The Hundred Days war was ninety-nine days too long
I drag out fights long past their expiration
If I led a rebellion it would never end
And I’m sick of learning about wars
and at the end, exile, not even a death sentence.
I spend too much time with men who carry knives
I’ve started thinking that murder is the end of an argument
Blood spilled is the only victory worth winning
“Increasingly overwhelming odds” defeated Napoleon
There will always be a first aid kit in my backpack
As if some plasters can patch a bullet wound
My search history reads “tourniquet” and “sterilization”
eventually leading to abdication and a new Louis on the throne.
There is no replacement for his utter disregard for his own life
But I know he will fall and I know he will be succeeded
One day my shaking hand with its crooked stitches won’t be enough
It’s always your mom’s cafe and discount movies,
then borrowed money and subway swipes,
leading to bay windows and sleepovers.
You could do more, you never even think of it,
you never complain and somehow that’s worse.
Maybe you’re happy with movie marathons,
with babysitting your brother, with me.
But friendships, they’re meant to go both ways.
My theory is I don’t sacrifice enough and you accumulate
disappointment so frequently you’ve stopped noticing.
I want to do more with the little I am,
but it’s the starting I can’t figure out.
dirt or dried blood or both
trapped under fingernails
have you ever clawed your way back
from nothing at all
no three-headed dog
or man rowing his boat,
not the mother you never knew
or the father you couldn’t save.
I know the hell he murmurs about
and it is not flames that punish
but the absence of a familiar bed
and torture would be preferable, I think,
to a curtain of darkness.
even not believing in anything
can disappoint you.
I don’t remember the rosemary,
the way my mother would press it into soaps
or bake it into breads, the scent staining her hands
and lingering somewhere behind my nostrils.
I can’t think of the pansies,
the way he plucked them carelessly
his touch only softening to tuck one
somewhere in the mess of my braids.
My father used to call me his daisy
and now I can’t stand their brightness,
the way they lie about purity
their foolish insistence on innocence.
I consider the rue carefully
whether it’s a weapon or a savior
whether it’s mine to feed or consume
whether the lake is still cool this time of year.
I’ve started looking for hidden entrances
nestled between changing room stalls
or beneath ornate fountains,
with sculpted swans spewing water,
my fingers itching to touch their beaks,
wondering if this will reveal the secret stairs.
There are, actually, messages everywhere,
even when people don’t mean to leave them.
For my part, I tuck notes wherever I go.
I learn morse code and read everything.
I never know whether I’m hiding
or waiting to be found.
I’m still young when I start training bats
and my siblings say I’m like my namesake
which makes me think I’m marked for death.
The shadows of legacies hang over all of us,
and we wear names of the fallen we’ve never met
of those who lost the war before we were born.
My parents were very brave,
but that’s all they can tell me.
It takes years before I learn what happened;
children shouldn’t know about harpoons or poison.
So I’ve never believed that nobility protects,
only that wickedness corrupts.
When you grow up in secluded cabins
surrounded by mountains and forests
it’s impossible to consider what’s normal.
Everything I do is voluntary, but I wonder
if there’s any choice after you’re born into this.
The world isn’t quiet here or anywhere.
clusters of stars, I called them
and you didn’t correct me.
but constellations, at the back of your throat
I could feel it.
for my birthday you parceled up the book,
something about stargazing for beginners
the inscription fragrant with love but
without the use of that word.
you loved the sky with a kind of aggression.
everything hinges on the universe,
you said. I couldn’t picture the entirety of
the universe, just stars thrown up against the vast wilderness.
critics will say they’re already dead, I said.
you looked at me, no acknowledgment of the joke in my voice.
do you forget about something once it’s dead?
you asked, and no, I can say now, no,
I don’t forget.
You make this too easy,
it’s all there;
first we cut her open,
like a magic trick gone wrong.
Then we crush what’s left,
so nobody can recognize the wreckage.
Last we lay her in the forest
to decay among the leaves.
It’s already creeping into the recesses,
ready to collapse or explode—
shade it in or rot.
Lucas finds out accidently about Maya's troubled home life and let's her stay over his house sometimes because she feels like she bothers Riley too much already, romance will ensure
This prompt is from December 2014 I can’t even believe me right now but I can’t sleep and I wanted to write something but couldn’t think of any ideas so here we are…I kind of diverted from the prompt, maybe??? The ending is bad but this is already so long, I hope it’s okay.
i.
It’s not so bad. That’s what she thinks for years, for so long that she almost really believes it. It’s not so bad not having a dad and it’s not so bad having a mother who’s always working. Her mother loves her – that’s lucky, right? Some kids have no parents, or parents who don’t love them. Maya has love. She can be happy with that.
But then she sees how much Riley has. Not just love but support, someone there to help her with homework and say goodnight every evening and make breakfast for her every morning. Not just someone, someones. The last thing Maya wants to do is resent her mother. Her mom is the reason she has a bedroom to sleep in, even if it’s cold and too-bright and the neighborhood is loud all through the night. If anything, she’s worried for her mother, a woman who has always pursued her dream full-force only to come up empty handed, forced to waitress 15 hours a day. There hasn’t been anyone else, not really, since her father left. What time does her mom have for dating, anyways?
Maya doesn’t like to think about dating. She’s fourteen, so maybe she doesn’t need to concern herself with thoughts of boyfriends or girlfriends, but Riley and Lucas tried dating and it didn’t work, so what does that mean? If two people who seems so perfect for each other can’t even find happiness together, what chance does she–her mom, what chance does her mom have, when the odds are stacked against her like this?
She’s too young to worry about falling in love. But sometimes the thought keeps her up at night while the city buzzes below her apartment.
ii.
It’s bad. Not all bad, but bad. Sometimes the energy required just to seem like herself at school is too much. And she doesn’t want to lean on Riley too heavily, doesn’t want to force her problems and anxieties to become Riley’s. Of course, when Riley was being bullied, Maya wished she had known earlier. But this was different. It wasn’t a stranger telling her she should be someone else – just the little voice in her head that seemed so sure that she was destined to become like her mother, constantly chasing her dream of becoming an artist with nothing to show for it in the end.
That’s why she follows Lucas onto the train one Wednesday afternoon. He promises his parents won’t mind if she visits for a while, even though it’s clear that he’s confused. He thinks she should be with Riley, and he may even be right, but Riley was especially chipper all day and she can’t be the one to steal that excited glimmer from her best friend’s eyes.
Lucas, though…he can handle it. He’s been through dark things, too, not that he ever talks about it. Maya learns most about his past from Zay, but even Zay has his limits. He wants to protect his best friend, a feeling Maya clearly understands. As they sit on the train together, Maya can’t help thinking how they’ve never done this before, not just the two of them like this. Somehow it makes her feel guilty, primarily because she didn’t tell Riley she was going to Lucas’s place. She wasn’t purposely keeping it a secret, so why did it feel so wrong?
iii.
It’s been three weeks since she first went to the Friars’ home after school and this is her sixth time coming over. Lucas’s parents are rarely there, in fact it’s only once that Maya trailed after Lucas after he unlocked his front door to see his mother sitting there in the living room with a book in her lap.
Of course, it doesn’t feel as comfortable as the Matthews’s place, but it’s a good alternative. Usually Lucas tries to make her do homework while Maya does whatever she can to distract him. TV, board games, anything so that she doesn’t waste their time together doing homework. She can do homework alone later.
Today, her successful distraction attempt was baking. Chocolate chip cookies were so easy to make that all of the instructions necessary were provided on the package of organic chocolate chips his mother kept in the pantry.
Maya grabs the package and twists it in her hands, adjusting the wrapping until she can read it properly. “All right…it says to pre-heat the oven to 375 degrees.” When Lucas didn’t move, she raises her eyebrows at him to indicate that this is where he comes in.
“Oh,” he says quickly before moving over to the oven and punching in the appropriate numbers. “Got it.”
“Now we have to stir everything together in a big bowl.”
Before Maya has to stare at him again, Lucas is already digging around in the cupboards for a big bowl.
They mix the ingredients together, with Maya throwing in all of the necessary flour and sugar and butter into the bowl while Lucas stirs. Once the cookies are in the oven, they collapse onto the couch, Maya’s head lolling over onto Lucas’s chest with her eyes closed.
“Baking is exhausting. We should have just bought some cookies from the store down the street.”
Lucas peers down at her, gingerly moving a damp piece of hair away from her face. Her hairline is drenched in sweat but she doesn’t have it in her to feel self-conscious around him. That’s what practically sticking your head in an oven did to a person.
“We should have done our homework,” he suggests instead.
Maya pffts him and opens her eyes to look at at him. “You can do my homework if it would really make you happy, Huckleberry.”
“Such a generous offer,” he smiles, the expression exaggerated as if he’s actually considering it. “I’d hate to have that much fun without you, though.”
“Would you?” She asks, her tone vaguely more serious.
“Usually it’s more fun when you’re here,” he admits easily. “I don’t like having to stay up later because you wouldn’t let me do any work, but making cookies is more entertaining. Especially the way you do it.”
They both glance towards the kitchen where flour is still scattered all over the counters.
“Will your mom hate me for messing up the kitchen?”
“My mom could never hate you.” There’s a beat before he extricates himself from her and gets to his feet again. “We’re gonna clean it up before she even gets here.”
Maya groans and closes her eyes again. “Five more minutes.”
“C’mon, if we don’t do it now it’ll just get harder to even consider.”
“I’ve already stopped considering it,” she replies, grabbing a pillow from the end of the couch and pulling it closer to stick it under her head.
Lucas knows better than to try grabbing her by the arm to get her up, so instead he crouches so he’s speaking into her ear. “Maya, you made the mess, now you have to clean it.”
“Wouldn’t it be more chivalrous if you just did it yourself? Isn’t that your thing?”
He rolls his eyes but smiles, since her eyes are still closed and she can’t take it as a sign that she’s winning. “No. Get up. Don’t make me carry you there. I’ll put you on the counter, then you’ll be covered in flour.”
She groans again, but still doesn’t get up. Her eyes flit open and she turns her head slightly to look him in the eyes. “I’m tired,” she complains. “And you wouldn’t.”
Lucas just shakes his head before wrapping an arm beneath her. “It didn’t have to come to this, Maya,” he says almost regretfully, although they both know that he’s struggling not to smile.
Before she can fight him off, he’s lifting her and carrying her towards the kitchen. By the time he has her almost on the counter, she’s thumping her palm against his chest. “Let me down, Ranger Rick!”
“I plan to,” he grins, moving her closer to the flour covered surface.
“On the floor, Hopalong.”
“But on the counter you can still sleep!”
“Lucas,” she shrieks as she feels part of her back brush the counter’s surface.
He stops abruptly, his grin softening to something more akin to a fond smile. “Okay, okay,” he says softly, placing her instead so she stands on her own two feet on the kitchen floor.
Maya immediately smacks him in the arm, spinning around quickly to see what articles of clothing have been floured.
“Well? Where is it?” She demands.
“Um…” He starts, his eyes lower than Maya had been anticipating.
“Oh, geez, never mind,” she huffs, turning to face him fully again. “Keep your eyes up here, Friar.”
They clean the counter while the cookies bake, Maya begrudgingly wielding a sponge while Lucas dries the clean surface with a dish towel. Maya ends up leaving just before 7pm with a tupperware container full of cookies to keep her company on the train home.
iv.
She’s not sure how, but it’s been four months. Maya still spends most of her time with Riley at the Matthews’s apartment, of course, but when she’s feeling especially out of it she opts to go home with Lucas. One Saturday, she wakes up to find her mother already gone, which isn’t unusual. What is unusual is the flash of their landline alerting her to a message. She checks it assuming she can just tell her mom to listen to it herself if it’s important.
It’s not. Or, it is, but Maya doesn’t want it to be. Her father is wondering how they’re both doing and if he might get some recent photos of Maya. He doesn’t ever mention wanting to see her in person. All he needs to feel like he’s still her dad is a school photo. Her eyes are already filled with tears before the message ends and after the paralyzation of shock wears off she grabs a jacket and stomps down to the train.
Lucas answers the door, even though both of his parents are home. They’re still in their bedroom and Maya doesn’t bother explaining herself as she pushes past Lucas towards his room. They hardly ever spend time in there but Maya can’t imagine anything more mortifying than having his parents walk into the living room to find her crying.
