Authors: Rachel Schurig
The sight of my Jeep makes my breath catch. How can I keep it now, if Taylor and I are done? He could sell it for good money and should have the opportunity to do so. I’d managed to get around okay without it before, and I’d be fine now.
Of course, it wasn’t the thought of losing the car that was making it so hard to breathe.
The house is dead silent and still when I arrive, Jerry obviously not here. I open the door with trepidation, wondering what state she’d left it in. Had her episode started here? The kitchen knife had more than likely come from the house. Had she cut herself out on the road, or done it here, in the kitchen I tried so hard to keep clean?
I nearly cry with relief to find the kitchen exactly as I had left it the day before—the thought of cleaning up my mother’s blood would be too much to deal with. There aren’t even any dishes in the sink—that worries me a little. Jerry must have eaten last night, and he never cleans up after himself. With a growing sense of certainty—and dread—I approach their bedroom and push the door open.
Half the dresser drawers have been emptied out. His half. A peek into the closet reveals that none of his clothes remain. My mom’s old suitcase is missing as well.
Shit.
I’ve wanted Jerry out of the house since the day she’d first brought him home. He is cruel and stupid and a drunk, and I’ve always hated him with everything in me. But now that he has actually left I feel a real panic stir in my chest. He’s left her, left us both, and I am completely on my own.
I walk back out to the kitchen, taking deep breaths to keep the panic at bay. I find my mom’s little blue address book in the junk drawer and bring it over to the table. The whole way home I’d been hoping I could avoid calling Peter, hoping I’d find Jerry at home, ready to take on his responsibilities. But I know, now, that it won't be happening. I have no choice.
It takes me a moment to find his number. My mom has her own version of alphabetizing, sometimes going by the person’s last name, sometimes by their first, sometimes even by their relationship to her. In the end I find him under “B,” for “brother.” I run my fingers over the digits. I don’t want to do this, don’t want to have to ask this man for help. He’d meant everything to me, once, had basically been a father to me. But he left us a long time ago. According to my mom, we were too much work for him. He didn’t want the bother. Who did that kind of thing to their own family? The idea of begging him to come back now, after so many years, makes me feel ill.
But the memory of Jerry’s empty dresser snaps me back to reality. What choice do I have? Praying he hasn’t changed his number since she wrote it down, I dial. And wait.
“Hello?” His voice sounds exactly as I remember it, the impact of the familiar sound so strong that memories overwhelm me.
“Hello?” he says again, sounding impatient now.
“Uncle Peter?” I whisper. “It’s me…Zoe.”
He’s silent for so long that I’m certain he’s hung up. Finally, he clears his throat. When he speaks again, the fear and pain are palpable in his voice. “What’s happened to her?”
I give him a quick rundown. He only asks me two questions: what hospital is she at? And, where is Jerry?
When I tell him Jerry left, my voice cracks. I can't help it. The enormity of the situation is hitting me in waves, the realization of how big it is getting clearer with each passing minute.
“I’ll be there in two hours,” he says, his voice calm. “And, Zoe…” He pauses. “I’ll be there, okay?”
I hang up, and then have no idea what to do next. I’ll have to go back to the hospital to meet him, but I can't stand the thought of waiting there for two hours. I’m tired, exhausted really, but I know I’ll never be able to sleep. I wonder, briefly, if Jerry left any liquor in the house. The idea of getting completely bombed is more appealing than I want to admit.
But then I won't be able to get to the hospital. And I promised Taylor.
I laugh out loud at that thought. I don't think Taylor is really in the equation any more.
It doesn’t matter anyhow
.
You decided when you left that you were on your own. Relying on other people doesn’t help.
I turn my attention to the window, and I barely register the beautiful sunset beginning to color the sky over the roof line. The day is nearly over. I can hardly believe it was only yesterday that I had been at the amusement park with my friends, only yesterday that Taylor had given me the Jeep.
I feel a stabbing pressure in my gut at the thought. I know, suddenly, what I need to do. Rip off the Band-Aid, make a clean break.
