As we join them I start to feel a little excited. I deserve to have a nice day with friends, don’t I? There’s no reason I should feel so guilty or worried. No reason at all.
I introduce Taylor to Mary and Kris, and we settle into the booth. Once we place our orders, Hunter tells me about their night. “We were talking and realized the fourth is coming up. We have less than a week to plan the big game.”
“Ooh, that’s right. I almost forgot.”
“What game?” Taylor asks.
“We do a big softball game on the Fourth of July,” Everett says.
Taylor’s expression is skeptical. “You do?”
I laugh. I can see why that would seem strange to him. We don’t look like the most athletic group. The games started during a drunken binge a few years ago. We’d all gotten hammered at a pool party over in the Heights on the Fourth. Someone had the brilliant idea that we should play some baseball, so we headed out to Kennedy Park and tried to play in the dimming light. It was a disaster, of course. Trying to hit baseballs while too drunk to stand up straight didn’t work very well. But it’d been a blast, and we’d kept up the tradition ever since.
“We’re much more into the social aspect of the game,” I say. “Burgers, hot dogs, and beer.”
“Lots of beer,” Everett says.
“And you have to do shots each inning depending on how many runs were scored,” Ellie says, grinning.
“The offense or the defense?” Taylor asks.
We all look at each other. “Uh, both?”
Taylor laughs. “Nice.”
“You should join us this year,” Hunter tells him. “Weren’t you a big baseball star in high school?”
Taylor tenses. “I don’t play anymore.”
His tone is so cold that the entire table falls silent. I meet Ellie’s wide-eyed look across the table as the awkwardness descends on us.
“Well,” I say brightly, “to be honest, we don’t play much either. We’re usually too hammered to get past the third inning.”
Everyone laughs, and I feel Taylor relax.
“What should we do today?” Ellie asks, clearly trying to change the subject.
“I want to go swimming,” Hunter says, pouting. “You haven’t taken me swimming all summer.”
“What are you, a fucking puppy?” she asks. “Take yourself swimming.”
As my friends debate whether the community pool is worth the downer of the no-alcohol policy, I reach for Taylor’s hand under the table. His hands are shaking again, the way they were last night. I clutch one between both of my own, rub my fingers along his knuckles, and wonder what in the world could have upset him just now.
Chapter Eleven
Zoe
The next week passes without much incident. I meet Taylor for lunch almost every day, and spend hours after class curled up in his apartment, watching movies or talking or watching him draw while I’m supposed to be studying.
My house is much calmer than usual, thank God. Jerry is working late shifts, so he’s rarely at home when I am, which is fine by me. My mom seems to be doing better, too. Mrs. Johnson tells me she’s out of bed for several hours every afternoon. She’s usually asleep again by the time I get home from class, but it’s nice to peek in on her and see that she’s at least showered and changed her PJs.
The Fourth falls on a Thursday this year so I get a day off class. I get a shock when I enter the living room; my mom is awake, sitting on the couch, dressed in sweats. There’s no sign of her bathrobe and she hasn’t showered yet, but the fact that she got up and dressed makes me do a double-take.
“Good morning, sweetie,” she says. “I was hoping I’d see you before you left for your game.”
“I’m just waiting for my ride.” Surprisingly, Taylor had decided to join us at the park for our ball game. After his reaction at the Burrito Barn, I was sure he’d refuse. He’s picking me up in a few minutes. I join my mom on the couch warily. It’s been weeks since she’s gotten up before me on her own accord. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m tired, but other than that…” She smiles wanly, and I feel a lump come to my throat.
“I’m glad.” I think of calling Taylor and telling him not to get me when she puts a hand on my arm.
“Mrs. Johnson invited Jerry and me over for barbeque this afternoon. Isn’t that nice?”
“Wow, Mom.” It’s terrible, but her words fill me with fear. I don’t think she’s ready yet, not to actually go out and socialize like that. And Jerry won’t help her, won’t know how to keep her from getting overwhelmed. I’m about to blurt some of this out when she continues.
“I told her we’d play it by ear. Jerry has to work at four, and I’m not sure I’ll be feeling up for it. But maybe I’ll be able to make it for an hour or so.”
She looks so hopeful. It fucking breaks my heart. “That would be great, Mom.”
She smiles again, happier this time.
“I could stay,” I say, my mind spinning. Skipping the game won’t be that big of a deal. If I was here I could make sure she was doing okay, make sure nothing upset her or worried her. She’d have a better chance of making it to the barbeque if I was here.
“Absolutely not,” she says. “You go play your game with your friends.”
“Mom—”
“No arguing, Zoe. I want to hear about it when you get home, okay? I’ll try to stay up.”
Her eyes look so clear. She really wants this day to go okay, I can tell. Everything in me is screaming that I should be here, that I should help. But I also know it will ruin things for her if she thinks I’m staying just to babysit her.
“Okay, Mom,” I finally say, though I feel sick about it. “We’ll both have time with our friends and catch up later.”
She squeezes my hand just as Taylor blares his car horn outside. “Your ride?”
I nod. “I’ll have my phone, okay? If you need anything.”
