Hanson Through My Eyes

Chapter 37

After struggling up the steps from the train platform, I swiveled my head. No Zac. I shifted the weight of the duffle bag and started walking. He only said that he'd be there to meet when my train got in. He didn't mention where in the station. This could take all day.

People pushed past me, annoyed that I wasn’t moving fast enough. I wasn’t in a rush but clearly the rest of Penn Station was. I couldn’t blame them, really. Tourists at home who stand in the way with their newly unfolded maps and Boston sweatshirts drive me batty.

A wooden bench stood, unoccupied in the corner. I moved quickly toward it, fearing that someone else had spotted it.

I sat stiffly on the edge of the wooden bench, purse clamped under my arm with my duffle bag pinned between the end of the bench and my hip. I tried not to look eager or nervous but it didn’t work. There was a microscopic thought in my head that this was all a joke. The thought crept into my head a few times on the train. I had to reassure myself that it wasn’t true. Zac wouldn’t do that to me. I know he wouldn’t but it didn’t sound convincing even in my own head.

I reached into my purse and pulled out my cell phone. I flipped it open with a practiced, fluid motion and checked – no messages. At least no one from the office called. I did panic a bit that I had no message from Zac, however. Sliding the phone back into my purse, I rubbernecked left and right again. No sign of him.

The magazine I brought with me, I left on the train. I finished it and figured it would only be extra baggage. Now I regretted it. I felt foolish, waiting. The people around me didn’t pay me any attention but I wondered if they felt sorry for me. Left behind with no one to collect me. Suddenly I felt small and young, as if I should have had a homemade sign with my name and address written in crayon on it: Please return me if you find me. I imagined the feel of a cord of brightly colored yarn around my neck.


 

I tapped my toes, pulled out my phone again, text-messaged, and hummed to myself. He is so dead if he isn’t here in five minutes.

My eyes scanned the crowds. I caught sight of him as the crowd thinned in front of me. A much older version of another little brother that I didn’t know I wanted, hustled toward me – none too gently, I might add. I stood up; my mouth tight with annoyance, one eyebrow raised as he finally reached me. “Sorry, I got caught up.” He planted his feet and put his hands on his hips. “How long have you been waiting?”

I shifted my eyes over his shoulder to the huge digital billboard, displaying the time as well as train arrivals and departures. “About fifteen minutes.”

I made a big show of annoyance with a loud sigh.

He gave me a sheepish grin. “I am sorry.”

I relented my fake irritation and smiled. He pulled me into a death-like vice grip hug. My arms pinned to my sides, I could do little more than awkwardly tap his sides. I wheezed out, “It’s good to see you.”

He finally released me and I put my hand to my chest to make sure all ribs were intact. “Seriously, Zac, give a girl some room to breathe.”

His face broke into a wide grin. “Sorry.” His eyes roamed my face. I looked away to avoid his piercing gaze. I flicked my eyes back to him and opened them wide. “So….”

“You look different.” His eyes squinted a bit.

“Thanks. It would be unnecessary for me to say the same to you, I think.” I pulled my duffle bag off the bench. “I’ll spare you the ‘last time I saw you you were this big’ monologue.”

“Yeah, it’s been awhile.” His voice trailed off a bit. I fiddled with my purse, not really sure what to say or do yet. I still felt awkward. I had been invited, yes, but I still wasn’t entirely sure why. Numerous times since his phone call, I asked myself what he was up to, why he asked me to visit. I still hadn’t come up with an answer.

“Let me.” Zac took the duffle bag from me and heaved the strap over his shoulder to rest across his chest.
He stepped forward, draped his arm across my shoulders and started walking me through the crowd. It felt natural to put my arm around his waist. “So, where to first?”

He guided me through the crowd, slowing his pace to match mine. “I’m not entirely sure, actually. I was kind of hoping you’d have some ideas.”

I brought my finger up and brushed it across the stubble on his cheekbone. “Ya know, you could have at least shaved.”

He looked down and smirked. “Why? It's only you.”

As we stepped through the doors, I felt a tinge of claustrophobia. I always feel this way in New York City. It’s sensory overload – horns blaring, people yelling, construction tools ringing through the air, the smell of foods from all over the world mingling, the odor of urban life, the buildings looming overhead. I tightened my grip on Zac’s sweatshirt ever-so-slightly.

“We’ll grab a cab and drop your stuff at the apartment.” His hand dropped away from my shoulder as he stepped forward to find a taxi.

I made conversation while Zac swiveled his head fruitlessly with one foot dangling over the edge of the curb.

“Where's...I'm sorry, I forget her name.” 
He turned. “Kate. She's still in school. She'll meet up with us in Tulsa when the tour starts. She's traveling with us.”

“She’s in college?”

“Yeah, in Georgia. That’s where she’s from.” His answers were quick – his attention tuned to seeking out a yellow streak whizzing by.

“Does it still suck as bad to date on the road?”

He sighed. “Oh yeah. It’s never enough time.” It never was.

Zac fiddled with his cell phone, his fingers deftly moving over the keys in the taxi. I took the time to study his profile. It still freaked me out that this almost-man was little Zac. I tried to wrap my mind around it. Pardon the obvious but he was so different and yet still very much the same. The old death squeezes I got around my waist had been replaced by chest-crushing bear hugs. He was big – bigger than I ever expected him to be. While Taylor and Isaac were still tall and lanky, Zac filled out to become a bruiser. His goofy smile…well, he still has a goofy smile. From what I’d seen, his smile was still rarely fake, age hadn’t jaded him that I could tell. He always was wiser than his years though. At eleven, he dealt with more than most people deal with in a lifetime. The fact that he hadn’t become a child-star stereotype was a testament to his family. From the few times we’d talked on the phone, I gathered that his family was still an, if not, the, most important part of his life.

“So, how long have you been here? I can’t believe you moved out of Tulsa.”

“We’ve been here since December. It’s only temporary. Our home is still Tulsa. We rented this apartment while we’re gearing up for the release.” His hand waved as if to encompass all of New York City. “It’s easier to be here than to keep flying back and forth. The company offices are here as well.” He sounded so matter-of-fact.

Zac always was a bit of an enigma. Most of what I remember of him were his manic moments of sheer, explosive energy but there are still other moments I remember of clarity and intensity that should have been foreign to an eleven year-old. Looking at him, across the vinyl seat, it seemed he finally grew into his ginormous personality. “Could you break me in half if you wanted to?”

He laughed. “What?”

“I mean you’re, like, a bruiser now. Could you snap my arm in half in you wanted to?”

He mock-contemplated it. “Probably but I don’t feel like hanging around the E.R. for the next six hours.”

“You’re so…big now.”

He smirked and winked. “Why…thank you.”

I screwed up my face in a most unglamorous way. “Ew, Zac, ew. There’s still a large part of me that sees you as twelve and tackling me from behind in hotel hallways.”

His eyes lit up. “Ooooh! Thanks for reminding me. I’m definitely going to do that this weekend.”

I quietly tapped my finger on my jeans as I scrutinized him. It was as if he were an actor playing the Zac I used to know. He’s a good imitation, but not the real thing.

I reached over and pulled on his floppy hair. “It’s so dark now. No more blonde jokes, I guess.”