I spoke to Ellie earlier to give her a brief rundown, but I pick up my phone to send her a text.
I’m going to need a ride
.
Ignoring the messages that have been steadily coming in from Taylor, I grab my keys and quickly leave the house.
Chapter Twenty-three
Taylor
It’s ten hours before I hear from Zoe again. After four I’m basically panicking, convinced something terrible has happened to her. It’s not like her not to answer my texts, to ignore my calls. When dinnertime comes and goes and I still haven’t heard from her, I walk to the shop to get my car, then drive by her house. It’s dark and still and fills me with fear. With shaking hands, I call Ellie.
“I talked to her a few hours ago,” she says, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. Something’s up with her mom. She didn’t give me any details. But she’s okay, Taylor.”
I try not to feel jealous that Zoe would share that information with Ellie and not with me. The important thing is that she’s okay. I go home to wait; maybe she’ll show up there the way she has so many times before.
I try to get lost in my drawing, but I can’t keep a clear head. I don’t like that she left my apartment without telling me, don’t like that she’s not responding to me now. And I really don’t like that she saw that damn acceptance letter.
I silently curse Fred. Why does he always have to push me into doing stuff I don’t want to do? Why can’t he ever mind his own damn business? College just isn’t in the cards for me, never was, and he knows that. But still, he pushes.
I sigh, staring at the sketch. I’ve been trying to work out what I’ll do for the sidewalk art fest, and it’s hard to get the perspective right. It’s even harder when my mind’s not really on my work. I set aside the sketch book and head to the kitchen to get a beer.
I hear footsteps on the stairs. I rush to the door and throw it open to reveal Zoe standing there, her head down.
“Thank God—” I say, but she pushes past me.
“I came to drop off the car,” she says, her voice flat.
It takes me a second to realize what she said. “Why would you drop off the car?”
“I don’t think it’s right to keep it. Not now.”
A cold trickle of fear runs down my neck. “Zoe, what are you talking about?”
“I think it’s time we stop seeing each other.”
She says it just like that, like it’s no big deal. Like she’s not fucking pulling all the air from my lungs.
“Why would we stop seeing each other?”
“It’s run its course, Taylor.” She still isn’t looking at me.
“Zoe, what the hell are you—”
“Look, can we please just not make a big deal out of this?” she asks, her voice quiet. The trickle of fear is turning into a stream. Her tone is really freaking me out—she sounds tired, indifferent.
“A big deal out of what, exactly?”
She turns to face me full on, and I swear to God my heart stops for a second. Everything about her expression is foreign to me. She stares through me like I’m not even there, like I’m a stranger to her, completely unimportant.
“This, Taylor,” she says, gesturing at the space between us. “Can we not pretend it was something it wasn’t?”
My mouth feels dry. “What are you saying?”
“It was just supposed to be fun, right? That’s what we both said—that we wanted a little bit of fun this summer. And now summer is ending, and I just don’t see the point in dragging this out any longer.”
“Why are you doing this?” My heart is pounding so hard I’m starting to feel dizzy. Is she actually telling me that none of this meant anything to her? That’s crazy—whatever we said at the start of the summer, I know she can’t mean that. We were never just a little bit of fun, not since the first time we kissed.
She turns away slightly. Is she grimacing? “Because I don’t have time for it anymore. And neither do you. You obviously have a future to start planning for—”
Relief spreads through me so fast I almost laugh. “Is this about that stupid acceptance letter? I told you, Zoe, I’m not going. I have no plans to move or to go to school. So let’s just drop this entire—”
But she’s shaking her head. “No, Taylor. It’s not that. Though I do think you should go. You should be working in art, you know that.”
“If it’s not about school…I don’t understand. Are you breaking up with me?” I curse myself when my voice breaks on the last word. What kind of total pussy have I turned into? But I can’t care about that now. All I care about is the fact that she still won’t meet my eyes, that she’s backing away. I can practically see her walls going up, and it scares the shit out of me.