She shoos me away, so I get up from the couch and head to the door. I turn to look at her once before leaving, and my heart constricts. She looks so thin sitting there, so small and fragile. I rush back to her in two long strides and lean down to kiss her cheek. “Love you.”
“Oh, Zoe. I love you too.”
I’m afraid I’m going to cry any minute, so I turn away again and run out to Taylor without another word.
I feel off the entire day. I drink too much too soon, trying to turn off the guilt and the fear. The beer does nothing to help my nervous nausea. I know I should be happy, should be excited for my mom. She’s having a decent day for once, and that’s something to celebrate. But I can’t turn off the worry that it will all crash around her, particularly if I’m not there to stop it.
Against my better judgment, I eat a burger from the grill for lunch, thinking some food might help. And it might have, had I not followed it with a Jack and Coke that was almost entirely Jack. Taylor finds me throwing up in the bushes ten minutes later. Real sexy. He doesn’t comment, just rubs my back and hands me a napkin to wipe my mouth.
“You wanna tell me what’s wrong today?” he asks as I sink to my knees in the cool grass. “You’re obviously upset. What’s going on?”
I shake my head. “What does it matter?”
“Zoe, come on. Of course it matters. Sometimes talking helps.”
I look at him, and my blurry vision makes his face swim alarmingly. “You’re not the best one to lecture about sharing, Taylor.”
He sits back on his heels, watching me. “Yeah, fine.”
I stand, wobbling as I do, and he’s up and at my side immediately. “Let’s go home.”
I laugh, because what the hell does home even mean?
He takes me to his apartment, and deposits me in his bed while he goes to get me water. I bury my face in his pillow, willing the room to stop spinning. I shouldn’t be here. I should be home with my mom. But if I showed up like this, she would freak out. I have no intention of letting my mom know how much I drink—or why.
> Taylor reappears at my side with a glass of water. “Drink this,” he says. He helps me sit up and won’t let me lie down again until I’ve finished the whole glass. “You want to sleep it off?”
I nod and slide back into his cool sheets. He lies next to me, stretching out and turning his head to face me. “You shouldn’t be this nice to me, Taylor,” I whisper, and close my eyes. Sleep is coming fast, and I’m relieved. It will be nice to turn it all off for a while.
“Why?” I feel his fingers brushing through my hair. It feels so damn good, just like everything else about him.
“Because I’m so not worth it.”
He says something else, but I don’t catch it before sleep claims me.
***
I wake up, my head pounding and my mouth feeling like it’s filled with cotton. It’s hot in Taylor’s room, and the light outside has faded enough to make me think several hours have passed.
He’s still sleeping next to me, and he looks so beautiful, his dark eyelashes spread across his tan skin.
I climb out of bed as quietly as I can, relieved when he doesn’t wake. I need to get home. I’ve stayed far too long as it is.
The air is much cooler than it was earlier. I look up at the darkening skies, wondering if it’s going to rain. There’s a breeze, and it feels good on my overheated skin. The closer I get to home, the more worried I am about my mom. I can think of dozens of terrible scenarios that might have occurred while I was gone. It makes me sick to admit it, but it was easier for me when she just stayed in bed.
As I turn onto my block, my phone beeps. I pull it out and see a text from Taylor. Where’d you go?
I pause on the corner so I can type a reply. Needed to get home. You were too cute sleeping to wake up. I put the phone on “silent” and slip it back into my purse, not wanting to answer any more questions.
By the time I reach the house, I’m convinced all hell will have broken out in my absence. I hold my breath as I open the front door, my entire body coiled up, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I hate not knowing what I’ll see when I get inside, not knowing what is waiting for me.
“Zoe?” my mom calls, her voice soft from the kitchen. “Is that you, sweetheart?”
Relieved, I walk through the living room to join her. She’s sitting up at the kitchen table. She’s in her robe, but her hair is clean. She has a book and mug in front of her. “How was your day?”
That lump is back in my throat. She’s okay.
I have to lie. “It was good, Mom. Really good. How about you?”
She gestures for me to sit with her, and I take the opposite chair somewhat gingerly. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells, like this entire scene is a façade that I could blow away with the smallest move.
“I had a good day,” she says. “Jerry and I made it to Mrs. Johnson’s after all. Then we took a walk before he went to work. I read for a while. It was good.”
She’s looking right at me, as if she knows how I’m struggling to believe it’s possible. She smiles a little, and my heart clenches. She’s trying so hard and it makes me so proud of her, but it also hurts.
“I’m glad, Mom. I’m really glad.”
“So, tell me about your day. How’s Ellie? Who else did you see?”
So I tell her all about the day, leaving out the part where I got so wasted before five p.m. that I ended up puking in the bushes. She laughs when I tell her about our ineptitude on the field, about how my new friend Taylor, an actual baseball player, was horrified by our lack of basic skills.
“Who is this Taylor?” she asks, her eyes sparkling. “I’m hearing something in your voice, missy, when you say his name. You can’t hide these things from me.”
“He’s a friend. He’s very nice and very cute.”
“Cute, huh?” She winks. “Are we talking ‘handsome-cute’ or ‘stick-your-tongue-down-his- throat hot’?”
