Matter of Truth, A (3 page)

Words I consider every single day myself.

I lean into him, tugging my own beanie down around my ears.
The silence that surrounds us at nearly four o’clock in the morning is dense
and sleepy. “For what it’s worth,” I murmur, “I think you’re doing the best you
can for yourself.”

Like me, though, he’s not able to talk about his choices
easily. His arms circle me for a brief moment in a hug that leaves my heart
hurting for him. “We should help Dad get those last two boxes down before he
kicks both our arses.”

Because I love him, I do not push any further. Not this
morning, at least.

The first time I ate at the Moose on the Loose, I was
reminded of the diner I used to frequent with my friends back in high school.
Called The Hollow Deer, there were dusty stuffed animal heads on the wall. It
used to turn me off of meat when I was there, simply because those poor animals
would stare at me balefully, like they were saying, “
Et tu
, Chloe?”
Well, the Moose is similar in that there are animals everywhere—moose,
obviously—but rather than stuffed heads, it’s more in décor: moose curtains,
moose statues, moose pictures on the walls, and moose etchings on the tables.
If you like moose, this is definitely the place for you. If you don’t, well,
you’re definitely in the wrong diner.

I like it here, though. Kitschy as it is, it’s also very
welcoming, and locals flock to this place for comfort food and easy
camaraderie. Well, mostly easy. There’s still Frieda to contend with,
especially when she’s in a gloat-y mood like right now. “Imagine my surprise
when I saw a change of address form in Paul’s office.”

The yin to Frieda’s yang, Ginny bumps hips with me. “I can’t
believe you and Will are living together!”

I roll my eyes. “Roommates,” I stress. “We’re roommates.”

“Riiiggghhhht,” Frieda drawls. She scoots until her hip is
also against mine; I’m trapped in a gossip sandwich. One of the locals who
comes on a daily basis chuckles from his spot at the counter. I try not to
glare at him. “Like anyone could be just roommates with someone as tasty as
Will.”

Ginny giggles. Frieda chortles. The words are on the tip of
my tongue, but I never can get them out, no matter how much I wish I could
unburden myself, even to friends. Because if I were to let it out, it’d break
me even more than it already has. And I’m a Class A, prime example of a broken
girl. You’re wrong, I want to tell them. Will is nothing more than my best
friend. He will never be anything more than my best friend, because I already
am in love with somebody else. Two somebody elses, actually. And that will
never change, no matter how much I wished differently.

I tell them instead, “You realize my bedroom is next to his
dad’s, right?”

“I bet old Cameron snores,” Frieda says. “And sleeps like
the dead.”

I wrap another set of silverware with a napkin. “He’s
forty-five, Frieda. That’s hardly old.”

“I think it’s great!” Gum snaps between Ginny’s super white
teeth. “You’re the best thing to happen to Will in ages.”

I scratch the back my neck, uncomfortable with this turn in
the conversation. I hope Will doesn’t come out of the kitchen. He’s incredibly
uneasy about anybody discussing what he considers to be no one’s business but
his.

“Right?” Frieda puts a new liner in the coffee pot. “We
thought he’d given monkhood a go until you entered his orbit, thanks to some
bitch he couldn’t seem to get over.”

I don’t have the heart to tell them that Will isn’t entirely
over that
bitch
just yet; just this morning, there was another traumatizing
phone call that had Will in nearly a zombie state for the better part of an
hour. I don’t know what’s worse—the lingering tie he and Becca, his
ex-girlfriend, can’t seem to unknot, despite the vast physical distance and
history between them, or the forced separation and radio silence I’ve enforced
between me and my fiancé. And his twin.

But I can’t let myself think about them right now. I grab my
pad and pen, ready to let myself fall into my work routine.

Frieda’s not done with me, though. “You cannot honestly tell
me that you haven’t hit that yet.” She purses her red lips together.

I look her straight in the eyes and say slowly, but clearly,
“I haven’t hit that.”

“Are you asexual?”

I level a long look at her. She’s only asked me this about,
oh, a hundred times since we’ve met.