“I don’t have time for this anymore,” she says again, her voice short. “I’m sorry, Taylor. My mom isn’t doing well, and I need to spend more time with her. And my fall semester schedule is really intense.” Even as she talks, I still can’t believe it. There must be something I’m missing here, something she’s leaving out. But then, for the first time, she looks straight into my eyes. “I don’t want this anymore. I’m done.”
I feel a shattering sensation in my chest, eerily similar to the way it had felt when Keller, the guy from the bar fight, broke my ribs the night I almost killed him. I know that this time my bones are intact, but that doesn’t mean nothing is breaking.
“Zoe,” I whisper. How can she be saying this? How could I have misjudged her feelings for me so entirely? I can't have, I know it.
But her face doesn’t soften, her voice remains cold. “I’m sorry. I figured you’d be ready for it, too.”
I want to grab her, kiss her, remind her of the way we feel together. There’s no way she could leave if she just felt my arms around her again, my lips on hers. You don’t just walk away from something like that.
But then she does just that. She turns and walks away from me, straight to the door without looking back.
“Zoe,” I yell out in panic. She doesn’t stop and everything’s muddled, confused. Like I’m shocked or something and can’t wrap my mind around what’s happening right in front of me. But I have to think of a way to make her stay. In a split second I decide to tell her the truth, the thing I’ve never said before, not to anyone.
“I need you.” As the words leave my mouth, I know she can hear the truth of it, the pain in my voice. She pauses, her hand on the doorknob.
“That’s a mistake, Taylor,” she says, not turning to face me. Her voice is cold, so unlike her own. “You should never let yourself need anyone. They always let you down in the end.”
Then she’s gone, through the doorway and out of my life, leaving me alone in my apartment. Completely and entirely alone.
***
I don’t know how to deal with this.
That makes me sound like a melodramatic teenager, but there’s no other way to describe how this shit feels. Watching Zoe walk away from me like that, hearing her say those words in that cold, flat, foreign voice—I have no way to process this, no way to take it in.
We’re over.
How is that possible? She was the only good thing I had going in this shit hole of a life. And now she’s gone, just like that.
The crazy thing is, I could have dealt with it if we’d had a fight. If I’d done something stupid to make her mad. Or if she’d realized what a fuck up I was and decided to bolt. It would hurt like hell, sure, but at least it would make sense to me. I wouldn't even blame her, really. I’d always thought she was too good for me. But this…
I just don’t understand what happened. We went to bed on Thursday night as happy as we’d ever been. Her birthday had been amazing, just about perfect. I thought I’d made her happy, really happy. As for me, I was finally starting to feel like I had some peace in my life, like I could imagine a place free from the overwhelming guilt that sat on my shoulders. Zoe gave me that.
And then, in the morning, when she’d found the letter and I’d blown up, I thought it was such a big step for me. I’d seen red when she brought up the possibility of my leaving, the realization that I was trapped here hitting me the way it always did. And when my hands had started to shake, when I started to feel like punching the wall would be a real good idea, I stopped myself. I took a time out, just the way she had taught me. I’d been proud of that.
But she was gone when I came out. Gone without a word or a note. I figured it was her version of a time out. Maybe it freaked her out when I got pissed like that, maybe she needed some time away. So I gave her space, gave her a few hours.
Was that what I did wrong?
Or was it the school thing after all? She says she wasn’t worried that I would be leaving her. What if I had it backwards? Could she be pissed that I
wasn’t
going? Was she finally realizing that a life with me meant being stuck right here forever? Had she finally realized what a loser I was?
I slam my hand against the coffee table, frustrated. The truth is, I have no idea what caused her to bolt like that. And now I never will.
The word “never” echoes in my head, and I jump up from the couch. I can’t stand to sit in this apartment another minute. This place only feels right with her here. I look around at the little signs of Zoe that have begun to creep in. There are now books and magazines scattered on the side tables, the countertop. Pictures of the two of us, of our friends, hang above the desk. She’d brought over a crocheted throw for the couch, saying I kept the air too cold. There was even a new lamp, one we’d picked out together on one of our Boring Ass Normal Shit dates. For the first time since I moved up here, it feels cozy, warm. Like a home.