He doesn’t ask immediately. He follows after her cautiously, closing the door behind him. Maya’s sitting on his bed and Lucas joins her after a moment’s pause. She knows that he’s never seen her like this, usually she can at least pretend that she’s okay as long as he’s talking to her and keeping her distracted. But after not hearing her father’s voice in years, Maya can’t pretend to be fine. There’s nothing fine with that.
Lucas wraps an arm around her shoulders and she falls against him, crying into his chest but not sobbing, at least she’s not sobbing. She can’t even consider how this will impact their relationship, the fact that he’s not only seen her cry but been cried on, been the one she chose to run to when she was at her lowest.
Once she goes silent, Lucas finds his voice. “What happened?”
She sniffs, staring into the fabric of his t-shirt to avoid looking him in the face. “There’s a message, from my dad. On my home phone, I usually…I don’t usually check those messages. It was meant for my mom but–” A new thought crosses her mind and she almost cracks open right there in Lucas’s room. “What if she always deletes his messages without telling me about them?” She asks, mostly to herself, her voice barely above a whisper.
The idea of blaming her father entirely for his absence is still new after so many years of blaming her mother. She doesn’t want to slip back into that mindset, and she doesn’t have any proof that her mother has been withholding from her. But she can’t stop from wondering.
“Your mom loves you, Maya,” Lucas says finally, Maya almost forgetting that it’s him she was still leaning against. “If she has kept messages from you, I think that’s what she decided was best for you. And seeing you like this…well, maybe she was right.”
She peers up at him now, not sure whether to feel angry or more upset or touched by his concern.
“You’re tough, but you can’t fight everything. You can’t fight feeling like crying when you hear you dad’s voice. Your mom didn’t want to see you cry.” After a moment of silence in which all Maya can do is sniffle, he continues, “I’m guessing it wasn’t a good message.”
“No,” she says simply.
He wraps both arms around her now, properly hugging her to his chest. It’s not like this with Riley, she can’t help thinking even through her hurt. There are the obvious reasons: Lucas has strong arms, Lucas smells like all-natural soap and shampoo, Lucas rests his chin on her head and breathes into her hair. But she knows there’s something else, too.
Maybe later she’ll allow herself to think about it, but right now, all she cares about is how him holding her makes that morning almost seem like nothing more than a bad dream.
per usual i’m writing this in the hopes that nobody will actually read it but i just gotta put it out there man.
joshaya is not an inappropriate relationship. josh is not in college!!!! he got into nyu for a summer program how could he be in college he’s three years older than maya. which he has said. fifty billion times. unless maya was held back, which she very well could have been, but they have never mentioned that, whereas they went out of their way to tell us that lucas missed a year of school. that means lucas is one year older than riley, also, which i mean. three and one are not that far apart, so if you want to be dramatic about age differences...i am three years older than my brother and i started college the year he started high school, so i know that it’s possible, but my brother was in fact held back a year, so.
josh has also known maya since they were both children. their feelings for each other go back further than just them seeing each other during girl meets home for the holidays. josh cares about maya as if she’s a part of his family, because she is!! there is no universe where josh matthews would date maya when he has made it VERY CLEAR that he is cognizant of their age difference and hesitant to date her because of it. he also probably doesn’t want to be her first boyfriend. he’s someone who values serious relationships and i honestly doubt that he thinks maya is ready for what he would want. that doesn’t mean he can control his interest in her. that also doesn’t mean he has any sexual interest in her you guys are being kind of gross lol.
they’re definitely more on par with a freshman/senior relationship, which has always always always creeped me out, okay!! but i also feel like josh and maya’s relationship transcends definition by grade. age alone is still the factor that plays a major role, especially to josh, and the writers aren’t just playing that fact for laughs. they’re making sure all of their 12 year old viewers know that maya isn’t about to date an 18 year old for goodness sake! my parents are four years apart (and still married, i may as well add) and my mother is the one who’s older, does that make it more normal because the male isn’t the one with an “upperhand” ??? i can tell you right now that nobody ever in my life has noticed or cared that they have an age difference. they met when my father was in college, so i’m still advocating that joshaya wait, which they are, and even if they both like each other now, that doesn’t mean they’re going to do a damn thing, especially not something illegal/inappropriate. if josh was some random dude maya met on the subway, i would definitely be more skeptical. you do realize that the issue with older men dating underage girls is that they want to take advantage of them, right?? josh has 0 interest in taking advantage of maya and cory would 10/10 kill his own brother if he did. like i struggle so hard to understand what you people think josh is going to do with her besides treat her like an adult and actually validate her feelings and not mock her home life and not act like she’s a fucking idiot who just makes trouble. josh is the only person who sees and understands maya and doesn’t use her as a punchline or reduce her down to a character trope. she’s complicated and she has issues and he understands that, which is just another reason why he would never try to use those to take advantage of her. jesus.
i’m 22 and i feel like a grandma rn tbh. and to be clear, personal experiences make me pretty damn sensitive to issues of relationships between minors and legal adults so i’m coming at this from a very informed and concerned angle. okay believe me, believe me!! you don’t have to like joshaya. go ahead and hate them, that’s fine. but to claim that either of them are being inappropriate is incorrect reasoning and like...stupid. if you hate josh because he’s not lucas just admit it. but you know, if lucas and maya date before josh and maya, that just makes joshaya the more likely endgame ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
the final versions of my poems for class last semester are pretty hashtag tragic but i figure i may as well put them somewhere.
one.
It’s saying goodbye to your little brother
before he knows your name.
It’s knowing you can’t go back, mistakes
like red ink on your forehead,
or your chest, over your heart, whichever is fasted.
It’s a guiding light for the sniper
to pull the trigger, a bullseye.
It’s decisions, good and bad, piling up
so someone can make the final judgment.
It’s holding his hand one last time
and knowing, both of you, it’s the last time –
it’s him crying and you not.
It’s saying goodbye without saying hello
to the next big thing or the next new thing.
It’s looking around your house and thinking
this is it, this is all I have.
Had, maybe, now.
It’s putting your life into boxes
and labelling them for whoever’s left.
It’s writing a list, breaking your life into pieces,
your first gold medal or your new iron.
It’s holding your breath and closing your eyes.
It’s walking the plank, like when you were a kid,
when your big brother got to play the pirate.
It’s not just jumping onto the grass,
or cannonballing into the pool.
It’s nothing there to break your fall.
–
two.
In the winter we’re matching marshmallows,
but you’re blue and I’m green.
In the summer we can walk to the beach
from my house and chase the ice cream truck.
In-between we can stay at home and play pretend
you’re always the cop and I’m always the robber.
Riding bikes without helmets—
you fall but I help you up.
Fake swords and real scars—
we have band-aids and wet cheeks.
Empty beer bottles or spyglasses—
your dad’s addiction we don’t understand.
Blanket forts and scary stories—
my tall tales are gigantic.
Sometimes I mix up memories,
your mom becomes my mom,
your brother my brother,
your dad my boogie man.
Sometimes I wish we could go back,
to you inventing constellations,
to me watching the way your freckles multiple,
to us always wanting to be together.
The world is bigger than your front yard
or my front porch.
We look at the water
and know real distance
Jump in and breathe out
but don’t forget this.
–
three.
It’s not you jump, I jump.
It’s you jump, or I push you.
You take the fall, you risk
your everything for nothing,
I’ll stick to the cliff.
I know what you’re thinking:
why can’t we peer over the edge?
I can’t trust myself,
my self can’t trust yours.
Stay away from the danger,
don’t invite it in to stay,
don’t make friends with it—
stab it from behind.
Sometimes I think we’re still fifteen.
I see you for the first time
and it’s like a boot to the chest,
the wind knocked out of me
and filling your lungs instead,
fuller than mine ever were.
Sometimes I think I’m still catching my breath.
I see you smile when you think no one’s looking.
But I can’t stop looking.
It burns like staring into the sun.
Actually, it’s just like that,
shuttered eyes focused on your radiance.
I look away and there’s nothing.
Then there’s the after image,
a distorted memory, just a guess.
So I traced the slope of your nose,
I walked my fingers down your chest,
my shoulder knocks your chin
but I don’t say I’m sorry.
I never say I’m sorry but you always look
like you’re expecting an apology.
Your eyes sad, mouth sad,
everything sad but especially us
when we’re together.
I hate the way you look at me when
we both know I was wrong.
I hate the way you look at me when
you think I’m not trying to break your heart.
–
four.
I want to reconstruct my house—
Bedroom without glaring city lights
No cramped apartment, cold and drafty
A big yard, for the dog
More room for me, my art.
I want to reconstruct my life—
Two parents, both stay
One sister, handpicked
No boy, not you or anyone
A dog, who listens.
I want to reconstruct history—
Brutus doesn’t stab Caesar
Franz Ferdinand isn’t assassinated in Sarajevo
We don’t bomb Hiroshima and Nagasaki
You never leave your hometown.
I want to reconstruct us—
You not saying how you feel
Me not hearing my own thoughts
Both of us trying to speak with our eyes
But always in different languages.
I want to understand how you,
With your impatient temper,
Think you can handle me,
A storm pretending to be a girl.
I want you to understand how,
When I’m avoiding your glance
Or saying I don’t want your words,
It’s only to shelter you from my hurricane.
here’s the story i wrote for my advanced fiction writing class. it’s based on the album trouble will find me by the national so it’s a real fun upbeat time.
“This is the last time.”
Somehow, he managed not to scoff.
“I mean it, Zay.”
“Right. You mean it.”
He fumbled in the dark for his pants, hands trailing over the other boy’s clothes discarded on the bedroom floor before landing on his own. Zay threw his legs over the side of the bed to shimmy into his jeans. He blinked into the pitch black of 2am and wondered how fucked he was for getting home.
“Don’t be an asshole,” Oli said weakly, too tired to make Zay listen.
“What else would I be?”
Even in his temporary blindness, he could lean over and press his lips to Oli’s temple or the corner of his mouth or somewhere close enough to sting. But he waited instead – for forgiveness or a real attempt at breaking his heart.
“I don’t know.”
Zay tipped the mattress as he lurched forward to put his feet flat on the hardwood. A hand caught him by the elbow before he could stand. He reached for the bedside table and handed Oli his glasses.
Oli turned on the lamp mounted over the headboard, squinting at Zay’s illuminating form. “Don’t go – not yet. You can stay until morning.”
“It is morning.”
“Stop it. Be serious.”
“Okay, what about after morning?”
He pushed the glasses up on the bridge of his nose, still too sleepy to adequately dump his boyfriend. “You leave?”
Zay smirked, his cockiness clouding his better judgment, if he had any. He couldn’t help it; Oli was always full of empty threats and Zay mirrored this with empty promises. “That sounds an awful lot like a question, Ol.”
“It wasn’t. I mean, by 10am, I want you gone. I’m not doing this anymore.” Oli furrowed his brows, more serious than Zay had seen him in a while.
He couldn’t help the thrill of affection that ran down his spine at Oli’s sleep mussed hair. Zay had always known it was a bad idea to pursue this boy, but he hadn’t been looking for something serious. Fresh out of college when they met, Oli was bright-eyed and hopeful about his future and shiny new degree. All Zay had seen was the carefully combed blonde hair and deep blue eyes. It wasn’t some depraved desire to ruin someone so visibly innocent and honest that led the two of them to this moment and other moments like it – no, it was purely shallow on Zay’s end, and maybe Oli’s, then. But not now. It was clear that Oli had let himself be swept away by Zay’s charm and experience. He cared, but Zay’s own feelings weren’t as easy to pinpoint.
It was wrong to blame Oli for how far this had gone, he knew that, but if the alternative was claiming any responsibility for his own actions, misplaced blame easily won. “You know I’m not like you. I’m not the guy who’s going to impress your friends or your family – I never wanted to meet any of them.”
“But I went with you to your sister’s wedding.”
In Zay’s mind, that was different. It was a date, not a commitment. It was him showing up at the church and his family all silently knowing that Oli was his newest mess.
“He’s pretty, this one,” his sister had whispered in his ear while Oli smiled and talked to Zay’s painfully boring family. “Don’t just forget about him in a week, all right?”
Then they were too busy tugging at each other’s ties and fumbling with the belts on their pants in the chapel bathroom to watch Jezy walk down the aisle. Oli felt terrible about it, but Zay had only brought Oli to the wedding as a distraction from his family, anyways.
“I don’t think we made a very good impression,” Zay remarked.
Oli removed his glasses to rub a hand down his face in tired annoyance. He knew better than to get into it with Zay, but he didn’t want to lose his nerve.
“Why wouldn’t you want to see your own sister walk down the aisle?”
“I’ll catch her the next time around.”