“Because, honey, Will is what we call USDA Prime beef.”

“Well, thank you. Nothing makes a man feel manlier than
being compared to actual cow flesh. Shall I lift my shirt so you can check my
marbling as well?”

Ginny gasps, fire engine red, as Will sets a rag down on the
counter next to us. Several customers nearby laugh loudly. Another smile curves
my lips. It’s an epidemic.

But Frieda is not shamed in the least. She pats Will’s rock
hard abs, still hidden behind his shirt and apron, before sauntering away.
Ginny flees shortly afterwards.

“You’re evil,” I tell him, but he knows I’m joking.

“Bullocks. I am the epitome of angelic fortitude. Besides,
they clearly don’t know Dad. He wakes at the drop of a pin. Any shagging we’d
ever do would have to be out of the house. I’m extremely loud when aroused, and
I have a feeling you are, too. Some things just cannot be helped. Dad could
never sleep through us.”

I hush him, mortified. Frieda is at the end of the counter,
taking an order while slyly watching us. I’m positive she just heard every word
he said, as did much of the Moose’s clientele in our vicinity. “Seriously.
You’re oiling the gossip machine.”

He chuckles. “Perhaps I am a wee bit evil after all. But
it’s hard to resist. She’s utterly tenacious with this insanity.”

Most girls might be insulted, not to mention disheartened,
if an extremely hot and charismatic guy chose to describe the thought of them
being a couple as insanity, but I’m not most girls. Every time he reaffirms
what I already know, that we’re family and the closest of friends, sweet relief
washes over me. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to push Will away, if his
feelings toward me were to change.

I poke at his chest with a spoon. “
Try
.”

His laughter is positively charming beyond words. “For you,
I will try. No guarantees, though.”

“Man, can you believe what’s going on in Tibet?”

My head whips around to find a man seated at the counter,
holding his smartphone out to the woman he’s with. “So, crazy,” she murmurs. “I
cannot believe the riots going on over the occupation. It’s like that part of
the world has gone mad.”

Suddenly, it’s hard to stand, thanks to my knees giving out.
Will grabs me before I fall. His eyes are filled with worry. “Are you okay?”

I nod my head, gripping the counter behind us. I silently
curse myself for once more not being able to get myself under control. Anytime
I hear about something like this, where emotions are high, a flood of memories
threatens to pull me under.

Because I have a pretty good notion as to why Tibet is in
chaos.

An acrid taste fills my mouth as I consider how Jonah must
have been so close to Nepal, where he’s always wanted to go—claiming it’d be
good for his soul—only to end up doing something I know must be salt against
the wounds such actions cause his conscience. And I can’t help but wish I were
there with him, reminding him how good of a person he is, how he’s helped more
people in the last year and a half than hurt, and that it’ll be okay.

But I’m not. He’s in Annar, and I’m in Alaska, and it’d been
my choice to leave. I left my fiancé, hoping to give him a chance at a better
life. I can only hope somebody is there helping him get through this, even if
it’s his ex-girlfriend Callie Lotus.

And that thought there crushes me, not to mention makes me
want to destroy the entire diner.

I force myself to calm down. To focus. I cannot let my grief
control me like this.

“Zoe. Talk to me,” Will says quietly. His fingers brush
against my cheek. When he pulls his hand back, I marvel at the wetness
reflecting on his skin.

I’m crying, and I didn’t even know it. It pisses me off that
I let myself get this far in public.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, but whom am I kidding? My heart has
been gone for months now. How can anyone be fine when there’s a cavity in her
chest?

“Let’s play Tell Me,” Will says as
he cooks me dinner later that night. It’s a game we’ve been playing since the
day I decided to let him in.
Tell me a secret. Tell me the truth. Tell me
something you’ve never told anyone else before.
Tell Me has been both a
challenge and a relief for a girl with too many secrets.

“Alright.” I sit down and butter the pancakes he’s set out
for me. Cameron is at work, managing a large warehouse down in the port,
leaving us to fend for ourselves. “Shall I go first?”

