Chapter 30
DENALI
IT’S A METAPHOR
When Zariah moved out of our dorm, I was the perfect gentleman. I propped our doors open and did everything she asked. If she wanted her table moved forty-five degrees, it wouldn’t be forty-four and a half, it’d be forty-five.
Her typewriter was one of the last things to go.
Elijah sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Z, I know the typewriter was Grandpa’s, I know you like weird, broken shit, but it’s time for you to throw it in the garbage.”
Zariah poked her head out of his bedroom. “Girl.”
“Don’t ‘girl’ me.”
“When you sprained your wrist, your teammates didn’t take you out back and shoot you like a dog!” she scoffed, disappearing again to grab the clothes she’d stashed in his closet. Her voice raised comically high. “How dare you say that to me!”
“If you got it repaired, they’d have to overhaul most of it!” Elijah shouted back. “It wouldn’t be the same machine. What’s the point? Why not get a new one?”
The twins bickered while I thought it over. Zariah had made it very clear that she didn’t want anyone to touch it, especially me. But…was that still true? Things had changed. I didn’t think she and I were in same place anyway. Weighing my options, I hovered outside of Elijah’s bedroom.
“Hey?” I called her. “I know how important the typewriter is to you—”
Zariah was in a pair of overalls, her long hair pinned up. She slipped her hands in her pockets. “Could you take it to my bedroom?”
“If you’d let me, I’d—” I stopped myself, positive that I’d misheard her. “What?”
“Yeah, could you take it to my dorm?”
“You—?” I snapped my mouth shut. “You want me to…?”
“I’m trusting you to take care of it,” she said, placing emphasis on each word, quiet enough to keep our conversation private. “It’s fragile. It’s been damaged. But I’m trusting you to be gentle with my typewriter.”
“I got it,” I said, my words layered over each other. I pushed from the door frame before I stopped myself, rounding back. “This is a test, isn’t it?”
“It’s a metaphor, Denali,” she said, amused.
“Metaphor,” I repeated. The realization flickered through me at what she meant. “A metaphor. Yeah.”
I thought about it on my way to the typewriter. The typewriter was a metaphor for…the feelings she used to have for me? The trust? No—Zariah herself? I pondered the options and took my time taking the typewriter to her room, probably more than I needed to. I didn’t take the responsibility lightly.
Maybe the typewriter was a metaphor for our relationship. Elijah had a point—after everything it’d been through, it was definitely fucked up. A simple cleaning wouldn’t be the answer. The typewriter needed a deep repair, and the time and attention to fix it.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it as we finished bringing Zariah’s stuff to her dorm. In ten minutes, we were done, and she closed her door. It was a lot more unceremonious than I expected.
For a moment, I stood in my living room, silent. It felt so empty without her.
With a sigh, I left to grab my phone. Elijah and I had a gym session to get to—I couldn’t sulk over Zariah leaving. I pushed my bedroom door open, stumbling to a stop when I saw what was on my desk. There was a take-out dish, an envelope on top with a bright purple sticky note.
Alaska,
It’s not baklava, but you’re going to love it.
Holy shit, Zariah bought me something.
I peeled off the lid, the dessert smelled like bananas and honey. It honestly smelled really fucking good. That was great by itself, but the envelope had all my attention. My nickname was written on it. I tore it open, my movements too slow for my racing pulse.
I want to get to know you for the man you are now. I think this is a good start.
The letter read like an actual conversation with her.
My eyes darted down the lines, soaking it in, heart thudding like an off-beat drum.
Zariah thanked me for the restaurant recommendation.
She liked my point about feelings being attached to food and she wrote that she was pretty sure it was the missing piece she’d been searching for.
My smile was so wide, it hurt.
The last paragraph said that she’d found a surprising new writing partner. Tallulah was worried that their different genres would bleed together, but that didn’t happen. They just spent hours listening to music and writing, Zariah said those sessions were the most productive she’d felt in years.
The last line practically glowed from the paper.
I missed you, Alaska. More than you know.
— Riah
I stared at the letter, breathing hard, before scrambling for my backpack. I dumped it out on the ground.
There were some loose papers, but I dug out a crisp one from my notebook, bending over to write the letter.
“I miss talking to you too,” I said, reading it to myself. “Yeah, that’s a good start. Okay…I’m happy to hear that the—”
“Denali!” Elijah yelled. “Are you ready?”
“No!” I shouted back. “Give me a couple of minutes!”
“What are you doing?”
I didn’t answer, I was too busy writing the letter.
Words poured out of me like a broken faucet, everywhere and messy all at once.
I had to slow down to keep my handwriting legible.
When I reached the end of the paper, I folded it into thirds and grabbed an empty envelope from my desk.
I only had two left, I’d have to buy more.
“Denali!” Elijah groaned. “We need to get going, man!” I strode out of the bedroom, and he was laying on the couch. He did a double take when he saw me moving to the fridge. “What’s that?”
“Zariah got me a gift.”
“She got you a gift? Why didn’t I get a gift?” I could hear him behind me when I went for the door. “Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving, aren’t you coming?”
“Goddammit, I just took off my shoes—”
The door closed behind me.
I crouched before Zariah’s door to slip the envelope underneath. If I did it quickly, I wouldn’t have time to be anxious and hold on to the letter for too long.
Except I couldn’t push it through.
“Shit,” I muttered. I dropped to my knees, wiggling the envelope. It wouldn’t go in.
Her door opened, and Zariah gazed down at me, eyebrows raised.
“Uh—” I stared up at her. The words lodged in my throat. “I—I was going to—”
Elijah opened our door. “Denali, what the fuck are you doing?”
I didn’t have a chance to reply, Zariah tugged the envelope out of my hand. “Is this for me?”
“Yes,” I managed.
“You’re so sweet,” she murmured. On her way past, she ran three fingers along my cheek, and I awkwardly moved with her on my knees until she slipped through the space between me and the hallway, heading for the elevator.
“Get your ass up,” Elijah said, and I pushed myself off the ground, face burning where she’d touched me. He redirected his annoyance to Zariah. “I don’t like what you’re doing to him.”
The elevator opened and Zariah strolled in, my letter already in hand. “I’m reading, Elijah. It’s an activity that adults do. It requires concentration.”
“I read,” he scoffed.
“Scanning porn titles isn’t the same thing.”
The two of them bantered but I was silent, standing between them. I couldn’t believe Zariah was already reading my letter. Right there. The whole point of sliding it under the door was so I wouldn’t have to see her reaction.
I was mortified but I couldn’t look away. I focused entirely on the changes in her expression, the slight tilt of her head, the curve of her smile as she finished. Zariah’s eyes slid to mine, sparkling as always. A fever scorched inside me, searing me, and I smiled back, dazed.
The doors opened and Zariah walked in, her voice teasing. “Goodbye, Denali.”
“Bye,” I whispered.
“What? I don’t get a goodbye?” Elijah shouted after her and shifted to me, exasperated. “Get that goo-goo eyes bullshit off of your face, I don’t want to see it.”