Chapter 34
ZACH
Maya doesn’t reply to any more of my texts. The next day, I’m desperate to see her, but I force myself to let her have some space.
I head into work on Monday and decide to be based at the Stella offices all week, but when mid-morning comes around Maya still hasn’t come in to work. I tell myself it’s nothing. A sick day. A hangover, maybe, from too much emotion and too little sleep.
I keep checking my phone all day. She hasn’t texted me, and I should text her, but I’m giving her the space I think she needs.
As the day goes on my thoughts drift during meetings with Cecil, Katherine and the other managers, as I outline new pricing strategies and tightened cost controls.
By late afternoon I can’t stop thinking about her so I give in and text her, but she doesn’t reply. She reads my texts, though. I check in with HR to discover that she’s taken the day off sick.
Sick.
I text her in a panic.
Zach: HR says you took a sick day.
Maya: You checked up on me?
Zach: I was worried. Can we meet?
She doesn’t reply.
By four, I head to her apartment. I knock on the door, hoping that her roommate will be at work, leaving us free to talk privately.
Maya doesn’t open, but I know she’s inside.
I can feel it. I knock again, and she answers the door after a long pause.
She’s wearing an oversized cotton T-shirt that slips off one shoulder, and soft shorts.
Her feet are bare, her hair loose. She looks pale and drawn, like she hasn’t slept.
I feel a sense of relief. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just turned up unannounced, but I was worried about you.”
“It’s nice to see you again.” She offers me a faint smile and steps aside to let me in. For a few seconds we stand there, facing each other, unsure, aloof, like work colleagues again, not lovers.
“I just wanted to check on you.” I’m struggling to say the words that need to be said.
“I told HR I was sick.”
“Are you? You do look tired. Is there something I can get you?”
Her brows push together. “No, Zach. There’s nothing, but you are so sweet. You always have been.”
I keep hoping she’ll ask me to sit down, keep hoping she’ll be comfortable enough to let me linger for longer. We need to talk, but right now we’re hovering around the door, like she’s expecting me to leave soon.
“Something happened on Saturday night, and I’m still trying to figure out what it was. What made you leave. We were having a good time, no?”
“It was a great night.”
“Then what happened?”
She pauses for the longest time. “I was overwhelmed with everything, a party on a yacht, the crowd, the … the atmosphere, it was all so … unexpected.”
If I know one thing it’s that Maya can’t lie to save her life.
“I thought maybe my father showing up like that might have had something to do with it.” Her shoulders tense, just a bit, but enough for me to notice that I’ve hit on something.
“No,” she says, her voice defiant. “It’s nothing like that.” Her words are soft and careful, and they confirm my suspicion.
“I swear I didn’t know he was going to be there. Dex and the others didn’t know either,” I add quickly. “He was supposed to be in South Africa for a few weeks more.”
“World traveler,” she says, quietly.
“Could I maybe sit down or …?”
“Sorry. Yes, come in.” She leads me into the small living room, cramped but lived-in, a couch pushed too close to a narrow coffee table and throw blankets folded neatly on the side.
“How are the cockroaches doing?” I ask, my gaze sweeping around the floor.
“Haven’t seen any lately.”
She looks out of the window, and I wonder if she’s thinking about the Tribeca apartment. She sits down and I sit on the edge of the couch, not invading her space.
“You don’t have to be around my father, ever,” I tell her. “If you don’t want to see him again, you won’t.”
Her expression softens. “You can’t control what your father does.”
Something about the way she says it unsettles me, as if she knows things I don’t.
An invisible wall builds between us, and I’m still none the wiser.
The change in her was too sudden, as soon as my father showed up.
She’s also never fully answered my questions about her mom, and I’ve never understood her explanation for why they left.
Because my mom found another job, she said. The same thing my father said, and yet it feels like a thick, secret lie. I try a different angle. “When you lived on the estate,” I say carefully, “I never understood why you left so suddenly.”
Her gaze drops to the floor. “I told you. It was because my mom found another job.”
“But you left so fast. It was almost like you fled.”
She scratches her arm. “It was a long time ago, Zach. Why so many questions?”
“Because each time I ask, you change the subject. My father does the same.”
That gets her attention. Her eyes snap to mine. “You asked him?”
“That night, I saw him home, after the party.”
“What did he say?”
“The same thing you did.”
She releases a labored sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she says firmly. I catch the subtle warning in her voice.
I’m not going to push, but I need her to know that I’m here for her. “I just want you to know that whatever this is … I’m on your side.”
“I appreciate that.” She searches my face, but she doesn’t move closer, or reach for me. When the silence falls between us again, I know it’s time to leave.
That evening my father wants me to stand in for him. He’s supposed to attend a meeting in Boston, but tells me that he’s too tired to go away for a few days. He asks if I can go instead.
I don’t hesitate. If he’s not well, and he’s finally admitting to it, of course I’ll help wherever I can.
So I leave for Boston the next morning.