“Zay.”
“Look, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Easter Sundays of his childhood were spent in church, entire pews filled with Witts of every age. Before turning eleven, he couldn’t name everyone off the top of his head, and after that he stopped trying. Of everyone in his needlessly large family, Jezy was the person he least hated. The fact that he attended her wedding at all proved as much. But the thought of sitting on the bride’s side with his parents and older brothers, his mother crying or trying to while his father looked on with almost grave sternness was too much to stomach. To say he had a strained relationship with his family would be putting it mildly. He thought he loved them, out of some hard-wired sense of familial duty if nothing else, but he liked to see them as little as possible. On the contrary, Oli talked to his parents on a near daily basis. He would Skype with his younger brother until Zay snuck up behind him, forcing Oli to end the call the second Zay’s lips were on his neck to avoid embarrassing himself on camera.
Everyone loved Oli, but most importantly he loved them back. That part of Zay’s heart had been disconnected at a young age, beaten out of him by the other boys at Catholic school or ripped out by his father’s strong fist. Now it functioned on only the very basic level – to keep him alive.
He patted the side of his jeans to make sure the green and white pills were still where he’d left them in his pocket. It wasn’t often that they escaped, no matter how forcefully either he or Oli removed and tossed away his jeans, but without them he didn’t trust himself.
Zay laid back on Oli’s bed and held his hand out for the younger boy’s glasses.
“Let’s go to sleep.”
***
Grace didn’t betray her name in nature but in her whirlwind way of leaving a wake of destruction wherever she went.
Not for the first time, Zay was fooled by a pretty face. Where Oli’s sharp features were softened by his friendly demeanor and habit of smiling whenever someone spoke to him, Grace’s angelic looks were easily weaponized with the arch of an eyebrow or the quirk of her lips.
It had been three weeks since he had last seen Oli and he was surprised to find that he had been keeping count. Despite his aversion to any real emotional closeness, Zay had a reputation for being almost recklessly entertaining and more than decently likable. He was invited to plenty of parties and bar hops. Truthfully, Zay didn’t feel like going out with the boys, but he was never a big proponent for the truth so out he went. He put less effort into his appearance than he normally would, but there wasn’t much he could do about his fortunate genetics, perhaps the only good thing his parents had ever given him.
For someone who didn’t want to be spending his Saturday night out drinking at a bar, Zay managed to drink a lot more than he typically did. High tolerance or not, Zay didn’t like to lose too much control over his faculties. There was nothing interesting about being drunk and he pitied those who found themselves stumbling out of the bar at closing time. Unfortunately, that night he’d become that person, but nobody was around to pity him. His friends had left an hour earlier, all calling it a night while Zay mindlessly kept ordering drinks if only to scrub the memory of his freshest break up from his mind.
Of course, it didn’t work, just as the pills hadn’t worked. From his adolescence onwards, Zay had been sent to a psychiatrist by his parents and subsequently put on anti-depressants. But what all the doctors didn’t understand was that Zay wasn’t depressed; he wasn’t anything. Feelings were not something he often allowed himself to experience in any meaningful way.
But tonight, Zay felt pathetic, which was common when you were, in fact, pathetic, from what he had heard. He wouldn’t know – this was the first time he had ever almost, maybe, regretted being an insensitive asshole. Maybe because Zay tended to get involved with people more like him. He knew the kind of person Oli deserved, knew that he could never possibly be that person, but somehow he had ignored the knowledge that one day the two of them would come to this point. Despite not wanting to change in any real sense, Zay thought he had been making strides with Oli. He hadn’t cheated or honestly felt any desire to be with anyone other than his boyfriend for the duration of their formally deemed serious relationship. Zay hadn’t lied about anything important like he normally would, either to avoid messy explanations or make himself look better. Even by the end, there was plenty Zay had refused to tell Oli, but it wasn’t because he didn’t care, it was because he knew his baggage would be too heavy, even for someone as understanding as Oli. Of all the little things that set their relationship apart from the others Zay had burned through was the fact that he agreed to be Oli’s boyfriend in the first place.
And now he was here. Drunk and dumped, far from the most flattering picture he could paint of himself. He figured he ought to kick himself out, to do the bar staff a favor. Zay was nearly half way home…or…a third of the way there? A quarter? In complete honesty, he wasn’t sure where the fuck he was. But at least, he was headed in the right direction, he thought.
Just as he began entertaining the idea that he might be sobering up, Zay found himself suddenly tripping over a dozen pairs of legs.
“Jesus…” He rubbed at his eyes before lifting them higher to assess the group of girls now looking at him. “Where’d you all come from?”
A few – most – of them laughed, but only one opened her mouth to answer. “Nowhere nearly as fun as where you’re coming from.”
“Oh, me? No, I was just…” Zay wasn’t sure how to word it in a way that didn’t come off as disappointing, or worse yet, pathetic. His new least favorite word. “Went to a bar with some friends. Not that impressive.”
The girl made a show of looking from left to right. “Friends? You look alone to me.”
She had no idea how right she was.
***
The group – a bachelorette party, as it turned out – took Zay in for a few blocks before they hit the next stop on their list of places to visit before the sun came up. Grace, the girl who had first spoken to him, didn’t go with them.
Zay and Grace were walking on their own and Zay was slowly starting to remember how to get home. He had his hands in his jean pockets while Grace had no pockets of her own, wearing only a white dress with a halter top, a neat bow tying it at the waist.
“Gotta wear my white now before it’s improper,” she explained when she noticed his gaze. “Not that I get to choose my dress, anyways. I got stuck with Maid of Honor.”
He raised his eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Wow, you don’t sound too thrilled. I bet any of those other girls would love to take that title off your hands.”
“Yeah, her sister especially.” Grace laughed and tilted her head back to look up at the night sky. “I’m not really into the whole thing.”
“The Maid of Honor thing?”
“The wedding thing.”
Those may as well have been the magic words to gain entry to his apartment. It was inevitable that she would wind up following him into his lonely home, clothes mostly discarded by the time they made it to the single bedroom. If ever he needed someone who was equally put off by commitment, it was now.
Grace was soft in a way that Oli wasn’t, could never be, but still something solid he could cling to when he wanted to forget himself. As distractions went, she was a good one. He already knew, or thought he knew, that he wouldn’t fall into the same traps with her. Oli’s love didn’t feel like a cage, it wasn’t something that Zay had felt restrained by. But along with it came expectations and, hell, there were a lot of things Oli deserved that Zay could never deliver. He wanted Oli to have the kind of person who would love him back without conditions or fears, someone who would want to have their brother watch them walk down the aisle.
Zay wasn’t that person. And Grace wasn’t Oli. That night, not-Oli was the best possible person she could have been.
***
He awoke the next morning to a note on his pillow, the scrawl quick but neat.
“Thanks for saving me from bachelorette hell. Keep in touch xx”
She wrote her phone number underneath, seeming almost as an afterthought. Zay could scarcely believe that he had made a good enough impression to warrant seeing her again. Most of the previous night was a blur, more like a collage of moments that didn’t seem to fit together rather than one concrete recollection. More surprisingly still, he found himself smiling at the scrap of paper.
If only to avoid another Oli situation, Zay decided not to call Grace until the end of the week. Part of him – a loud, incessant part – wanted him to call her that morning and invite her to breakfast. At first, he decided a call was too formal and downgraded the invitation to a text. He even had the perfect text drafted: “Return the favor and save me from this hangover? Pancakes usually work.”
But it wouldn’t be in his nature to do something like that, and probably not in hers, either. He didn’t think it was Grace herself who made him want to see her again so soon. He wasn’t even sure what it was he was craving from her company. Despite his best efforts, Zay wasn’t doing the best job of pretending not to be going through a break up, though he could ignore the signs that told him he missed Oli. He missed the way Oli would furrow his eyebrows and push his glasses up on the bridge of his nose when he was confused, or when Zay said something just crude enough to earn Oli’s mild concern. He missed how the navy blue sweater Zay’s mother had given him for Christmas looked on Oli’s thinner frame, much better than it would ever look on Zay. He knew he would miss the kissing and the fucking, but he found he missed the taste of Oli’s mouth and the way he kissed Zay like no one else could most of all. Nobody else’s knuckles would feel like Oli’s, dug into Zay’s sides or back or hips. Nobody else knew Zay like Oli, for all of his faults and family dysfunction and unwillingness to admit he cared or loved.
He didn’t want Grace, he wanted someone. He wanted Oli most of all, wanted that sense of comfort and familiarity again, but he couldn’t have Oli. Grace was perfectly willing and one of the most attractive people he had ever seen, let alone met. Her personality meshed well with Zay’s and she seemed to have similar ideals. If not Oli, why not her?
Once Friday rolled around, Zay finally typed his first message to Grace.
“Busy?”
She replied in just under ten minutes, which made Zay think she must be an avid-phone checker. He wasn’t necessarily expecting her to be free, but at least being busy now would lead to making plans for later.
“Might be. Depends on your offer. And who exactly I’m talking to.”
His offer wasn’t anything he had spent much time thinking about. In fact, like most of his social engagements, it was something that fell into his lap. While he’d been dreading the usual crowd of people he’d known for too many years now and the unavoidable questions about his plans and direction in life, now he had Grace.
“It’s Zay. How do you feel about parties?”
“I like parties.”
Zay pursed his lips to avoid a smile or to tamp down the flood of relief at her willingness. He was independent to a fault and while parties were once his favorite way to waste a weekend, it was mostly because these parties had pretty people and empty bedrooms and bathroom sinks suitable for lines or pills.
He still wasn’t in the mood to be himself.
“Then that’s my offer.”
***
The party was worse than Zay could have anticipated, made no better by Grace’s presence. She was far from his girlfriend and he wasn’t sure friend would even be a casual enough term to describe their relationship. Grace couldn’t seem to keep still. He didn’t expect her to be by his side all night, but a good two hours passed in which he couldn’t find her and had to settle for small talk with a guy he had already rejected three times in recent years. He couldn’t be sure if he was woefully ignorant towards his complete unattractiveness or if he simply didn’t care that Zay had said no in the past, because there was always a chance he might say yes in the future. Despite being freshly heart broken and nearly constantly drunk or drugged, Zay still wasn’t desperate enough to give the guy a shot.
He was just about to say as much when Grace suddenly materialized beside him, yanking at Zay’s arm to pull him outside before he could mimic common curtesy and excuse himself from his painful conversation.
“Shit, I can’t believe I managed twenty minutes talking to—”
She cut him off, eyes flitting around almost nervously. “I don’t like it here. I don’t like these people.”
“Then where have you been all night?”
Grace shrugged, nothing in her expression indicating something to hide. “Bathroom, kitchen, et cetera. I talked to this one girl for a while but she started going off about how hard it is to be an actress in New York City and I had to leave.”
Zay rubbed the back of his neck and looked at her expectantly. “Well? Do you want to go?”
Her eyes finally caught on something and a smile crossed her face. “No. I’ve got a better idea.”
And suddenly she was leading him along the side of the house to the backyard he hadn’t seen since two summers previously. That was the year Killian was on a garden party kick, convinced that throwing them regularly validated any claims of adulthood. Zay had spent every party with a beer in his hand and a bored expression on his face. You couldn’t have paid him to take an interest in any of the people these backyard bashes had attracted. But as the only person who had consistently put up with Zay for the last ten years, he was obligated to at least make an appearance at Killian’s lame-ass parties, no matter how much he would rather be almost anywhere else.
He even went as far as helping his friend string up the paper lanterns and set up the new patio tables and chairs he had purchased just for the occasion. Unlike Zay, Killian had been putting his Harvard education to good use and had a job that allowed him to buy plenty of useless backyard accessories.
Grace didn’t see the remnants of failed maturity littering the yard. All she saw was the clear blue water of the abandoned swimming pool.
“Grace—”
She was already yanking her dress off over her head.
“It’s March in New York. It’s cold.”
“It’s just water, Zay. Does that scare you?”
The possibility of catching a cold wasn’t what scared him. It was her. He couldn’t trust anyone more impulsive than him, there had to be a limit. He was all for spontaneity and taking chances, but he was never one of those people who could be okay with wearing damp boxers just to swim on the spur of the moment.
He wanted to suggest they go somewhere else, something almost witty about how much fun she already knew his apartment could be coming to mind almost immediately, but instead he gave her a smile. Maybe he needed another Zay to bring him back to himself. He was tired of feeling sad and broken and lonely.
“Not at all.”
