Dylan
Zoe’s been hiding for an entire week. She won’t take calls from her dad, and she’s only spoken to Keely to yell at her for not telling her about their father’s relationship. The whole thing is a tangled-up mess and I’m stuck in the middle of it.
I understand why Zoe’s upset. But I want Mom happy, and Zoe’s dad can do that. He can give her a good life, the life my father robbed her of.
Deep down, Zoe wants the same for her dad. It just hurts too much for her to admit they’re good together. Because if she accepts it, that means she’s okay with it. And that feels like a slap in the face to her mother’s memory.
To make matters worse, I found a pros and cons list about stepbrothers. She wasn’t saying much and I was desperate to figure out where her head was at. Against my better judgement, I went searching for the notebook, not expecting to be the topic again.
No matter how many times I tell Zoe we’re not breaking any laws, she insists we’re damn close. So close she won’t sleep in my bed or let me sleep in hers. I haven’t touched her, and she doesn’t try to touch me. Not even a kiss.
It’s hell. Fucking torture.
The past couple months she’s gotten so comfortable around me. Her inhibitions weren’t holding her back and her heart was on the table.
All that changed by witnessing one kiss. One moment of passion between two people we love. Two people who deserve to fill the void in their lives with a meaningful connection. Zoe can’t get past it though. When she’s not at class, she stays locked in her bedroom, avoiding me. The only time I see her is when she’s cooking, and I know not to get too close until she’s ready.
But these late-night showers without her suck. I got used to conserving water and showering together before bed. Now, she waits until I’m finished and then does her thing, alone.
I need Zoe to find peace with that kiss because I want us back. I want to have a conversation, to hear her voice and know that I haven’t lost her for good.
I’m brushing my teeth, staring at the foggy mirror, when I use my finger to leave her a message in the condensation. “I love you.”
She may think I knew about our parents, but I didn’t. That night we walked in on them, I was in shock, too. I’d never keep something like that from Zoe.
I’m glad she’s strict with her schedules because she takes her turn in the bathroom as soon as I’m done, leaving plenty of time for her to see the message before it disappears. Normally I don’t wait in the hallway for her to finish, but I’m hoping tonight will be different—that she’ll want to come to bed with me.
She must expect me to be standing here waiting, because I get half a smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes, but it’s more than I’ve gotten in days.
I’ll take it.
The words I was hoping to hear never come, and I’m left leaning against the wall, staring at the fluffy towel wrapped around her body.
“Zo?”
She doesn’t turn around to look at me; she just faces her bedroom door with her hand on the knob. “Yeah?” is all I get.
All the words I want to say to her are competing for their place in a sentence, and they get all jumbled up. The only thing that manages to come out is a simple, “Good night.”
The same response is tossed back and my fist almost bashes into the bathroom door. I wasn’t supposed to chicken out like that. I was supposed to get my girl back.
She left the light on above the shower, and when I step inside the bathroom to turn it off, I see something I wasn’t expecting—a response on the mirror.
“I love you, too.”
She retraced my words and added the ending.
As long as she loves me, I’ll be patient. I’ll wait until she comes to terms with our parents’ relationship, not that I have a choice. I need her too much to give up.
Sometime in the middle of the night, the bed dips and the blankets shift. Warm vanilla sugar washes over me and I’m positive I’m having another dream about Zoe.
Only it’s not a dream. In the morning, she’s still lying next to me with her hands clutching the pillow.
Afraid that she’ll run if I wake her, I just watch, hoping she’s moved beyond all the things we can’t change. I must fall back to sleep because the next time I open my eyes, she’s gone, and I wonder if I imagined the whole thing.
But there’s proof on the pillow—a little slip of paper that says “I miss you.”
Grabbing the first pen I find, the fuzzy one with the dangling heart, I add on to her message the same way she did to mine.
“I miss you, too.”
Once I’m finished writing, I leave the scrap of paper on her pillow.
Our paths never cross the entire day, and I have no idea where she disappears to. By the time she comes home, I’ve already showered and missed my chance to leave her another message in the steam. She skips the bathroom entirely and goes straight to bed.
I wait for her to fall asleep and then I climb into her bed, loving that she left my side open like I’m supposed to be sleeping there.
Before I close my eyes, I set my phone to vibrate an hour before she usually wakes up. When it goes off in the morning, I slide out of bed like she did the night before, careful not to wake her.
Today, I don’t leave a note on her pillow or write in the fog on the mirror. I make her breakfast—eggs, pancakes, the works. The kitchen doesn’t get burnt down, and the food is edible thanks to all the practicing I’ve done this week.
I sit at the table, waiting. And then I wait some more, staring into my coffee mug, watching the little coffee ground that escaped the filter spin in circles.