His shaggy, sandy hair goes flying as he shakes his head.
“Tell me what made you cry today. I’ve never seen you cry, Zo. I’ll admit it’s
got me worried.”

I focus on pouring syrup rather than the concern that surely
shows on his handsome face, struggling to find some kind of truth to tell him.
Finally, carefully yet purposefully nonchalantly, “I’d overhead somebody
talking about what’s going on in Tibet.”

He’s silent for so long I eventually look up, only to find
him staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“It’s a horrible situation,” I add quietly.

That snaps him back into form. “No—right. Of course. It’s
awful, no doubt. But, Zo—you were crying. Was it—”

“My turn.” I answered his question; he knows the rules. He
can only ask for clarification on his next turn. “Tell me about this morning’s
phone call.”

His annoyance makes me regret the question—but only a little
bit. As concerned as he is about me, I’m just as worried about him. “She . . .”
He clears his throat. “Becca somehow got ahold of a phone again and rang me to
see why I hadn’t been over today.”

Gods. I try to hold back the slam of pity that crashes into
me, but it’s impossible. “Will—”

But he gives as good as he gets. “Tell me why you’re so
upset about Tibet. Be honest.”

I sigh and set my fork down. I practically have to tear the
words out of my throat. “Tibet reminds me of Nepal, since they’re neighboring
regions.” Confusion fills his eyes, so I quickly counter with, “Tell me how you
felt when you talked to her.”

“How do you think I felt? Like I was fucking living through
all of that shite once more.” He doesn’t have to clarify, but miraculously, he
does. “The Becca I was talking to this morning was the one I stupidly planned
on spending my life with. She was
lucid
. Confused, unsure of what happened
over the last year, but she . . .” He shakes his head. “I very nearly bought a
ticket to Glasgow on the spot.”

I reclaim my fork back up and try to pretend that Will isn’t
baring his soul to me, because I know that’s the only way he’ll get through the
next hour, let alone night. But I’m worried about him, so I gently press on.
“Why didn’t you?”

“Tell me why Nepal, via Tibet, upsets you.”

I cut my pancakes into neat little triangles. “Nepal reminds
me of somebody.”

His eyebrows lift and then drop lower into a vee.
“Somebody.”

“Tell me what stopped you from flying to Glasgow.”

He yanks the griddle off the burner. “Other than the money
it would cost? Because, no matter how lucid Becca was this morning, it will
never be permanent. The girl I loved is gone forever. Was gone even before . .
.” He turns away from me and busies himself with piling pancakes on his plate.
And then he laughs, so very bitterly. “Jesus. You think after a year and a half
I’d be able to let it all go, right? She fucking shagged my best mate behind my
back, even as she was planning on moving out here to be with me. Was going to
have his
baby
, possibly even pass it off as mine. And then they got in
that bloody car crash, and I had to learn about everything they’ve done
afterward from his and her parents, when apologies and explanations mean
shite.” He tosses his spatula on the counter.

I get up and go over to where he is, laying a hand against
his shoulder. His breath is shallow as he continues softly, tugging on his ear,
“That wanker got off easy when he died.”

But Becca didn’t. Becca has severe brain damage and is
confined to a wheelchair and a ventilator for the rest of her life back in
Scotland. Most days she doesn’t know who she is or where she is, and others . .
. others she remembers Will and what they had, and always finds ways to bring
that ghost home to him. He struggles so hard to forgive her, to let go of what
could have been, but even for somebody as strong as him, it’s asking a lot.

Although my natural inclination is to clam up, I know it
must have been tough for Will to just let that all out. So I lean my head
against his back and admit to him something I haven’t done before. “Nepal
reminds me of somebody I love.” I swallow the growing lump in my throat. Even
now, four months in, it’s incredibly difficult to talk about Jonah. “I was sad
today because when I heard some people talking in the diner about Tibet, I
thought of this person, and of what Nepal means to him.” I take a deep breath
and count to ten, because saying this next part is like stabbing myself in the
gut. “I miss him so much it makes it hard to breathe. Sometimes it’s hard to
move on, when memories refuse to let you go.”