by Tara Brown
How could you have imaginations or guesses? There was no precedent for this moment. We were in uncharted territory as far as historians were concerned.
“Come on,” Owen called to us.
The house was a ways off the road and completely dark. I didn’t know how or why the guys had chosen it, but they climbed from their truck more cavalier than I did.
Stan bounded about, sniffing like a maniac to find the sweet spot. When he finally did, he lifted his leg and began what I had to assume was the longest dog pee in the history of dog pees.
Since humans had officially ended recording events, we would never know, which meant I might have been right.
Everyone grabbed things from their vehicle and began the slow and cautious stroll up to the front door.
Except Westley who lingered at the truck for a moment before he made his way to me, staring like he was checking on me. As if anything could have happened to me while we were driving.
Celeste and Roz’s words loitered in my mind. Could they be correct? Did he honestly have a crush on me? Were we too old for crushes? Was it more or just some end-of-the-world nonsense? I almost didn’t want to know. I liked him, I could admit that here in the noise of my busy mind. But Owen . . .
Celeste met my gaze as she passed me, winking discreetly as Roz smiled wide and smug like Owen would’ve, had it been him who predicted this weird moment I wasn’t quite having yet but hovered on the precipice of. Possible precipice.
Though Owen wouldn’t have been smug.
He would have been heartbroken and asked me not to. Which was where my loyalty and the answer to the question of West would always sit. With Owen.
When Westley got to me, he stepped too close and smelled too much like something I’d started registering as safety and happiness. I’d done it the moment he covered my hand with his and opened up his heart, just a little for me to see inside. The feelings, unnamed and confusing as they were, became deeper the morning I found him cleaning. He’d given me the greatest gift I’d ever received, he’d had a mini panic attack and made me feel normal. Ish.
“You okay?” he asked as his eyes said other things, or maybe I saw them because Roz and Celeste had planted them. Every moment we’d shared up to now was stained with a sexy or suggestive undertone.
“I’m okay,” I replied softly.
“I was so scared when that dude raised that gun at you. I didn’t react fast enough and—” He stepped closer, too close. His warmth rushed me, beating back the cool air around us. “I’m so sorry, Zo. I should have been faster or registered quicker. I should have knocked him out.”
“No.” I lifted my hands, but he was so close it seemed as though I was about to press them on his chest again, like I had when it all happened. Pushing him back had been hard then. He’d vibrated with rage. “He would’ve shot one of us. It was stupid of me to say anything. He had a gun and I was a moron. I just got so mad when he said that about Celeste—”
“No. I should have said something, not you. I was so stunned. I wish I’d reacted faster. I mean, you always imagine what you’d say or do if someone was like that, and I guess I don't have the reaction I thought I did.” He ran his hands through his hair and exhaled heavily, obviously burdened by the lack of response. “Disappointing, actually.”
“At least Celeste got a shot in.” I giggled nervously though there was nothing funny about a man getting shot in the ear. His being a racist sack of shit did make it borderline okay to shoot him. The thought was ugly and I regretted it. The world was a mess. And so was I.
“I’m bummed I didn’t get mine.” Westley turned back toward the house where everyone else was going in and out with a level of comfort that suggested we knew this house.
“Why are we here? Do you guys know this house?”
“Yeah, Milo. It’s his aunt’s place. He had the address in his phone. He saw a sign and realized he had family near where we were. He’s been preserving his phone battery, only turning it on once a day so he can see Hunter.” Westley’s voice cracked.
“His boyfriend?”
“Yeah. Guess he shot himself a week before Milo met up with Celeste and Rozzy. Couldn’t handle the stress of it all.”
“Jeeze.” I glanced past West to where Milo was petting Stan. “Poor guy. I can’t imagine someone I love dying like that.”
“Me either.” His tone was poignant and strong. I lifted my gaze, fighting flinching when I saw the emotion in his stare. “I have to tell you something.” He lost all the strength and whispered, “The thing is, Zo, I know you love Owen. I’ve known you were in love with him since we were in first grade.”
My cheeks flushed as disappointment crushed me. Of course, he wasn’t into me. I parted my lips to argue, to tell him I didn’t love Owen like that, which made me pause because it was true.
I didn’t love Owen like that. At all.
West continued, not noticing the conversation I’d silently added to this one, “I also know Owen is in love me, again since probably first grade.”
“Second,” I corrected him.
“Right.” He struggled and I started sweating.
Celeste was dead on and West was about to tell me that. How did I react? How did I feel about him? The world was ending, and I hadn’t expected this moment.
“But as much as I love him, and I would die for him, all those feelings are for a brother.”
“Oh.” I knew that. I’d always been able to tell Westley wasn’t into Owen. Not the same way. “Does Owen know?”
“Yeah, I told him the other day that I was so sorry I wouldn’t be able to love him back. And because the world’s ending, I can’t let another minute pass.”
“What?” I was getting lost.
“In a weird twist of fate”—his cheeks glowed red and his eyes searched mine desperately for something—“I know you don’t know this, and you don’t feel the same, but I too am struggling with some unrequited feelings.”
“Oh,” I said, again surprised he’d used a word I wouldn’t have guessed he’d know.
