The Love Story (The Things We Can't Change Book 4) (18 page)

“I’m only seventeen,” I say bluntly. “I just want to be
normal
. I want to make silly mistakes and go on cheesy dates and go to college. I want to go to parties and fail a class and have someone care enough to be angry with me about it. I want to make new friends and not be afraid to hug someone when I tell them hello. I just… want to
live
, for the very first time forever. On my terms, not someone else’s. I’ve realized that part of why I’m struggling is that I’m not used to being able to make my own choices. Tony always made them for me. Or having him around dictated my options. I know it’s been kind of obvious to everyone else, but it kind of just occurred to me last night that I can do whatever I want now, and I’ve realized I
want
that.”

Zeke is quiet through my speech, watching me seriously. Once I’m done I fall silent, wondering what he’s going to say. I want him to tell me he loves me. That this is good enough, that we can get back together and work on it—together.

“So you’ve figured out what you want,” he says at last. “And it all has my vote. Now you just have to figure out how to get it all.”

I disguise my disappointment by looking down at the blanket. I wanted him to be
proud
, to at least tell me I’m getting somewhere. To tell me that he will gladly take me out on cheesy dates and be there for me every step of the way.

“I thought you were supposed to tell me there’s no such thing as normal,” I grumble instead.

He laughs and I feel satisfaction that at least I can still do that much.

“Evie, there’s no such thing as normal,” he says, clearly and articulately with mock seriousness. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t strive to be your version of normal. I do have faith that you’ll get there eventually.”

“Thanks.” I wrinkle my nose at him and silence reigns again.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m feeling masochistic or if it’s maybe because I’m feeling ever-so-slight annoyance that Zeke seems to be keeping a careful distance from me. Emotionally, at least. Or maybe it’s because I’m already not having the greatest day and I see nothing wrong with possibly flushing it completely down the toilet.

Whatever the reason, I decide, why the hell not?

“I have something else I wanted to talk to you about.” The words are out before I’ve concretely decided I’m going to do this. No backing out now.

“Hmm?” Zeke is still staring at the TV.

I try and gather all my scattered thoughts. “I… I could never talk rationally to Tony like that. About any problems with our relationship, because everything was always my fault. So this is kind of new to me. I’m… trying.”

Now Zeke looks at me. There’s a guarded look to his eyes and a stiffness to his body. I know I should drop it here and now. But I’ve got to ask. I’ve got to know. And something deep inside tells me that Zeke has to hear it.

I take a deep breath and then let it out, and then wonder why I always think that will give me courage. It’s just air. But it does make me feel marginally braver.

“You’ve been distant lately,” I blurt out.

Zeke opens his mouth, undoubtedly to protest, but I hold up a hand. I need to get it all out, no matter what his reaction.

“Part of our break was so I could get confidence, stop thinking that I was at the root of every bad mood or short word that you said. I’m trying hard not to think I’m what’s causing this. Except I can’t help but wonder. And then I also think about the things we said we would work on in Florida. You’re doing an amazing job with your art. It’s just that I can’t help but notice that living with Alex isn’t doing much to help your relationship with your dad.”

“Evie,” Zeke says warningly, removing his arm from around my shoulders. “Don’t.”

“Yes. We have to talk about it. And I have to point out that dropping me like a hot potato so I can work on my problems all alone and then avoiding me so I can’t help or push with your dad doesn’t seem to do much for either of us.”

“But that’s how it has to be,” Zeke says through gritted teeth. “And I don’t want to talk about it. So
drop it.
”

“But that’s not fair!” I cry plaintively. Frustration flows through me, hot and strong.

“I think you know by now that life is hardly ever fair,” Zeke replies. His voice is quiet but hard as granite, as are his eyes.

“I do know that,” I snap, finally pushed past the breaking point. “I’ve had it drilled into me many times in the past, thank you. I’m not talking about life in general though. I’m talking about you and me. And our relationship and our healing. It’s not fair that you get a free pass on your problems when I’m suffering and trying my damned hardest to get past it all so I can be with you again.”

Zeke vaults up from the couch, running a hand over his short hair and pacing for a moment before turning to me, his face hard. “Evie, stop!” he commands. “I’m… dealing with it. I’m going to. Just not right now. I’ll do it on my own time.”

It suddenly occurs to me that his words are just as empty as my own whenever he tells me I need to deal with Clarissa. A typical teenage response, devoid of actually meaning and intent;
Later. I’ll do it later, I promise.
Is his problem, I wonder, the same as my own? He just doesn’t know
how
?

“Zeke,” I say cautiously, aware of his agitated movements. “If you aren’t sure how or need help, or, or
anything
, you know I-”

“
No
,” he says forcefully. There’s a bright, wild look in his eyes that is totally unwarranted for such a conversation and I don’t know how I missed it before. “I don’t need your help. I don’t
need
anyone. Not you and especially not my dad. So just lay the fuck off, all right?”

There’s total silence as we stare at each other for a full minute, both our eyes wide with shock. I can’t believe that he actually talked to me like that. Not the Zeke of now. Maybe the past Zeke, before this summer, would say that. But
my
Zeke?

And then it hits me, falls into my mind like a ton of bricks. The realization. The truth.

I’m not the only one falling into old patterns.

Before I can speak, decide what to do or how, exactly, to handle this. Zeke turns toward the stairs.

“I’ve gotta go,” he mutters.

I don’t try and stop him as I might have before. Clearly, we need some space right now and I, for once, feel completely all right with it. I need to think on my own for a while.

