by Harper Bliss
“It’s good that you came here, Zoe,” Janet says. “Anna has told Jamie, in her own way, how much she likes you. If it’s ended, she’ll be so upset, but she’s not the type to just call up her brother and ask for help.”
I’m suddenly deflated, as though it only now dawns on me that it’s over. Once again, it feels like it hadn’t even really yet begun.
“I’m here if you need to talk,” Janet says. “Jamie will always be worried about Anna first, but I’m here if you need me, okay?”
“That’s very sweet of you.” I glance into the living room. “I should take Brooklyn home.” I try to listen in on what Jamie’s saying, but I only hear some muffled noises. “You know, um, Jaden told Brooklyn about Anna’s Autism and Anna wasn’t too pleased about that.”
Janet nods as if she instantly understands. “I’ll talk to him.” She looks at me. “Can I ask you a really personal question?”
I chuckle. “You might as well.”
“Are you in love with Anna?”
I huff out some air. “I don’t know. I think she’s very special. And a part of me believes that being with her could be the experience of a lifetime, but, honestly, I barely got past the threshold with her because she sees herself as someone defective and I’m not sure I can deal with that.”
“Wow. That’s very honest.”
“Is it?”
“If you said something like that to Anna, I can imagine she didn’t take it well. Her family, they love her and they mean well, but they’re not always a very direct bunch, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t see any point in not telling it like it is.”
“And good for you, Zoe.” Janet looks me in the eye. “You’re under no obligation, just because you moved to Donovan Grove, to do anything else other than what’s best for you and your daughter.”
“Whatever happened to climbing the second mountain, though?” It’s about time to lighten the mood, even though my heart feels very heavy.
“It’s a very long process,” Janet says, on a sigh.
Jamie barges into the kitchen, scratching his head. “She’s fine, I think. I didn’t get that much out of her, but if I go over there now, she’ll only get suspicious.”
“I’m sorry, Jamie,” I say.
“What happened?” he asks.
If only it was that easy to explain.
“Zoe came here to pick up Brooklyn,” Janet says. “Not to talk about Anna.”
Jamie exhales deeply. “She said she was going to do some painting.”
“She’ll be fine, honey.” Janet pulls her husband toward her.
“Are you okay, Zoe?” he finally asks.
I give a quick nod. A silence falls. There’s not that much left to be said—not with Jamie in the kitchen, trying to find out more about his sister.
“I’d better get going.” I slide off the stool. “Thanks.” I look into Janet’s eyes for an instant.
“I’ll call you,” she says. “Soon.” And I believe her.
10
Anna
Why did Jamie call me? He only just saw me at lunch. But he does do that sometimes. It’s not out of the ordinary enough for me to become paranoid. And I have other avenues down which to let my anxiety run free. In fact, for a brief instant, when I heard my brother’s familiar voice, I considered telling him about Zoe and how we left things. Jamie’s like a light version of Mom, less pushy, but still very easy to talk to. But what would I even say to him? I fucked it up. I haven’t fully figured out how I managed to screw things up so finally between Zoe and me, but I know—I feel it in the pit of my stomach—that there’s no coming back from this. It was as though, when she was here earlier, I could feel a screen come down, a wall being built between us at high-speed.
I shouldn’t have let her come over again after my meltdown. First that, followed by my… what did she call it? Defensiveness and self-pity. Especially the last one was like a dagger being bored straight into my heart. Because I truly believed I was steering clear of self-pity at least. I guess I was wrong. I’ve been known to be wrong about many things.
When Jamie called, I was still sitting in the same spot as when Zoe left. As though, if I stayed there, time would realize its cruel mistake, and would spool itself backward to give me another chance to say the thing that Zoe so desperately wanted to hear. Although I know, deep down in my bones, that I would never have been able to say it. And I also know that I have to let this go now, this thing between us, whatever it was—and the hope it sparked in me. The sooner I can get past it, the better. But that’s just theory and doesn’t take into account how I feel inside. How I can still smell Zoe’s perfume in my house. How all I want to do is go into my studio and paint her face over and over again. How all I really wanted to do was kiss her again, and I should have just done that, instead of being defensive and full of self-pity.
“Hem, come here.” I need to feel the comfort of my dog’s soft fur. He obeys immediately, as though he knows how sad I am. He probably does. “It’s just you and me again, buddy,” I whisper to him. “And you’ll see, we’ll be just fine.”
That night, I don’t sleep much, because I keep racking my brain for ways to be less defensive. But the thought of people talking about me, discussing my condition behind my back, causes such tension inside of me that yes, I do automatically go on the defensive. Because of all the unknown factors and all the speculation I get to do about it. But why did Zoe have to be so confrontational with me? And why did she tell me that story about her gay friend Ted? Being gay is not a disability so what the hell point was she trying to make?
In the morning, sleep-deprived and none the wiser, I conclude that it’s not going to be so easy to forget about Zoe Perez, because of the effortless lightness she brought into my life. Because of the memory of her glossy lips which tasted, somehow, exactly as they looked. I can barely even remember when and how I ever even earned the privilege to kiss the likes of Zoe. She obviously had some issues with me, while I didn’t really have any with her. She might be a bit direct for me, but she has always only been understanding and willing to meet me halfway—even to learn about my disorder. That’s already much more than I can expect from anyone who isn’t related to me.
