I don’t want him to go.
I don’t want this to be over.
“It’s just a couple of weeks,” he says, like he’s reading my mind.
I nod, afraid that if I open my mouth, my voice will wobble and I’ll start crying.
Is this how it ends?
Zach sighs again, and steps toward me, enveloping my stiff body in a warm hug. I bury my face in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of his cologne like I might never smell it again, which I know is silly even as I do it. He kisses the top of my head then steps back, holding me at arm’s length.
“I love you. You know that, right?”
I nod, sniffling. Shit, I am crying. Brilliant. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I love you too.”
“I can still call Matty, if you want. Get him to come pick me up.”
I shake my head. “Take the car, Zach.”
“No. No, you might need it. It’s fine. I can take the bus into work.”
“Don’t be so silly. I can walk to the shops from here, and it’s not like I’m driving into the office right now or anything. You’ll need the car to get back for work.”
It’s going to be a long commute for him, but Zach was adamant that he’d leave, rather than me going back to my parents’ place. He’s always been sweet like that. Selfless. Wanting to make life easier for everyone else—like the way he wants to leave me the car, even though it makes sense for him to take it. Damn him, and his big heart.
I get the car keys off the hook near the door, pressing them into his hand. “Take the car, Zach.”
He’s ready to argue, but sees me smiling at him, and shakes his head, giving in. I grab his backpack, and the two of us step out of the apartment to really go somewhere for the first time in a week.
Mr. Harris, the caretaker who’s been keeping us all under careful lock and key all week, barks at us to “Keep your distance, folks.
Six feet, remember? Not having this bloody place being shut down again already.”
We hang back a little from the older lady who’s roughly our parents’ age leaving the building. She tries to hold the door for us before we all realize that’ll compromise the whole social distancing rule, so there’s an awkward back and forth before she gives us an apologetic shrug and lets the door go.
Outside, we stand out of the way on a patch of grass, facing each other again.
“Can I . . . ” Zach cuts himself off, biting his lip and frowning down at the floor. I wait, and eventually he takes a deep breath and tries again, “Can I call you, later?”
“I—I think . . . I think maybe it’s best you don’t, Zach. Not tonight, anyway. But maybe . . . maybe we can talk in a few days? Check in?”
“I promise I’m going to take this seriously,” he tells me, and he looks more sincere than I’ve ever seen him. There’s a gravity about him I’m not used to. “I’m really going to think about all of this. Us.
Our future. If we have one, what I want it to look like. I want us to make this work, Serena.”
“Me too. I just don’t want it to work in a way either of us are just . . . settling for, or don’t really want.”
He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Well, I’ll—I’ll call you, um, in . . . I’ll call you soon. And I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”
Even if it’s just to move out for good, seems to go unsaid, but we both know that might end up being the reality of it.
I step toward Zach to hug him again, and kiss his cheek before we part. “Drive safe.”
We both hesitate for a moment, but then Zach gives me a last smile, and heads off to the car park around the side of the building, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe.
Watching him go, I don’t feel as sad as I did upstairs, I realize. I’m scared, sure, but, if anything, I feel . . . at the very least, peaceful. This is the right thing, for both of us, even if this is it for us.
“Hey, Serena!”
I turn around, spotting Isla from down the hall waving to me from a little way off. She walks toward me, careful to keep a distance.
She’s in her slippers and a boy’s hoodie, and folds her arms over her chest. She’s not wearing makeup—which, I realize, is the first time I’ve ever seen her not all done up. Even when we were getting our shopping the other day, she was all dressed up with a full face of makeup. Without it, I see she’s got freckles, and a couple of spots on her chin, and she gives me a sympathetic smile, nodding her head in Zach’s direction.
“Was that Zach just leaving?”
“Um, yeah. He’s going to stay with his brother for a little while.
Just, um . . . ”
“I—I heard you guys arguing, earlier this week,” she tells me, her cheeks flushing as she admits it. “Did you sort it all out?”
Oh God, I hate that the neighbors all heard us arguing. I was scared she might have, but when she hadn’t mentioned it on Wednesday— or made any reference to it on her Instagram—I thought we might’ve gotten away with it.
I really hope they don’t think it was only about the pineapple pizza.
“We’re . . . working through some stuff, you know.”
She nods, her smile brightening a little. “I’m glad to hear it. I hope it’s—well, I hope you two work through it.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll get Zach’s things back to you as soon as I’ve washed them.
Thanks again for letting me borrow them. And if . . . if you ever want someone to talk to,” she adds, blushing, looking a bit unsure of herself, “we can always sit out here with a drink one day. If you wanted an impartial opinion, or whatever.”
“Uh . . . ”
I don’t know if Isla’s just after some gossip, or what, but she looks so sweet when she offers that I realize maybe she’s just a little lonely—and even though we can, like, actually leave the building now, it’s not like we can really go very far or socialize much; the rules have all changed so drastically in this last week we’ve been in lockdown.
I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have another friend to hang out with, or talk to about some of this stuff. Especially someone actually impartial, like she is. (Plus, I’d love to know more about this guy she’s been talking about on her Instagram all week. I had no idea she had a serious boyfriend.)
I guess I’d like to know that someone’s found their relationship is worth fighting for, this week.
So I smile, and say, “Sure. Yeah, I’d really like that.”
At the very least, it might take my mind off Zach.
I miss him already.
apartment #22 – olivia
Chapter Forty-five
Maid of Honor’s log, day WHO CARES IT’S FINALLY OVER OHMIGOD I AM FREE AT LAST HALLE-FREAKING-LUJAH SOUND THOSE CHURCH BELLS I AM FREE THEY ARE LEAVING.
I’m trying very hard not to get in the way of everyone, but it’s difficult.