In under a minute, he had his shirt and pants off, shoes kicked off and watch dropped on top of the heap of clothes. Zay closed his eyes and jumped in, keeping his entire body emerged in the water for a moment before surfacing.
***
Everyone stood to watch the priest immerse his youngest cousin in the water, but Zay stayed seated. He heard little Matthew whine and sympathized, his own baptism remembered solely through the moderately disturbing portrait of himself in his christening gown that hung in the foyer of his home. Zay wasn’t looking at his cousin. His eyes were focused on the depiction of crucifixion on the wall behind the font, though his mind was elsewhere entirely.
"I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."
Zay glanced at the priest, then fished his cell phone out of his pocket to see if Killian had texted him back.
“Isaiah,” his mother whispered harshly from where she stood between two of his aunts.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, not really meaning it. At fifteen, Zay rarely meant any of the things he said to his mother. He went to school willingly enough because the education was actually worthwhile, despite the constant mass and strict dress code. And while he was annoyed at first about the all-boys aspect of his particular Catholic school, it wasn’t long before he realized that all-boys wasn’t all bad.
Killian was his only real friend at school, no strings or ulterior motives attached. It wasn’t that Killian wasn’t cute in his own way, the red hair working for him as it might not work on others, but they became friends before Zay had a chance to ruin the opportunity for friendship and he knew now that it would be better this way. Despite acting otherwise, a friend was something he could use, even if he was often not the best friend in return. Zay wasn’t the type to drop everything for someone else, but Killian was, and maybe that’s how they balanced each other out. Sometimes (not often) he knew that he didn’t deserve a friend who was actually willing to put up with his shit but he was selfish enough not to care.
Family members starting dispersing and Zay quickly got to his feet.
“I’ll be by the car,” he called out, already on his way out. His mother would want to hang around and chat with anyone she could and he would rather be anywhere than inside the church. He already felt his life was saturated with religion thanks to school and the constant mass and monotonous teachings it afforded.
His father looked at him with the silent disapproving glance Zay had grown accustomed to in his early teens, but he had also learned how to ignore any guilt it elicited. Zay started loosening his tie and pushed the doors open, sunlight filtering in as he left his family for the solitude of the parking lot.
***
The sun woke him up early the next day.
His clothes and Grace’s dress from the night before were somewhat carefully laid out over a chair to dry. Zay turned his head to see her lying beside him on the bed, looking even younger than Oli in her sleep. It was strange how spending time with someone his own age made him feel like less of an adult. Oli was only 22 but already interning at a hot shot marketing agency in Manhattan while Zay bartended when he needed the money. Zay still had no idea what Grace did for a living, if anything. He wouldn’t fault her for not having it all figured out at 25, he certainly couldn’t claim as much. But he was trying, at least sometimes, at least when Jezy lined up interviews for him with her energy efficiency company, but it was clear that he didn’t exactly care about their business objectives.
Zay was wondering how Grace still had smudged eyeliner clinging to her skin (waterproof, maybe?) when her eyes opened slowly, landing first on him then flitting around the room to remember where she’d fallen asleep.
“Good morning,” she said, not commenting on how obviously he had been examining her features as she slept.
“Afternoon.”
“I want breakfast.” Grace sat up, stretching her arms over her head. She whipped off the covers and Zay saw that she had slipped on one of his shirts during the night. “Shower, first. Then I know just the place.”
The place turned out to be Milk Bar in Brooklyn. Zay was familiar with it from how often Oli had dragged him there. The moment they walked inside, he was hit with overwhelming nostalgia that he hadn’t expected to feel. Grace was a good distraction, he couldn’t argue against that, but not good enough to make him forget about the last time he and Oli had eaten there.
Grace ordered immediately while Zay pretended to read the menu and took longer than necessary to pick what he always ordered.
As he had almost dreaded, she chose to sit outside, just like Oli had always insisted. Zay didn’t mind it, he just didn’t like nature interfering with his food. Oli was paler than Zay and even Grace. His face was always covered in freckles and knowing that sitting outside in the sun would only welcome more was one of the reasons why Zay never fought too hard against sitting outdoors. He looked at Grace now, noticing that the only freckles on her face were concentrated on the bridge of her nose.
“I love it here,” she said, interrupting his train of thought.
“I’ve never been.”
“Really? You live so close.”
He shrugged and looked through the Milk Bar window, watching a father with two kids order at the register.
Even before they parted ways, it had been months since Zay had eaten there with Oli. They’d gotten into a fight the previous November. The snow had forced them to eat at the bar along the window inside, but it was empty enough to carry on a conversation without lowering their voices to near-whisper levels.
“Where else would you go?”
“Nowhere. I’d stay home.”
“You’d rather spend Christmas alone than drive up to Hartford?”
Zay took a long sip from his coffee before answering. He could tell Oli was trying not to get even angrier, and if anything, Zay’s seeming indifference was only making the situation worse. Sometimes he liked to see how far he could push Oli. It wasn’t often that he got mad like this and it was entertaining to see him try to pretend he wasn’t put out with Zay.
“Maybe I can get Jezy to come down here.”
“She wouldn’t. You know that.”
“I won’t know until I ask, will I?”
Oli let out a long sigh of frustration and Zay knew he was about to hear some kind of lecture. “I don’t think you’ll ever tell me why you hate your parents, and I don’t think I want to know. But I tell you everything, Zay. You know more about me than most people and sometimes it feels like a mistake. I know that you’re going to get bored with me and leave, but you’ll still know all of these things about me while I won’t really know you at all. Being distant and insensitive doesn’t make me like you. It doesn’t make anyone like you. Admitting that you’d regret not being with your family on Christmas isn’t going to make me like you less. Because whether you say it or not, I know that’s how you feel. And it’s worse to act like you don’t feel anything.”
“If you don’t know anything about me, then you don’t know how I feel.”
Oli had been right – he was usually right. But Zay didn’t like him knowing how right he often was, so he didn’t go home that Christmas. He didn’t even bother asking Jez to come down. Despite his residual anger, Oli invited Zay to spend the holiday with his family. It felt more like pity than a genuine invitation, and besides, spending Christmas with Oli would send the wrong message. He never intended to become a part of his boyfriend’s family, he was just trying to escape his own.
***
It was uncomfortable how comfortable they had gotten so quickly.
She didn’t live with him, formally or informally, but sometimes it felt like she might as well have. A large portion of Grace’s wardrobe had been absent-mindedly scattered around Zay’s bedroom until he started finding room for it all in his closet just to get it out of the way. They seemed to say good morning and goodnight to each other nearly every day and Grace had already learned the fastest route from Zay’s place to wherever it was she worked. Despite them seeming to become a real life couple all of a sudden, Zay still felt as if he hardly knew the woman he often found sharing his bed. He didn’t know what her job was, only hearing vague stories from the office or complaints about boring events she was forced to attend or horror stories about clients. In the back of his mind, Zay was starting to wonder if he should suggest they pull back on whatever relationship they had developing, but Grace beat him to the punch.
They had just barely walked in the door from dinner. Grace immediately headed for the bedroom. Zay slowly removed his coat, ducking his head around the doorframe to his room to see what she was so determined about. He watched her yank all of her dresses out of his closest one by one before going into the drawers she knew hid some of her other clothing items.
“Grace, what are you—”
“I’m sorry if you got the wrong idea,” she interrupted, picking up the pace as she collected the rest of her belongings. “But I’m not moving in, or trying to, or hoping you’ll ask me to. I’m just forgetful…sometimes.” She seemed to drift off as she went into the bathroom, grabbing her toothbrush and other toiletries. “So I leave stuff here and it was really nice of you to put them away because who wants their clothes on the ground? But, honestly, you didn’t have to.”
Grace finally paused to catch her breath after rushing around the room. Zay was a few feet in front of her, eyebrows furrowed, trying to understand exactly what she was saying or implying or had been misunderstanding about his own ideas.
“You’re a lot of fun, Zay.”
“Thank you.”
“But I’m not looking—”
“Grace.”
“—for a relationship right now.”
“Grace.”
Her arms were full of clothes with her convenient collection of bathroom supplies stacked on top but she looked as if she might drop it all if only he said certain things she didn’t want to hear.
Zay walked up to her, just close enough that he could put his hands on her shoulders. “I like you.”
“Don’t—”
“I do, I like you, but I don’t think you should live here. I don’t think I should be your boyfriend.”
It was odd how she could look simultaneously relieved and crushed. He thought her eyes looked shinier, but he could have been imagining it.
“You don’t?”
“I don’t. So can you please…slow down?”
Grace smirked, almost as if for his benefit entirely, before shrugging and dropping all of her things onto the bed. She dropped down after them, her head pillowed by different dresses. Zay laid down across from her.
“I guess I got scared,” she whispered after a minute of silence.
“Of me?”
She shook her head slowly. “No. Of…whatever is supposed to come next. I’ve seen it happen to so many people. My parents, best friends, siblings, whoever…Everyone falls too fast and then they drown.”
“Drown how?”
“In the sea of love.”
***
Things were normal again until they weren’t.
Grace started pulling away, but more gradually, less like a sudden desire to cut and run. They still saw each other weekly, though it was easy enough for her to claim some kind of workplace obligation. She refused to tell him what she did for a living in a way that made it seem like she wasn’t refusing at all but rather withholding the information because it was too insignificant to share. Zay’s own “career” wasn’t much to boast about, even if he made some unlikely connections in bars thanks to his charm. Despite going to one of the best universities in the country, he wasn’t ashamed with how he squandered his education. Shame wasn’t an emotion Zay thought he was possible of feeling, let alone acknowledging.
And it seemed that Grace felt the same way, because she was constantly canceling plans or standing him up or showing up late. As much as Zay would love to be someone who could pull off casual tardiness, the rigid routine of both his upbringing at home and Catholic education rendered him powerless against any timelines. His internal clock moved his feet to action more than his mind consciously willing him to be on time.
Maybe there was something about sleeping with someone for too many days in a row, and he meant really sleeping. Something about waking up to their bed head and heavy lidded eyes. Something about their warmth sustaining you as April approached. Something about the steady rhythm of their breathing lulling you to sleep when your mind won’t stop whirring. For whatever reason, Zay had fallen for Grace, at least in some sense. He cared about her more than he didn’t, was how he liked to frame it. If she walked away, he would be hurt, but in a different way from when Oli had done the same. At least with Oli, he always knew where they stood. He knew Oli would break it off someday and he knew his ex-boyfriend would be very clear about what he did and didn’t want. With Grace, there weren’t labels for him to attach to whatever they were and therefore deeming any falling out “a break up” wouldn’t be entirely correct. She had no obligation to tell her where she was. And if the idea of her being off with other guys drove him crazy, it wasn’t something she could be held accountable for. He didn’t want her to be his girlfriend, he—
Zay didn’t know what he wanted past the desire to wake up beside her each day.
As Grace pulled on her jacket to leave for however long she decided to leave this time, Zay considered how he would voice how he felt without making it apparent that he actually felt anything.
She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, saying something about seeing him later.
“Grace…” His voice came out weaker than he intended and it almost made him want to cancel his impending speech altogether.
All she did was raise an eyebrow in response.
“Are you seeing someone else?”
She laughed, not in a mean way, more like she couldn’t believe he was asking a question like that. Because what business was it of his or because of course she wasn’t or because he was officially in too deep.
“No, Zay.”
“Then where have you been going every night?”
“That’s personal.”
There wasn’t much more personal than going off to fuck someone else, he thought, but why would she lie when there was nothing he could do to stop her if that was the case? “I guess I sort of thought I rated high enough on your social hierarchy to hear about your life.”
Grace’s hand had been on the doorknob, but now she turned back to place a hand on Zay’s cheek, her thumb brushing his 5 o’clock shadow. She leaned in to kiss him on the lips this time before patting the side of his face. “Soon.”
And with that, she was gone.
***
It had been years since Zay had worried whether or not he would be permitted to enter through the pearly white gates of heaven once he died. He was sure the way he died might be enough to send him straight down to hell. People who purposely overdosed on Prozac weren’t eligible to run around in the flower fields of heaven or whatever the fuck was supposed to be up there. He had stopped wondering about the afterlife when he was eleven.
But Zay never seriously considered ending his own life, only half-heartedly and in his most melodramatic moods. The depression diagnosis he’d received during high school was, to him, never entirely correct. It didn’t hurt to agree with his psych, though, not at the time and not now. It got his parents to cut him some slack and the prescriptions were a perk. Anti-depressants, paradoxically, increase the volume of suicidal thoughts in those in their young adulthood. Zay, not fully willing to believe that he could really be depressed in the first place, wasn’t quite as at risk and therefore only enjoyed a comfortable lack of feeling that he had almost perfected naturally.