“If I grow it, it’ll bleach out.” His shifted to better accommodate him long legs in the cramped taxi.

“When did you chop it? Last time I saw you it was still long.”

“When did you last see me?”

“I saw you in Boston in 2000.”

“Did you go to a show?”

I inhaled, taking a moment to stall. “I did, indeed.” Before he had a chance to speak, I spilled out. “I didn’t say anything to anyone. I went on my own. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see anyone or say anything. I just- I don’t know. Looking back, I should have at least wished you luck or something.” I shrugged my shoulders.

His lip curled up a bit, into a half-smile. “Hey, you did what you thought was right.”

“Yeah, but-” I felt like I had to apologize, to explain my actions. It wasn’t coming out right though. And if it wasn’t making sense to me, it wasn’t making sense to him either.

Silence crept in again and took over.

Zac stood on the sidewalk and stretched as I slid across the vinyl seat and climbed out of the taxi. “Got everything?”

 “You have the duffle bag. I have my purse.” I smiled. “Yup, I’m good to go.”

A doorman in a uniform that looked wholly polyester and uncomfortable opened the door for us as we walked up. I half-expected him to tip his hat but that would have been just too stereotypical. I smiled. “Thank you.”

The lobby was pretty non-descript. The walls were generic white-ish with your basic scenic, nature photographs adoring the walls.

“Sam, hurry up.” I turned to see Zac’s head sticking out of an elevator. “I’m hitting the button. I’ll leave without you.”

“I’ll hit the emergency button and make you stop between floors.”

He smirked. “There’s no emergency button out there.”

I pulled out my best British accent. “Oh do shut up.”

“Not bad. How many times did you have to watch Harry Potter to perfect that?”

“I didn’t have to. I lived there.”

“You lived there?”

“I studied in London for a year.”

He looked at me, incredulous. “No way.” The elevator doors closed. So much to catch up on.

The apartment was, of course, gorgeous. High ceilings. Spacious rooms. It was basically everything my home was not. I turned a 360 in the living room. “Clearly you didn’t decorate this.”

Zac threw the keys onto the table and guffawed. “Oh god no, do you think we could have come up with this?”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Here I picked these up this morning.” He had New York tour books in his hand.

I picked one up and idly flipped through the pages.

Zac walked away and yelled over his shoulder. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No, I’m good.”

I had no idea what I wanted to do. I’d been to New York a couple of times and had done some of the touristy stuff – Ellis Island, Statue of Liberty, Central Park Zoo, major art museums.

“What have you done?”

“I’ve done most of it over the years. You know Mom and Dad, they dragged us all around.”

“Well I don’t want you to be bored.”

“I won’t be bored.” He yelled from whatever room he was in. Judging by the sound of it, he could have been two buildings over.  “If you weren’t here, I’d be camped out in front of the television, eating crap food and channel surfing.”

I shouted back “It’s good to know that I’m here to save you from yourself.”

He walked back into the hall area with soda in hand. “Hey, I’m perfectly content to do that. I’m okay with three days of television and crap food.”

I made a face. “I’m not. I’d like to see more of New York than these four walls.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

I flipped through pages in silence, trying to figure out what the heck to do to pass the time.

“You know, you can take your jacket off and relax.” Zac was looking at me, wide-eyed.

I still had my purse over my shoulder, jacket on. I looked ready to leave.

“Where am I sleeping?”

“Ike’s room” I froze before shooting him a look of pure evil.

He didn’t give me the satisfaction of a reaction, just a nonchalant,  “What?”

Two can play this game. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me sweat but I did narrow my eyes and shot daggers at his retreating back. “It’s down this way.”

The room was gorgeous. You could have fit my room into one corner of it.

Zac sat down on the bed and proceeded to bounce repeatedly. “So, are you having fun yet?”

I stuck my head into my bag, trying to find my cell phone charger. “Not yet but I’ll keep you posted.”

He stopped bouncing. “Not yet? Why not?”

I sat back on my heels. “I’m just kidding. Calm down. I would like to unpack for a bit though.”

“Okay.” He sat back with his hands in his lap.

I pursed my lips.

He stared.

I fidgeted.

He stared.

I drummed my fingers on my jeans.

He stared.

“Alone, Zac.”

“Oh! Right. I’ll go…out there.”

I blew a stray hair out of my face. Collapsing in a heap on the floor, I rolled onto my back and covered my face with my hands. What the hell are you doing? I dragged my purse over, rifling through for my cell phone. I hit Jen’s number and waited, staring at the ceiling.

She answered on the third ring. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“How’s it going?”

“I’m sleeping in his room.”

“With him?!”

“What?”

“You two are sleeping in the same room?

“No, no-” I stopped. “Ew Jen. Ew. No, Isaac’s room.”

“Ooooooooooh. Is he there?”

“No. Thank god. That’d be all kinds of awkward.” I pulled my legs up and stared at my sneakers. “I guess it makes sense. I mean, I’m not sleeping in Taylor’s room with crib and stuff. Zac’s in his room; it makes sense. I just freaked for a second.”

“How’s it going otherwise?”

“Honestly, I don’t really know yet.” I kicked the door closed with my foot. “I don’t really know this person. I mean, I guess I know him but I don’t. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“What are you doing there?” Her Psych 101 class showed again.

“I don’t know.”

~*~*~

The gift shop at the Statue of Liberty has extensive memorabilia that made me outwardly cringe - crowded aisle after aisle of puce green knick-knacks featuring Lady Liberty.

I watched Zac hover over souvenirs even my parents would shun. “I’ll deny your existence if you put on the Statue of Liberty sunglasses”

He didn’t even flinch. “You just don’t want me to have fun, do you?” I’m gung-ho for touristy stuff but gift shops give me the creeps. I feel like 90% of the stuff taints the image of whatever I just saw. Averting my eyes, I sighed and sauntered past a whole shelf devoted to paperweights.

Behind me I heard, “Stand still.” He pushed something that felt like a large rubber band unto my head. He turned me around to face him. Atop his head was a green foam Statue of Liberty crown. I suppressed the urge to make a face. “Please tell me you’re kidding me.”
“Nope. We’re embracing our inner tourists.” He smiled and threw an arm over my shoulder.

There’s no way I’m going to win this battle.

For a boy that used to turn green at the sight of boats, Zac was having quite the time on the ferry back to Manhattan.

He leaned over the railing with a cheesy grin plastered on his face. His hair blew around underneath the foam crown.

I was, however, inching my crown off my head, hoping the wind might catch it. “If that goes over, I’m tossing you over to get it.” I rolled my eyes, pulling the offensive green foam more securely onto my head. He was more fun when he was lethargic from the Dramamine.

My chin rested on my hands as we leaned on the railing. The ship was standing room only. We had to yell over the sound of the engines. “Didn’t you hate boats?”

He shook his head. “No, planes.”

“I could have sworn it was boats.”

“Nope.”

We lapsed into silence again – something we’d been doing all day. I was sort of getting used to it but it still reeked of awkwardness.

We’d chatted all day, catching each other up on our lives. We bantered back and forth like we always did but the uncomfortable silences stretched on. Neither one of us wanting to talk or knowing what to say.

