“Do you want a—”
Zoe trailed off when there was a knock at the door. Their reaction, when Zoe thought about it, was comical. They both sat up, frowned, and stared at each other. Zoe could see her own thoughts reflected in her mother’s face. Had they ordered something? Had Dulcie had a fall? (She rarely came by after dark.) The idea that someone would come, unbidden, to their door was simply unfathomable.
“You get it,” her mom said finally, which was a surprise. Chemo must have had more of an effect on her than Zoe thought.
Zoe opened the door. Immediately she wanted to close it again.
“Hey,” Harry said.
Zoe’s humiliation came back like a punch. The debate. Peeing herself. Harry’s face, as he watched the whole thing. She wanted to die, literally, right here, right now.
“I tried calling,” he said, “but you didn’t pick up.”
Zoe stared at him. “How did you know where I lived?”
“Emily told me. She was worried.”
“Emily was worried?”
He glanced past her, into the apartment. “Can we talk?”
Zoe didn’t want to talk. She wanted to slam the door and hide—or better yet, move to a new neighborhood. But her mom had appeared at the door beside her and was staring at Harry with such amazement that it was almost funny. Almost.
“Um, okay,” she said.
She opened the door further, letting Harry in. Her mom continued to stand there, the three of them forming a weird triangle. Zoe tried to imagine what her mom was seeing. Harry—a guy!—arriving on her daughter’s doorstep. It was as ridiculous as if Santa himself had shown up.
“Uh … Mom?”
“Sorry,” she said, a fraction too slow on the uptake. “Yes. Right. I was uh … about to lie down.” She gave Zoe a meaningful look, which might have been trying to convey either excitement or terror, then reluctantly disappeared.
Zoe waited until her mom’s door had shut before turning to Harry. He was already sitting on the couch. As surreal as it was, Zoe didn’t feel as uncomfortable as she would have expected, having Harry in her apartment. It was almost as if, after what she’d done today, any other humiliation was small fry.
“It wasn’t as bad as you think,” he said before she could speak.
“Sure.” Zoe sat on the floor, her eyes in line with his knees.
“We continued with the debate. I did your part. Most people just felt really bad for you. And FYI, Amy totally choked on her part too. Stumbling all over the place and her hands were shaking.”
“Did she pee herself?”
“No. But Jimmy farted and blamed it on a squeaky chair leg.”
Zoe felt like she should smile but she couldn’t muster it. They fell into silence.
“Listen, I figured you’d be feeling pretty bad after today,” he said. “I wanted to come and make you feel better.”
“That’s sweet, but I don’t like your chances.”
“Steel yourself then,” he said, and Zoe did. If there was one thing she was good at, it was steeling herself. “I have Crohn’s disease.”
Zoe blinked. That wasn’t what she was expecting.
“What’s—”
“—Crohn’s disease? It’s a chronic inflammatory disease of the gastrointestinal tract.” He said it like he was reciting it from a dictionary, then added, “I know. Sexy right?”
Zoe was stunned silent.
“It’s why I’m not playing football any more. It’s why I often have to step out of class. And it’s why I was late to the debate today. I never know when it’s going to flare up.”
Zoe wasn’t sure at what point she started looking Harry in the eye. “Will it … will it kill you?”
“Unlikely. But there’s no cure. It’s a lifelong illness that has to be managed. This summer the doctors removed a foot of my small intestine. They thought it would give me some reprieve from symptoms for a while, but less than two months on, I’m having flare-ups again.”
“So you can’t play football with Crohn’s?”
“Technically you can. But let’s just say you don’t want to be in the middle of a game or a practice when you have a flare-up. Anyway I’ve lost a lot of weight since I was diagnosed last year, and I get epic joint pain now, which makes it hard to play.”
Zoe had no idea what to say.
“It isn’t the most glamorous of illnesses. The guys knew I was having surgery this summer, so I said it was for my knee. My dad just had knee surgery—it gave me the idea.” Now Harry looked shy, which was a first. “Anyway, like I said, I understand embarrassment. Believe me.”
“I have social anxiety disorder,” Zoe blurted out. After Harry’s admission she felt an unstoppable urge to be free of her own burden. “With panic attacks. Usually a panic attack makes me feel like my heart is going to explode and I can’t breathe and stuff. But today it made me … pee. I also never know when it’s going to happen, but I knew today would be a risk. I just didn’t know how bad it would be.”
“That sucks.”
“Yep.”
“I definitely have it worse though,” Harry said after a moment.
Zoe scoffed. “Please. No you don’t.”
“Sure I do. You only pee yourself. I shit myself. Fairly regularly.”
Zoe stared at him. “You…?”
“Uh-huh. I have to carry spare underwear at all times.”
Zoe took a moment to digest that. Suddenly she understood where Harry disappeared to during class. What his appointments were for. Why it was easier for him to study at home. Why the fake knee injury.
“Well … at least no one knows what’s wrong with you,” she said. “I can’t even have a normal conversation with anyone without blushing.”
“I. Shit. Myself,” Harry repeated, deadpan. “I think it’s best if we just stop this conversation and agree that I have it worse.”
Zoe started to giggle. It was the most unusual conversation. But for once, unbelievably, she didn’t feel awkward.
“Well, my mom has cancer,” she said. “So I think I still win.”
She was saying it in a jokey way, but mid-delivery she realized it wasn’t really very funny. The smile disappeared from Harry’s eyes.
“Your mom has cancer?” He sat forward and rested his hand lightly on her knee. Despite the context, Zoe felt her heart race a little.
“Yep. She’s acting like it isn’t so bad, but I don’t believe her. I think … I think she might be going to die.”
Her voice broke on die, and Harry slid off the couch onto the floor beside her. “Wow, that’s…,” he started, then sighed. “Fine. You have it worse.”
Zoe surprised herself by laughing. Harry laughed too, but respectfully. Zoe looked at him. His eyes, so full of concern. How had she not realized how perfect his face was before?
He watched her contemplatively for a moment, and Zoe felt her breath quicken. “So, now that I’ve told you that I shit myself, would it gross you out if I kissed you?” He stroked the side of her face with his thumb.
Zoe smiled. “Surprisingly, it wouldn’t.”
He smiled back, taking her face in his hands.
And then, they were kissing.