“Yeah, but I figured, since I’m here on campus, and we have the apartment for another couple of months, I might as well keep going to class. No one cares.”
I wasn’t sure that was true, but neither was I going to argue with her. Being in a class with other people was a step in the right direction.
“It’ll keep you in the school mindset for when you start your graduate program in the spring, anyway.” I grinned at her. “It’s going to be good, G. You’ll be moving on and living in a new place . . . all of that is positive.”
“I guess.” She turned a corner and glanced at me. “How was your day?”
“I spent it educating the young minds of Eatonboro. No one threw up, no one broke any bones, and a few of them learned something. We’ll call that a win.” Leaning forward, I dug my phone from my back pocket. “Have you heard anything from Zelda? She said she had a late meeting, I know, but I wonder when she’ll be home.”
“Don’t know.” Gia’s tone was flat. “She didn’t say anything to me about it. Just asked if I would pick you up at school.”
“Huh.” There weren’t any texts or message from Zelda on my phone. I was slightly unsettled; for the past few weeks, or maybe even a little longer, something had been wrong with my girl. I didn’t know what was going on; I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when I’d noticed it or even say what made me sense it, but it felt as though she was pulling away from me.
These last months hadn’t exactly gone the way either of us had expected. Back in the spring, we’d been so excited about our new jobs and the idea of moving into our own apartment together. But then Matt had killed himself, Quinn had married Nate, and Gia was left with no one but the two of us to look after her. Gia’s mother sure as hell wasn’t any help; when Zelda had spoken to her two weeks after Matt’s funeral, Mrs. Capri had informed us that if her daughter needed help, she’d have to move up to Trenton. Otherwise, she was on her own.
Even so, I thought we’d made this compromise work. We were still in the campus apartment, sure, but that was temporary. We’d start looking for our own place soon, since Gia was going to move to Philadelphia for grad school and her internship. Zelda seemed to like her job at the farm-to-table non-profit, and I loved what I was doing.
Everything felt like it was moving in the right direction . . . which was probably why I was feeling uneasy. Whenever I brought up the idea of looking for an apartment, Zelda somehow changed the subject. Maybe that was only my perception, though. We just needed to reconnect a little and talk about what came next. Then we’d both feel better.
Once back in the apartment, Gia disappeared into her bedroom, leaving me sitting alone in front of the television, channel surfing. I’d just stopped to watch a documentary on honey bees when Zelda came in.
As always, she robbed me of breath just by being. She’d dressed up a little today, which was unusual; at The Food Jungle, most of the employees and volunteers wore jeans and T-shirts. But here was my gorgeous woman, with her hair pinned up into a smooth bun deal on the back of her head, dressed in a black suit that set off her coloring to perfection. The hem of the skirt hit just above her knee, and the jacket was just fitted enough to show off her curves without being blatantly sexy.
I whistled. “Look at you, baby. That’s one smokin’ hot lady there.”
She smiled a little as she set her purse down on the coffee table and leaned over to kiss me. “Hey. Sorry I’m so late. I’m glad to see Gia remembered to pick you up.”
“I set a reminder on her phone and texted her just to be sure,” I admitted. “I figured better safe than sorry.”
“Good thinking.” Zelda eased off her heels and picked them up with two fingers. “Just let me get changed, and I’ll start dinner.”
I studied her, frowning. “You look a little tired. Why don’t we just order something in? We could get Chinese food and eat it in bed.”
She sighed. “That sounds heavenly. Where’s Gia?”
“Where do you think? In her bedroom. Probably sleeping.” I wheeled after Zelda, following her into our room. “How did your meeting go?”
“Hmmm?” She twisted to unbutton her skirt. “Oh. Well . . . actually, it was more of an interview than a meeting, I guess.”
My forehead wrinkled in confusion. “An interview? For what?”
Zelda let her skirt slither to the floor at her feet and shed her jacket. I realized she wasn’t quite meeting my eye. “It was with Ag Direct. They’re a political action committee who work to represent farmers in Washington, D.C.”
