My Bittersweet Summer (12 page)

The doorbell surprised me, and I jumped up from the couch, having lost track of time as I read a blog post about a student’s experiences studying abroad in Tours. Grabbing my purse, I mentally chastised myself for not being ready when he pulled up.

Zach was neither smiling nor frowning when I answered. Instead, he searched my face for any hint about my feelings, or maybe whether or not his little present that morning made any impact on me. Not about to give him a clue, I kept my expression impassive and locked the front door, his umbrella shielding me from the rain that hadn’t let up since it began at eight-thirty. He followed me all the way to the passenger side of his car and opened the door for me. Before he closed it, he stood there for a moment, as if deciding whether or not he should say anything, but a bored look from me was all it took to get him moving again.

Honestly, I didn’t know what to say, either. Constantly fighting with him was exhausting. Maybe if I gave him the silent treatment, he’d finally give up and drop the act. After his conversation with Matt the days before, I wasn’t sure which side of him was the real one, and I was too tired to care either way.

The driver’s side door opened and he got in, wrangling his umbrella and shaking off as much water as he could before tossing it behind his seat. The door closed, and he started the car.

And then just sat there.

The longer the silence dragged out, the deeper his brow furrowed. His frustration reached some sort of breaking point and he turned to me, car still in park.

“Did you see it or not?”

I looked at him, then looked away, apathy completely overwhelming me. “I have someplace to be. Unlike some people, I happen to give a damn about it.”

“So you didn’t get my note then?”

“We don’t have time for this.”

“Then answer my question.”

I leaned my head back on the seat and looked up, watching the rain splash on the sunroof. “I did.”

“But you don’t believe me?”

“I answered your question, now drive.”

“I meant it, Margie. I do care.”

“Wonderful. Can we go now? I have a lot to do today.”

“You know what Matt’s like. If I told him the truth—”

“What, you’d damage your reputation for being a useless rich kid? What a pity,” I said at the ceiling. “It’d be a shame if anyone thought you were worth the space you take up.”

“But he’s—”

I sat up and looked at him. “What, your friend? Sure he is. Matt’s exactly the kind of honest, hard-working, caring friend anyone would want. I can see why you’re so attached. Matt Rosenberg only bestows approval on those with the most upstanding characters and moral fortitude. Spare me, okay? If it weren’t for your parents’ money, Matt would be as much of an asshole to you as he is to everyone else.”

He looked at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“Consistency is the hardest thing to master when you’re trying to fix yourself, but if you think I’m going to believe a damn word you say to me until I see it, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.” I crossed my arms and leaned back again. “Can we go now? I’m bored.”

He sighed and buckled his seatbelt, finally setting out for the restaurant. By the end of the driveway, he found words again.

“What do I have to do to prove it?”

I sighed, irritated that he wouldn’t let the conversation go. “It doesn’t work that way. There’s no manual or cheat sheet or cliff notes. You figure out who you want to be and then be that. All the time. The second you stop reminding yourself of what the goal is, you lose it. You don’t get time off. There are no vacations. It’s not always easy. Habits are hard to break, and harder the longer you’ve had them. That’s it.”

He stopped at an intersection and looked at me. “Is that what you did?”

“If you mean is that why I no longer hate life, then yes. Every day. For six years.”

“Does it get easier?”

“I’m not going to talk about me. You haven’t earned that.”

He closed his mouth again, and it stayed closed until we pulled into the restaurant parking lot. As I reached for the handle, he locked the door.

“I’m done playing games with you, Zach,” I said. “Open the door.”

Sighing, he shut off the car. “Look, I’m sorry, Margie.”

“Sorry you got caught, or—”

“I’m sorry I said it at all. It wasn’t true. You’re right, acting the way Matt expects me to act is a bad habit. I haven’t figured out how to break it yet.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want an apology, Zach. I’m sorry doesn’t fix it. Why do you even care what I think anyway? What does it matter to you? I’m not in your social circles. I’m not even in the same tax bracket as you. Why even bother with me?”

He slumped down in his seat, his hands kneading the steering wheel. “Because…”

I waited, my patience almost totally gone. “Well?”