In the darkest hours of the night, when the sleeplessness messed with my head so much, the only way out was for me to go online and read about other autistic people’s experiences. I came across an article written by someone claiming that the problem is not people who have Autism, but society in general that has a huge problem accepting us. And maybe Zoe’s right, maybe I see myself as a problem that I need to solve. Maybe I want to make myself more palatable for others, which, in the end, is almost always too much effort, so I no longer bother. Because if you’ve already spent forty-three years of your life trying to fit into a world that’s always confusing and always demanding something you’re not capable of giving, despite your best intentions, then it just becomes so much easier to give up. To have zero expectations and ask for nothing. Just be quiet and grateful for what you have, which, in my case, is a lot.
So now, I revert back to that position, and I try not to chastise myself for allowing myself to want someone like Zoe, to get so carried away with my feelings for her, to the extent that I actually believed it could work. I was hoping for a miracle, but it was just another fool’s errand. From now on, I’ll be more vigilant. I’ll stay in my lane. I’ll do my work and fall back into my routine and, ultimately, I’ll be all the happier for it.
As I boot up my computer, a small part of me wonders if I shouldn’t try to get some sort of closure. Or just let Zoe know that this is not her fault. But I did text her last night. I said I was sorry. And, frankly, today I don’t have the energy to try and explain. So I make no attempt to contact her again. But then Hemingway nudges my leg because it’s time for his walk and then I have a decision to make.
Even though Bookends is closed on Mondays, Hemingway and I take the alternative walking route I created after my firs
t embarrassing moment with Zoe, when I walked out on her at Lenny’s. And I conclude, because that’s the kind of mood I’m in today, that our so-called relationship is purely a string of embarrassing moments, caused by me, once again, confirming what I’ve known all along: that I’m not cut out for a relationship. I can just about handle friendship—and only with someone like Sean, who doesn’t ask for much in the way of deep conversation.
I don’t go by Sean’s office today because I don’t feel like answering any nosy questions, although I do know I will have to tell him sooner rather than later. I only wish the social aspect of my fling with Zoe hadn’t progressed so quickly. Now it feels as though everyone knows—she’s had lunch with my family, for crying out loud—and I have to make sure they know it’s already over, thus opening myself up to a bunch of questions I don’t want to answer.
Jamie will probably hear it from Jaden, although he will also want to hear it from me. I stop at a bench and sit down for a minute so I can text him, assuring him that I’m fine and that he shouldn’t call me. I know he’ll respect my wishes as long as he’s at work.
I should walk to my parents’ house and just tell them, but I can’t face that particular ordeal yet. I know they won’t bombard me with questions but I also know Mom will be disappointed. She’ll again start thinking I’ll never be truly happy until I find someone to share my life with. I’ve told her time and time again that one is not a direct consequence of the other and that there are, in fact, so many people in relationships who would be much happier alone. Case in point, I was doing just fine before Zoe came to town. And that’s the real kicker, of course. I can stay inside my house and devise new walking routes for Hemingway all I want, but at some point, I will run into her, because she lives in Donovan Grove now.
Jamie texts me back to say he’ll stop by tonight and I continue my walk. I wasn’t hungry this morning so I skipped breakfast but now my stomach growls as I approach the Starbucks near Donovan Grove High. It’s the one I always try to avoid because there are too many youths hanging around, but the lack of sleep combined with the hunger is making me feel a little dizzy so I decide to make a quick stop regardless of my apprehension.
When I’m inside, I immediately regret my decision, because Brooklyn is sitting alone at a table by the window, hunched over her phone. My hope that she won’t see me is in vain because there’s only one other customer in the shop and of course she looks up when Hemingway and I enter.
“Hey,” I say, and I give her a curt nod and hurry to the counter, where I order a bagel so quickly, the young man behind the counter has to ask me to repeat it.
Then I curse myself for ordering a food item that needs to be toasted, because I’m left standing there, on full display for Brooklyn, who’s probably texting her mom that her weird ex-girlfriend, if I can even call myself that, has been spotted out and about.
I keep my gaze on Hemingway, who is being such a good dog I can barely believe it. It’s as if he knows I’m upset and he’s trying to help me by being on his best behavior.
While I was dating Zoe, I never really took into account the consequences of dating someone with a child. I certainly never contemplated having children myself and although Brooklyn is Zoe’s child, it’s hard to see her as such, because she’s a teenager and I’ve never known her as anything else. We’ve also never really had a conversation.
“Can I say hello to Hemingway?” Brooklyn asks from her table by the window.
“Sure.” I glance behind me to check on the status of my bagel and walk over to her table.
“Mom told me, um, you’re no longer dating,” Brooklyn says as she ruffles the fur on top of Hemingway’s head. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” What else can I say?
“Are you okay?” I can feel her gaze on me. Oh Christ, she’s just like her mother, it would appear. She’s not much for leaving people in peace.
