Chapter Twenty-Three
ZANE
A text exchange between Zane and Amelia, Sunday, September 22, 7:41 p.m.
Zane: She knows about the trip
Amelia: WHAT???? YOU IDIOT!!!!!!
“WELL,” I SAY TO MACEY as we walk in the door of the condo, finally back home in El Dorado Hills. “I guess I’ll see you later.” I give a closed-mouth smile that she returns.
“Yeah, I’ll see you around,” she says, her eyes looking tired. She turns, taking her luggage from me and then wheeling it down the hall toward her room, the soft click of the door closing behind her echoing in the silence.
It was a pretty awkward journey back. We stayed in the same hotel as we did on our way to the park, but I was able to get my own room this time instead of having to share one. Which was good, because it would have been weird, and I would have fought myself all night not to try to make her change her mind.
The flight home was also mostly torturous, not because Macey was mean—she’d talk to me, but on more of an as-needed basis, and even would smile a little sometimes, but it was more subdued. I’d say she was acting more like how she was before we left on this trip, but she wasn’t nervous or anxious this time; there was more of a quiet calm about her now. Like she was more resolute.
She spent both legs of the flight next to me with headphones on, watching movies, taking naps, and sometimes typing furiously into her phone. I tried to do the same—at least the movie and napping part—but my mind kept going back to her words, to the end of the vacation.
I think she might be right about me. I tried to fight it, to reason away her words, but I think I might be ... impulsive. It’s how I got into this whole thing in the first place, after all. I signed a contract without fully thinking it through, without looking at all the details. Then on a whim, I booked a trip to Costa Rica. And then, I ended up on the plane with Macey to Pride and Prejudice Park.
The more I thought about it on the way home, the more examples my brain kept giving me. Like that time in college when I decided I wanted to play guitar, I went out and bought one that day, watched a single YouTube lesson, and never picked it up again. It’s sitting in my closet right now. Or the time I convinced my college friends to take a spontaneous road trip from UPenn to New York City, only for us to end up stuck on the side of the road for three hours with a flat tire, no spare, and no cell service.
I could go on and on, really. I’ve never looked back on these moments of spontaneity with regret—they were just things I did, part of who I am. But now I see that lately, it’s something that’s been holding me back, causing me to make mistakes in my life, and also with work.
And now maybe with someone I have loved for most of my life. And I do love Macey. But not the way she deserves to be loved. At least ... not yet.
She was wrong about one thing: that first kiss in the garden wasn’t impulsive. It was thought about and pondered for a while, probably since that first day at the park when her hair was pulled up, exposing that lovely neck of hers.
My feelings for her may have come on fast, but I didn’t act on them immediately. Not until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I needed to touch her, to kiss her—it felt as essential as breathing. Which sounds like a Mr. Darcy thing to think, but it’s true. And I couldn’t tell her that yesterday, not after she laid out my impulsivity so clearly. To tell her how much she means to me, how my feelings for her had changed in the course of a week, would have sounded exactly like what she thinks I am.
Now I’ve got to figure out some things. First, what I’m going to do about my job. And second, how I’m going to convince Macey that my feelings for her are real and not just something that sprouted up because we were on a trip together, playing Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet.
She needs to know that it was almost impossible to sit on a plane with her for nearly twelve hours and not touch her. I wanted to reach over and grab her hand, to lean over the console between us and kiss her. I wanted to tell her she’s beautiful in every way—that I love the way she sees the world, with humor and hope, even when things feel impossible. How she takes care of everyone else, even when she forgets to take care of herself. How she tries so hard to be brave, even when I know she doesn’t feel it. She’s strong in ways she doesn’t even realize, and every time I’m with her, I feel like I’m seeing something new—something I don’t think I ever want to stop seeing.
Falling for her feels so natural, like it was always there, waiting for the right moment to surface. Maybe that’s why it feels so undeniable now—because it’s not new. It’s just something I finally recognized.
There are no guarantees, I know. Our friendship was practically ruined once over feelings and bad timing. But ... I don’t know. I feel differently about this time. I think it could be real. I want it to be.
I’m feeling impatient, like I want to get all the things in my head out to her right now, but I know I can’t. So, I dump my stuff in my room and then go out to the kitchen to get some water. While I’m grabbing my drink, the door to the apartment opens.
“Macey?” I hear Amelia say, the heels of her shoes clicking on the tile floor as she comes around the corner to where I’m standing.
“Oh, it’s you,” she says, giving me a disappointed look, like I’m the last person she wants to see.
“And it’s nice to see you too,” I say.
“Where is she?”
“In her room,” I say. “But I think you should leave her alone tonight.”
She scrunches her face. “Why would I do that?”
“Because she’s mad, Amelia. I think she probably needs some time.”
“I just need to talk to her, to explain.”
I let out a breath. “She’s been traveling all day, and we’re both exhausted. Trust me, just give her some time.”
She nods then, like she’s hearing what I’m saying, which is probably hard for Amelia. She’s like me in that way, wanting to just jump right in.
“I didn’t want her to find out like that,” she says.
“I’m guessing you didn’t want her to find out at all,” I say.
She bobs her head from side to side. “That would have been preferable.” She makes a gurgling noise in her throat. “I could throttle that Agatha woman.”
“That’s Her Ladyship to you,” I say.
“What?” she asks, confused.
“Never mind.” I take a sip of my water. “Anyway, what’s done is done.”
“Does she ... hate me?” Amelia asks, her shoulders sagging.
“I don’t think Macey could hate anyone,” I say, and it’s true. Macey is the kind of person who forgives before you even ask, who always tries to see the best in people, even when they don’t deserve it. That’s just who she is—kind and hopeful, maybe to a fault.
Amelia dips her chin. “That’s true. I thought I was doing the right thing. I wanted to help her. Things were just so crappy for her, you know? I wanted to make it better.”
“I’m sure she knows all that. I’m sure she’ll talk to you soon. But for now, I think you should let her get some sleep,” I say, tapping my sister on the shoulder as I go to leave the kitchen.
I’ll wait until she’s ready to talk too, because she deserves that from me. And also because she’s worth waiting for.