Chapter 17
“So it’s been two weeks and still no word from Zayn?” Anna asks through the phone I’m balancing between my cheek and shoulder. I hop over a pond-sized puddle that separates the paved sidewalk on my way to Hope House.
“Yep. I told him I needed space, though. So he’s just respecting my wishes.”
I didn’t realise he’d give me so much space if I’m being honest. And in the spirit of being honest, I’d rather he didn’t have quite so much respect for my wishes.
His revelation was a shock, sure, and I’ve been working through a lot in my mind for the last two weeks.
I’ve had to process the fact that everything I had convinced myself of since Zayn left is wrong.
Instead of closure, I’m left feeling more confused.
He wanted to come back to me.
Simultaneously, I’ve had to confront the fact that I went on to marry the one person Zayn hated more than anyone else in the world. And what does that make me?
That’s hard to think about.
Do I still love Zayn? The question that’s been like a plague worse than influenza through my thoughts. How can I? I can’t possibly know him after all this time. Too much has happened since we’ve been apart.
I don’t even know how I’m supposed to feel about Zayn being back. He told me he returned to Melbourne a year ago. Did he still think he was coming home to me? What did he hope to find when he returned? Does he still love me?
Do I still love Zayn?
How many women has he been with in the last ten years? Has he loved anyone else?
So many questions swirling around my mind, but no answers. And no Zayn. He’s fallen off the face of the Earth since he dropped his bomb-shell and imploded my life.
We were just kids before. Two kids in love, but that can’t last ten years, can it? Do I try to accept his reasoning, and then let it go? What other options are there?
I can’t love Zayn, I decide. I don’t even know him anymore.
I know I didn’t sound convincing to my own ears, so naturally there wasn’t a chance I was fooling Anna.
“I’m livid,” Anna says, her jovial tone a complete contradiction to her words. “He returns after a decade and then thinks giving you more space is a good idea? I always had him pegged as having more intelligence than a moth.”
I roll my eyes and almost roll my ankle dodging another puddle at the same time. “Don’t lie. You’re not livid at all. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so happy.”
“Happy? I’m not happy. I’m ecstatic!” She squeals. “I always knew you two were meant to be. And I don’t even believe in monogamy, but this love story is just too good. I loved you two together then, and I love it now.”
“Love story?” I scoff. “You’re mistaken. Somewhere along the way it turned into a horror story. Drama, at best. Tragic of course.”
“Tragic?” Anna asks, affronted. “The man come back for you as soon as he could after his noble mission to protect his sister.”
I pull my phone away to make sure it’s Anna I’m speaking to and not my mother. Nope, definitely Anna.
She continues, “The only thing tragic about this whole story is Daniel.”
Ah yep, there she is.
“He’s a stain on an otherwise heart-achingly perfect love story.”
I can’t help the chuckle that spills from my lips, and it’s refreshing to feel laughter bubble amongst all the anxiety that’s been brewing inside me for weeks. “How long have you been waiting to call Daniel a stain?”
“Ten long years,” she sighs dramatically. “I’m just glad you finally came to your senses there.”
Her comment makes me realise I need to change the topic, stat. There’s still a lot Anna doesn’t know about me and Daniel that I’m not willing to divulge, but I know she will pry if given the opportunity.
“You realise Zayn and I are nothing more than a lawyer and his client, right?” I say, my own words grating on my stomach like an ulcer as the white-washed walls of the Hope House cottage come into view. I spot something black and shiny in the driveway that makes my heart rate flutter. “Ah, fuck.”
“What?”
I proceed carefully, both physically and with Anna. “You know how I told you I’ve started volunteering at that women’s shelter?” I start slowly, making my way up the cobblestone front path.
“Yes,” Anna draws out the word suspiciously. “The shelter you say you happened upon by accident?”
“Yes, that one. Well I’m back here to talk to the owner about some fundraising work I’m helping out with and I’ve just spotted Zayn’s car out front.”
“Oh, yes!” Anna squeals, positively delighted. “We are overdue for the latest instalment of the Zayn and Gianna show. I finally understand your excitement when your chapter thingies get released.”
“Are you actually comparing my life to fan fiction?” I ask, incredulous.
“Yes, but better! Wait -” she falters, “why is Zayn at the shelter?”
I check the letterbox as I pass, pulling out a few letters addressed to Sam and popping them under my arm. “He’s helping out one of the women here after an incident with her husband. Pro bono, of course.”
“Riiiight,” Anna says, somehow managing to drown the word in suspicion. “Let me guess? You asked him to.”
“Of course I did,” I respond briskly as I faff around outside the front door. “How else would he have ended up here?”
“How else, indeed.”
“What? You’re not even making sense anymore.”
“All I’m saying is that Zayn doesn’t buy himself a Maserati and a wardrobe full of Brioni suits by taking on cases that pay him with gratitude.
There’s only one reason he would take on this case and that’s because the damsel in distress he lives to serve asked him to.
And her name starts with a y and ends in o u. ”
“Rubbish,” I counter, ignoring the thrill her words give me.
I won’t let Anna blow this thing with Zayn out of proportion.
No, it can barely even be called a thing.
It’s less than a thing. It’s an ing. “I’m not a damsel in distress, and he isn’t doing anything for me.
He genuinely wanted to help when I filled him in on the situation. ”
“Sure. And I sleep with men because I love to spoon afterwards.”
“You don’t stick around long enough to spoon.”
She lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Exactly, Gianna. Exactly.”
I hang up the phone with a solemn promise to call Anna and fill her in later before knocking loudly on the door, my stomach in absolute tatters over who I know is inside.