Now I was even more lost. “Okay. So you met with them as part of your job at the Jungle?”
She shook her head. “No. I met with them because they’ve been calling and emailing me since before we graduated, trying to recruit me, and I decided I should listen to what they have to say.”
I didn’t know how to answer this. Zelda and I didn’t keep secrets. That was something that had been an unspoken rule between us since the days when we were only friends who slept together. Maybe this interview wasn’t a big deal . . . but it sure as hell felt as though she’d purposely hidden it from me. I was pissed.
But I knew that with Zelda, direct attack wasn’t going to work. Instead, I only nodded. “And? What did you think?”
She sank down onto the edge of the bed. “I think . . . I’d be crazy not give it serious thought. They have a lot of offer. It’s an amazing opportunity.”
“Okay.” I rubbed my hands over my thighs. “So why didn’t you tell me about the interview before now?”
She didn’t answer me at first, and when she did speak, her voice was strained. “I don’t know. I guess I thought maybe you might try to talk me out of it.”
“And why would I do that?” I was tensed, waiting for the other shoe to fall. There was something she was holding back.
“Because . . . I don’t know. It just seemed like you might.” She picked at a loose thread on the comforter. “If I took this job, some things might have to change. There’s travel involved. I’d have to go to DC now and then.”
“Uh huh.” So far, I hadn’t heard anything that was a deal breaker. “What else?”
“Well, the hours are going to be pretty intense at first. So . . .” She swallowed. “It’s probably going to be a better idea for me to live in the city, close to the office where I’ll work.”
Now this was a game changer. “We said we were going to look for a place over here, though.”
“I know we did.” Her voice rose an octave. “But I’m not sure I want . . .” She trailed off.
“Zelda. Babe.” I maneuvered my chair as close as I could get to her. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
She straightened her shoulders and set her jaw. I’d seen that move before, and it didn’t bode well. “I think maybe I just need a little space. A little time.”
I knew it was coming. Maybe on some level I’d known it for weeks. It still jarred the hell out of me. “Time and space, huh? You want to tell me what the fuck that’s supposed to mean?”
“It means exactly that, Eli. It means I need to be able to breathe for a little bit and figure out—” She broke off, not looking at me.
“Figure out what? The job? What you want out of life? Or is it us you need to figure out, Zelda?”
“All of it, and don’t yell at me, please. I don’t like it.” She lifted her chin, and if I hadn’t known better, I might have thought none of this was affecting her. But I saw the slight tremor in her lips.
“Something happened. I don’t know what, but something happened to make you second guess everything. If you tell me what it is, maybe we can talk about it rationally, with no yelling.” I might’ve added a little bit of snark to that last line, but Zelda ignored it.
“Nothing happened, and I’m not second-guessing everything.” She could zing back with the best of them.
“Oh, no? Sure seems like it. First you tell me you’re looking to quit the Jungle and start working for a PAC. Not long ago, you would�
�ve described that as selling out, Zel. Just saying.”
Now she did look at me, her head jerking to the side as those blue eyes flared with ice. “It’s not selling out. Ag Direct represents farmers who are trying to do things in a more sustainable, organic and ecologically sound way. It’s not like I’m selling chemical fertilizer to farmers. This isn’t so different from the Jungle, only it’s got a greater impact.”
“And I’m sure it pays better.”
Zelda flinched and then rolled her eyes. “Okay, yes, this job does pay well. It pays well enough that I’ll be able to afford the apartment I want in Philadelphia, and I won’t have to worry about money. But that still doesn’t mean that I’m selling out. It means I’m making an informed decision.”
“Fine.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “So you’re taking a new job, moving to Philly to get your time and space . . . where does that leave us, Zelda? Are we on a break? Are we over? Are we back to being just friends who fuck? Illuminate me, sweetheart. I really want to know.”