The thought echoes through me at last, reassuring and fortifying and finally something I actually believe. Zeke isn’t pulling away because he doesn’t love me.

He’s pulling away because he
does
love me. He’s just scared of the fact.

And I don’t know what to do about that either.

Evangeline

101

I try to work on my victim speech after Zeke leaves, but everything I come up with seems pathetic or contrived. I want to just scrawl,
know what makes a victim? You’re looking at one!
Then I tell myself to stop being so pitiful. But failure to work on the speech only makes my thoughts roam and turn to Zeke before I can stop them.

It isn’t long before I simply give up and go to bed, waking with even less zeal for the day ahead than I’d had when going to bed the night before. Zeke doesn’t wait for me outside of school and I don’t see him until lunch, which he spends more or less ignoring me. I resign myself to the already-terrible day and tell myself over and over that I just have to get through it, that’s all. At least I have Jenny to help me suffer through it.

She and I swing into the room for our dance committee meeting, both of us in melancholy spirits. I don’t know if my own mood is simply contagious or if she has problems of her own, whether at home or perhaps with Koby. I want to ask if there has been any improvement on that front but I’ll feel bad if I can’t drum up the appropriate sympathy. I decide to wait to ask until my own problems aren’t dominating on my mind.

I take my usual seat between Koby and Jenny and they refuse to look at each other. I wonder if I even need to bother asking the question. I sigh quietly and wish I could just go back to summertime, just Zeke and me with the rest of the world at bay.

Mr. Riordan enters next and the whole room seems to take a breath. Despite being his usual cheerful self last period, he doesn’t look happy right now. In fact, he looks as though he could either burst into tears or punch a hole in the wall. He walks over to the empty desk and sets his briefcase on it before bracing his hands on the desk and looking out over the room.

“Well, kids,” he says solemnly. “I’m afraid there’s been a minor setback.”

“Don’t tell me the DJ cancelled,” Paula groans. “Three years ago when you DJ’d it was
not
cool, Mr. R. I’m sorry, but no.”

“The DJ is still in but apparently we don’t have a place for him to play. The hotel ballroom flooded last night and won’t be repaired in time. They can no longer accommodate us.”

Silence falls over the room for a heavy, incredulous moment. No venue?

“But… but where are we going to find a new one with one week’s notice? That can accommodate our budget?” Koby asks.

“I’m afraid that will be almost impossible,” Mr. Riordan says sadly. “We’ll have to hold homecoming in the gym like usual.”

“The gym?” Alison yelps. “But we only were able to charge extra because we had a venue. We’ll have to refund everyone! There will be a revolt if we don’t!”

“And our prom will suck just like every other prom has without the extra money,” Paula agrees glumly.

“I’m sorry, but unless someone knows of a venue we can get cheap and at a week’s notice that doesn’t have a foot of water on the floor or involve a murder, we’re stuck with the gym,” Mr. Riordan says firmly.

Koby, Jenny and I all trade looks. I know we all have the same idea but none of us looks very excited about the prospect.

“Come on,” Koby whispers, and it sounds dangerously close to a whine. “I work there. I don’t want to party there too.”

“We all hate the club,” Jenny agrees, her and Koby united for once. “And Tony even tried to kill you there, remember?”

I give her a frosty glare. “Gee, thanks, I’d almost forgotten.”

She instantly looks so guilty that I feel bad.

“Never mind that,” I say quickly. “Look, I know we don’t want to. But the fact of the matter is that the club is a way nicer venue than anything else we’re able to afford. Most people here haven’t even set foot in a country club unless it was for prom. They’d love it. We’d be the dance committee heroes for years to come.”

“But they could be booked,” Jenny argues. “And why would we get it cheap?”

“Because members and employees have certain rights and discounts,” I point out. “We’ll force them to combine all three of ours or something. And my dad helped with hundreds of events there.”

“The weather is supposed to be good all week,” Koby says slowly. “We could ask for the room with the terrace and outside gazebo. There’s only one wedding this weekend and I think it’s on Sunday. But it’s such short notice…”

I smile because I’ve been saving the most important piece of information for last. “You guys are forgetting one thing.”

They raise their eyebrows at me.

“Who’s the manager in charge of club social events?” I ask, grinning outright.

Koby can’t keep a smile off his face as Jenny looks between us in confusion.

“Who?” she asks.

Koby actually smiles at her. “Alexander Quain.”

I’m already raising my hand and waving it. “Mr. Riordan? We
may
have an idea.”

I want to go to the club first thing that day, but Koby has a mysterious ‘thing’ to attend right after the dance committee meeting and Jenny flatly refuses to go with me. Coward that I am, I don’t want to go all by myself, so I agree to go with Koby the next day and tag-team it. This means that Jenny gets to not go with the excuse of having dance class, and she says goodbye to us outside the Speech classroom with relief plain on her face. As soon as my own problems are sorted out, I decide firmly, I will be working on Jenny and Koby.

Koby and I walk into the club as prisoners headed to the gallows, through the double doors, down the hallway and into the dining room. My dread is mixed with a strange sense of anticipation at what we’re doing and I’m not sure which is stronger. I hate being here, can’t believe I suggested the idea, but in a way it’s like conquering one of my remaining fears from my time with Tony.

“You know, I can ask Alex if you want,” Koby offers, looking askance at my tight lips and stiff shoulders. “It’s not a big deal.”

I shake my head. “I’m the member, I should ask. Besides, you said you could sugar up the cook and that’s what Alex might battle us with. He always worked with my dad, too. I can play on his sympathies.”