“I’m fine.” I briefly meet her eyes. They’re the exact same brown as Zoe’s. “Is, um, your mom okay?” I have to ask, not only out of politeness, which I usually wouldn’t care that much about, but mainly because I really want to know the answer.
“She’s sad, I think. I mean, she didn’t, like, give me the details or anything.”
Brooklyn is such a sweet kid. I didn’t even know teenagers like this existed, even though I have a nephew of the same age. She’s just like her mother in more ways than one, I think. The pit of my stomach fills with dread again, and I know I won’t be able to eat the bagel I came in here to buy.
“Tell her that I’m really sorry.” This is probably highly inappropriate but it’s all I can think of to say.
“Bagel for Anna,” the guy behind the counter yells way too loudly.
“I will.” Brooklyn looks at me as if she knows something and then I remember that she does. Jaden told her about me.
“I’ve got to go. Bye.” I hurry outside, vowing to never set foot inside there again. I clench my fist around the paper bag with the bagel inside. It’s going to take a while before I’m able to erase Zoe from my mind.
11
Zoe
Because the store’s closed, I’ve had ample time to take the painting down from above the door, but it’s big and heavy and I’m unable to get it off its hook and carry it down the ladder without the risk of injuring myself—and I already feel sore enough. But it needs to go. If I’m going to be in here all day tomorrow, I don’t want to be staring at a painting that Anna made for me and be reminded of what could have been—and the feelings that inspired it.
As soon as Brooklyn gets home from school, I ask her to help me.
“What are you going to do with it?” she asks. “Give it back?”
“I’ll put it in the garage for now,” I say.
“Can I have it?” she asks, taking me by surprise.
“Don’t tell me you want a picture of your mother in your bedroom?” I almost manage a chuckle.
“Not for now, but, you know, for later. I just don’t want you to throw it away or anything.”
“I won’t.” I curl an arm around her shoulders.
“She is very talented.” She bends over and studies the painting. “It’s almost like a photo. How does she do that?”
“I have no idea, mija.”
Brooklyn turns to me and says, “I actually ran into Anna today. I was waiting for Jaden at Starbucks and she walked in with Hemingway. She said to tell you that she’s very sorry.”
“Anna said that to you?” I swallow something out of my throat.
“Yeah. Are you going to tell me what happened? What’s she so sorry for?”
“I’m afraid that’s really none of your business, my darling.”
“Does that mean it’s well and truly over? Like for reals?” Brooklyn asks.
“I think so.” Having to confirm this to my daughter also reconfirms to myself how sad I am about this.
“Jaden thinks it must be because of her Autism. He’s only known Anna to be with Cynthia and that ended after she was diagnosed.”
“Don’t you and Jaden have anything else to talk about?” I’m surprised by Brooklyn’s forwardness about this.
“It’s not like you’ve had a thriving dating life since the divorce,” Brooklyn says, surprising me further. “I don’t know. I guess I’m not opposed to you finding someone to be with and Jaden’s family is so…” She gives a brief shake of the head. “They’re so nice, Mom. I didn’t even know that kind of thing existed.”
“What do you mean? We had a ‘nice’ family.”
“It’s been a long time since you, me, and Mama were a family. I was just a kid back then.”
It’s the first time Brooklyn has referred to herself as no longer being a kid, which, in my eyes, she definitely still is. But she has a boyfriend now. And I can hardly argue with the cozy Gunn family dynamic I got to witness myself last night.
“I’m sorry about that, darling.” I pull her close to me, which has always been my first instinct with my daughter—t
rying to hug the bad vibes out of her. “But I don’t need to be with someone to be happy. Besides, I have you.”
“I’ll be sixteen soon, Mom. I’m not going to be here forever. At least when we were back in New York, I was pretty confident that you’d find someone when you were ready. And I was glad when you started dating Anna, because it meant you were, finally, ready.”
“Are you trying to marry me off before you go to college? Because that’s still a while away, and either way, I’ll be just fine.” And here I was thinking teenagers were the most self-absorbed creatures on the planet.
Brooklyn does shrug now. “Maybe, um, I want you to like it here, because I really like Jaden. I don’t want you to fall out with Anna and decide to up and leave again.”
“Oh, sweetie. We’ve only just arrived.”
“Mama left. Then we left Queens to come here. It’s not that crazy a thought, you know.”
“I’m not saying that it is, but you must know that you’re my number one priority. I want you to be happy and I’m so glad that you’ve settled in here. We’re not going to leave because things didn’t work out with me and Anna. That has no bearing on our life here at all.” It’s easy enough to say, of course. But I need to reassure Brooklyn.
“Okay.” She finally wriggles free from my hug. “When you see Jaden’s mom later, can the two of you not talk about me and Jaden the entire time, please?”
“I promise, sweetheart.” We have plenty of other things to talk about, I think.
“Do you think they’re having sex?” Janet asks me off the bat. I’ve barely had time to take a sip of wine. Maybe this is the real reason she wanted to meet with me in private, to find out what our teenagers are up to.
“If they are, it’s certainly not happening at my apartment.” And I’d like to think that Brooklyn would at least give me an indication of that big step in her life.
