Love Storm (15 page)

 
           "Victoria?" Zack called as he hung up his jackets (current and new) in the closet. His voice echoed.

 
           "Yes, Zack?" said a faraway, clear voice. A tall middle-aged woman stepped regally into the foyer and came over to us. Her dark brown hair was twisted up into a bun, and her light grey eyes looked at us inquisitively. She was elegant, and was beautiful in an aristocratic way despite her age. She must have been a real heartbreaker when she was younger, I decided. She was wearing a knee-length skirt, low-heeled pumps, and a nice blouse.

 
           "Victoria, this is Winter Bruin," Zack said. "Winter, this is Victoria."

 
           "Nice to meet you," I smiled.

 
           "Likewise," she said pleasantly as we shook hands. "You must stay for a late dinner." She had a slight musical lilt to her voice that I could not place.

 
           "Oh no, I couldn't," I said, embarrassed. "We've already eaten."

 
           "Well, you'll eat again," Victoria declared. "Besides, it's only 8."

 
           We chatted for a while. Zack was quiet, his anger now subsided to a suppressed kind of moodiness, then at a good moment he intervened and politely excused us and took me on a quick tour of the house. It might have qualified as a mansion. The only parts that looked lived in were Victoria's room, Zack's bedroom, the kitchen and dining room, and the smallest of the three living rooms. Everywhere else gave off an air of cool detachment and indifference.

 
           We joined Victoria downstairs for that quick dinner, and I found that she was an excellent chef – I'd even venture far enough to say that I enjoyed her cooking better than I do my own mother's. I quietly made small talk to fill up the silence, neatly engaging Victoria in conversation and trying to include Zack whenever I could – he was distant and brooding, and ate little, and he still had not told me anything.

 
           After dinner Zack led me to that small living room – it consisted of a small TV, a little coffee table littered with whatever kind of books and magazines he liked to flip through, one couch, and a large  armchair. I manned the latter, while Zack chose to sprawl himself out on the couch. I sat sideways on the armchair, hooking my knees over one arm and hanging my legs over, while resting my back on the other arm.

 
           When the two of us were seated comfortably in our respective places, he breathed a deep sigh and said, "I suppose you want me to tell you what it's all about, then."

 
           I nodded slowly. "Only if you want to tell me."

 
           Those mysterious golden eyes of his were locked on the blank television screen, but were unfocused, not seeing the solid object in front of him. "Sure," was all he said. I interpreted this to mean that he wanted to tell me.

 
           "My mom's from Italy," he started out. "And my dad grew up as one of those all-American jock boys. You know the type," he glanced at me, then returned his gaze to the screen, almost as if he could see pictures there that were giving him prompts. "Anyway, they're both into advertising. Met in college or something, and later became business associates. Got married, had me, and, maybe a month later, decided it would good for business to take their branch to Italy, where everything's expensive, and dumped me with their cook/maid/housekeeper, Victoria. So I had a childhood without them. I talked to them on the phone a lot when I was little, but gradually the phone calls got shorter and farther in-between."

 
           He continued on, and slowly, the pieces of his missing past came together. He grew up with Victoria; she was like a mother to him. The last time he had seen his parents had been six years ago, and since then, they had probably communicated three times on the phone. He never had any friends in elementary school; they all thought him odd because his parents never came to back-to-school-night, the Christmas presentations, or Bring Your Parent to School Day. He was the quiet and studious type in middle school, more likely to be found eating lunch alone on the bleachers than hanging out with friends at the basketball courts. Then, one day he began growing taller – filling out a little more, growing older and slamming into puberty in full force. That was the summer before ninth grade. The first day of high school came, and suddenly, all the girls wanted to know his name, all the guys began recognizing him and nodding and saying "hey" to him in the halls. For the first time in Zack's life, people were taking notice of him, all because of a couple inches and a lower voice.

 
           But he didn't push it away – he had had been alone for so long. Acceptance was a thing he had never known, especially not from his parents, and he drank it all in. But, slowly, he began realizing that acceptance was a funny thing – sure, now everyone in the school knew who he was, yet he was still without a single friend. Brock Davis began drifting toward him more and more, and yet Zack felt he had never really connected with Brock.

 
           "So there I was, and here I am now," he finished with a bitter chuckle. "Not alone, and yet still very lonely. Accepted by all, but friends with no one."

 
           "Friends with me," I interrupted softly, my heart aching for him, for this boy sitting in front of me, on the brink of manhood but still never having the chance to grow up inside or in his parents' eyes.

 
           He looked at me, eyes re-focused, and something in them was… almost grateful. But, "Perhaps," he said vaguely.

 
           "Not 'perhaps'," I said. "For sure."

 
           One corner of his mouth quirked up, just a little bit. "For sure, then. How sad is that?" he then asked wonderingly to the room at large. "All these years, and finally the one person who I make friends with is possibly eccentric."

 
           I gaped at him for a moment, then realized something, and laughed lightly. This was a good development – it was the first normal-Zack remark he had made all night. He gave me the smallest of grins.