Zac would grab my neck and pull me into a bear hug one minute, and then turn away and ignore me the next. I felt like he was at odds with himself in a way. Maybe he feels like he shouldn’t be so casual with me. I really didn’t know why though. It didn’t make sense. I figured it would be uncomfortable seeing and dealing with Isaac but why would Zac feel uncomfortable?

I spent the rest of the ferry ride, debating whether or not to ask him what was wrong. Would I overstep my bounds if I asked what’s wrong? Would it make him even more sullen?

~*~*~

We meandered up from the ferry dock. The sun was setting and the cool air felt good on our faces as we walked along.

“So, what’s this new album sound like?”

“Hanson.” He snickered at his own joke. I rolled my eyes.

“Really? What a concept.”

“Well, it’s good just to finally get it out. It’s been in the works for so long.” A big question mark appeared in my head. I wanted to ask when the last album was released but that would have been admitting that I didn’t keep up with them. I really should have researched before I got on the train.

“I mean, severing ties with Island/Def Jam took so much out of us that this album could be us dictating a textbook and we’d be thrilled.” He turned to me with an expectant look in his eye. I froze. “Oh, uh, yeah.” Who is Island/Def Jam?

Should I admit that I haven’t kept up with their music? I didn’t want Zac to think that it was because I didn’t like their music. When I first severed ties with them, I didn’t want any reminders. Then it just became habit. I’d change the channel when I saw them on TV. I’d flip the page if I saw a mention in a magazine. It was easier that way.

I steered the conversation away from music. “Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to me. “Sam, please, you know me. I’m always hungry.” This Zac, funny Zac, I could deal with.

~*~*~

I kicked the aluminum refrigerator door shut with my foot; two cans of soda in one hand, and two glasses filled with ice in the other. I heard Zac’s bellow from the living room. “Can you bring in some napkins?”

My shoulders slumped. “Yeah.” I muttered under my breath. “Sure, no problem. It’s not like I’m a guest here. I’ll just grab them along with everything else.”

I put down the ice-cold cans of soda, warmed my hand on my jeans for a second and grabbed the roll of paper towels off the counter. Heaving them under my arm, I picked everything up once again and set off.

I dropped down his soda and glass in front of him. “Is that it, sir? Can I get you anything else?”

“You’re funny.” Zac flipped open the pizza box.

The aroma of hot pizza assaulted my nose. Yum. “Okay, so how can all of these Ray’s Pizzas be the original, if they all say original?”

“I don’t know. I joked about that with a guy behind the counter one day and he gave me the evil eye.” Zac demonstrated the ‘evil eye.’ “I didn’t ask again.”

We set ourselves up on the couch in front of the big screen. It was nice to relax after a full day of sightseeing… the Statue of Liberty. We had lofty plans but fell far short of them.

Kicking off my shoes and flopping down on the couch felt like heaven. “What’s on TV?”

“I don’t know. It looks like we’re going to have to channel surf for awhile.”

My eyeballs rattled in my head as they attempted to focus on a show before he changed the channel. Finally I had to wrestle the clicker from Zac’s hand. “Okay, enough. You’re giving me a headache. Why don’t we skip TV for now.”

“There was nothing on anyway.” How could you tell?

“So, how’s everything with you?” He had asked me this question twice already. I felt an uncomfortable silence coming on.

“I’m fine. Why?”

“Just checking. I want to make sure you’re all good. Are you having fun?”

“I am. It’s nice to take a break. I love Boston but sometimes I feel like it’s suffocating me.”

He smirked. “And New York isn’t?”

“Not yet. I’m sure I’ll be happy to get on the train on Sunday though.”

“Not too happy though.” He looked at me with mock doe eyes and a quivering lip.

“No, not too happy.”

A clock ticked and I fidgeted but Zac didn’t notice.

Finally, I cracked. Before biting into a greasy piece of pizza, I asked the question as innocently as I could. “So, how’s Isaac?”

“He’s good.”

We let the words hang in the air for a few minutes.

The apartment was so quiet. I could almost hear the ice melting in my glass.

He brushed non-existent crumbs from his pants. “You should call him.”

I almost asked why but I clamped my mouth shut before the word slipped out. Zac and I were having a great time. Why would I want to bring in Isaac and spoil it?

I focused on Zac’s face, lifted one side of my mouth up in an attempt at a smile. He stared. I squirmed. “What?”

“I can give you his cell number.”

I smiled politely. “No, that’s okay.”

He gave a look that said ‘you are so full of it’ but didn’t comment.

I turned to look at the blank television screen. Zac’s eyes slid out of focus, staring at nothing.

I can do this all night. I casually sipped my drink and pretended that my mind wasn’t begging for more information.

I mentally critiqued the décor in the room. Clearly, the guys didn’t decorate it. There was an overall dark-neutral tone with a few slashes of autumn red throughout. It looked as if it had been furbished for a magazine photo shoot. Aside from the pizza box, water rings on the coffee table, and a few crinkled napkins around, you wouldn’t know anyone lived there. While the apartment had every material amenity imaginable, it had no warmth. There was no clutter, no dirt, nothing. It gave me a chill. This was not somewhere I’d want to live.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.” The words poured from my mouth.

“Why not?” Still, he stared at nothing.

It seemed so simple to me. Why would I want to call him? I made a “duh” face.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

I copped an attitude. “Um…in case you don’t remember, we didn’t end on the best of terms.”

He turned to face me head-on, subconsciously (or consciously, I wasn’t sure which) bracing for a fight. “Actually, I do remember.”

“So, there ya go!” I almost spilled my drink as I made an emphatic hand movement to prove my point.

He recoiled. “So?”

“So what?” Are you dense? Did you not hear me?

“So?”

I sweetened my words, even smiled in spite of myself. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He made a face and turned away but didn’t say anything. I regretted my tone.

With empty glass in hand, he stood up to walk into the kitchen. I looked away, reprimanding myself silently.

He turned, “you know, you didn’t just leave him, Sam. You left all of us.” He tossed the comment out, letting it permeate the room around us. I couldn’t see his face before he turned to walk away to the kitchen.

WHAT?! I don’t even know how to process that. I jumped off the couch and marched into the kitchen after him. “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

His face was hidden behind the refrigerator door. He took his sweet time pulling out a can of soda. Straightening up, he said. “You didn’t just leave Isaac. Sam, you left all of us. You didn’t even say good-bye.”

WHAM! That’s the sound of my mind being broad sided. I actually had to hold onto the kitchen counter to keep from falling over. “What? I don’t- what the hell?” I struggled to form words.

His retort was the click and hiss of his soda can opening.

How is that even possible? How could he think that? He must have known that I would have said goodbye, if I could.

I looked at him, incredulous. “Zac, how could you think that?”

He shrugged his shoulders, bored. My eyes roved the counter top for anything within arms reach that I could throw at him.

I padded into the living room and climbed back onto the couch, welcoming its softness.

When Isaac and I fought that last night, everyone knew. We yelled loud enough for passersby to hear. Hell, we yelled loud enough to wake the dead. Zac must have known that I wouldn’t have left if… If what? If we didn’t break up? What? Grr. That inner voice was back.

