A tiny smile tugs at the corners of Zoe’s lips, but it never blooms completely, though, and I can tell she’s making a valiant effort to keep the hurt out of her voice and face. I hope she doesn’t blame me for what happened. I’d like to find those guys and force-feed them the lies they told Zoe. I’m not sure what I’d do to the women since I was mostly raised by my mom, and I do try and treat women with respect and admiration. While the world might think I’m a serial dater, I’m actually the one who gets dumped, or the breakups are mutual, or we both understand there aren’t any strings from the start. I try my very best not to be a pig, as Zoe called me, and I so wish she knew that.
I really do care what she thinks—a lot.
“One milkshake, one soda, and one coffee,” a voice says out of nowhere.
I pull my head out of my butthole and stare at our server as she carefully places our drinks on the table. This isn’t about me. I mean, it is, but it’s also not. This is about Zoe. I shouldn’t be thinking about myself right now or justifying my past to myself when it’s Zoe who needs to know. Or maybe it’s a shithead thing to do, to think about my past like that when we were talking about her.
I suppose I could be overthinking this. But maybe I just really don’t want her to think of me as a trash bag kind of person even though she likely already does think things like that of me. And rightfully so.
“Your food should be up shortly,” our server tells us before she leaves us with our drinks and a conversation none of us want to pick up.
I want to tell Zoe that I’m sorry. That if I could go back, change things, and protect her, I would. I wish I could go back. Because then, I wouldn’t have just let her walk out of my life. I would have contacted her sooner, and I would have made sure I could watch out for her.
But I can’t change the past. I can’t change it, so I sit here feeling guilty, and we lapse into silence because it doesn’t seem right to bring all that shit back up now that the moment has passed.
Mom finally starts talking about clothing, thrifting, and cats, which engages Zoe. I lean back against the booth, just happy to watch and listen to them talk. They fall back into it as naturally as if all those years and some seriously deep conversation hadn’t just preceded it. It makes me kind of jealous and also oddly happy to see them like this, talking like old friends.
I doubt Zoe’s mom is back in her life in any capacity as I know her mom walked out on Zoe and her dad and never had anything to do with either of them after she left, so it makes me inordinately happy when Mom says she wished she lived in Florida because she’d like to keep in touch. Zoe gives Mom her phone number and email, which makes me even happier.
I guess it gives me hope.
Hope for what, I’m not exactly sure. Zoe might have welcomed Mom back into her life, but she sure hasn’t welcomed me. She doesn’t like me, and now I think I know why—the reason she was so adamant about cutting any contact with me and having me gone from her life, which in a way, I kind of destroyed. At least where her relationships were concerned.
When our food comes, I purposely push the thoughts out of my head. Seeing those heaping waffles with all the lush berries and mouth-watering whipped cream makes me wish I ordered the waffles instead of a sandwich. I count on Mom or Zoe having some leftovers for me to finish off, but they both clean their plates.
At the end of lunch, I pick up the tab and leave a generous tip for our server. Mom hugs Zoe outside the restaurant and makes her promise not to be a stranger or hold it against her that I’m her son. Thanks, Mom.
I walk my mom back to her car, and after she drives away, Zoe seems surprised that the same car and driver who brought us from the resort is waiting in the parking lot. I paid him to wait for us, and I made it worth his while. The return trip is really out of the way, and the guy charges just about a literal arm and a leg, so I’m sure he’s happy to have the business. This trip probably made him more than he makes in a week of cabbing people around the city.
When we get back to the lodge, we get dropped in front of my cabin. It’s one of the smallest ones, but I’m the only one staying there. The privacy is nice.
Zoe glances around like she’s considering making a run for it, so I act fast. “Want a cup of coffee?”
“A whisky would be nice right about now.”
Her words make me smile. That’s Zoe. She’s tough. She’s always been tough in her own unique way. “Sadly, I didn’t bring any.”
“Well, then coffee will have to do.”
“I could scourge around and see if I could find some.”
“No, coffee is fine.”
Zoe follows me inside. The cabin is just a one-bedroom with a tiny bathroom and a small kitchen and living room. It’s made of log, not just log siding, so it has a quaint, homey feel as soon as you get into it, and the furniture is all retro. There’s a braided rag rug on