While his mother treated him like something breakable for the first few years following his initial trip to the psychiatrist, his father wasn’t one to pull back on the punches. When Zay came out flippantly one night over dinner, his brothers held their silence while Jezy shot him sympathetic glances from the other end of the dining room table. While he had never explicitly told his sister that he liked guys in addition to girls, he never tried to hide it from her, either. His mother had loudly dropped her silverware, knife colliding with the half-empty plate while his father straightening up and prepared some sort of outraged speech.
From the age of fourteen onwards, Zay knew exactly where he was going. Heaven, his father had made abundantly clear, was not a place for someone like him. He could repent for his sins (of which, even as he was only halfway through his freshman year of high school, there were many) and get back on good terms with the big guy upstairs, but Zay couldn’t care less what God or anyone else thought of him. Besides, confessing was for when you actually felt bad about your actions, which wasn’t something Zay could relate to. Suddenly the all-boys aspect of his school was cause for concern with his family, but ultimately the top-notch education (religious and otherwise) won out and Zay was free to stay. While Killian was his only real friend, but there were other benefits to staying at the creatively named Cathedral High School.
***
It was around the time that Zay’s father passed away that Grace seemed to disappear entirely. She didn’t answer his calls or texts and she stopped dropping by his place. Zay wasn’t close with his father by any stretch of the imagination, and in fact he wouldn’t shy away from admitting that he resented him, but losing a parent still left him feeling more vulnerable than he’d ever thought possible. The funeral was a week away and while it wasn’t the sort of occasion where a date was necessary, he couldn’t help craving the company of someone else to make him feel tethered to his own life. Even if his father was gone, he wasn’t. He was still here and he still had a bright future ahead of him, no matter how many times his father had insisted otherwise. Zay had thought going to Harvard and studying business would impress, or at least appease, his father, but it only made it all the more clear just how much of a disappointment he would always be in the eyes of the man who raised him. He knew that there would always be parts of his father that shone in Zay himself, reflecting brightly when caught by the proper light, but he buried these things down as deep as he could, hoping they would cling to the dark. If Zay didn’t acknowledge how he often had a short temper like his father or likewise only drank red wine on holidays, then he could pretend the similarities were non-existent.
With Grace incommunicado, Zay was left with very few places to turn. It wasn’t until he was forced to deal with loss on his own that he realized that blocking himself off from others was asinine. For once in his life, he was feeling clingy but had nobody to cling to. He hated how the person persistently shoved to the forefront of his mind was not his father but Grace. Losing his father only made him miss her more, sure that she could somehow say or do something to make him feel at less of a loss.
The night before the funeral rolled around, the only thing he could think to do was drink. A lot. He went to one of the bars in Manhattan where he knew nearly the entirely bar staff, having working there himself for the past three years. His friend, in perhaps the most casual sense of the word, Gabriel was working and promised to take care of him for the night. Zay allowed him to bring drink after drink but left before Gabe’s shift was over, knowing that he would expect something extra for the discounted drinks and Zay was just drunk and fractured enough to give it to him.
Instead, he was knocking on Oli’s door at midnight on a Friday, the dull logical part of his mind reminding him that Oli was early to bed and early to rise, even on weekends. It made it easier for him to maintain his work schedule during the week, he had said, a sentiment Zay continually ignored.
After a minute of silence, Zay knocked again, louder and more persistent. “Ol,” he called out, his raps against the door becoming more frequent. “Ol, wake up!”
Oli opened the door as Zay was mid-knock, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he fumbled with his glasses. “Zay?”
Zay couldn’t believe how good it was to see him again. In a way, he was proud of himself for leaving his ex alone for this long. He had been willingly depriving himself of this feeling, the feeling he still got when he was around Oli. His eyes traced the familiar facial features, taking special note of the way Oli’s color-changing eyes looked like a pale cerulean in the dim hallway lighting of his apartment. For a brief moment, it was as if nothing had changed. His dad hadn’t died and Grace wasn’t avoiding him and Oli hadn’t broken his heart.
But then Oli frowned and Zay felt his own smile falter.
“Zay, you can’t be here.”
“I know, I know,” he insisted, words slurring out before he could try arranging them into charming or even logical turns of phrase. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Oli, but I miss you. I miss you so much, I love you, I’m sorry, I—”
“How much have you had to drink?” He didn’t sound worried, which hurt more than if he had outright told Zay to leave.
“Dunno, wasn’t counting.”
“Zay, it’s late, please—”
“Please,” Zay echoed, mimicking Oli’s tone. He grabbed for the side of Oli’s head, missing and clutching him by the shoulder instead. His other hand successfully cupped Oli’s face, his thumb running along his jawline. Muscle memory kicked in and distracted Zay from how much he wanted to kiss the half-asleep boy standing in the doorway. “Mm, Ol, you’re so pretty.”
Oli grabbed both of Zay’s hands firmly, but not in a rough manner. It was clear that Zay was not currently in control of his faculties. Zay knew Oli wasn’t someone who could turn him away, not like this, not when he was a greater danger to himself than he could ever possibly be to Oli.
“Get inside, you’re going to wake my neighbors.”
“Yessss,” he slurred before laughing, allowing Oli to pull him inside the apartment. “But nobody is home this early on a Friday.”
Oli half-pushed Zay towards the couch and turned away to close his front door. But Zay didn’t go to the couch, his hands instinctively searching for Oli’s hips the moment he was no longer distracted with doors and locks. “Missed you,” he breathed out against Oli’s jaw, his lips clumsily unsure of where they wanted to go first.
“Stop, Zay, we’re not doing this.”
“Mm, I’ll be very persuasive.”
Oli turned his head away and pushed against Zay’s chest. “No.” He grabbed Zay’s hands from his waist and tugged him to the couch before forcibly seating him.
“What happened? It’s been weeks, I know you don’t still think you can convince me to take you back. You know it’s different this time.”
Zay smiled half-heartedly before his face dropped, his expression making him look suddenly sober. “My dad died.”
Oli hugged himself around his middle, blinking a few times. “What?”
“He’s dead,” Zay repeated, almost as if reminding himself more than explaining to Oli.
The other boy sat down next to Zay, pursing his lips before slowly reaching out a hand to gently brush Zay’s messy hair away from his face. Zay knew Oli couldn’t help trying to comfort him when he was like this, but it still felt nice.
Oli ran his hand through Zay’s hair a few times, creating a steady rhythm before speaking again. “I’d ask if you’re all right, but obviously you’re not.”
Zay’s eyes were closed now and he snorted derisively. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, Zay.”
“I don’t care,” he insisted, growing angry despite wanting to feel nothing but Oli’s comforting touch. “He’s the reason why I was forced into therapy as a kid and why I could never be the kind of boyfriend you deserved. I never get to see Jezy, just ‘cause it’s not worth having to see him, too. Why would I care that the person who constantly told me I wasn’t good enough, that I’m going to Hell, that I’m a disappointment—” His voice cracked, which almost made him angrier, but he was too tired to fight against himself tonight. “I feel like I should be relieved. You know? I won’t have to put up with his bullshit at Christmas anymore or act like I don’t hate him just to make my mother less insane.”
Oli had moved closer, but Zay had hardly noticed. He had been talking to himself, his eyes focused on the ceiling, but now he turned his head to look at Oli. “I don’t know how I’m going to face everyone at the funeral.” At least he had managed to get out of making a speech. One of the perks of having three other siblings to make up for his dead weight.
He hadn’t felt the tears welling in his eyes until Oli was brushing them away. He hadn’t noticed the sobriety creeping up on him until Oli was leaning closer and he was hit by all of the unresolved feelings he had simply buried after their break up. He hadn’t remembered why he had come over in the first place until Oli’s lips were on his, tasting like the spearmint toothpaste they had once shared. The familiarity of the location and the feel of Oli’s fingers digging into the back of his neck and the couch dipping as Oli climbed on top of him was enough to distract Zay from what was actually happening. In his mind, it was a month ago and they hadn’t broken up and nothing was different. But it was all wrong – Zay wasn’t supposed to be crying and Oli wasn’t supposed to be pushing him into the cushions out of something as repulsive as pity.
“Oli,” he managed finally, pulling away despite how little he wanted to stop his ex-boyfriend from helping him forget about the looming funeral. “Don’t.”
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Oli asked, breathing erratic already, forcing Zay to stop himself from feeling like he was special because he could still make Oli react this way.
“No,” he lied. “Don’t fuck me just because my dad died.”
“It’s not just that.”
Zay wanted to believe him but he couldn’t imagine a universe where that could possibly be true. Because Oli had been the one to tell him to leave after countless other attempts. And if being without Zay didn’t make him happy, then why hadn’t being together been enough?
“I…” Oli began, avoiding Zay’s eyes. “I’ve missed you, too. Maybe…maybe I was wrong.”
If he was a bigger person, he would have fought harder. But Zay was neither big nor decent, not when it came to love or feelings or sex or even Oli, despite how much he could admit he cared about him. Oli’s words were enough to convince him, at least in that moment, that this would be a good thing and that the two of them being together was only ever a good thing.
Zay awoke at 6am to find Oli lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The sun was coming up just enough to light the bedroom in a pale orange light. Oli’s features were clear enough for Zay to know that he wasn’t happy.
“You were right,” Zay spoke first, though they both knew the other was awake.
“Yeah.”
“This is the real last time.”
“I want to believe that.”
***
Getting dressed for the funeral was an out of body experience.
Killian came over, his red hair shorter than when Zay had last seen him. The new cut made his hair look neat effortlessly, a far cry from the carefully orchestrated mess he usually wore. When he let himself into the apartment, Zay was struggling with his tie. Having worn a tie every day of his Catholic school education, he could practically tie one in his sleep. But today his fingers felt numb and disconnected from his body.
Wordlessly, Killian tied the Windsor knot for him and stepped back to examine his friend, placing his hands on Zay’s shoulders.
“You don’t look quite as terrible as I was expecting.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence.” Zay felt himself smile but didn’t consciously know he was going to fake some semblance of put togetherness for Killian’s benefit.
He didn’t buy it, anyways, he never bought whatever Zay was selling. Killian was the only one who couldn’t be fooled by Zay’s projected images or sly grins, which was likely the only reason they had managed to keep their friendship alive for so long.
Killian tilted his chin upwards with a sudden jolt, scrutinizing Zay’s hair. He reached out to rearrange it the best he could before deciding it must have looked presentable enough. Zay’s hair was thick and long enough to present an issue if not properly taken care of. It took a lot of effort to keep it looking as good as it usually did, a certain measure of effort Zay hadn’t found in himself recently.
“Judging from your texts last night,” he continued, glancing down at his watch, “I wasn’t sure you’d even be here.”
“Oh, Christ.” Zay pinched the bridge of his nose. He was experiencing the hangover from Hell, aptly enough, and the Imitrex he’d taken hadn’t kicked in yet. “I don’t remember that at all.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
“What did I say?”
“Check your phone later if you want, but I don’t recommend it.”
Zay grabbed his dress jacket from the hall closet and trailed behind Killian, who was already on his way out.
“Why’s that?” He asked as he locked the apartment door.
“Let’s just say you thought I was someone else. But I have to say…it’s weirdly nice finally knowing how it feels to be propositioned by you.”
“Christ,” Zay repeated, pushing Killian down the hall towards the elevator. He wasn’t too concerned with being late, but he felt it was probably not the best idea to push his mother when she was already dealing with so much. It was a two hour drive to Hartford from Brooklyn and with Killian driving, they had just barely enough time to make it before the supposed funeral starting time.
Zay had already missed the wake, having no desire to hear eulogies or “fun” stories from his father’s life. He had no happy memories to share and considered anyone with contrary thoughts regarding his father to be lying.
***
When they got to the church Zay had spent much of his childhood in, Jezy was the first to greet them. Her husband was talking to Zay’s mother and he felt almost thankful to him for distracting the person he least wanted to speak with.
“Oh, good, you made it,” Jezy smiled before hugging her brother. “Not that I had any doubts. Sam and Noah were making bets, but I know better than to listen to them.”
Almost as if summoned by the utterance of their names, Zay’s older brothers emerged from inside the church, each stopping briefly to give their mother comforting arm rubs and back pats before zeroing in on their youngest sibling.
“And it’s nice to see you again, Killian,” Jezy said politely just as her older brothers stopped on either side of her.