He must have known how much I missed him and the rest of the family. It killed me not to call or write. I wanted to. I actually did call a few times. I never let the phone ring but I dialed the numbers. It wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about anyone else but Isaac and me. He knew that.

The floorboards creaked behind me. Zac stood at the doorway. We stared at each other. I opened my mouth but nothing felt right. I didn’t know what to say. I pulled my knees up to my chin. Curling into a ball made me feel better, as if spreading out exposed me to undetected hurt. For six years I- I didn’t even know what to say. I assumed that everyone knew why I left, why I never said goodbye. Staring at the pizza box on the table, I mentally organized an argument for my actions as an eighteen year old.

The cushions sank down on the other side of the couch. I backed against the arm of the couch, putting as much physical space between us as possible.  

I turned to him and opened my mouth. “I-” don’t know what to say. Zac’s profile was unreadable. He wouldn’t look at me. It struck me as odd that I was explaining my teenaged antics to a person who was so young at the time. He was only twelve, how could he even remember? I’d changed so much. He’d obviously changed so much.

Let’s try this again. “How could-”

I exhaled the breath I’d been holding for what felt like hours. “Zac.” I paused. “It didn’t really have anything. To do with you.”

His head swiveled so fast. “How can you say that?”

Woah. “Because.”

“Did I imagine you?”

“What?”

He became emphatic, turning his body to face me. “Did I imagine you?”

I shook my head, confused. “Not that I know of.”

“Then how can you say that it had nothing to do with me. What is ‘it’ anyway?” He mocked my word. Where did confrontational Zac come from? I didn’t like him. Fun, zany Zac was my favorite. Not this almost-adult who sat across from me, challenging my decisions.

“Hartford. When Isaac and I broke up.”

“Okay, so...”

“So, what?”  

“You think that a fight between two people allows you the right to sever ties with a whole family?”

“Woah. Stop.” I held my hands up in front of me. “Zac, I was young. You were young. We were all young. I’ll admit that it may not have been the best way to end things but I did what I thought was best.”

He chugged his soda. “Yeah, okay.”

“Hey!” I pointed my finger at him, anger rising. “It was what I needed to do to survive.” The floodgates opened. “My heart was broken. I lost my best friend, friends really. You think it didn’t kill me to drive away? You think I wanted to leave? Don’t you dare judge me!”

“Okay, that’s all fine and good but you weren’t the only one involved. It wasn’t as if we were casual acquaintances, passing in the hallway. You think you weren’t our best friend too? You disappeared without saying anything.” He spat out the last words. “Anything, Sam.”

A feeble thought popped into my head. I called Isaac to let him know that I was okay.  Lame, I know but the foundation that I built my argument on was crumbling around me.

My anger slowly deflated as I watched Zac voice his own hurt. “Isaac felt guilty you know. He internalized the anger that we all felt over the situation. He made it all his fault.”

Hot tears burned my eyes. “I didn’t mean to.” My voice broke. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

He leaned back against the cushions. “That’s not why I told you. I’m not attacking you. I just had to get it out.”

His chest rose and fell as he sighed. “All day long I’ve been fighting with myself about this. ‘Should I say something?’ ‘Is it worth dredging up the past?’ ‘Will this ruin any chance of friendship?’ So much time has passed, I know. You’re not the same person; I saw that today. I just needed to get it out for myself. I wanted you to know.”

The urge to interrupt nearly overtook me - nearly.

“Plus I was curious. How had you changed? I remember you. You were fun. I remember your laugh the most. I saw that today. You throw your head back and laugh in a way that invites everyone else around you to laugh. I loved that.” He stopped. “The last memories I had of you, though, weren’t of you laughing. I didn’t want to associate you with the person that…” He tread carefully, rightfully so. “I last saw.” Diplomatic way of putting it.

I sat up and muttered. “I don’t laugh weird.”

He laughed out loud. “Oh Sam, I missed you.”

“I missed you too. For so long afterwards, I’d hear a joke and think of you. Or I’d see something and want to tell you about it. It took a long time for me to adjust to not being able to talk to you and everyone else.” I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “That part sucked. I hated that.”

Zac showed me the basics of the apartment an hour later. We had spent most of that hour treading carefully with each other in conversation. Zac just needed to get it all out. Fearing confrontation again, we only spoke about happy topics and light anecdotes.

“Bathroom over there. Towels in the closet, etc, etc.” His cell phone rang in the back pocket of his jeans. “Hey, hold on one sec.”

~*~*~

In the hazy place between awake and dreaming, I stretched out on the bed, feeling my skin skim across the sheets. My foot brushed against something. Ohmygod. An all-consuming feel of bliss came over me. He was there – with me.

As the fog in my cleared, I slid my foot along the length of his fuzzy leg. He still feels the same. My eyes fluttered open and I saw the dark wood of the closet. I could barely contain my excitement. Next to me, I could hear his slow, rhythmic breathing. He must have slipped into the room sometime during the night. I didn’t even notice. He wanted to surprise me. I wonder if Zac knew about it. Maybe that’s what last night was about – he wanted to clear the air before Isaac came home.

Is he watching me sleep? Did he dream about me?

My whole outlook shifted. He was with me. It would be okay. He must want us back together again. I smiled into my pillow.

It would all be all right. I closed my eyes again, yawned a bit. I said a quick prayer of thanks to myself and rolled over. I made a big show of fluttering my eyes innocently.

I saw nothing. I blinked my eyes, furiously trying to focus. My eyes distinguished another pillow. I raised my head up. The down comforter bunched harmlessly next to me. I pulled the comforter away – there was no one there. No Isaac. A sick feeling of emptiness spread through my body. I had dreamt it all, the feel of him, the sound of his breathing. My mind tricked me into believing he was really there next to me.

I hid my face in my hands, ashamed at my reaction to a dream. Why would he be here?

The urge to pull the covers over my head and cry myself out enveloped me. I wanted to. My chin quivered.

For the first time in my life, I slapped myself across the face. Hard. The resounding crack echoed in the cavernous room. I mentally lectured myself; You will not succumb to this. It was a dream. I rubbed my jaw. Damn that hurt.

~*~*~

I met Zac in the kitchen after a refreshing, if overly melodramatic, shower. “I can’t believe it. The towels don’t smell funky. The soap’s not a sliver caked with dirt. This isn’t the Zac Hanson I know and love.”

He looked up from his bowl of sugary-shaped whatever cereal and dribbled milk all over the counter. “Housekeeper. She’s a godsend.”

“I guess. What are you going to do when you have leave?”

He wiped his mouth with his arm. “Stuff her in one of the guitar cases and bring her with me.” His head jerked back a bit. “Whoa, what happened to you?”

“What?”

“Your cheek. You have a red mark on your cheek.”

My hand touched my cheek where I knew a handprint would be. Note to self: More make-up. “I must have slept on it overnight. It’ll fade. What’s for breakfast?”

He pointed with his spoon. “There’s some cereal in the cabinet. Milk in the fridge. Go crazy.”

Puttering around the kitchen, I asked about the plans for the day.

“I’m not really sure. We can head uptown and see what’s going on. Wanna see a show? I bet we can get tickets to something.”