Tears filled her eyes. “For the love of Christ, Eli, stop it. Can’t you just give me a little room for a little bit? It’s been a full-on shitty year. I don’t think it’s unreasonable that I feel stressed and overwhelmed—and that I need to be on my own for a little bit. I’m not saying we have to stop being who we are.”
“Are we still exclusive?” I bit out the words. “Or is part of this whole fucking mess the fact that you’re getting bored with me and want to go back to the smorgasbord? Are you planning to go back to random fucks, Zel? I think I have right to know that much, at least.”
She jumped to her feet and backed away from me. “You fucking . . . how can you ask me that? How can you say these things?” Opening a drawer, she began yanking out her clothes and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater. “You know, same goes, Eli. What’s to stop you from going back to how you used to be? You know, when you fucked girls without knowing them, without even paying attention enough to realize that they were virgins, and then hooked up with someone else the same night. Remember the good old days? Maybe I have a right to know that much, too.”
Anger boiled up in me. “If that’s what you still think about me deep down, then maybe you’re right. Maybe time and space would be good for both of us. I have no fucking clue what’s going on in your head, Zelda. Not one fucking clue. Everything was fine with us, and then for some reason, you just . . . checked out.” Realization began to glimmer. “That’s it, isn’t it? Things were getting too real for you. You panicked. That’s why you’re doing this.”
“Believe whatever gets you through the night, Eli.” She turned on her heel. “I’m going to sleep in Quinn’s old room tonight. Then I’ll start looking for a place to live, so I can be out of here.”
“Whatever the hell you want to do, do it. God knows you will, anyway.”
She slammed the door behind her, leaving me shaken and bewildered. I rubbed my hand over my forehead, while my stomach roiled.
I wanted to think this was just a spat, and tomorrow morning, we’d make up over breakfast and apologize for everything we’d said. But I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be solved that quickly.
As it turned out, I was right.
When life begins to unravel, it can go downhill damn fast. You’d think that would be a truth I knew all too well, but damn if it still didn’t creep up on me sometimes.
Within a week, Zelda had a place to live in Philadelphia and had moved out of the Birch apartment. Gia stayed with her there for a few nights, until she found her own apartment.
“It’s a dump,” she informed me flatly as she packed up the last of her stuff. “It’s small, and it’s old, but I can afford it, and that’s the real appeal. And it’s close enough for me to get to both the college and the TV station.”
“Is it safe enough, G?” I knew Gia had to start making her own decisions and taking back her life, but still, I worried.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m careful.” She patted my arm. “I’d say you could come visit me, but there’s no elevator.”
“Make sure you keep in touch.” This was ridiculous. I really did sound like an overprotective father.
“I will.” Gia paused, hiking her backpack over her shoulder. “What are you going to do now, Tuck? Have you looked for some place to live?”
Pain sluiced through me. “My parents are going to pick me up, and I’ll stay with them for a little bit, until I find the right apartment. Since we’re so close to Christmas now, I’ll probably wait until after the holidays.”
“Maybe that’s a good idea.” She stared past me, her eyes going vague. “Tuck . . . don’t give up on Zelda, okay? She’s going to come back. Or at least, she’s going to realize that she wants to come back. She might be too stubborn to tell you so, though . . . so if you love her, you might have to make sure she knows that you want her.”
I blew out a long breath, raking my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know, G. I feel like I’ve told Zelda how I feel every way I can. I don’t want her to stay if she doesn’t want to be with me.”
“She does.” Gia swallowed, and her eyes swam with tears. “It’s been a hard fucking year for all of us, Tuck. What should have been exciting and fun and happy—instead, it’s been all about death and loss and hurting. We’re all a mess. Just because Zelda puts a good face on it doesn’t mean she’s not suffering, too.”
I didn’t know how to deal with that idea yet, so I subtly changed the subject. “Speaking of suffering—have you heard any update on Nate?”