“Nice of you to show up,” Sam commented, hands in his pockets.
“You know there was a wake, right?” Noah added in the condescending tone he always seemed to adopt when speaking to Zay.
“Sorry I couldn’t make it.” The last thing he wanted right now was drama with his remaining family members. Zay didn’t hold any resentment or anger towards his brothers and if anything he would say he was indifferent to them. They had always been closer to one another while Zay was the self-branded black sheep of the family. And if he ever needed someone to turn to, he had Jezy. Their father always heralded Sam and Noah as the perfect sons – happy little altar boys who went on to make great marks in school and study law or medicine in college. They were always obedient and acted as if family came above all else, while Zay couldn’t even pretend to care about his first cousins, let alone his second or third. There would always be that rift between them, separating the boys who followed their father’s instructions from the one who rebelled.
Nobody, not even Jezy, believed his excuse but instead of rebuking him, the group allowed a tense silence to fall over them. Killian was the first to speak, peering around Zay to see Mrs. Witt enter the church.
“I think it’s time to head in,” he said, glancing at Zay’s siblings before throwing an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Let’s go.”
Zay had no idea how he would have survived this entire ordeal without Killian. It made sense for him to attend the funeral as someone who was a friend to Zay’s family, but he was also the much needed anchor Zay needed to keep him from trying once again to escape himself via alcohol or white powders.
“Thanks,” Zay said quietly, leaning in to Killian as they walked.
“You’re welcome. But if you wouldn’t mind, your sincerity is weirding me out.”
Zay surprised himself by laughing and followed Killian into the pew behind his mother. The rest of his siblings would sit beside her but he would be where he belonged sitting next to his best friend.
He tried his best to pay attention during the proceedings, but his mind wouldn’t stop wandering. As much as he had grappled with the reality of the situation over the past few days, now that he was physically in the church that temporarily held his father’s casket, he just felt numb. Everyone died, there was nothing about death itself that scared Zay. He was content believing that nothing came afterwards, that there was no afterlife and whatever you did while still breathing couldn’t follow you after the final curtain descended.
Zay’s father had very little regard for Zay’s own life and he found it difficult not to return the favor now. He had a lot of more pressing concerns to worry about. Guilt was not something Zay was comfortable with and he was known to go to extreme lengths just to avoid this particular emotion. But he couldn’t help feeling awful for what he had done to Oli. If their relationship had taught him anything, it’s that a person in love will let their feelings overrule what they logically know is best. Oli knew he could do better than Zay but despite all of his faults, Zay was the person he had fallen in love with. And Zay couldn’t say for sure whether those feelings were returned, he just knew that being with Oli felt good and all he had wanted was to feel that good again, at least once.
Then there was the person who had driven him back to Oli, the one person Zay thought about most frequently and the one person he hadn’t been able to contact in weeks. It had to go beyond playing hard to get or trying to distance them so neither caught feelings. He was, somewhere in the back of his mind, worried. But mostly, he was annoyed and desperate that she had successfully made him miss her to such an extent.
As the funeral ended and people shuffled out of the pews, Killian had to elbow Zay in the arm to get his attention. He looked up before casting her eyes around the church to see how many people had already left. Thankfully, most had, but his immediate family was standing in a group up front.
“You should go say something to your mom,” Killian suggested, just firmly enough to let Zay know he wouldn’t be driving them back to the city until he did.
Zay approached his family willingly enough, ignoring the looks from his brothers. His mother was still crying, but in the silent way she always did when her tears were spurred on by real emotion rather than the logical acceptance that something was supposed to be emotional.
“Hey,” he said gently, enfolding his mother in a hug that only lasted a few seconds before he pulled back to let her look at him.
“Oh, Isaiah.” She smiled sadly before dabbing at her nose with a handkerchief. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Her eyes darted past him and landed on Killian. With an uncharacteristic lack of subtlety, she asked, “How is Oliver?”
“We’re no longer together,” he replied, answering the question she was really asking.
“Aw, that’s too bad,” she said, sounding genuinely disappointed. “He was lovely, with a real sense of direction.”
“Unlike me.” He forced a smile to make it seem more like a friendly jab at himself rather than acknowledging how unimpressed his entire family was by the life he was leading.
“We’re having a family dinner next weekend,” Jezy interjected. She was always the peacemaker and Zay couldn’t imagine how much worse his childhood would have been without her.
“I hope you’ll be there,” his mother said. Her words made it seem like a choice but her tone made it clear that he was absolutely expected to go.
Zay smiled tightly. “I will.”
Hoping he had done enough to please Killian, Zay stepped back on one foot without turning around. “I’ll see you then. I’ve got to get back.”
Back to what, thankfully, nobody asked.
***
After Killian dropped him off at his apartment (and Zay insisted he was fine, really, go home, Kill) he promptly called Grace, if only to hear her voice. Unsurprisingly, he got her voicemail and decided to leave a message for once. The condensed version would be: “Hey. I miss you. Not that we’re dating or anything, but why have I not heard from you in so long? Call me or something. Bye.”
As Zay sat on the edge of his unmade bed, he couldn’t stave off the crushing introspection he had no distraction from. When he was with Oli, they rarely came to Zay’s place. Zay didn’t care much either way and if Oli felt more comfortable at his own apartment, then that made sense. He was barely out from under his parents’ roof and still adjusting to living on his own. But with Grace, he had never even seen the inside of her apartment or loft or wherever she lived. He had no idea. It felt like any serious relationship he could ever have couldn’t be contained within his apartment, because much like Zay himself, everything about it read bachelor pad.
Grace hadn’t minded because she didn’t want anything from him, and his place being as it was probably felt like some kind of insurance to her that she wouldn’t easily be trapped into living with him. Her behavior suggested that living with him was just about the worst thing she could imagine, while Oli welcomed Zay into his home and every corner of his life with full arms.
But while Oli was constantly burned by Zay, Grace never had to face similar consequences.
He felt his phone buzz in his hands and whipped his head towards the screen in the hopes that it would finally be Grace getting back to him. But instead, it was a text from Oli that made him feel disgusted with himself all over again.
“I really am sorry about your dad. I’m sorry if I seemed insensitive this morning. And I’m sorry if I took advantage of your vulnerability.”
The absolute last thing Zay deserved was an apology. He groaned before falling back on the bed, wrapping his arms around himself as if it would keep all of the things he kept bottled up inside where they belonged. He put a hand in his pocket, fingers searching for the small baggie of pills. Without getting up for a glass of water, Zay swallowed the Prozac he had forgotten to take the previous night. The stress of the funeral had his mind scattered and the withdrawals weren’t strong enough after just a few hours to remind him of his missed dosage. He had the pills on him as a reflex but only now consciously recalled that he had them for a reason. Zay finally closed his eyes after days of little to no sleep, almost wishing he could fall asleep and never wake up.
***
By the time the dreaded family dinner rolled around, Zay was more or less back to his old self. Grace was still absent but he had properly apologized to Oli with Blue Bottle Coffee in Chelsea. They were on good terms now, maybe even on their way to, dare he hope, some form of friendship. It would be hard for Oli to resolve his feelings and for Zay to accept that he could no longer touch or kiss his former boyfriend, but if space would help, then Zay was more than willing to give Oli all the space he needed.
There was still that ache in the pit of his stomach that told him something was missing, but he ignored it. Focusing on the impending doom of dinner with his mother and siblings was as good a distraction as any.
He was the last to arrive that Saturday night, much to the surprise of absolutely nobody involved, but he brought a bottle of red wine to cushion the blow. He wouldn’t drink any, but his mother loved it and pleasing her was something he could easily do if it made surviving the meal any easier.
Jezy and Noah volunteered to do the cooking, with their mother only pitching in to make her special pecan pie. When Zay and Sam were left alone at the dining room table, they discussed current events and more or less rephrased what each had last heard on NPR. Zay carefully steered the conversation away from his own career or love life by focusing entirely on Sam’s. His son was almost done with kindergarten and Zay listened to him rehash the exhaustive process of finding the best school while doing his best to feign interest.
When the five of them were together, Zay kept out of the conversation almost entirely. He only spoke when addressed directly, which only his mother bothered to do. Zay appeared to be utterly focused on eating his pot roast and mashed potatoes, too focused in fact to keep up with the conversation going on around him. He nearly missed his mother ask him if he was seeing anyone new. Being 25 and single was not the norm in Zay’s family. Jezy had barely gotten married at 26 herself, but at the very least, she was engaged for a year before tying the knot.
“No, nobody new.”
“Why not? I’m sure there are plenty of wom—people just clamoring to date you in New York.”
Zay’s plate was nearly clean now and there was little he could do to pretend otherwise. He gingerly placed his silverware on the plate and refolded the napkin over his nap. “I wouldn’t say ‘clamoring.’”
“Well, isn’t there anyone who’s shown interest? Maybe someone at work?”
Now she was hoping to hear that he had somehow found a new, more adult line of work, something worthy of actually becoming a career one day. Unfortunately for her, bartending was the only form of work Zay could keep up with.
“I wouldn’t want to date anyone I met while working.”
The rest of his siblings were alarmingly quiet and he wasn’t sure if this was a relief or a punishment.
“Pauline Campbell’s mother was just telling me that you and Pauline might like to get together sometime. I know you haven’t seen her since you were kids, but she’s very pretty and she lives in the city, too.”
“You don’t say.”
“I can give her your number, if you’d like.”
Zay laughed through his nose. “Actually, I’d prefer it if you didn’t give my number to any strange women.”
“She’s not strange, Isaiah, she’s a perfectly lovely—”
“I’m not interested in perfectly lovely.” He managed not to raise his voice, but his tone gave away him impatience with the conversation. “Despite what you may have thought of Oli, or if you were just passively accepting him as a part of my life until he wasn’t anymore, he wasn’t as sweet and innocent as you may like to believe. And I don’t need Pauline’s help to keep my bed warm.”
“Zay…” Jezy warned, though she knew there was nothing she could do if Zay had already decided to speak his mind.
“I don’t need anyone, actually,” he continued, ignoring his sister’s interjection completely. “If this family has taught me anything, it’s that the only person I can rely on is myself. And this family dinner is pathetic. We can’t all just sit here like everything is normal when everything is not normal.” He wanted to say something about how the absence of his father’s constant ridicule of his lifestyle was painfully apparent, but he managed to stop just short of making his mother cry. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to play the doting youngest child just so we can pretend nothing is wrong.” No matter how much the charade would please his father. He would sooner make him roll over in his freshly dug grave.
Zay stood up sharply, his chair scratching loudly against the hardwood. “Jez, Noah, dinner was great. I’m sorry I can’t stay for dessert.”
Before anyone could respond, Zay left the room. The phone was already to his ear before he exited through the front door of his childhood home.
“This is Grace, I’m not here, leave a message or don’t.”
“Hey,” he started as he climbed behind the steering wheel. “It’s Zay. Again. I know my previous voicemails were not the most eloquent. I’ll preface this one by saying I’m not drunk. I’m actually leaving my parents’ – excuse me, my mother’s – house after an enforced family dinner and I really think it would have been so much easier if you had been here. And maybe I have no right to imagine you at my family dinners. My mother would hate you and you would hate my brothers, but I think you might get along with my sister. Maybe I just hope you too would get along.” Zay’s eyes flitted down to the car stereo, the clock informing him that it was only 8:34pm. Far too early to be feeling this melancholy. “Anyways, I guess I just called to see…how you are. If you’re okay. I’m, uh…I’m not that great right now and I hope you’re doing better than I am. I hope we can see each other again soon.” Zay hung up and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.
He took one last look at his old home before starting the car and driving back to his new one.
***
A week later he was preparing for a job interview, if only to placate Killian. He had gotten Zay an interview for a position working under the Business Development Manager at his law firm.
“I pulled a lot of strings to get you this face to face, buddy.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“But I did. It’s time to leave Neverland and get a big boy job.”
Zay had rolled his eyes before promising to be at his most impressive for the interview.
It was two hours before his scheduled meeting that Grace showed up at his door.
He opened the door after three knocks and could hardly believe who was there to see him.
“Hi,” he greeted dumbly.
“Hey.” Grace smiled unsurely as if she hadn’t worked her muscles in that particular way for a while.
“So you…you’re okay, or…?”
She laughed in a way that almost sounded like crying. “No, not really.”
Zay invited her inside, briefly forgetting all about his job interview. Grace sat down on the couch and Zay sat down beside her. He waited for her to speak, because she was the one who hadn’t done any speaking for the last few weeks.