“That sounds much better than more forced sightseeing.”

“You just have something against gift shops.”

“Yes, Zac, that’s it.”

“So, we’re good, right?”

I looked up from my bowl of Corn Flakes. “Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?”

He had his elbows tucked under him, leaning on the counter. “I just don’t want things to be weird.”

“I’m cool, if you’re cool. You said you just needed to tell me how you felt.”

“Yeah but I know you and, if I’m right, you spent most of last night reliving the conversation, analyzing every word.”

Damn he’s good. I speared my spoon at him. “Okay, you knew me when you were twelve, right?”

“Yes but I was a mature twelve.”

I snorted into my milk. “Says the boy who snorted Pixie Stix up his nose, thinking it was a good idea.”

~*~*~

Out of breath, we reached street-level from the subway. “Where to now?”

Zac shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t quit your day job to become a tour guide, hun.”

We spent the day walking around the city, popping in and out of stores. Plus Zac’s fifty-two trips for coffee took awhile (“It’s an addiction, Z.” “No, I swear, I can stop anytime.”). We saw a matinee show of a musical with silly songs and girls dressed in costumes that looked like they were assaulted by a madman with a Bedazzler. We spent most of the show mocking the costumes and replacing the lyrics with raunchy words.

The two older women in front of us kept turning around to glare. I had to get up and leave at one point because I feared I was going to bust a gut laughing.

We talked about anything and everything. The awkward silences of the previous day were taken over by boisterous outbursts and fits of laughter.

Somewhere along Fifth Avenue, there’s a signpost with a piece of Zac on it. He walked into it  – took it square in the chest. I burst out laughing. We looked a sight, Zac mournful and rubbing his chest; me standing in the middle of the sidewalk with my head between my legs, shaking with laughter.  I could barely get words  “Are you okay?” out of my mouth.

~*~*~

The host, a hyper blond man with too much caffeine in his veins, brought us to a small table in the corner of a small Italian restaurant we found. One chair sat in the middle aisle with the facing seat part of a bench row. Next to us, a foursome of early thirty-something businessmen traded hero stories about their recent business conquests. I slid between the two tables, trying not to upend either. The atmosphere was upbeat – chatting tables melding into each other along with the Italian instrumental soundtrack coming from hidden speakers behind the walls.

“This good?” Zac leaned forward over the table as he pulled in his chair.

“Looks good to me.” We took our menus from the host before he hustled away. As we sat reading the specials, a chipper college-aged girl with perfectly flippy hair that I haven’t mastered yet, sidled up with the usual ‘welcome and thanks for coming’ speech. “Hi, I’m Cara. Can I start you off with something to drink? We have a complimentary glass of our house wine, if you’d like it.”

My eyes shifted as Zac said. “Yeah, that sounds great.” I quirked an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

“So, did you think I was crazy after the radio station?”

“Nah.”  Zac tackled a piece of spaghetti and fed it into his mouth. “We were surprised. I kind of hoped that I’d see you again. I figured it would be sooner. Speaking of, what’d you think of seeing us in 2000?”

“I loved it.” The smile I gave him was genuine. “You looked so at-ease. You’d all grown into yourselves. The stage didn’t look so cavernous and imposing. I laughed and clapped so hard when you sang the cover of I Want You To Want Me. Whenever I hear that song, I think of you stalking around the stage, yelling at the audience for them to sing-along.”

“Why didn’t you say hello or anything?” His face clouded over a bit.

The napkin I wiped my mouth with felt like sandpaper. “I didn’t decide to go until the last minute. When I got there, it was chaos as usual. Being a bystander seemed more fun.” I mock toasted with my glass of wine. “I always liked watching the girls freak out anyway. It was more interesting than the dressing room.”

“You’re probably right.”

I dug through my Parmigiana with my fork, hunting for chicken.

“So I shouldn’t take it personal that you didn’t say hi?”

“Please don’t. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just going to a concert to see a band and hear good music.”
“You could have passed a note…”

“I also could have stripped naked and streaked across the stage. I didn’t though.”

“Oooh, that would have been fun- a way better hello for us.”

“That’d be quite a hello.” Pausing, I added. “Could you imagine? Has that ever happened?”

“No. We’ve had girls get on-stage though.”

“I know. I’ve been there.”
“Oh man, that’s right, you were in Jakarta back in the day.”

I was indeed. I have the battlescars to prove it too.” I pointed to my neck with my fork.

His eyes widened. “That’s right. Wow.” For the first time that weekend, I had sent him back into the bowels of his memory.

“It’s a good story for the grandkids someday.”

The conversation wound itself around us and back again. Zac, of course, had me gasping for breath with laughter. More than once, I had to hold my napkin to my mouth to stop from spitting out my food in hysterics.

“Are you getting closure?” A meatball was getting the best of Zac. He stabbed at it with a fork but it rolled away.

“Not at all. This is just making me miss it all the more.”

He cackled like a witch. “So my evil plan is working.”

“Well this is a unique circumstance. Tomorrow I have to get on a train and go back to reality. You leave in a few days for L.A. to carry on.”

“Actually, I’m leaving tomorrow too. I pushed up the flight. No sense moping around the apartment by myself, with no one to talk to but the voices in my head.”

“Aww. You’ll get lonely without me?”

“I will. Plus no more maid service and where’s the fun in that? I thought Kate could fly up but she can’t.” He leaned back dangerously far in his chair to stretch.

“So are you guys serious?”

“Yup. I found her. We’re in it for life.”

“That’s so great. I must admit I’m jealous. Me, I’m still trying to get a guy to give me the time of day.”
“That bad?”

“No but it’s the easy explanation.”

“And the hard, and, I imagine, lengthy, explanation?”

“I don’t know. I just expect him to walk up to me someday and announce that he’s my true love. I’ll make a smart-ass remark about him taking his sweet time finding me. We’ll kiss and skip on to our happily-ever-after.”

“And this is your plan?”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence. But, it’s my daydream, yes. Hey, don’t judge me. We don’t all find our love at, what, thirteen? It’s not always that simple.”

“Actually, fourteen. No…well, I guess I’d have been-”

“Thank you, I got it.”

“Who was your last boyfriend?”

“Bryan. We broke up about a year ago. I’m not one for casual dating. I seem to gravitate toward guys for long relationships, not flings.”

“Well that’s good to know. I’d hate to think that you grew up to be a whore.”

“Zac! (Thankfully, I didn’t have anything in my mouth or I would have spit it out)  Ohmygod. Well, minus the open-door policy in my sophomore year of college…”

“Damn, I’m sorry I missed that.”

My foot met his shinbone under the table. “Ouch.”

“Ew Zac, you’re like my little brother.”

“I know. Besides, you’re such a liar. The day you become a whore is the day I give it all up to become an accountant.”

“I could be.”

“No you couldn’t. Sam, please, you made Isaac hide behind the tour buses when you two were kissing until well into your relationship.”

“I’m a private person.”

“Private? Or prude?”

“Wow, well, good to know the mud slinging has begun.”

“Come on, Isaac used to bemoan your virtue to us all.”

“He never could keep his big trap shut, could he?”

“Still can’t.”