If it were possible, Gia’s expression became even more miserable. “Just what Quinn texted the other day. The hospice nurse said they’re close to the end. I feel so guilty, Tuck. I should be down there with Quinn, shouldn’t I? What kind of friend wouldn’t go? But I just can’t. God, I can’t. After—everything with Matt, I can’t do it.”
“No one expects you to go down. I’m not going, and I’d be surprised if Zelda does. From what Quinn said, they’d prefer to keep things quiet. Just family.”
“I wonder if Leo will go. The three of them have been connected for so long, I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t.”
I thought about a conversation I’d had with Nate when we’d gone to the shore to see him—the last time I’d seen him, in fact. “I doubt it. It might be harder for Quinn with Leo there.”
“Maybe.” Gia sighed. “I need to get going now. Are you okay?”
“Sure.” I forced a smile. “My mom’s coming over tomorrow morning, and we’ll get all my shit out of here. Then Zelda’s taking care of getting rid of the furniture.”
“All right. Text me if you need anything.” She began to leave, and then, at the last second, turned to give me a fierce hug. “Love you, Tuck. Thank you for not letting me drown these past months.”
I cleared my throat, emotion choking me. “I expect you to keep floating now, G. Hang in there.”
She nodded and turned to leave. And everything was silent once more.
New Year’s Day dawned clear and cold. It should have been the start of a brand-new chapter in my life, one I was going to share with Zelda. But instead, I woke up in the same bed I’d slept in from the time I was eight, in my old room, at my parents’ house.
I’d gone to bed early the night before. It wasn’t as though I had options for going out to party; my friends from college were scattered. Gia had spent Christmas with her mother and then with her father. Zelda was in Lancaster—not that it would have made any difference if she’d been in New Jersey, considering that she hadn’t spoken to me in well over a month, but still—she was far away. And my best friend from college was dying down at the shore.
Thinking of Nate now, I rolled over and unplugged my phone. When I saw Quinn’s name on the screen, noting an unread text, my heart dropped.
Quinn: Nate died right before midnight, before the new year came in. He was very peaceful and quiet. I’m all right for now. I just need a little time. I’ll be in touch in a few days to let you know ab
out the service. Thank you all. Knowing you were with me in spirit really did help. I love all of you. <3
I’d known it was coming, but fucking hell, seeing the words on my phone ripped out my heart.
Nate was dead. His life was over. I stared up the ceiling, remembering good times from the past four years, willing myself to focus on the laughter and fun—the good days—and forget about anything else.
Nate’s time was over. The rest of us poor bastards . . . we still had to deal with the harsh realities of living.
To no one’s surprise, Nate had planned his own funeral. I knew he had done it to save his parents and Quinn from having to make decisions after his passing, but I wondered how many people realized what an homage the service was to one person in particular. The hymns were all Quinn’s favorites; the flowers were her favorite colors. It was sweet and heart-breaking all at the same time.
My parents, who had gotten to know both Nate and the Wellmans over our years at Birch, had insisted on coming to the funeral, too, which made it convenient for me. I didn’t have to try to beg a ride from anyone else.
When we entered the church, it was quiet, with organ music playing softly. I spotted Leo sitting with his family about two rows back, and I motioned to my mom and dad that I was going to sit with him.
Leo acknowledged me with a small nod, sliding down a little bit to make room on the pew.
“Taylor.” I held out my hand to him. “Hell of a thing. I’m not supposed to be going to my college roommate’s funeral for at least fifty years.”
“Yeah. I hear you.” He shook my hand and then moved a little more as I transferred myself to sit next to him. Down the row, Mrs. Taylor leaned forward a little and waved. I’d met her last summer at Quinn and Nate’s wedding.
Leaning toward Leo, I asked, “Is it cool if I sit here with your family? I don’t know anyone else except the Wellmans and Quinn, and I don’t want to intrude.”
Next Man Up (Making the Score Football Romance Book 2) Page 25