“Um, well…” She inhaled a breath, her eyes dropping to the floor as she breathed out. “I guess I’ll start at the beginning.”
“I’ve never…told you about my family. I’ve never really told you anything. But you never tell me anything, either, so I thought…” She trailed off, gaze still focused on her feet. “Your relationship with your family is complicated, I know that much. My family is…we’re complicated, but not because we don’t see eye to eye. For most of my life, my father struggled with Huntington’s. And I got as used to it as I could. He didn’t pass it on to me, but my brother wasn’t as lucky. He’s had Juvenile Huntington's Disease for as long as I can remember. I would visit him in his nursing home whenever I could. He’s been there for a few years now. We always knew we would lose our dad young, and that Charlie wouldn’t live to thirty. So I made it my job to take care of him while I still could.”
Grace looked up at him now. She wasn’t so much gauging his reaction as making sure that he was paying close attention. “I didn’t want to unload any of this on you if you were just…Well, my dad has been gone for a while. But last month, my brother passed away, and…” She trailed off and closed her eyes as if to stem the tears that weren’t coming. “All I’ve done,” she laughed out harshly, “for the past three weeks is cry. I don’t know if I can anymore. But for a long time, it’s all I could do and I’m sorry for dropping off the face of the planet, but I didn’t want you to see me like that. And…I didn’t want to face a world my brother wasn’t in anymore.”
Zay wasn’t comfortable with emotions, whether it was his or those of someone else, but he knew to move closer and wrap an arm around her. When she leaned in and started crying, he held her in both arms and let her stain his dress shirt until she grew silent again.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, running a finger down the buttons of his shirt. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
For the second time in a short period, Zay was struck by how unfairly someone else’s apology was delivered.
“Grace, you have nothing to apologize for. I was being selfish, I was too caught up in my own shit and I thought you were ignoring me just to ignore me.”
She sat up straight to look at him, the trails from her tears still shining on her cheeks while the tears themselves had been wiped away. Zay cupped the side of her face gently with one hand.
“I think you should stay with me tonight.”
***
Zay did remember his job interview just in time. Despite a million things fighting for dominance in his mind, he managed to pull out an at least somewhere impressive performance.
When he returned home, he was surprised and relieved to find Grace asleep where he’d left her on the couch. He removed his jacket and hung it up by the door before kicking off his shoes. As quietly as possible, he approached the couch without waking her. Instead, her brushed back the hair from her face and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. She started slowly, still mostly asleep.
“Hey,” he said quietly, tilting his head downwards to speak in her ear. “Do you want to sleep in my bed?”
Grace made some incoherent noises, but the nod was clear to him.
Zay came around the front of the couch and put one arm under her legs and the other under her head. He lifted her carefully from the couch and slowly made his way to the bedroom, careful not to trip over something misplaced.
He lowered her onto the bed, onto her self-appointed side, though the days of them waking up together in his apartment almost felt like another life ago.
Zay hastily undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt and left them both in a pile with his pants. If he was going to fall asleep in the middle of the day, he would at least avoid great discomfort from keeping his interview attire on.
Grace turned onto her side just as Zay lifted the blanket to climb underneath. He wasn’t sure whether Grace would be happy or annoyed to find him spooning her whenever it was she decided to wake up, so instead her laid on his back and shut his eyes.
When he woke up hours later to find her head resting on his chest and one of her arms draped across his chest, he was happy.
***
She was still, throughout everything, not his girlfriend, not ever.
As their friend groups started to converge and Killian started dating one of Grace’s old sorority sisters, even they could admit that their lives were becoming more and more intertwined. Grace gave Zay a nervous tour of her loft and revealed that she was a publicist for a few up-and-coming writers, which was starting to pay more as her clients picked up steam. They spent Sundays in bed together and kissed goodbye Monday morning before heading off to their respective job. Zay had gotten a job offer from Killian’s firm and slowly but surely adjusted to his new work schedule. As they both became busier, he was surprised to find that they always had the time to see one another without even trying.
Months went by before she pulled her next, and final, disappearing act.
She told him one morning over breakfast that she was moving to LA. She wanted to take on more high-profile clients, either those working in movies or music, and Los Angeles was the best place to be. All Zay could do was pretend he hadn’t choked on his bagel and tell her that it sounded like a great opportunity.
They parted ways at JFK, Zay forcing a smile while Grace said goodbye. Not “see you later” or “bye for now,” goodbye. It was final in a way Zay hadn’t been expecting. He kissed the top of her head, his fingers splayed out in her blonde hair while he held her to his chest for the last time.
It didn’t take long at all for them to stop speaking and this time Zay wasn’t surprised. After a month, she got a new phone, new number, and Zay hadn’t been given her new contact information. From Grace’s friends, he heard a variety of explanations, all inconsistent with one another. One of her friends said Grace had just gone to London and couldn’t use her cell phone at all, while another said she was staying with her mother in Colorado for a while.
Nobody seemed to know exactly where she was. She probably thought they would all move on with their lives without her, and it seemed like many of her friends had done just that, but Zay had trouble adjusting to this new universe where Grace wasn’t the fixed center.
***
In just eight short months, Killian was getting married.
Maybe a year ago, Zay would have given him a hard time about it. But he was genuinely happy for his friend, even if he had met his bride-to-be through Grace. None of them talked about her anymore, though there were certain moments where not speaking her name only made her absence more pronounced. Carolin sent a wedding invitation to Grace’s last known address but received it back in the mail a week later.
Zay didn’t feel it was necessary to bring a date to the wedding, and for the first time in his life he wasn’t worried he would seek out someone to leave with, but he invited Oli because he knew they would have a good time.
Somehow, he had managed to turn things around. He was so effective in this that the idea of bringing an ex to a wedding didn’t strike him as uncomfortable in the slightest. By now, he could acknowledge that his relationship with Oli had meant something, that it set off a chain of events that would make Zay into an ultimately better and more responsible adult. But where they were now, they would never have that exact connection again. They had become good friends, something which Zay had started to appreciate.
It was the first wedding where Zay actually felt happy for the couple. It was also the first time he was best man and he managed to give a toast that was equal parts funny and sincere, thanks to many years of embarrassing stories from their time at both Cathedral and Harvard. He had ended his speech by saying, “Killian has a way of bringing out the best in people. We can attribute any of my good qualities to this man right here. I’m a little jealous, I’ll admit – now I have to share him with someone else, knowing that he’s using his special powers to make her an even better version of herself. But he deserves his dream girl and this dream wedding more than anyone I know and I’m happy to take a back seat to his dreams.” He raised his glass to the wedding guests’ applause before resuming his seat.
Once Carolin danced with her father and the newlyweds finished their first dance, the dance floor broke out into various couples at a speed rarely seen in most weddings. Zay stayed seated as Oli danced with the flower girl, absent mindedly scrolling through his email to see how many emails he had missed from work over the last few days of being caught up in best man duties. A shadow covered his phone, making the lit screen shine even brighter. Zay glanced up to see Oli looking down at him expectantly.
“Are you waiting for a reenactment of Jezy’s wedding? I’m sorry, Ol, but I think for the sake of our friendship—”
Oli interrupted him with a laugh. “No, that’s exactly the kind of thing I promised Harrison wouldn’t happen tonight.”
Zay rolled his eyes playfully, because while he often felt that Oli’s boyfriend didn’t necessarily like him, Zay thought Harrison was a good fit for Oli and was always on his best behavior around him.
“What is it, then?”
“I was hoping you would dance with me.”
Slow dancing was one of those things Zay would rather avoid entirely. But it was his best friend’s wedding and he thought he owed it to Killian, as well as Oli, to play along and be the proper guest, for once in his life.
Oli offered his hand and Zay took it, following him back out to the dance floor. He put his hands on Oli’s waist and Oli place his on Zay’s shoulders. That was another thing Zay hated about slow dancing. When you’re a teenager, they tell you that boys hold the girl’s waist and girls put their hands around the boy’s neck. They didn’t bother explaining how it worked with two waist holders or two neck wrappers. But this wasn’t the first time that Zay and Oli had slow danced together and they fell into their positions naturally. Although, in the past, Oli had complained that Zay danced too close and his hands keep wandering from where they ought to be.
For the first time in a while, Zay thought he could call himself content. He still had Oli and he hoped he would always have Killian. While Grace had stormed out of his life as suddenly as she had stormed in, he was starting to accept that they weren’t meant to have more than a fleeting connection. He had been the one more invested in their relationship and she had been the one constantly fighting to escape something she thought might confine her.
He had given up trying to find her months ago but was sure she would be hard to track down if he ever decided to resume the search. It wasn’t worth it. This, right here, was all he needed.
All right, well...I am really not the type to get involved in fandom drama but GMW is a show that means a lot to me and the reaction to the three part Texas special is honestly gross? And definitely not what the writers wanted.
Their most recent tweets are so telling. Stop focusing on ships and start focusing on the real issues underlying this entire season. I’m posting this from my writing sideblog because I’ve built up some kind of reputation as a Lucaya fic writer. So, okay, I ship Lucaya!!! But that absolutely doesn’t mean that I don’t care about Riley’s feelings?! And yeah I gotta say, the generalisation that all Lucaya shippers only care about the ship happening is BS but so is the reaction from certain shippers that only supports this assumption.
I’m incredibly worried for Riley right now. I trust the writers more than I trust most TV writers, but I can’t help feeling anxious about what direction they’re going to take with this plotline. At the same time, they are on Disney Channel and while I’m sure they’ll continue to push the boundaries of what they can do with their audience, it’s not like they want to be cancelled.
I don’t want this to turn into a novel, so...I guess the main reason I started typing this post was because it’s super immature to resort to in-fighting within this fandom, or any fandom. Older fans of the show (like myself) need to understand that younger fans aren’t going to fully recognise the full scope of the current emotional shit storm going on with honestly every main character right now. Calling anyone names for what they ship just makes you out to be the asshole, not them, by the way.
And as an aside, GMW isn’t BMW. There are definitely parallels and they continue to blow my mind, but I think the likelihood of Lucaya, Rucas or even Rilaya being endgame is incredibly thin. This show is really focused on realism and how many people do you know who had a relationship in middle school got married as adults?? I have my own ideas about Maya’s endgame, otherwise I have no clue, but regardless, the ships are not why I continue to watch every(ish) week, so let’s not trivialise the importance of a show like this.
Riding bikes without helmets
Skipping rocks across the ocean
Fake swords and real scars
Empty beer bottles or spyglasses
Blanket forts and scary stories
The world is bigger than your front yard
or my front porch
We look at the water
and know real distance
Jump in and breathe out
but don’t forget this.
It’s saying goodbye to your little brother
before he knows your name.
It’s knowing you can’t go back, mistakes
like red ink on your forehead,
or your chest, over your heart, whichever is fasted.
It’s a guiding light for the sniper
to pull the trigger, a bullseye.
It’s holding his hand one last time
and knowing, both of you, it’s the last time –
it’s him crying and you not.
It’s saying goodbye without saying hello
to the next big thing or the next new thing.
It’s looking around your house and thinking
this is it, this is all I have.
Had, maybe, now.
It’s putting your life into boxes
and labelling them for whoever’s left.
It’s writing a list, breaking your life into pieces,
your first gold medal or your new iron.
It’s holding your breath and closing your eyes.
It’s walking the plank, like when you were a kid,
when your big brother got to play the pirate.
It’s not just jumping onto the grass,
or cannonballing into the pool.
It’s nothing there to break your fall.
basically this is a reaction fic to girl meets creativity but includes a lot of recent developments from previous episodes as well. DEF NOT SPOILER FREE, READ AT OWN RISK (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ oops and also it’s like 2.5k words
She was keeping a secret from her best friend.
Everything felt utterly Twilight Zone-esque recently. Riley and Lucas weren’t the perfect couple anymore, unofficially or not, at least not in the eyes of her peers. Now it was...it was...Ugh, Maya couldn’t even think it. The yearbook fiasco had been entirely out of her hands, but she couldn’t shake the accompanying guilt. Especially since her brief escapade as Riley had revealed something to her, something important, something she still didn’t know how to tell Riley.
Bottomline, Lucas and Riley could never work out romantically. Maya was just as blindsided as anyone, but it made sense, now that she’d thought about it. Lucas wasn’t Riley, but he was a lot like her. There was still an air of mystery about him, though. Suddenly Maya was dying to know how he talked about her to Zay. He was the only one who really knew the other side of Lucas, the side Maya had only caught glimpses of.