My curiosity got the better of me. It was encouraged by our easy banter. “So what’d he think of me?”

“What am I, your informant? Am I Watson, to your Sherlock? Agent 99, to your 86? Sonny, to your Cher? Laurel, to your Hardy? Lone Ranger, to your Tonto? Robin, to your Batman? Clyde, to your Bonnie?”

“Thank you Zac. I got the joke. Don’t beat it.”

“You sure? I could keep going.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t care.”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Why, is it that bad?” I leaned forward, nervous.

“You are so gullible. No it isn’t bad.” He laughed. “He was shocked, same as Tay and I. It was a surprise. He, like the rest of us, wanted to know why you stopped by, how you were, etc.”

I cut in. “I’m fine.”

“Yes, thank you.” He rolled his eyes. “I ascertained that for myself. It was rhetorical.”

“Oh.” “He won’t admit it but I bet he’s confused, a bit hurt, annoyed-”

“Annoyed? Why?”

“Sam.”

“Sorry.”

“How would you feel if he showed up at your work one day out of the blue?” Thrilled? Ecstatic? Overjoyed?  Out loud though, I said “confused?”

“Exactly. There ya go.”

“Why did you show up?”

“My cover story was closure but not really, I’m 24. College is over. My friends have all scattered. Some are getting married, talk of babies has seeped into conversations, etc. I don’t know, I guess it’s a bit of an identity crisis. I only see forty years of indentured servitude in my future. The gloom of bills hangs over my head. It’s the same crap that everyone else goes through. We all question our lives, where we’re going. What we’re doing.”

“I figured I’d go back to where I felt comfortable and see if I could reidentify, perhaps gain some insight and perspective.” I exhaled loudly. “So, there ya go, my neurosis in a nutshell.”

“Wow, Sam, you are one F-ed up girl, you know that?” There are times when his humor is mis-directed.

“Thanks for that. I feel much better.”

“You are right. We all go through that. I’ve felt some of that, I know the other two have; friends have. It happens. But, still, you’re seriously messed up in the-” He tapped the side of his head.

Cara, the ever-present waitress in our evening, walked over, slowly ringing her hands. “We’re gonna close soon. Can I bring you the check?”

“Yeah, thanks.” I reached into my bag to get my wallet but Zac had his out of his back pocket already. He handed over one of the numerous cards inside. “Are you even old enough to have that many credit cards?”

“And the bills to prove it. Put your money away. It’s on me.”

“You sure?”

“If it ever got back to my family that you paid, even for yourself, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Hmm. Chivalry isn’t dead, I guess.” While collecting my bag, I said, somewhat undecidedly. “Is it sad that this is the best dinner I’ve had in a long time?”

“Yes” He put his arm across my shoulders.

He was my link to a fun past that made sense to me. All that time, avoiding it and pretending it didn’t happen was my loss. I missed out on good friends.

“So, where to next?” I stretched my arms out wide.

“I don’t know. Wanna see a movie?”

“Not really. I’m kinda beat. I’m ready to head back to the apartment.”

“We can do that.”

“Hey, how about I make breakfast in the morning? You’re flight’s not until the afternoon, right?”

“That’s cool.” He stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Do you have anything in the fridge?”

“Milk. Not much, cuz we’re leaving.”

“All right, we’ll hit the market.”

Shopping with Zac is like shopping with a six year-old. You have to watch him constantly and make sure he doesn’t touch anything.

“I feel like your mother. ‘Stop.’ ‘Don’t touch.’”

“Please. Mom would have handcuffed me to the carriage by now, if I pulled this with her.”

“Your mom’s a smart woman.”

“Hey, do you have maple syr-” Zac was walking toward me with a shaken look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

He pulled the syrup out of my hand, dropped it in the basket, and hustled me down the aisle. “Keep moving. Act natural.”

“Do I want to know what you did?”
“No. Are you done? You know what, we’re done. We should probably leave.”

“I have the basics but-”

“That’s fine. Let’s go.” He grabbed the basket from my hand and pulled me toward the check out.

“Are you going to get us arrested?”

“No. The clean up crew’s not going to be happy when they see aisle 3 though.”

“You may look bigger and older but I’m convinced your brain’s still twelve.”

~*~*~

“Don’t touch.”

“Please?”

“No. I don’t want your gross fingers in the batter. Don’t you have something else you could be doing. Go take a shower, call your girlfriend, prank call your brothers. Anything.”

“Nah, I don’t feel like it.” He was draped over the counter in the kitchen, looking bored.

I rapped the spatula against his knuckles as he dove into the batter. “Ow! Sam!”

“Serves you right. I told you to knock it off.”

He sulked for a good five minutes.
“Did you miss us, when you left?”

I wasn’t really listening. I didn’t want to burn breakfast. “Yup.”

“Did you hate Isaac?”

I adjusted the heat on the stove. “No.”

“Were you angry at him?”

“Yes.” I heaved a sigh. “Are we playing twenty questions?”

“Yeah. I’m bored. Amuse me. How much did you miss us?”

“A lot.”
“How much is a lot?”

“Bunches and bunches?”

“Did you miss Taylor more than me?”

“No.”

“Jess?”

“No.”

“Mack?”

“No.”

“Isaac?”

“Yes.”

“What? You’re supposed to say no.”

“All right, no.”

“Liar.”

“I hate you. Go away.”

“Nope. You have the food. I’m here until you hand it over.”

~*~*~

“All right, so call me when you get home. I don’t want to worry that something happened.” Zac was making a scene at the train station. His voice echoed through the crowds.

“Got it. Are you ready for L.A.?”

“Yeah, I’m going to finish packing and then get a cab to the airport. I have my game,” he held up his handheld gaming system, “I’m all good.”

I leaned in. “Call me when you get settled or whatever.”

“I will.” He gave me another bone-crushing hug that almost lifted me off the ground.

“Thanks for the weekend.”
“Thanks for coming.”

“It was fun. I had a great time.”

The train pulled away. I didn’t wait to see Zac leave. Goodbyes are not my favorite. I settled into a seat and pulled out the magazine I had just bought at the station.

The front pocket of my backpack vibrated. I flipped it open. Zac’s number appeared on the screen. “Yes?”

“Do you miss me yet?”

I laughed. “Have you left yet? I bet if I looked out the window I could still see you.”

“Whatever.” Click.

Every half hour for the first few hours of the train ride, I got “do you miss me yet?” phone calls.

Zac’s words nagged at me for weeks after my NYC trip: “Isaac internalized what we all felt.” It never occurred to me that the family would react to my departure. Granted, in my selfish way, I wanted Isaac to find me and demand that we stay together, but I brushed over the fact that the family would miss me. I banked on Isaac missing me, disregarding how the rest of the family would feel. As is the way for most of us, I highlighted only what I wanted to remember.

While sitting in traffic on the highway one night, about three weeks after New York City, I decided that I should apologize to Isaac. There’s no statute of limitations on apologies so, I figured, six years was acceptable; long enough that the wounds had faded and the hurt had subsided but not so long that memories would have to be refreshed or details rehashed.
My fingers tapped against the thick plastic of my steering wheel. But, how does one go about apologizing for immature and unacceptable behavior in years prior? And what, exactly, am I apologizing for? The thought of apologizing for breaking his heart and him replying that that wasn’t the case made my stomach drop. Should I apologize for being a bitch? It sounded a bit hostile, vague and…crazy.

