Chapter 34 | Zoey

Chapter 34

Zoey

H aley and I stand in front of the door to Max’s apartment with a plate of brownies, courtesy of the Dough Boy. He lives in a complex off the main road. We’re too far from the beach to see the water, but the ocean still salts the air, and the scent lingers. I pause, my hand poised to knock. Anxiety ripples through me as it has all afternoon at the idea that we’re crossing some line that our easy bantering at work never does. Max is a teacher at Ardena, and though I was never taught by him and am no longer a student and no one at camp seems to think anything of the two of us always attached at the hip, this moment gives me pause.

But then Haley knocks, and Max answers, his smile as big and bright as ever. His eyes linger on me for a long moment, and I’m glad I decided to throw on a V-neck tee instead of my usual tank top.

“We brought brownies as requested,” I say, holding them up.

He takes the plate, his fingers brushing against mine. Our eyes meet, and something unspoken that I can’t identify passes between us. Maybe it’s an acknowledgement of this step we’re taking. I don’t know. It’s not intense but hesitant, almost questioning. Does he regret the invite? Does he feel like we’re teetering on a line too?

“Nice.” He steps back to let us in. “You totally weren’t getting in without them.”

The apartment is small. From where I stand, I can see most of it. It’s exactly how I imagined—running shoes by the door, a bike hanging on the wall, secondhand furniture mixed with newer pieces. Hints of his life are everywhere, from concerts tickets to Greek letters. There’s no obvious pictures of his ex but a few of his family. After only seconds in his space, I feel like I know him better.

“Everyone, this is Zoey and Haley.” He turns toward us. “This is everyone.”

I survey the group, spread out amongst every spare seat of the living room. There’s no one I know. My anxiety dissipates a little more. Haley, per usual, jumps right in, shaking hands, getting names. She sinks onto a pillow Max has sitting on the floor and falls right into a conversation with a blond guy in board shorts and a polo and a woman with a pixie cut and a maxi dress.

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

Max stands close enough to me that I can smell his cologne. He doesn’t wear cologne on the track, and I’ve grown used to his scent of sweat and soap and what I know to be Head and Shoulders from living with my dad. Tonight, though, he smells clean and musky, more his age. His hair is carefully coiffed, and the sleeves of his button-down are evenly rolled to his elbows. This isn’t Coach Evans or his teacher persona. This is him with his friends, which I am now, apparently, counted among.

“Umm.” We brought beer, but it was handed off with the brownies and is nowhere in sight. Max holds an IPA, and there are wineglasses in the living room, but alcohol right now seems highly unappealing. “Water for now.”

“Hey, man, do you have any salsa?”

I freeze at the familiar voice and slowly turn to face one of Ardena’s freshman English teachers and the advisor of the yearbook that I helped put together since sophomore year. My stomach drops. This is what all my anxiety’s been about, though I’m just realizing it.

“Joe,” Max says in an easy tone. “You remember Zoey.”

“Mr. Turner.” I swallow, cringing at how awkward his teacher moniker sounds from my mouth as I stand in the middle of Max’s apartment. “Nice to see you again.”

Recognition registers on Mr. Turner’s—Joe’s—face immediately. He leans back on his heels, his eyes traveling from Max to me and back again, most likely taking in the lack of distance between us. His lips press into a thin line before he nods at me. “I think you’d better call me Joe.”

Max’s hands clamp down on my shoulders, and he squeezes lightly before releasing me. “Okay, water, salsa. Got it.”

And then he’s gone, and I’ve never wished so hard for a beer. Joe stands with me, one hand in his pocket and the other clutching his beer. His gaze travels around the room before returning to me.

“So,” he says finally, discomfort evident in his voice, “Max said you work at the camp together.”

I start, but nothing comes out. I’m too lost in the fact that Max has mentioned me to his friends. His invite seemed off the cuff this afternoon, but maybe not? While uncomfortable, Joe doesn’t seem surprised by my presence.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket before I can formulate an answer. I glance down at the screen, expecting it to be Haley from across the room. My roommate has saved me from situations like this numerous times. Well, maybe not exactly like this. But it’s Cecilia’s name on the screen. I didn’t even know she had my new number. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

Joe nods and retreats back to the kitchen. I shuffle forward and glance around for a quiet spot. There’s not a lot of options, but I move to the far side of the room, which holds a small dining set with a laptop set up.

“Cecilia?”

“Are you with Liz?”

“No,” I say, spotting two doors off the room. One is the bathroom. The other has to be his bedroom, but my options are slim, and I don’t want to have a conversation with my sister in the middle of the party. I shut the door behind me and sit down on the edge of Max’s neatly tucked bed. “I’m in Ardena for the night. Is everything okay?”

There’s a rustling as if Cecilia’s settling in. My heartbeat ramps up. What’s happening right now? “Everything is fine. Sorry.” She actually sounds contrite. “What do you know about this guy Liz is seeing?”

Of course. Cecilia would never call to talk to me. Not about anything other than Liz. She didn’t even check in on me after the disastrous weekend in Wildwood, though I know Liz updated her for at least the first few days. Did Cecilia ask? Did she even care? I remember my oldest sister’s soft voice on the porch at Jane’s house. There was worry there. She talked about getting over first loves—real ones—and how it was awful any way you looked at it. She told me about Simon. Liz does an excellent job of keeping each of us apprised of the other, but Liz never mentioned that Cecilia’s first love exploded because of me. We really are three sides of a triangle. Broken as the lines between us are, we’re ever connected, whether we like it or not.