“Mother!”
She laughs, and I join her.
“I’d like to meet this boy,” she says, and I suddenly feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. For a moment it had felt like old times, just like it used to be when Grace and I would come home after school and the three of us would laugh and tease about boys.
But it’s not the same. All I have to do is look at my mother to know that. She’s not the same woman she was then, regardless of how happy she looks right now. She’s rail thin, her skin papery looking and wrinkled in ways it wasn’t before. Her hair is graying and has lost any shine it once held. She looks pale and tired and fragile.
“I would like that,” I tell her, because it’s true. I would very much like her to be well enough that I could bring Taylor by. Well enough that I could have a normal relationship with a boy, have a normal job, finish school, move away. Do all those things normal people do when they don’t have to worry that their mother is about to snap, about to fall apart.
She smiles again, and I’m grateful that she doesn’t pick up on the change in my mood. “Good.” She yawns and looks down at her mug. “I was going to try to finish this, but I just don’t think I can keep my eyes open. Would you mind if I call it a night?”
“Of course not.” I stand with her, and she draws me into a hug. Her arms tighten around me, as weak as they are. “I’m glad it was a good day, Mom.”
She pulls back and looks into my face, as if she’s searching for something. “Me too.”
Chapter Twelve
Zoe
After she goes to bed, I last for a little more than an hour before the silence and worry gets real bad. I try to relax in the living room, flipping through the TV channels. There’s a comedy on, something Ellie and I saw in the theater when it came out, and I watch for a while, trying to get lost in the movie. But it’s no use. I just can’t shut my brain off.
I should be over the moon. Mom made it through an entire day without needing to seek refuge in her room. It’s been weeks since she’s been able to manage that. She seems tired, yes, but she also seems happy. Calm. I want to be relieved, a part of me is relieved, but I just can’t let go of the fear and sadness.
Because I know, deep down, that this won’t last. That the victory of this single day won’t even matter in a few days or weeks or months when all the things she can’t handle overwhelm her again. If I’m lucky, that will result in her returning to her bed to sleep the day away. But what if I’m not lucky? What if the other behaviors come back? I’m not sure I can handle that, not now.
It’s just too much; too much fear and stress and worry. I can’t even enjoy the good days because they only put everything into stark perspective for me. The rush of excitement that I feel knowing my mom had stayed out of bed all day is all the evidence I need to prove that things are really messed up around here. I’m freaking happy that she managed to make her own damn tea—how pathetic is that? How bad are things when something so insignificant can make me feel so happy?
Pretty damn bad.
I jump up from the couch. I have to get out of here. I’m going to lose it soon. All I want is to sneak into her room, climb into bed with her like I did when I was little, and beg her to be okay. Beg her to comfort me and care for me. I’m tired of being the strong one, the one who takes care of her. I’ve been doing it for years now, and I am so fucking tired of it. I want someone to take care of me for a change. Is that so wrong?
I’m out of the house and on my way to Taylor’s before I even realize what I’m doing. It’s cooled down even more in the past two hours, and the fresh air clears my head, wiping away the remains of my earlier Jack-induced headache. I know I’m being ridiculous, know I just left Taylor’s and he will probably think I’m a crazy person when I show up again. I should just go home and be happy that things are looking up.
But I can’t.
When I get to his house, I pause at the door to his apartment. I probably should have called first. It’s not exceptionally late, only ten-thirty or so, but what if he isn’t in the mood for company? The guy spent his afternoon watch
ing me get wasted and puke in the bushes before having to put my drunk ass to bed. He could very well have had enough of me for one day—or longer.
Feeling stupid, I take out my phone and call him. He picks up on the second ring. “Hey, baby,” he says, his voice low and flirtatious. “You didn’t call when you got home. I was getting worried.” I expect his voice to calm me, but it doesn’t. I’m still keyed up, scared out of my mind.
“Hey,” I say. “What are you doing?”
“Painting. What are you doing?”
Damn. He’s working. I should totally not be here right now. I start to back away. “Not much. Just thought I’d say good night.”
In the yard next door a patio light flicks on, and a dog barks, loudly. There’s a pause.
“Are you here?” Taylor asks.
“Um…”
“I can hear the Goodwin’s dog over the phone.” The garage light flicks on, and I look up to see his face in the window. “You came back. Why didn’t you say?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt your work.”
“Whatever. I’ll be right down.”
I slip my phone back into my purse, feeling ridiculous. The feeling intensifies when I see his eyes. He’s clearly concerned about me, peering into my face in the light from the garage as if looking for clues to my well-being. “You okay? It freaked me out when I woke up and you were gone.”
“Sorry. I was feeling kind of sick, still. Thought I should just get out of there into the fresh air.”
“But you missed me.” He smiles. “That’s why you came back, right? You realized your massive mistake in walking away from me and can’t wait to get me back into your arms?”
Tonight his teasing doesn’t relax or amuse me. I smile as sincerely as I can and look past him to the stairs. “Can we go in? The light’s attracting bugs.”
“Sure.” He’s looking at me in that concerned way again, so I turn my face from his and wait for him to head up the stairs so I can follow.
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