My mom is at an event for Channel Se7en, but Caleb is in a surprisingly good mood tonight. He’s out of his room and still sporting facial hair, but he’s wearing clean clothes. He bolts for the door before I reach the bottom of the stairs. “Donotembarrass me!” I say, hurrying after him. When he’s not sequestered in his room, Caleb’s ratio of asshole to nice older brother is still a paltry 7 to 3, and I’m worried about which one he’ll be tonight. Which one he’ll be to Zach.
When I reach the entrance, he’s let Zach in and is asking, “So what are your intentions with my sister?”
“Caleb!” I hiss at him, and he bursts out laughing. Zach is smiling, too, but his face is the deepest shade of red. I punch my brother’s arm.Nice.He’s going to be nice to him.
“I’mkidding,” Caleb says, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He is enjoying this, and I suddenly feel like there’s so little I understand about my brother.What makes you sad and happy and angry at random times?I wonder. “So you go to Meridian?”
“Yeah. Go Titans,” Zach says, trying to sound normal, but he seems nervous. Even though they’re about the same height, Zach seems smaller and more subdued in Caleb’s presence.
“Wrong answer. West Lyndale Wildcats,” Caleb says.
“Hey, we kicked you guys’ ass last year in football.”
“One game. Psh,” Caleb says. “What do you have to say about our three-year streak before that?”
Zach laughs. “We called it the Reign of Terror.”
“Damn straight it was.”
“Okay, glad we had this talk. We’re going. Bye,” I say, pushing Caleb aside to get to the front door.
“Seriously, though, where are you two going and when will you be back? Mom’s going to need that information when she gets home, unless you want her to send out a search party.”
Zach tells him the plan and then Caleb finally lets us leave. I watch my brother shut the door behind us, a hundred unanswered questions circling the air around him.
“Hey, you,” Zach says when we’re outside. He leans down and kisses my cheek. “You look beautiful.”
“You too,” I say, and he laughs. Heisbeautiful, with his Zach hair and Zach smile and Zach eyes. He has become an adjective.
The meeting with Caleb behind us, I expect him to relax, be back to his normal, springy self. But Zach’s face is still flushed and he’s fidgety as he drives, and I think,He’s nervous about our date,which makes me feel good in this sadistic, wonderful way, and when we get out of the car at the restaurant, I take his hand and thread my fingers through it. They are warm and bigger than mine, rough and a little bit dry, like my dad’s hands.
I feel like everyone is looking at us when we enter and Zach gives them his name for the reservation.He made reservations.But, of course, they are all just eating dinner, going about their business as usual. Except that Zach seems to stiffen a little as soon as the hostess approaches us, and if he was nervous before, now he seems to be waging some internal battle. I don’t know what to think, and I stare at the short, blond woman in front of us, younger than my mother but older than us, and she says, “Your usual table?”
And I get it.
They used to come here before.
Him and her.
This is their place.
Lindsay.
My hand goes limp in his.
Zach is shaking his head. “Um, no.” He points somewhere far across the room. The hostess looks at me, sees that I’m a stranger, smiles apologetically, and leads us to a table for two over there.
I slide into my seat across from him, the heat of the lights making my face feel hot, or maybe I’m wearing too much makeup. Our waitress, Taryn, places two menus down in front of us. Zach immediately picks his up and starts to read, but his expression is still strained, still distant. She returns seconds later with a plate of steaming garlic bread, and my stomach rumbles, but I don’t reach for it.
The tips of my ears start to get a little hot, and my neck, too, and I feel stupid and so, so embarrassed.
“We don’t have to do this,” I say, and am surprised to hear my voice coming out angry.
“Do what? Order?” Zach says stiffly. “I don’t think they can read our minds. Unless you know something I don’t.”
I don’t laugh, though I know he wants me to.
“Any of it. We don’t have to dothis.” I gesture at our table, at both of us. “I’d rather know now if that’s the case.”