She must tiptoe into the kitchen because I don’t hear her until she says, “What’s this?”
Her voice is cautious, even a little worried. “Breakfast.”
“Who cooked?”
“I did.”
“No, really. Who made this?”
“I did. Come here, Zo.”
She sits in her usual seat at the table and eyes the meal in front of her. “Is your mom here?”
“Do you really think I’d bring my mom here? I’m trying to get you back, Zo, not send you running.”
“I’m not running,” she whispers. “And you didn’t lose me. Not even a little.”
“I thought you wanted to leave.” My head’s been all over the place. As soon as I’d convince myself she wasn’t going anywhere, the doubts would come back. I can’t lose her.
“I’m not leaving, Dylan. This place is all I have left.”
“This is your home. I found it for us.”
“I know,” she says. “And I’m so thankful. I want to be here.”
I believe her. Even though she’s staring at her plate, she’s not lying. She’s just nervous and doesn’t know what to do with her feelings. “Okay.”
“Okay,” she repeats. “Did you order from the diner?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “No, I told you I cooked.”
“But it looks fantastic. What happened?”
“YouTube. I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.” You wouldn’t believe the things you can teach yourself online. I’m almost positive I could play “Mary Had a Little Lamb” on the guitar if I owned one. And I’d probably be able to knit a scarf, or at least a pot holder.
“You learned how to cook?”
“I think so. You can be the judge.”
She takes a hesitant bite before swallowing. She doesn’t grab her water glass or heave on the table, so I take that as a good sign.
“It’s amazing, Dylan. Why did you do this? You don’t like to cook.”
“I needed a grand gesture. Something to get your attention.”
“You watch too many movies.”
“You’re the one who makes me watch the chick flicks. I can’t help what my brain absorbs.”
After a couple more bites, she’s tried everything, and sets the fork down on the plate. I’m ready for her to walk away again, but she doesn’t. She stands, pushes my coffee mug away from the edge of the table, and sits down.
She looks me right in the eye and says, “I’m sorry.”
I know that took a lot for her to say, and it means everything to me. But there’s no reason for her to apologize. “Don’t be sorry, baby. You’re allowed to feel.”
“You came into my bed. I felt you.”
“You came into mine.”
She smiles and it’s more progress. “I liked the mirror messages. They’ve stopped.”
“They don’t have to stop if you don’t want them to.”
“I don’t want them to. But I was hoping we could shower together next time.”
“God, Zoe. I’ve missed you so much.”
“Touch me, Dylan,” she whispers. “I just want to feel you again.”
I grab her hips and set her on my lap so she’s straddling me. Her shirt’s lined with buttons and I have no patience for any of them, so I yank the material apart until they’re scattered around the kitchen floor.
“My buttons,” she says as she watches one bounce off the front of the stove.
“I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“Dylan.”
“I’ll buy you a new shirt.”
“I’d rather wear one of yours.” She licks her lips like she can already taste me. I want to suck on her bottom lip so bad I can taste the peppermint.
“What do you want, Zo?”
“You.”
“Do we need the book for this?”
“I don’t know,” she says as she swallows.
“Why are you nervous?”
“Because you’re flirting with me and I can’t think straight.”
I love that even after knowing each other for so long, we still have that. That moment where you forget to breathe, and when you remember, it’s almost a second too late. “What do you want to do tonight?”
“What? Why are you changing the subject?”
“I’m just trying to give you a chance to catch your breath. Answer me.”
“I dunno,” she says. “You pick.”
“We could stay here. Or we can go to Trevor’s. He’s having people over.” I wrap my arms around her and get lost in cupcakes and icing. It’s the best body wash ever.
“Like a party? You’re sniffing my boob.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, what?”
“Yes it’s a party and yes I’m sniffing you.”
“You’re so weird. The last party didn’t go so well. Will Letty be there?” she asks with a twinge of jealousy in her voice.
I dug my own grave on that one. But after the way I reacted to Kyler, I understand where she’s coming from. It’s painful as fuck to see someone else touching her. “She’ll be there, but you have nothing to worry about.”
“You mean that, don’t you?”
“I do. You’re my girl.”
“We can go to the party.”
“You’re sure? What changed your mind?”
“The fact that you’re not going to touch me until we agree on plans.”
“I like the way you think.” I haven’t touched her yet, and already my pants are tight. It’s been one long damn week.
Love always takes its time, and with Zoe there are so many ups and downs. Some days it’s hard to tell which direction we’re moving. There’s no mistaking our path today. We’re on the same page of the same novel, and she’s about to write the ending.
From the looks of it, I think it’s definitely one of her favorite happily ever afters.