“Are you still in love with her?” I ask Zach now, because I need to know.
“Of course not,” Zach says, almost too quickly. Maybe because he knew I would ask. “I mean, we have history. We always will, but that’s all it is.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling more at ease than I have since last night. And then, because I’m a masochist, “So what’s she like?” I ask. “Lindsay?”
All Katy had for me was that Lindsay is good at improv (though sometimes slow to her mark) but bad at physical comedy and has killer taste in boots. I guess spending a couple of hours a week together makes them friends, but not super close.
Zach sits up and looks at me. “Why would you ask me that?”
Because I’m a masochist.
Because sometimes she feels like a ghost, haunting us.
I shrug. “I want to know. You’ve known her your whole life, right?”
“Since third grade,” he says. He pauses a second, like he’s debating whether to tell me more, then finally he sighs. “She was nine going on nineteen at the time. Her parents are lawyers; they let her stay up late with them, watching documentaries about genocides and global warming and old Hollywood movies, and she’d come to class and bring them up during discussion time. It blew my mind—all our minds.” I feel the hairs on my body stand up as he talks about her. There’s a mixture of wariness and pain and respect in his voice. “She was the kid that got put in charge when the teacher stepped out of the classroom for a minute. But it wasn’t just that grown-ups treated her like an adult; sheactedlike an adult. She wanted to be taken seriously. She always has.”
“Is it true that she doesn’t like your friends? Raj said that.”
Zach looks surprised.
“I don’t think she…I mean, she…she doesn’thatethem. But yeah, she thinks they can be a little immature. She thinksIcan, too, but fortunately—or unfortunately—she was in love with me.”
She was in love with me.There’s no doubt in his mind, no questions; he knows she loved him.
“So why did she break up with you, then?”And why is she still sad about it?
He runs a hand over his face. “In eighth grade, people hooked up or went out for a couple of days and then broke up and made out with other people. Lindsay wasn’t interested in that kind of relationship, and I wasn’t, either, really. I liked her. I wanted tobewith her. I knew that.” Now it feels like something sharp is grating the inside of my chest. I hate the certainty with which he talks about her. “So we were instantly serious. We made plans. We talked about our lives and our families and, well, it was serious….” His voice fades. “But when everyone was starting toreallythink about college for the first time and Lindsay started looking into college drama programs, it was like she freaked out. She suddenly realized she—we—are sixteen. It hit her how much life would change in a couple of years and how much time she had spent trying to be an adult, trying to be older. How serious her whole life and high school experience had been, how seriouswewere. And I guess…well, I guess it stifled her.”
After a few seconds, Zach shakes the glazed expression and says, “She was probably right. I mean, what do you know about love or relationships in high school, right?
“But enough about Lindsay,” Zach says. He goes back to lying down, head in my lap.
“Did I mention,” he says, purring a little bit as I start running my hand through his hair again, “that you’re my favorite person? Especially with whatever it is you’re doing right now.”
I tell myself his saying this has nothing to do with the conversation we just finished having about his ex-girlfriend.
“Finger combing is your turn-on? Who would have thought?” I say, and we both laugh.
“How am I doing in the rankings, by the way? Am I anywhere near the top of your list?” he asks. “Or am I still top three?”
“Top two,” I say.
Zach feigns despair. “Who is this mystery person I’m competing with, anyway?”
“William Primrose. Famous violist.”
“Old?” he asks.
“Dead,” I say. It’s not true that Primrose is in my top two favorite people; I’m just being difficult. The truth is, I don’t know how I’d rank the people in my life. Apart from Zach, I mean, and he’s doing much better in the rankings than I leton.
I hit play and we start to watch what I refer to as my New York Experience. Really, it’sNew York Stories,an anthology of films made and set in New York by famous directors; the 1954 version ofSabrina;and everything Nora Ephron ever made. “My mom loves them, too,” I explain about my love of Nora Ephron films, “but I think she likes to come off as having superior taste, because shealwaysopts for some schmaltzy foreign stuff even though her eyes are so bad she can’t even read the subtitles.”
I look around to make sure she’s not lurking close by, eavesdropping, and when Zach laughs, my whole lap shakes.
The other thing about the foreign movies is that my mother always remarks that she wants to go tothatplace, or that she’s heard the food there is excellent, or that Greece has the most perfect weather in the world, but when I ask why she doesn’t just go, then, she’ll say something about how dangerous it is or ask what will happen to my brother and me while she is gone, like we’re four and six instead of sixteen and almost nineteen.
We’re finished withSabrinaand on toNew York Stories(payback for all the Cianos, I tell Zach) when Mom does come back downstairs, causing Zach to bolt upright. She acts like she’s looking for something, but it’s obvious she’s spying. She must be satisfied with what she sees because she goes back upstairs and shuts her door.
