own.
I’ve seen Zach annoyed plenty of times. I’ve seen him angry, on occasion. But I have never seen him this furious.
It’s so disconcerting, I don’t even have it in me to snap at him for barging in when I was getting dressed after a shower. I ignore him long enough to pull on some leggings and a clean T-shirt, and swallow the lump in my throat before I face him again.
I have the most horrible, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, seeing him holding my iPad.
“What are you doing with that?” I ask him.
It’s mine, I want to say, even though that never mattered before.
“Your dad FaceTimed.”
“You didn’t tel him, did you?” I demand, because I really can’t face having to tell my parents about all of this when Zach can barely accept it himself—when I’m not even entirely sure what there is to tell. (But my dad was so slow to get on board with me dating Zach at first, because he thought we were so different and didn’t get Zach’s sense of humor at all, so I get the feeling I’ll have to deal with an “I told you so” once he does find out about whatever this is.)
“Course I didn’t,” Zach bites back, visibly offended. “But you were in the shower, so I answered to chat to him and say we’re doing fine and we didn’t need him to bring us more shopping because we sorted ourselves out with that already.”
I breathe a small sigh of relief, but then Zach says—
“And then—then I saw this. You made a fucking list? Are you serious? Who do you think you are, Ross in that one episode of Friends? If you’re going to make a list, maybe you shouldn’t leave it open on your iPad.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be snooping, Rachel,” I retort, but it’s weak, and my heart isn’t in it. My heart is hammering so hard in my chest I think it might make me physically sick, and all I can think is how right he is. It’s not his fault I left the Notes app open, with that list, that stupid goddamn list, and that I left my iPad just out on the dining table and it’s not even got a passcode on it, and . . .
I would hate to read a list like that too.
It’s not even softened by a good list. It’s just straight-up bad.
“If me making jokes about you being a vegetarian pisses you off so much, why didn’t you just tell me, instead of going along with it?
I thought it was like . . . our thing. Joking about each other’s food.”
“Why would that ever be a thing?”
“You don’t remember our second date?” Zach says, the ire in his face dimming only slightly, giving way to nostalgia. “You ordered that vegan, gluten-free white truffle risotto and I had that massive double-stacked burger with bacon and onion rings and, like, three types of cheese, and they put your risotto down and it just smelled so bad I swear you literally turned green. And you kept saying, ‘No, no, it’s fine! It’s really yummy!’ and forced it down and I could see you trying not to puke it back up and you were eyeing my burger like you’d much preferred to have ordered that and—”
“Wait. That’s why you always crack jokes about how jealous you bet I am of your food?”