“I thought we had time, but we’re gonna die and I can’t die not saying it.”
My insides grew into a ball of discomfort.
“And it’s not just the feelings, like I’m not just some high school kid who has a crush. This has been my life. And I see you, Zo. I know you better than anyone.” He smiled but it didn't mask the nerves, making me smile but it didn’t touch my anxieties. “You’d rather spend time with books and movies. You call your mom ‘Elaine,’ and you think I don’t know why, but I do. It’s because you’re scared to love her as a mom. You’re scared to give your heart to anyone. You’ve been like that since your dad left.”
My insides tightened so hard I thought I might die. I needed to beg him to stop but my mouth wouldn’t move.
“After he left, I saw the way you stopped crying when you were sad and started bleeding. The look in your eyes used to kill me. I have loved you since then. And I will love you for the rest of my life. I will never leave you. Ever. Not like him or her.” He lowered and placed a soft kiss on my cheek, hovering there and exhaling on my ear as he whispered, “And if I can, I will love you way longer than we have.” He kissed a second time then walked to the house.
Cold air rushed me as if he’d taken all the heat in the world with him.
Frozen in feelings and fear and the weird fuzz my father leaving us had created, I stayed for a minute. Taking deep breaths, I tried to gather my thoughts and my heart and all the weirdness that had just landed on me, making me heavy.
Not the kind where I worried I would die alone, but a new type of fuzz that I didn’t know how to cope with.
He’d spoken of the thing I’d agreed never to speak on again, but the reaction wasn't what I’d expected.
I hadn’t died.
I didn't crumple into a ball, unable to move.
The pain wasn’t worse.
The realization that your parent or parents could leave you had once crushed me. But
I wasn’t that girl anymore. She was missing and I didn't know where she went.
West walked into the house, leaving me in the yard alone.
The dam that held back the tears threatened to crack. My fingers balled, my hands didn’t grip my skin. Tears built in my throat, choking me up.
I tried to center on my breathing, pointing out the part I wasn't focusing on.
West loved me.
The Westley Coburn, the legend in our town, wanted by everyone, loved me. Unremarkable me. Or was I unremarkable? Had I missed something awesome?
I didn't know how this had happened. How it could.
Footsteps broke my thoughts, heavy ones. Lumbering even. My insides tightened as betrayal washed over me. Not a betrayal to me, that would have been easy to cope with. But this was my betrayal of him. Owen.
“So, I’m guessing by that stunned look on your face he told you, finally.” Owen stood in front of me, arms folded and jaw set.
“You knew?”
“He told me a long time ago, begged me not to tell you. I promised. Bros before hoes. You know?” He cracked that smug grin, the one that used to warm all my insides but there was a hint of something else. I knew what that would be.
“You knew.” It wasn't a question this time. It was a thought that was taking time to settle in my head. My rapidly twisting and turning mind. “I’m sorry, Owen.”
“Yeah, me too. I should have told you.” His tone changed, softening, “I should have helped you guys be together. You’re a perfect match. But I couldn't bear it. And now the world is ending and I have to live with this. I cockblocked my two best friends from loving each other because I wanted you to myself.”
“No.” I walked to him, wrapping my arms around him and burying my face in his chest. “I would never date someone you loved. Because I also think hoes before bros and you’re my main ho.” I laughed at the stupid sentence, though all I wanted was to cry.
“Well then”—he pulled me back—“as your main ho, I have to force you to make out with him and give me all the details.” His eyes shimmered as he gave me that soulful look that boys with brown eyes did better than anyone. “You love him, Zoe. You always have, I always saw you watching him.”
God, he was dumb. Pretty but dumb. I nearly spilled the beans and argued that it wasn’t West I was watching.
But he kept talking, “We have weeks left. Be happy. Fall in love. Even if it only lasts a minute.” The reflection in his sage wisdom burned me.
I wished he could fall in love too, with someone who would love him back.
Someone other than me.
21
Lies by firelight
Celeste
Something had changed.
Zoey was sitting so close to Rozzy and me that she was making me hot.
Westley was by the fire, staring at it, lost in thought. But it was more, he was down about something.
Owen was cheerier than normal, which was a lot of cheer for such a weird night. It had to be fake, a pretense of some sort, but why?
A thought slipped into my mind.
“Did West tell you he loves you?” I muttered into Zoey’s ear.
She nodded once, her cheeks flushing with color. She avoided his gaze when he turned to us, almost making me worry he’d heard me, though it was impossible.
“I think I’m going to stay with you guys, in Colorado,” Milo cut the tension, clearly oblivious to it. He spoke into the fire, but I knew he was talking to Zoey, Owen, and Westley. “I have a week and a half left, I don't want to spend it on the road. Today was a great example of what can go wrong. That’s not how I want to die.” He rubbed Stan’s soft white head and watched the flames flicker. “And I’d like you to take care of Stan for the week you have after us.”
“Yeah, as much as I want to go to the West Coast, I don't think I can either.” Rozzy offered a poignant stare filled with regret. “I’m sorry, Celeste. Spokane is still like twenty hours from here. I asked Helen when we were getting in the truck. She said Spokane was far. Like crazy far. Like three more long-ass days of driving if we’re lucky. And she said crossing through the Rockies there could be accidents and avalanches and a ton of snow or ice.”