Why do my encounters with Zayn always have to be sprung on me?
Why can’t they be pre-organised to give me at least two to five business days to mentally prepare myself for the physical and emotional onslaught that leaves me in ruins every single time?
Emma flings open the door with wide, excited eyes and mischief in her smile, beckoning me inside with a frantic wave of her hand.
“Come in, quick!” she says, barely waiting for me to pass the threshold before ramming the door shut behind me. “David-Zayn is here and oh God, Gia.” She groans as her eyes roll to the back of her head. “He is so fit!”
She takes my hand and pulls me down the hallway while I mutter to her that his name is ‘just Zayn’ until we’re joining two other women hunched outside the cracked-open door of the kitchen.
I expected nothing more from Emma and Lily, the young woman who arrived last week and has gotten on with Emma like a house on fire, but I raise my brow at Cassie.
“What?” she whispers, smiling sheepishly. “He’s bloody gorgeous. Just admiring the view.”
“You’re a counsellor,” I whisper harshly, only half-joking. “You’re supposed to be setting an example. And, isn’t this a confidential conversation?”
“They’re just wrapping up. Besides, Beth’s the one that told us he was coming and gave us the all-clear to have a squiz.”
Before I can reply, Sam’s amused voice floats out the cracked door. “You can come in now, ladies. Show’s over.”
Cassie ducks away quickly with a giggle before Sam swings the door wide open to reveal us three standing there, looking like we got caught with our hands in the cookie jar.
“My hands are crumb free!” I clarify, stepping into the kitchen with said hands raised and eyes averted from the dark mass that seems to be silently calling to me from the head of the table. “I just got here.”
“Crumb -?” Sam shakes his head, perplexed. “Never mind. What are you doing here, Gia?”
I keep strictly focused on Sam’s melty chocolate eyes and absolutely don’t try to discern what Zayn’s doing in my peripheral vision.
“I have some things to run by you for the fundraiser.” Even I can hear the excitement creeping into my voice. In the last two weeks, Brett has really helped me piece together what is going to be an amazing benefit. “We need to set a date so I can start locking in some vendors.”
“Oh, that’s great! I’ll make teas and we can take it into my office.”
“I’ll make them.” I try to move in a casual sort of way to the beige bench top even though I feel anything but. I make a shambles of it as I pull down two cups and slam them on the counter louder than I anticipate.
“How are you, Beth?” I ask over my shoulder as I flick on the kettle. Zayn’s dark presence hovers at my back as if loose tendrils have broken free and are nudging my ankles, waiting for me to acknowledge them. I don’t.
“Good, thanks to Zayn here. And of course you, too, for arranging it. Zayn is amazing! Things are really starting to look up.”
I hear more than see the smile in her voice, and I feel relieved for Beth and the twins. They deserve for things to be going their way.
“That’s great!” I pop a tea bag in to each cup and studiously avoid amazing Zayn.
“It is! Are you staying for board games tonight? I think we decided on Monopoly.”
Every Friday night at Hope House is board game night and when I don’t have plans with Anna, I usually spend the evening here with the girls, Sam, and most nights Cassie will hang around too.
Sam always allows for take-out, which puts everyone in a happy mood because no one has to cook or clean, and the night is topped off with chocolaty snacks, popcorn and a competitive streak in Sam that usually leaves everyone in stitches on nights he loses. I’m sad to miss it tonight.
“I can’t tonight. I have to work.”
I hear a laptop slam shut behind me.
Sam starts to ask, “Work? When did you get -”
But he’s cut off by Zayn’s abrupt and demanding, “Where?”
Irritation flares in my gut. It’s Friday night and I know Zayn’s assuming I’ll be meeting someone in a hotel room, even though I explicitly told him I wasn’t doing that again.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I finally turn to see Zayn staring at me with such fire in his eyes it jolts my heart. To say he looks fucking angry would be a serious understatement.
“Yeah, I would like to know?” Sam says, confused, looking between Zayn and I. “Is there something wrong?”
I ignore the thundering in my chest.
“I got a job at a cafe on my campus. They stay open late on Fridays because classes run late and there’s a few study groups that linger. I don’t finish until nine.”
I haven’t had the chance to tell Sam about my new job I landed this week at Bean & Cup, the cafe that Brett and I have been meeting at to discuss the fundraiser.
I saw they were looking for staff, applied and got the job on the spot, even though the last time I worked in a cafe was six years ago.
Tonight is only my second shift, but I’m loving it so far.
Not to mention the weight that’s been lifted off my shoulders now I don’t have to rely on selling off my possessions to live.
“That’s great, Gianna!”
“Thanks,” I offer a small smile then turn back to fish the tea bags out of our cups.
“What campus?”
The question comes from Zayn, and I answer with my back turned to him. “Melbourne University. I’ve gone back to finish my degree.”
I grab the milk out of the fridge and hear Zayn speak to Beth and Sam. “I’ll make copies and have these papers sent to you for your records. I’ll be in touch.”
Then he leaves without a further word to me.
I only know he’s left the kitchen because I hear giggles float in from the hallway, which I safely assume come from Emma and Lily as he passes them.
For the first time since I stepped inside Hope House, I feel like I can breathe again.
I slam the fridge door shut with a little extra gusto than necessary.
And no, I’m not angry that Zayn ignored me until he thought I was selling my ass again, then piped up like he had a bloody say in what I do with my own body. Nope, not angry about that at all.
I pick up the mugs and turn to face Sam, whose usually soft eyes are narrowed on me like a hawk.
“Anything you wanna talk about, Gianna?”
“Yeah,” I huff, walking past him to lead the way to his office. “The fundraiser.”