“Because…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “As horrible as I was to you when we were kids, I figure if I can prove to
you
I’m a better person now, the rest of the world will be a piece of cake.”

Eyes wide, I stared at him. So, I was some kind of progress meter for him? I wasn’t sure if I should be offended, or take it as a high compliment. While there probably wasn’t a shortage of people who hated him for how he treated them before his change of heart overtook him, had he only chosen me because I was easily accessible? But, on the other hand, he’d also picked on me for that same reason, so the bar was probably much higher for my forgiveness as well.
 

He looked at me sideways, a slight, sad smile teasing at his lips. “You’re my proof, Mighty Mouse. That’s why I care.” Zach looked away again, his expression fading into a frown. “But I can’t tell Matt, or any of my friends, that. They’d laugh. They’d badger me until I wasn’t sure what the right thing was anymore. I’ve seen them do it. I’ve helped them do it to others in the past. I don’t know how to avoid it, so I thought it was better not to tell them.”

I had no idea how to respond. It sort of made sense, but I didn’t know how to believe him. There was so much vulnerability in his words, though, I didn’t want to be responsible for destroying something so fragile. Some unspoken pain weighed on him, his shoulders looking tired from carrying it for so long. Knowing who his “friends” were, it was hard to imagine how tough it must’ve been not to have anyone around he could trust.

“So what are my chances, Margie?” he asked. “Back to ground zero?”

I wrapped my fingers around the handle, staring at it as I thought. “Unlock the door, please.”

Without argument, Zach touched the button, freeing me. It popped open when I pulled on the handle, my foot narrowly avoiding a puddle when I stepped out. I paused there, fully expecting my next words to haunt me later.

“Maybe… Seventy-thirty,” I said, then got out of the car, hurrying to the back door to avoid getting soaked.

I don’t know how much my words meant, but when he breezed in behind me a few minutes later, I definitely saw him smile. Admittedly, it sort of felt good to know I’d brought back a little bit of happiness to someone, even if he was someone I mostly couldn’t stand.

*
 
*
 
*
 
*
 
*

Sitting at the bar after closing on Friday night, I rubbed my aching shoulder. The left one always bothered me, and it had gotten progressively worse over the last three days. I rolled my neck, then took a long pull of water from the plastic gas station cup I refilled at least four times a shift.

“You good, Margie?” Jamal asked as he finished wiping down the bar.

I flashed him a smile and a thumbs up, which he returned with a wave before heading to the back to clock out. Alone, I stretched and yawned, kneading my shoulder again.

“Margaret.” At the sound of my mother’s voice, I jumped, nearly falling off of the stool. She leaned up next to me, her face stern.

“Why are you looking at me like that? What did I do?” I searched my memory for anything I might’ve messed up that night, but she already knew about the broken plate and hadn’t cared at the time.

“When was the last day you didn’t come in to work?”

I blinked at her. “What?”

From behind her back she produced a paper, handing it to me. “Your time sheet for the last two weeks.”

Studying the numbers, I looked for anything out of place. “Uh, yeah. Is there a problem?”

She slapped it on the bar, still peeved. “You haven’t taken any days off this whole pay period. Did you the one before?”

“Umm…”

“Wrong answer.” Lowering herself onto a stool next to me, she grabbed my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Sweetheart, I appreciate all of the work you’ve done in this place, but you need to balance it. Even your father and I trade off days so we can recharge our batteries. And now that Maurice is in the groove of it, he’ll be able to fill in as manager more often so both your father and I can be home at the same time. I know you love what you do, but you’re wearing yourself thin.”

Chuckling, I nodded. “Okay, okay. I promise not to come in on Monday. It’ll be my day off.”

“As will Saturday and Sunday, too.”

I jumped to my feet. “What? I can’t take the whole weekend, Mom. Saturday is our busiest night.”

“Yep, and you’ve worked every one of them since before we even opened. No other staff member aside from your father or myself can say that.”

“But—”

“There’s not going to be any argument here, Margie. You’re well past our allotted limit for overtime.”

“But—”

Her eyes narrowed, my sign that I was dangerously close to getting the side of her no sane person would want to see. If I pressed any more, it was entirely possible she’d fire me for no other reason than to punish me for arguing.