“I know.” Their words were a reality I’d silently been facing and denying simultaneously. I didn't bother telling her there wouldn't be avalanches. Not yet. But soon. Winter was coming. You could feel it in the air, that crisp cold that made your lungs notice every inhale. It was different here, similar to the way home felt, and opposite of the East Coast. New York had always had a dankness to it that the Midwest didn't have. The knowledge I would never feel the way New York City seeped into your bones and took up residence, made me miss it, something I’d always hated.
I would never forget the first time I felt it, crawling into a bed that was damp with humidity. I thought the sheets were wet, but they weren’t. The air was. It was misery that was only made worse as it varied with every season.
“I understand,” I said softly, knowing I had to go on alone. I had to get to Beth and the kids. I wanted to make it before my other siblings died, but it was becoming less and less likely.
“I really am sorry, girl. I wish I could come with you,” Rozzy offered.
“Me too,” Milo agreed.
They both had such forlorn expressions I couldn't help but forgive them.
“I get it. I honestly do. We’re running low on time. And if one wrong thing happens between here and Spokane, I’m not going to make it in time. I can’t ask that.”
“You can take Stan, if you want,” Milo said after a moment of contemplation. “He will keep you safe. I promise. He’s amazing at it. When I left Florida, he was the only reason I found you two. I should have died ten different ways before I met you.” He lowered his gaze, furrowing his brow. There were secrets in there, maybe horrors. Maybe what had nearly happened to us, had—no! I needed to stop thinking that before my imagination ran off.
I had enough horrors of my own, without adding other possibilities.
“Thanks, Milo.” I gave him a soft smile and turned back to the fire, allowing my mind to drift until it eventually wandered back to the whole Zoey and West thing. I couldn't deny being curious about what her response had been. “What did you say to him?” I asked her, almost silently.
“Nothing. I couldn't speak. I was so shocked.” Her whispered words were barely audible.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don't know. I mean, it’s West.” She leaned in so close I could smell the remnants of deodorant mixing with her body odor.
“Well, don't take too long. You have two and a half weeks left of life. Don't waste precious moments.” I stood and walked to the fireplace, leaning in to warm myself before sitting next to Milo. “Do you think we could heat water on the barbecue and make a bath or shower or something?” The smell of Zoey reminded me it had been days since we’d showered.
“Yeah.” West shot up out of his seat as though he was desperate to find something to occupy his time.
“I’ll help,” Owen agreed.
“I’ll show you where the well is. The pump has a backup that’s manual. So we can get water. The barbecue is kinda nice too, if I recall it correctly.” Milo hurried outside with a flashlight guiding his way.
“I’ll go find the bathroom.” I hurried down the hall with Rozzy hot on my trail.
“We should see if they have clean clothes.” She disappeared into a room in the hallway.
The house was nice, sort of girlie for a farmhouse. It was more modern than I’d expected too. There were scented candles and frilly designer shower curtains in both bathrooms. I lifted the candles, taking a deep inhale of each before I lit them.
Melon.
Vanilla.
Espresso.
Instantly, I was transported home.
The warm scent of vanilla and espresso mixed and I was in the living room. Mom had vanilla candles lit. There’d been a storm and the power was out. She made Bodum coffee o
n the outdoor range. It ran on propane.
We nestled into the white leather sofas and smiled at one another. Me excited to be home on break and her eager to hear about NYU. She missed the East Coast and the city and didn't get back often enough.
She made me regale her with stories of eateries and diners and campus life. I told her about Darius. We hadn’t been introduced but I’d seen him. He was cute. I showed her the sneaky photo I’d taken of him, and then we creeped his open Instagram.
She laughed and it faded away. A tear slid down my cheek, transporting me back. Back to the dark bathroom with the weird mix of candles and silence.
I blinked, letting tears splash down my cheeks as I reminded myself my mom would live on. And each of us kids and Dad would too. She had placed us delicately into her stories, making characters out of reality. Survivors would read her books. Mankind would know who we were.
We wouldn't be forgotten.
And one day, maybe really far in the future, a mother and daughter would sit and drink Bodum coffee on white leather sofas and tell each other secrets and laugh. And our legacy would be carried forward.
“I found bath salts. They smell like my grandma.” Rozzy sniffed the large glass container she held, half full of white scented salts.
“I found candles that smell like home. Except the melon. Mom would never have had fruity smells. She was all about the spice, that woman.” I smiled my way through the moment, pulling strength from the memories and love and a silent hope that I might see them again soon.
Please be real, God, please.
“What if we don't die?” Rozzy asked, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror that was illuminated by the candles.
“What do you mean? Like Helen?” The woman was burned into my mind too.
“Yeah. Like what if we don't die? And we’re stuck here, always cold and hungry and searching for food?” Her voice cracked on “cold.”
“I don't know.” Was that better than dying? I didn't have an answer to that. I didn't know. I assumed dying was something we all were avoiding but at the same time remaining with the mess, as Owen so eloquently put it before, was not very appealing either.
