I frown, staring at the dashboard and wishing I could find some way to claim the things Zach has told me, to make whatever I felt before—love, betrayal, sadness—belong to me again.
“I’m really sorry. I can’t imagine being in your shoes,” Zach says.
I stare at my hands in my lap, suddenly embarrassed to think this boy has seen me naked. He’s the only boy who has. And once upon a time, I bet, I could trace the contours of his body.
How is it possible to forget all that?
“So when did you start working at Real New Delhi?” I ask, changing the subject to ward off the heaviness, the hopelessness, settling over my whole body.
Even if how it ended was awful, I just want it to feel familiar. I wanthimto feel familiar.
Zach grins at me now, and my stomach tickles. It might only have been familiar from the invisible Zach, Memory Zach, but I still like recognizing it. Andoh my.
“A whopping five days ago,” he says with a laugh. “Could you tell?”
“Not really,” I say. “I saw that the restaurant was new.”
I’m captivated by his smile, the way his lips tilt up, and my face gets hot as the thought of having kissed those lips—having done more and more—fills my mind.
“Yeah. My parents closed the store months ago, and I quit at the Cineplex not long after we broke up. The owner is kind of a hard-ass, so pretty much everyone I worked with there has left. Then Raj’s mom asked if I’d work for her restaurant. Free food. No way was I turning that down.”
I laugh, and he smiles but doesn’t laugh this time.
When his eyes get this faraway look, I wonder if he’s thinking about a version of me I have no memory of. I fiddle with the partly open little ashtray of his car because I feel restless, feel like I need my viola, but also I’m still trying to find something I know in this car.
“Oh, I haven’t used that in ages,” Zach says, looking into the tray. “Ever since I quit smoking.”
“You quit?”
And when I face Zach, he is nodding and beaming, the car getting at least five shades brighter.
“That’s so great!” I say.
He laughs. “I knew you’d be impressed, still.” He feels me keep watching him, so he adds, “You weren’t a fan of the smoking.”
“Well, there’s one thing that sounds like me. Finally.”
Zach gives me a sad smile.
His phone suddenly vibrates in his pocket, and when he pulls it out, he says, “Shoot. My break was over ten minutes ago!”
“Oh,” I say, feeling myself deflate. The car is no longer warm, but I don’t mind the idea of sitting in this car with Zach for hours.
We climb out anyway and he comes around to my side. “If you ever need me,” Zach says, “you know where I am.”
I nod, a lump the size of a house growing in my throat. And I blink rapidly to keep my eyes clear.
“Hey,” Zach says, gently wrapping his arms around me. And that,that,feels familiar. The tips of my ears burn and not from the cold.
I let my head rest on his chest, hear his heart beating steadily through his T-shirt, and I’m already dreading the moment he’ll let go.
It comes too soon.
And I realize as we step back that it didn’t come hurtling back—the memories, what it felt like to be with him. Secretly, I hoped it would. That being in his presence, touching the real Zach, would bring it all back.
“I hoped seeing you would jog something, but…” My voice fades. “I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it that that’s how it happened.” I’m half laughing, even though it’s not funny. Even though a tear has escaped down my cheek.
Zach frowns, at least a foot between us again, and looks sad for me.