I sighed, utterly resigned. “Fine, but I don’t want to hear about how all the food goes wrong without me here.”

She cracked a smile and set a hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be rough, but I’m sure if everyone pitches in, we’ll make it through somehow.”

I grimaced. “You’re just making fun of me now. Why do you hate me?”

Standing, she leaned in and kissed my forehead. “It’s called tough love, sweetheart. Take advantage of your time off. You never know, you might actually enjoy it.”

“I don’t want time off.”

“Get the mopping done and we’ll call it a night. Try to be quick with it, we want to leave soon,” she said absently, halfway to the manager’s office.

Dragging my feet, I wandered back to the kitchen to collect the mop and bucket. As I’d been doing the last three days, I completely ignored Zach as he watched me pass by. I thought I’d get away with another conversation-free night, but he caught up to me as I reached the cleaning station.

“Need some help?”

I shrugged. “Just gotta mop and I’m done. Why are you still here?”

He motioned to the dishwasher. “I deep clean stuff from the line once a week. Just finished. As long as I’m here, I don’t mind helping you.”

I ran the hose into the bright yellow bucket and turned on the hot water, reaching up for the floor cleaner. “Won’t your friends get suspicious when you miss whatever party of the century is happening tonight?” I poured a splash of the chemical into the rapidly-filling bucket and replaced the bottle on the shelf.

“They know I’m working. It’s not a big deal.”

I shut off the water and grabbed one of the mops. “Do what you want. I’ll be cleaning floors.”

Without anything else to say, I pushed the bucket towards the main space. As I left, the wooden handles of the other mops and brooms clattered together as he took one from the cluster.

“Coming out!” I shouted as I pushed through the kitchen door, Zach right behind me.

When I was about at the middle of the room, he jumped in front of me, plopping his mop in the water.

I was way too tired for his antics. “What are you doing?”

He grinned at me. “I challenge you.”

“What?”

“You take half, and I take half. First one to finish wins the prize.”

I snorted. “You want to race me? Have you ever even held a mop before tonight?”

Zach didn’t budge. “If you feel that sure of your skills, should be an easy win then.”

“This is dumb.”

“Admitting defeat already?”

His smirk was getting to me, as my competitive streak reared its ugly head. “What do I get when I win?”

“What is it you want?”

I didn’t need more than a second to think about it. “You leave me alone for an entire month. No conversations, no questions unless it’s work-related, no crap on my bedroom window, and no holding me hostage in your car if my parents make you pick me up for a shift.”

He frowned. “They don’t make me.”

“Whatever.” I waved it off. “That’s what I want.”

Zach rubbed his chin. For a moment, I thought he might walk away from it. “Fine. If you win, you get a full Zach-free month. If I win…”

I held my breath, hoping it would be something easy.

His smirk shifted from slightly to full on smug, severely worrying me. “If I win, you spend an entire evening with nobody but me. A date.”

Reflexively, I stepped back. “What?”

“And, you have to wear a dress.”

“I’m so not—”

“Do we have a deal?”

I chewed my lip, mentally walking through every single way it could backfire on me. If I had to go on a date with Zach, I’d definitely be packing the pepper spray, and probably my little folding knife, too. I was mostly sure they’d be unnecessary, but I’d rather be prepared if I was wrong, than nicely give him the benefit of the doubt and live to regret it. Plus, there was nothing saying I had to be pleasant company.

And, really. Like a rich boy with servants to mop up after his every move could ever beat me in a speed-cleaning contest.

Smiling, I leaned into my mop. “Deal.”

Without warning, I ripped my mop out of the water, beating him to the wringer and dashing to the far side of the room to begin as he struggled to catch up. Fully expecting my years of experience to carry me to victory, I ignored the sharp, stabbing pains running along the top of my shoulder as I slid the mop from side to side. Speed was tougher to maintain, though, as the tightness in my muscles got worse with every trip I made to the bucket and back. I kept an eye on his progress, but mostly ignored him, not wanting to wind myself up to the point where I’d get hysterical about potentially losing. Halfway into the race, however, crushing dread crept in.