Also, I didn’t want Isaac to know that Zac and I had been talking, so perhaps it was best not to bring up the whole ‘internalizing the family’s anger’ thing. Sighing, I admitted to myself that this was more complicated that I imagined it would be.
 
How would I apologize? Phone? “Hi, Isaac, remember me? Oh yeah, by the way, sorry about that bit of nastiness back in the day. Bye!”
Letter? I could type it out in super huge font and mail it to him: I’M SORRY.

That sums up what I want to stay. I could even text that to his cell phone…but what if he texts back ‘4 what?’

Perhaps it was best to let the past rest where it is.

~*~*~

 

Our old refrigerator became a "Where in the World is Zac?" collage in the weeks after my New York trip. Zac sent postcards at least twice a week:
"Wish You Were Here" was scrawled on the back of a particularly desolate-looking postcard of a California desert complete with a dried animal carcass.
"The view is F.I.N.E. fine" on the back of a postcard with three blondes wearing bikinis.
He also wrote cryptic ones: "Ike's a brat. More later."
His addresses were always interesting as well: Samantha, Sam, Slammin' Sami, Sammy Sosa, Samanthagottalottaletters, oh yeah. Zac's a laugh riot. Our mailman must have thought he was a nut.
Jen even got into it. She suggested that I glue them all together to make a wall hanging.

"So, why does Ike suck?"
"He was pissing me off. Sometimes, I swear, he thinks he's the only one in the world with stress. Like we're all not going through the same thing. He's better because I gave him the smackdown. His wounds will heal, though, and he'll be back to his obnoxious self soon enough.”

“Violence, Zac? That’s never the right answer.” The baby-sitter tone of voice came back so easily.

“Oh shut up. You know him. Sometimes he just needs a swift kick to the head.”

“You’re so mean.”

“And, yet, so right. Anyway, what's up with you?”
"Same old, same old. Work, bills, all that jazz. Where are you?"
"Airport. We're on our way to Asia."
"Ooh, Asia. Fun."
"It is. I like it. The fans go crazy and that's always good to see."
"I remember getting mobbed in, Tokyo, I think. I don't remember exactly. Tons of flashbulbs though. I remember that."
"That's Asia. They love us there."
"So aside from Isaac's hissy fit, what else is new with you?"
"I don't know. I'm pacing the airport waiting to board. Have you been getting my postcards?"
"Like clockwork. Jen thinks that you're hilarious. She'll figure out that you're not though - everybody does."
"I am hilarious. You just don't know what funny is."
I scoffed. "Yeah, that's it."
"Isaac's flagging me down, hold on." I heard muffled but yet still distinctly annoyed voices back and forth.

 

More voices.

 

Still with the voices back and forth.

Clearly, Zac had some stuff to discuss.

I heard rustling through the phone line and Zac's voice, attitude-laden, directed at someone else: “Don't worry. I'm right here. It's not like you can leave without me. I think people will notice if I'm not  there.”

In the back of my head, I heard an echo of a high-pitched squeak from a 12-year old Zac. "Geez Taylor, relax. They're not gonna leave. It's not like they won't notice if we're not there.” Zac’s standing in bright yellow pants with Taylor, straining under the weight of an overstuffed backpack, near the elevator doors of a hotel, both late as usual.

Some things really never change.

"You still there?"
"Do you have to go?"
"No, I'll keep chatting. We're not on the plane yet-" He lowered his voice and spoke directly into the phone. “My fellow flyers don't look like a particularly speedy or perceptive group. I fear we may never get off the ground.”
I laughed out loud. “I feel like that's the way it always is. Thousands of years of technological and human advances and we still can't board or exit a plane in a prompt manner.”
“There's a reason those space shuttles only seat four to six people in them...” Zac’s always good for a laugh.

We reached a lull in conversation. The niceties were over and we didn't have much else to talk about. The quips between us only last so long. I struggled to come up with a conversation topic that didn't require us to stroll down memory lane. I really wanted to know Zac now, not rehash my 12 year-old version of him.
"So what's in Asia?"
"Fans."
I sighed loudly. "Thank you, Zac. What else?"
"We have promo for the record. We figure that Asia is the best place to start the machine. The possible fan base there is huge."
I paced the kitchen floor in my worn, fuzzy slippers, daydreaming about flying off to Asia with the guys. "What's on the docket?"
"The usual - sit-downs, radio, television. I'm sure that there will be a short Asian television host in my near future yelling at an already-screaming audience, pumping them up before we come on."
"Asia is sensory overload. I feel like it's such a frantic pace, sometimes worse than New York."
"I agree. It's fun but it also feels like I'm on a caffeine high most of the time."
"You've got to admit, it's still pretty cool."
"Oh, absolutely, I wouldn't trade this. It beats a 9 to 5."
I hate when reality invades a nice daydream. My vision of standing in an airport, standing next to Isaac, laughing disappeared as Zac reminded me of my own dust-filled cubby hole of an office. "That it does. The furthest I've traveled for my job was Vegas and I had to share a closet-sized room with a chain smoking co-worker whose sole goal was to spend as much time inebriated in the arms of random guys as she could."
"Sounds like my kind of woman."
While rolling my eyes, I replied "oh please, I hope you have higher standards."
"I do but she just sounds like such a lovely girl." Zac does love to tease me. "Can you set us up on a date?"
"I'm going to go along with this charade in the hopes that you're joking and/or the cabin pressure of whatever plane you're getting on has scrambled your brains."
"I bet Mom'd love her. I'm sure Kate wouldn't mind if I stepped out with another girl for the night. She's understanding."
"She'd have to be to put up with you."
"So, tell me more about your Vegas showgirl co-worker. I'm intrigued.”

~*~*~

“I’m having another ‘I still haven’t graduated yet’ parties on Friday. Are you around?” Jen stood in the kitchen, in front of the stove, cooking something that smelled like death sauteed with raw eggs. My nose wrinkled in protest. “What are you making?”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“Yeah I’m around. Thanks for giving me three days’ notice.”

“Get over it. It’s just a few people over; Sean’s bringing a co-worker. I guess he’s new there. Ah well, at least it’s someone new around here.” Sean, also known as, ‘the ex that just won’t die’ is Jen’s personal six-foot-tall lapdog. They dated briefly sophomore year and he’s been following her around ever since. Most of the time they’re great friends but every eight months or so he’ll start badgering her about why they don’t date and how perfect they are for each other, etc.

Throughout the evening, I did my best to play co-hostess without rolling my eyes too much. Jen’s a social butterfly. We get along because she’s more outgoing whereas I’ve grown shy in my old age. Mingling is hardly my favorite pastime but, when forced, I do it reasonably well.

I floated between groups of mutual friends with my glass of pseudo-cheap red wine in hand.

Loud voices from the doorway pulled me away from the conversation I was in. Sean came through the door shadowed by a blond guy that looked like he’d rather be anywhere but there. Get in line, buddy, I thought.

