Chapter 42
Forty-Two
It’s been a week since I’ve seen Rosalie. One week. Of silence.
I’m ready to rip my hair out. Something Noreen would call a “darn shame,” as she loves my red hair.
I lie on my bed and bounce a soccer ball against the wall. It springs from the wall to my hands, over and over, with a thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
I pause my throw-catch-throw when my phone pings with a text. I pull in a breath, and like I have with every noise my phone has made the past week, I grapple for it.
It could be her.
However, it’s not.
Lucca: Dude. What are you doing over there?
Me: Sorry. Nervous energy.
Roman: Am I supposed to be a part of this conversation?
Lucca: Yes. Now that I have you all here, let’s attempt to help our friend Zev.
Me: I didn’t ask for help.
Lucca: And yet, you need it.
Callum: He’s right, man. How are you holding up?
Lucca: Did you mean how is the wall we share holding up? Because it’s about to come tumbling down.
Me: Where’s Maggie? She needs to put you in your place. You’re exaggerating.
Lucca: The photo of my vovó fell off the wall.
Me: Sorry.
Callum: Zev, how can we help?
Roman: Stella and Ivy are going to visit her parents in Canada for a week. You wanna stay here? I’ve got a spare room. Maybe you need some space.
Lucca: Maybe he needs less space.
Callum: Zev?
Me: Guys. Thanks. More space, less space. What does it matter? Rosalie’s still isn’t going to remember us. She’s still going to want time. I honestly don’t know how anyone can help me.
Lucca: So negative.
Lucca: You need a little scheming. You just need to get her in the same room as you again.
Me: No more scheming. My scheming got me into this mess.
Callum: In your defense, you weren’t scheming. Not really. We all understand that. I’m sure with some time and thought, Rosalie will, too. You just wanted to be with her.
Lucca: I could send her an invitation to a Red Tails’ exclusive dinner party. The exclusive part would be that it’s only you showing up.
Roman: You think she’d come to anything with the Red Tail’s name on it?
Me: We aren’t doing that. No.
Lucca: She would if I’m the one sending the invitation.
Me: Can anyone hear me?
Callum: Lucca. He said no.
Lucca: Am I the only one who’s going to be helpful around here? If you think getting Maggie to realize she was madly in love with me was a walk in the park, you are wrong. I know how to handle this.
Me: No one is…
I start my text, but I don’t get to finish. I don’t hit send. A lecture to Lucca will have to wait as there is someone pounding on my front door. Lucca?
I spy through the peephole to see—
Rosalie.
At my door.
I stand there, staring, not hardly believing… and not opening the door.
I delete my half-written text and start a new one.
Me: Guys. She’s here. Knocking on my door.
Lucca: See how fast I work?
Roman: Liar.
Me: I’m serious. What do I do?
Callum: Is she inside your apartment yet? You said she was knocking.
Me: She is knocking.
I type as there’s another loud tap on the door.
Callum: I suggest you let her in.
Roman: Ditto.
Lucca: Do you need me to come over?
Me: NO. Stay put. Or that soccer ball is going to make it clean through your wall next time.
One more knock. One that’s a little less aggressive. One that says she’s about to give up, so I toss my phone to the couch cushion and fling open the door.
“Hey!” I say, louder than intended.
Her face is red and her fist is up, ready to knock again. “You are here.”
“Yeah. Um, showering.”
Her brows pinch. “You don’t look like you were showering.”
I swallow and realize that lying is not how I’m going to get my girl back. “Actually—I wasn’t showering. I was on the phone. Sorry. I’m nervous.”
She huffs, those fists now on her hips. “Yeah. Well, me too.” Her jaw clenches. “If I’m interrupting—”
“No. Never. Come in.” I step back, the door wide open, beckoning her inside.
“I just had a few questions and…” Her cheeks puff and her breath comes out shaky. “And for some reason, you are the person I want to ask.”
“Great. That’s… great. Ask away.”
She steps inside, her arms crossed protectively over herself. “But if this is too difficult for you, I can go.”
Difficult or not, that’s the last thing that I want.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said to Robert.”
“To Robert?” My voice hitches. I want her here. I want to talk. I want her to ask everything—but why does it have to be Robert? He’s the one topic I hoped we were over. For good.
“Yes. You told him that elementary teachers are the foundation. That, without them, kids will struggle throughout all of high school.”
My nerves jumble inside my body. I walk over to the sofa—with any luck, she’ll follow—hoping she can sit and stay a while. “Yes. I said that.”
She steps closer, but she’s still not in seating range. Maybe she needs an invitation.
“Please, sit,” I say, nodding to the couch and taking a seat, hoping she will, too.
But Rosalie’s fingers clench into fists at her sides—like whenever she’s a little frustrated or thinking too hard about something. “Did you mean all that? About teaching—” She waves away the couch. “Not the sitting part.”
I get to my feet. If she’s standing, so am I. “Yeah. I did. We’ve had dozens of talks about education, Rosalie. Things I never really thought about until I met you. And yes, I am now a big believer in giving children a strong foundation. That’s one of the reasons you switched to elementary.”
Her brows narrow, thinking, and she steps around to the seat of my couch, plopping herself down. “We had dozens of conversations about education?”
Careful, I sit next to her, keeping two feet of space between us. “Yes. It’s important to you.”
She blinks, her nose wrinkling, and I wonder if she’s holding back emotion. “It is,” she whispers.
Then she’s up again, pacing over my carpet and in front of my couch.
“It’s just, in my efforts to not think about you or the accident, I end up thinking about my degree.
The one that I got, you know? Not the one that I thought I’d get.
” She shakes her pretty blonde head. “It’s confusing.
” She presses one hand to her forehead. “And it gives me a headache.”
“I’m sure it does.” My heart thumps inside my chest and I watch her, waiting for more.
“You saw me teach?” She laces her fingers, wringing her hands together.
“I did. A few times, actually.”
Her throat wobbles with a swallow. “And what did you think?”
“You were born to teach, Rosalie. I’ve never seen anything like you in a classroom.”
Her cheeks flood pink and she gives one small nod before pacing again. “I thought I wouldn’t know what to do with young kids. I thought I’d be lost—but I’ve spent a little time with Partida—”
“You’ve seen her again?”
She pauses her pace and nods. “Yes. She asked about you.”
“She’s a sweet kid.”
“She is,” she says, starting her pacing back up again. “I seem to know certain things, Zev. And I’m not even sure how I know them. Like, I know what a Lexile score is.”
“I’ve heard of that.”
“I had, too. But I know all about it. I know what score is appropriate for which age. I can even tell you that Anne of Green Gables has a nine hundred Lexile score. How do I know that?”
I scoot to the edge of my seat, watching her pace. We aren’t getting comfortable tonight, that’s for sure. “They said you’d remember things you’d been taught, skills that you’ve learned, that kind of thing.”
She stops, her eyes cast down. “I remember what a Lexile score is. But I don’t remember you?”
I stand, facing her, and shove my hands into my pockets. “No. You don’t.”
She stares at me for a minute. “When I borrowed your car and came back into your apartment, you were crying—”
“Over you.” I breathe out the words and dip my head. “Yeah.”
Her fingers grapple at her neck. “Over me,” she says, her exhale trembling.
Then, clearing her throat, she beelines for the door.
“Thank you for answering my questions.” She opens the door but pauses before walking through.
She peers back at me, her eyes glassy. “And Zev, I’m so sorry that I’ve caused you pain. ”