Maybe that was another thing. Could Riley handle Lucas’s angry outbursts, rare as they were? No, they would only scare her. But Maya...she could cope with that, couldn’t she? She wasn’t calling Riley weak -- Riley wasn’t weak, in fact, she was the strongest person Maya knew. How she managed to smile through every bad thing that came their way and cheer Maya up no matter how much Riley herself may have been struggling was mind-blowing. Maya could never do that. The Lucas thing was different. Because Riley couldn’t stand the idea of Lucas being someone other than advertised. But Maya had her own dark side and knew that Lucas’s didn’t make him a different person. It was something he was getting under control, and she could relate to that.
Then there was Josh, who she really liked, but he had made it abundantly clear that their age difference was too much of a hurdle for him. And she didn’t blame him. She didn’t push in any serious way, even if she liked to pretend that she would never give up. In her mind, she wasn’t a girl in middle school and he wasn’t practically in college. When she did try to see it from his point of view, it didn’t look good, she understood that. They couldn’t work, not now. But was falling for the guy her best friend liked any better?
It would be easy to fall for Lucas from the notion alone that they would be a cute couple, but that wasn’t it. The problem was that Lucas was so easy to fall for, period. He had his own problems to work through, but he made her better, just like Riley. That’s why they couldn’t work together – Lucas and Riley were two fixers with nothing to fix. Maya was broken and she needed all the help she could get.
She was in detention alone today, the only excuse she could think of to avoid seeing her friends. Every time they were together these days, it seemed like Lucas and Maya were shoved together somehow. Not physically, at least, but gosh, that had to be next, didn’t it?
No, it was more…Zay saying that Lucas had called her beautiful, people mistaking them for a couple, them having all of these weird moments. There had been a lot of looking without speaking recently, and Maya still wasn’t sure how she felt about that, even if these occurrences had led to many a visit to the bay window with Riley. Maya really believed that Lucas wanted her to be happy and was somehow surprised to find that she wanted the same for him. But could she make him happy? Maybe this whole thing was just selfish on her part.
Maya was absent mindedly scribbling in her sketch pad, her mind more occupied on other matters, when suddenly two more people walked into detention.
“I never said that. Not in those words.”
“Zay…I think we need to have another talk about not talking to certain people a certain way.”
For a stupid moment, Maya considered hiding her face behind her sketch pad, but even that wouldn’t do much to convince anyone that she wasn’t, well…her. Instead, Maya furrowed her brows at Zay and Lucas.
Zay was the first to speak, of course, though Lucas was looking at Maya, too. “Well hello, Miss Hart. Funny seeing you here.”
“Yeah. Real funny.”
He sat down at the desk to her left, and instead of sitting next to his best buddy from back home, Lucas sat to Maya’s right. Cool. This was exactly the type of thing Maya had been trying to avoid, but this was even worse, because she didn’t have the buffer of Riley and Farkle. All she had was Lucas with his meaningful looks and Zay who didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.
Zay immediately raised himself up in his desk to peer over at Maya’s sketchpad. “What’cha drawing?”
Maya snapped it shut and stared at the door, willing Mr. Matthews to appear. “Nothing.”
For the first time in her whole life, someone powerful up there seemed to smile down upon her as Mr. Matthews walked into the room with some papers to grade while watching over detention. He walked all the way to the desk and sat down before looking up at today’s detention participants. After a moment, all he said was, “I’m not surprised.”
Good for him, because she was still in shock. At least about the Lucas of it all. Zay was a bit like her, always ready with something to say or someone to piss off. And Lucas…well, she didn’t need to hear the specifics to know why he must have landed here. He was always willing to put himself on the line for Zay.
“Nice to see you, too, sir,” Zay replied with a wide grin. Sometimes Maya forgot that Zay also had that air of southern hospitality about him.
Mr. Matthews glanced down at his coffee thermos and back up at the three of them, all looking at him expectantly. “I’m going to need more coffee for this.”
He promptly stood up and left the room while Maya cursed whoever had blessed her with his presence only to take him away from her so quickly.
The moment he was out of the room, Zay turned back to her. “So what’d you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Detention?”
Maya scowled at him before staring at the board in front of the classroom. “None of your business.”
“Ooh,” Zay laughed before addressing Lucas. “She’s mad at us.”
“No, she’s not,” Lucas assured him, speaking for the first time since first entering the room. Maya resolutely kept her eyes focused in front of her.
“Oh, so she’s just mad at me?”
“I didn’t say that. But you’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
Maya sighed loudly before turning to Zay. “Saying things you shouldn’t say to people.”
She still didn’t allow herself to look at Lucas but she could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. “Yeah. That thing.”
Zay put a hand to his heart, giving her him best apologetic look. “Well, I do apologize. Hold on a sec, I have something to do.”
Without further explanation, Zay nearly sprinted from the room, and a moment later Maya could faintly make out him and Mr. Matthews having some sort of argument.
“You should probably go after him,” Maya suggested, barely giving Lucas a sideways glance.
“Yeah, I don’t think that’d help.”
Maya wasn’t dumb, and by now she hoped everyone knew as much. But in this case, being not dumb meant that she and Lucas both knew what Zay was up to. He wasn’t very subtle about how much he tried to push Maya and Lucas together. If she didn’t know any better, she’d almost think he had orchestrated this entire detention thing on purpose.
“Maya—”
“We’re not supposed to talk in detention.”
“Maya.”
She groaned before finally turning her head to face him. “What?”
“I feel like we should probably talk.”
Maya grabbed her sketchpad again and reopened it, shading in the house she had been drawing before. She was fixated on drawing everyday things as they looked at sunset recently, thanks to all the time she spent watching the world around her when her friends were busy with better things like quality family time. Maya’s relationship with her mother had definitely improved as of late, but that didn’t mean she suddenly had time to dedicate to being with her daughter. Maya was just getting better at understanding why.
“What about?” She asked as disinterestedly as she could manage.
“I know you don’t want to hurt Riley.”
Her hand stopped moving for a moment before she recovered and returned to her drawing. “Of course not. And I never would.”
“Neither would I. She’s my friend, too, Maya.”
“Yeah, well, she doesn’t want to just be your friend, Huckleberry.”
Maya could feel his eyes on her and it infuriated her somehow that he could always do that. Just face these things head-on while she was so determined to ignore whatever they had between them.
“That was a year ago. Things are different now. Besides, Charlie—”
Now she put her pencil down, shaking her head furiously. “I know you like him, but that doesn’t mean Riley can forget all about you just because there’s another guy in the picture.”
“Don’t you like him?”
“I do, but he’s not some kind of scapegoat, Lucas.”
He knew she was serious now and it was almost enough for her not to mentally beat herself up for using his name. It was something she found herself doing more and more often, but she still wasn’t used to it. She didn’t want to get used to it, because it would be admitting that the nature of their relationship was changing.
Lucas opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Mr. Matthews pushing Zay through the classroom door. “You’re never this curious during class, Mr. Babineaux.”
“That’s because during class, there’s always something more interesting going on.”
Zay returned to his seat with a sigh, clearly wishing he’d been able to distract their teacher for longer.
Mr. Matthews returned to his desk, eyeing the three of them suspiciously. Maya, for her part, was relieved about his return and went back to her sketch pad. Lucas’s eyes lingered on her for a moment before he pulled out a book to pass the rest of detention.
“Oh, sure, just ignore me,” Zay commented, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. “I’ll just take a nap.”
The next couple of hours passed by in almost painful slow motion, but somehow detention came to an end without Maya spontaneously bursting into flames or something similar. Naturally, Zay was the first one out of the room. Mr. Matthews waited for Maya and Lucas to leave the room before trailing after them and offering to walk them to the train station.
“We’re good, sir,” Lucas answered before Maya could. “I’ll walk Maya to the nearest station.”
Mr. Matthews nodded and wished them both a good night, sneaking in a warning to Maya to behave herself so he wouldn’t have to see her in detention again.
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” she assured him absent-mindedly, too preoccupied on how she was about to be alone with Lucas again.
Once they were outside, Maya tightened her grip on her sketchpad and stubbornly walked to her train as quickly as she could. She knew Lucas wouldn’t physically try to stop her, but he was also a head taller than her and much faster. Stupid long legs, stupid baseball star…
“Maya, stop being silly.”
She grit her teeth together and kept walking at her current pace. “I’m not being silly, I just want to go home.” It was almost funny how much she didn’t want to go home. She would be alone in a cold apartment with nobody to keep her company, not even a TV. But it had to be better than this.
Lucas jogged up to her, easily keeping up with her now that they were side by side. “Is this about Riley?”
“Of course it’s about Riley, genius.”
“You think she would be mad at you for doing something that makes you happy?”
She laughed unconvincingly. “You think you make me happy? That’s a bit presumptuous of you.”
“Do you always use big words when you’re nervous?”
“I…am not nervous.”
“Do you always lie badly when you’re nervous?”
She reluctantly slowed her pace but didn’t dare stop moving. The train meant safety, the train meant escape and an end to this interaction. The train meant they could go their separate ways until class the next day, where things would be back to normal. “What do you want me to say?”
He countered her question with one of his own. “What do you think will happen if we just ignore this?”
“There is no this.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Lucas kept his eyes on Maya as they turned a corner, just two more blocks away from the nearest 5 train line.
“I’m not sorry for not being thrilled about how things have been lately.” She was purposely being vague, but she knew Lucas would see straight through that.
“Everything is changing, haven’t you noticed?”
If her confusion was any indication, apparently she hadn’t. “Meaning what, Ranger Rick? What big, huge, life-altering thing have I missed here?”
“Riley isn’t nervous around me anymore because we’re good friends now. But that’s all we are. She…she’s like my sis—”
“Don’t say it.” Maya felt guilty all over again for not telling Riley about her latest revelation. But at least now she knew Lucas was doing the same thing.
“Even if we don’t say it, it’s still there.”
For a moment, Maya wasn’t sure whether he was talking about the way he felt about Riley or the way he felt about her.
He got on the train with her. She should have expected as much, but didn’t he have a family to get home to? Wouldn’t his parents actually worry if he stayed out too late?
“This reminds me of something,” she commented.
“Yeah?”
Usually she would be much kinder, or at the very least hide how afraid she was by bantering with him rather than arguing. But by this point, all walls were gone. He knew she had passively accepted that there was something between them, no matter how unwilling she was to act on her feelings. “Your first date with Riley was on a train.”
Maya glanced over at him if only to raise an eyebrow in his direction, but Lucas ducked his head with a barely concealed smile on his face.
“I didn’t think you’d notice.”
“Then you underestimate me.”
The train stopped and Lucas stood up. “I would never.”
He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek before she could even consider ducking away. “This is my stop. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Maya couldn’t think of anything to say, least of all some kind of witty comeback. By the time he had left the train and it was moving once again, she still didn’t know what to say.
All she could do was put a hand to her cheek and wonder what she was supposed to do now.
I could memorialize you in words – a novel, even. A whole goddamn novel dedicated to how much I loved you and how much I hated it. Not because I hate you, I didn’t, I don’t. I could never. The hatred is my own fault, though I think by this point you might hate me, too. How could we do this? How could I let us and then not let us? You’re not broken, Waker. I am. But I pretended to fix you, or to try to, or to something. I pretended that my lips could make your bruises disappear or that my hands could realign broken bones into something less painful.
You didn’t return the favor.
I’m blaming you again and I hate that, too. It’s my fault, let’s just say it’s my fault. My fault for preferring the lie others affix to me, my fault for dragging you into this, my fault for choosing you, of all people, to be me with. You, you were no first time. You were a last, an ending, a cliff-hanger.
I was so scared, so much of the time, and not just about me or how I felt and didn’t want to feel, but about you and what you might do if I slipped up. Is it selfish to worry that I might be the reason why you off yourself, finally, after years of nearly-but-nots? It is, it absolutely is. But shit, I already said it, I’ll say it again. I loved – I love – you and I wouldn’t want to lose you. Not like that.
But this? This is a choice. This is how I want to say goodbye. With the memory of your last kiss on my cheek and the smell of your cologne on my pillow and the photo I took of you sitting on my steps still hidden in my wallet. Our matching Moleskines will no longer get jumbled and confused in the morning, you taking off to work with mine and I staying here, trying not to leaf through yours. I’ll go back to being the lonely boy who eats alone while his roommate is out with his girlfriend and you the never-lonely boy who eats with his brother and his brother’s girlfriend, who can actually cook. You’re not a ghost and this is how I’ll save you.