Signaling to Jen that fresh meat had just arrived, I settled back into a mind-numbing conversation with Jen’s cousin about investments.

“Sam?” Jen’s voice brought me out of my investment banking-induced coma. I tried to look interested, really I did, he just doesn’t make it sound interesting.

“Hmm?”

“This is Peter, Sean’s new co-worker. I’m trying to introduce him.” That’s Jen, always the gracious hostess. If it were me, I’d have forgotten him and left him for dead in a sea of unfamiliar piranha-like strangers.

I switched the wine glass from my right to my left and stuck out my hand. “Pete, how are you?”

“Er.” Huh? His lips barely moved. I blinked between him and Jen. “Excuse me?”

“Er. PetER, please.”

“Oh!” I laughed nervously to cover my embarrassment.

I mentally cataloged him into my ‘fruitcake’ file and disregarded him. Obviously, if he nickname is that important to him, he must have deep-rooted issues.

Jen gave me a look that said, “I know what you’re doing. Stop it. Be polite. He’s very nice.” Yes, one look can say all that. Jen and I have perfected the art of unspoken conversation.

As quickly as I could, I extracted myself, feigning a refill.

Nodding to people as I passed, I moved to the kitchen with stealth-like speed. Our stovetop moonlights as a bar for parties and had several open bottles of liquor waiting to be emptied. I pulled the cork out of the red wine and poured. “Samantha?” The wine bottle slipped from my grasp but I caught it as it banged against the metal. “Ohmygosh, you scared me!” PetER stood a few feet away.
“I’m sorry to frighten you. Any chance that I can get another drink?” He moved slowly toward me with an empty Corona bottle in his hand, shaking it to show that it was, indeed, empty.

“Of course! They’re in here-” I crossed to the refrigerator and pulled one out. “Actually, Jen’s so good, she bought limes as well. I never remember the little details.” Oh how I hate awkward conversation.

“I noticed that.” His voice was deep, almost unnaturally so. He stood about four inches taller than me. Tall enough to wear heels but not so tall that I’d need a stepladder.

I, being the classy lady that I am, used the bottom hem of my shirt to twist open the beer bottle, instead of our bottle opener, which sat a mere two feet away. Maybe he didn’t notice. “Here ya go.”

He took the bottle from me and leaned against the counter. “So, you work in Boston?”

“I do. I work for a marketing company. It’s fairly basic stuff, nothing exciting. What do you do?”

“I work with Sean at the Passport office.”

“Oh, god, right. Duh!”

“How’d you end up there? You just started, right?”

“I was in the Peace Corps when I got out of college – traveled to Bolivia for two years.”

“Oh wow. That’s so interesting. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone in the Peace Corps before.” Please don’t let him launch into a tirade about animal rights or campaign finance. My mind tuned him out again. I nodded my head and politely tried to look interested but, really, the last thing I needed was a granola-crunching, tree-hugging hippie in my life. It’s not that I’m against politics but Jen’s major was Political Science and I heard enough about politics and campaigns already.

“You’re bored, aren’t you?” His deep voice pierced through the fog in my brain.

My automatic, knee-jerk reply: “Of course not.”

“It’s okay. I know that I tend to talk a lot.”

“No, no, it’s okay. You were saying…?”

He deadpanned, “nothing that interested you.” Ouch. I didn’t expect that. Was he joking? Or was he really peeved that I wasn’t paying attention?

I recovered with a smile. “I’m sure Jen’s wondering where I went and Sean’s probably looking for you. Let’s head back in there.” Because you’re boring me to pieces and I can’t take it anymore.

He was handsome, I had to admit. He must be Scandinavian because his eyes were ice blue; combined with blond hair, he must be some sort of Viking ancestry. Not that I cared. He was a fruitcake who saved animals, probably recycled all of his trash and despised nicknames. Like I need one of those in my life.

“Jen! Did you miss us?” I smiled brightly.

“Uh…no. Was I supposed to?” I grasped her shoulders a bit too tight and gave her a look that said, “I’m going to kill you later.”

She picked up the hint. “Peter have you met…”

~*~*~

The clean up for the party was relatively simple. Jen and I gossiped as we made our way through the mess.

“What did you think about Peter?” Jen yelled from the other room.

I yelled back. “Aside from the fact that he’s a hardcore hippie?”

“Sam, stop it. You don’t know that.”

I bent over the table to wipe it down. “He was in the Peace Corps, Jen. Who else but hippies do that?”

“He seemed genuinely interested in conversation with us.”

“How’s Sean going to react when you tell him that you want to date PetER?,” stressing the ending for affect.

“Really, Sam, is that necessary? There’s no reason to make fun.”

“Oh come on, Jen. What person doesn’t like nicknames?”

“Not a hippie.” She had me there. He didn’t dress like one. He had on a nice shirt and clean jeans. I think he even wore loafers – no Birkenstocks in sight. “Besides, I don’t want to date him. I want YOU to date him.”

I could almost hear the sound of imaginary brakes squealing in my head. “What? Why?”

“I don’t like this whole ‘Hanson family’ business. It’s not healthy.”
She had my full attention. ”What do you mean ‘it’s not healthy’?”

Her slippers slid across the tile floor as she walked over. “I don’t like it. I think you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.”

The sponge I used to wipe down the table felt sticky against my hand. “I don’t think so.”

“That’s because you’re too close to the situation.”

“But, I like that I got in touch with them again. I thought you supported that decision.”

Jen quirked her head. “I didn’t really have a choice – you told me about it after the fact. Do I think that it’s a good idea to have closure? Yes. Do I think you should continue with the phone calls and such? Probably not.”

“Why?”

“Why are you talking to them?”
“Because I-“ The bullshit answer wavered on the tip of my tongue, ready to take the leap.

“No, REALLY, why are you talking to Zac and laughing about old times?”

My marketing/PR spin spewed out of my mouth. “Well, it’s good to remember our shared past. We encountered many extraordinary adventures that most people never have the chance to experience.”

“And that’s the only reason that you’re bringing all of this up now? The only reason?” 

“Well, obviously, I needed to resolve a past relationship.”

“Is it resolved?”

I opened my mouth to answer but shut it again.

“Exactly. Sam, if you haven’t done it yet, you’re not going to do it. Don’t do this to yourself.” Her tone softened. “I wish that you could compartmentalize the different aspects of Isaac and his family and your shared experiences but you can’t. I know you can’t. It’s not fair to you. You need to move on.”

“But what if?”

“What if, what? Come on, we could spend every hour of the day dreaming about the ‘what ifs.’” That moment was not the occasion to mention that that’s exactly what I had been doing since I saw them at the radio station.

She was right; I knew she was. I just didn’t want to admit it. Admitting that she was right meant that I had to give up on Isaac and me. I knew there was no chance for us. Heck, I knew that when we ended back in ’98 but there was a little light inside of me that hoped that someday we could get together again.

“Sam, really, when does first love really survive? Do you know anyone that is still in love with their first love?”

No. And I confessed that, even though it killed me to.

My shoulders slunk and I heaved a heartbreaking sigh. “It just sucks.”

“I know it does but it’s only going to get worse. Let it go. Let them go.” She was bordering on Oprah-like preaching.

“All right, enough. No more. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

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