“I know the basics and that when she comes back from seeing him, she’s happy.” I pause. “I thought you wanted her to date.”

I noted over the last week that Liz was tight-lipped about Spencer on her calls with Cecilia, so I stop myself from giving the details I’ve gleaned from sharing a living space. Like what he does for a living or that Liz stays up talking to him almost every night. And most importantly, that they’ve seen each other much more than the two times she’s mentioned to Cecilia.

“I did want her to date.” Cecilia’s voice is high and tight. “But I didn’t think...”

That she would meet someone. The words fall unspoken between us. Is it better or worse if Liz meets someone special? Sleeping with a random guy seems tawdrier than dating someone, but the whole point of this experiment is for Liz to realize that there are other people out there. That after all these years, someone else can love her, want her. It’s exactly what I’m going through. I can’t go sleep with some rando to shake Andrew away. If it were that easy, I would have done it already. But I can’t. And we weren’t married or together for a lifetime.

“She needs to do this in her own way,” I say quietly. Or she’ll always wonder. Either way.

“I know, but it’s my sisterly duty to worry.” The irony of her statement is painful. I feel it in my gut. Has she forgotten who she’s speaking to?

“I understand.” I try and fail to keep my tone neutral.

Cecilia clears her throat. “How are you dealing with everything?”

Wow. I’m not naive enough to think the question means her sisterly worry extends to me. One inquiry doesn’t negate all her silence. And even if I answer, she doesn’t know Haley or Becca or Max. She doesn’t even know Andrew or Claire. But still she asked.

“I’m fine,” I say stiffly. “Andrew—”

The door opens, and Max stands there, eyes wide. His gaze travels from the bed to me and then down my body. Each second feels like a mini eternity.

“Are you okay?” he mouths silently.

I try to smile to reassure him, but getting caught in his bedroom seemingly talking about—or worse, to —Andrew is too awkward. Our eyes lock, and I wave him over.

“I have to go, but try not to worry,” I say to Cecilia. “Liz is a big girl.” I hang up, hoping that that last line dispels any possibility that I was talking to my ex.

“Sorry to interrupt.” He sits down next to me, close enough that our knees touch.

I bump his shoulder with my own. “I’m the one in your room uninvited.”

“You, Zee, are welcome in my bedroom anytime.”

The air shifts between us, static and tension sparking. Goose bumps rise at the nickname or the comment—I can’t tell which. He’s never said my name like that before. I hold his gaze for several seconds, during which I’m brilliantly aware of all the places our bodies touch. Max isn’t drunk, and though I saw him with a beer, no alcohol is on his breath. But I can’t imagine him saying such a thing otherwise. Max, despite the nickname and the touching and the honesty, hasn’t alluded to anything more than friendship aloud. If Haley hadn’t spent the entire afternoon asking a zillion questions about me and Max, dissecting every moment of our time together this summer, I might’ve thought I was completely delusional or suffering from transference and latching on to the first guy who cared at all. But she saw it. And now this.

“What’s going on?” he asks when I don’t respond to his comment. He doesn’t, I note, move away.

“My sister called.” I’ve mentioned Liz and Cecilia and the craziness that is my family before, but I don’t expect him to fully grasp my meaning. “My other sister.”

His eyes narrow in understanding. “That’s interesting. ”

He remembers. Of course he does. The corners of my mouth quirk. “That’s one word for it.”

He smiles and tugs on the loose ends of hair that hang over my shoulder. His fingers brush the bare skin of my collarbone. Electricity shoots through my veins. The touch is nothing like anything we’ve shared. Coherent thought abandons me. Every nerve in my body is focused on his skin on my skin. I breathe slowly, and his fingers rise and fall but never leave me.

He feels this too. It’s written all over his face. His hand circles the back of my neck, and he tangles his fingers in my hair. I sigh and lean into him, closer than we’ve ever been—not close enough.

“You okay, Zee?”

Zee. There it is again. The single syllable like an oath. Blood rushes through my body, waking up parts of me that had long since gone dormant.

“No one else calls me that,” I say instead of answering his question because I am not okay in the best of ways.

His fingers move across my skin in a caress until he’s cupping my face. His touch is soft against my cheek but scratchy from too much time outside handling sports equipment, and the tiniest of movements bring me to the brink. He runs a single finger across my lips before bringing my face up to his.

“I know.” I can feel each letter of his response. A sliver separates us, keeping us on the safe side of the line. But I don’t want to be safe.

“Max,” I breathe as his lips finally touch mine.

The door swings open, screeching on its hinges. The sounds of the party come back to me. Max jumps back, his hands dropping into his lap. We stare at each other for a second before he turns to focus on the person in the doorway. Joe, I realize.

“The pizza’s here, man,” he says warily. And I can’t blame him. A little over a year ago, I sat in his classroom, organizing homecoming photos for the yearbook. Now, we’re at a party together.

The Max whose gaze meets mine is not the same man who moments before kindled my desire. He’s the Max I know from the track and from breakfast, but there’s a shadow over him now. He stands without a word and walks out of the room.