 
           "So now they're coming back to visit. My parents, I mean," he muttered, and we sobered up again. "They're coming to visit me on their
vacation
. How terrible is that?" he spat, and I saw something in his eyes more clearly than I had sensed it all night – a slowly burning anger, covering up a bitterness that it turn hid things he would never let anyone see – a deep hurt, faint, desperate hopes that he knew would never come true, and an eternally unquenchable longing for the normal childhood he would never have.

 
           "Pretty terrible," I agreed in a murmur.

 
           "They'll probably bring back lots of presents, like they think they can buy me with their expensive Italian gifts."

 
           We were quiet for a long time, each immersed in our own thoughts.

 
           "Anyway," Zack finished at length. "That's about all there is to it. Any questions? Comments? You better ask now, because we're not going on another trip down memory lane for a long time," he half-warned.

 
           "Yea," I said. "What's up with all your girlfriends?"

 
           He chuckled. "I thought you would ask that sooner or later. All about Eva, huh?" he said, looking at me sideways.

 
           "Well, she
is
my best friend," I said.

 
           He shrugged. "All those people I went out with were part of the acceptance thing. Easy enough."

 
           "Eva's not part of that, now, is she?" I asked tentatively, not quite sure I wanted to hear the answer to that question.

 
           He looked down at his hands, playing with the edge of a pillow in his lap. "No," he said, a shadow of regret stirring in those beautiful eyes of his. "She's not. Eva's probably the first girl I've dated that I really liked. But see how that turned out," he said. "We're not even really friends. How can you go out with someone that you're not friends with?"

 
           "You're getting there with her," I said gently. "Eva's very open. She's friendly to everyone, and is willing to give everyone a chance. You know, you were probably the first decent guy she's gone out with."

 
           He smiled at me, and something in my chest gave a little jump. "Thanks, Winter," he said. "But, like I told you the other day, we have been having a falling out lately."

 
           "That's alright," I said. "It happens." I unconsciously touched his hand.

 
           Suddenly, Zack's cell phone rang again. He groaned and brought it out.

 
           "Man, I am so not answering this," he mumbled.

 
           I saw a flash of the number on the caller ID, and suddenly an unsettling feeling took over the pits of my stomach. "Give it to me," I said urgently. "I'll answer it."

 
           He handed it over.

 
           "Hello?"

 
           "Hi," I said.

 
           "Uh… I might have dialed the wrong number. Is this Zack's cell phone?"

 
           "Hey Eva, it's Winter," I said, trying to sound cheerful. I had a feeling she wasn't calling just to say hi to Zack.

 
           "Winter?" she said, sounding extremely surprised. "Are you hanging out with Zack or something?"

 
           "No," I lied. "He left his cell phone at your house the other day. I picked it up. I'm returning it to him tomorrow." I mumbled a little at the necessary parts to make my sentences less clear. I felt little remorse at the moment in stretching the truth to my best friend, for an uncomfortable feeling was still tugging away at the corners of my mind. "What's up?"

 
           Zack frowned at me. "Is it Eva?" he asked in a low voice.

 
           I held up a hand to shush him, but didn't answer his question.

 
           "Uh… nothing. Just wanted to say hi to him," Eva said uncomfortably.

 
           "Okay, we both know that
that's
not the truth. Spill it, will you?"

 
           She heaved a great sigh on the other end. "Winter… I was calling to break up with him."

 
           There. There it was. "I knew it," I said angrily, finding myself struggling up out of the arm chair.

 
           "Come on, Winter," she said hurriedly, an apologetic tone in her voice as I stood up. "I don't know if you know this or not, but we… we haven't been getting along very well lately. I don't know," she said desperately. "It was all good in the beginning, but we don't work together very well." She was repeating herself, and redundancy in her speech was a sure sign that she was nervous. Normally, Eva could be a very eloquent speaker.

 
           Zack, who was still sitting, tapped my knee to catch my attention, but I ignored him.

 
           "That's not fair of you," I said. "The least you could do is to wait until tomorrow and do it in person."

 
           "I know," she moaned. "But Zack's different. I think he really likes me –"

 
           "No kidding," I muttered.

 
           " – and I didn't want to disappoint him like that in person, you know?"

 
           "Not really," I said coldly.

 
           "Winter!" Eva said, a hard edge to her voice now. I could tell she was getting mad. "What is
up
with you today?"

 
           "I don't know!" I shouted. "All I know is that you can't –" I caught myself just in time. A lie has to be backed up, and I had told her I hadn't been hanging out with Zack today, in which case I technically would not know that he was having bad day since his parents had called. "You should do it in person,
at least
," I finally said.

 
           "Okay," Eva said angrily. "Since you seem to be such an advocate for Zack today, why don't you tell him for me?"

 
           "Maybe I will," I retorted.

 
           "Fine," Eva said, and hung up viciously. I could hear her slam the telephone down.

 
           I hung up too, fuming. What was up with her today? We had both decided a long time ago that people who broke up with people on the phone were sleaze balls; if you're going to go out with a person, you at least owe it to them to break up with them in person.

 
           "Winter?" Zack said softly, his voice breaking into my thoughts. "Come here."

 
           I allowed him to pull me down into his arms, and found that angry tears were coursing down my cheeks. I wiped them away, frustrated, but all the same ended up burying my face into his shoulder. Eva and I had fought before, but never really yelled at each other. I felt really bad – I had been cold toward her, and had taken the first step in shouting at her.