8. Zack Attack
8
Zack Attack
On my day off, I padded to the kitchen towards the salivating aroma of toast. I hoped we still had waffles. Butter melted so perfectly into those squares. I could probably eat three in one meal, but I’d settle for one and a half so we didn’t have to go grocery shopping for another week.
My mom and aunt were conspiring at the covered table in our cozy kitchen. A large pad of lined notebook paper sat in front of my mother. My aunt’s phone glowed at her elbow with constant updates from their church friend group text chain. Tea bag tags draped over two plain white mug rims. Steeping that much caffeine meant serious business was afoot.
I tugged on my pajama top and waved at them on my way to the fridge. “Hi. Just grabbing breakfast.” Don’t ask, don’t ask… “Do you need anything?”
Curse my customer service instincts. I prayed all my family needed was a top-off on hot water for their tea.
Mom tapped her pen on the pad of paper. “Aunt Coral and I are finishing our Christmas gift list. You get an employee discount at the mall, correct?”
“On some stuff, yeah.” I grabbed a brightly colored plate I’d gotten in a fast food chain promotion for a kids movie ten years ago.
Mom and Aunt Coral stared at me so hard, I feared they’d march to the mall and demand more discounts on my behalf.
I tugged open the freezer, cold air seeping through my thin pajama pants. “Do you want me to pick some stuff up on my next shift?”
“You have to go today.” Mom came over to grab an ice cube for her tea and pinched an exposed bit of my side. “You’re outgrowing these pajamas. I’ll add a new set to the list and look into donations.”
Stretching my shirt down, I shuffled aside. “These are fine. But can the big shopping trip wait until tomorrow when I’ll be there anyway?” Today was waffles and laundry day.
She speared the air with her ice cube. “What about the little cousins’ toys? They’ll sell out fast.”
“Would one day make that much difference? I’d feel weird going in and not helping on a busy shift,” I said.
Aunt Coral sipped her tea. “If it’s busy, they won’t even notice you’re there.”
Mom dropped the ice cube into her mug. “It’s a temporary job, anyway. Might as well make use of it until you get a real one.”
Ouch .
What I did still mattered.
I braced myself from the freezer chill and delicately shifted portioned meals in the search of my sunshine yellow waffle box. “I guess. But my car’s been acting up and–”
“Zack can take you.” Aunt Coral twisted in her chair. “Zack!”
I flinched.
Her voice could pierce through multiple walls–and my eardrums. She softened it for the choir and nothing else. Aunt Coral folded her hands in her lap. “I had him shovel our driveways.”
I smiled and nodded. Living so close to them was always a bit of a blessing and a curse.
The front door burst open, ushering in a biting breeze. I crossed my arms for modesty and warmth, then shoved the freezer shut with my hip, though my tummy still grumbled for the comforts of a waffle.
My cousin Zack stomped toward the living room, brushing the snow from his baggy pants onto the tiled entryway. He was like a robot: all squared edges and tough guy reflexes. “What?” he asked.
Aunt Coral folded her hands into her lap. “You’re taking your cousin to the mall for Christmas shopping.”
He wiped his forehead. “Why can’t she go by herself?”
I rubbed my bumpy arms. “I can, I just–”
“She’ll need help carrying the bags and you’re a gentleman.” Aunt Coral narrowed her eyes, daring her son to contradict her.
“Fine.” He yanked open the door, his linebacker shoulders blocking out the whole frame. “Let’s go.”
I shuffled against the counter. “I-I can’t leave this second . I haven’t showered or had breakfast.” At my family's blank stares, I gestured wildly to my outfit. “I’m in my pajamas.”
Zack frowned. “Who cares? No one’s gonna be looking at you. And even if they were, all they’ll see is your pants.”
“You can still see my face," I said.
“Yep,” he muttered. Oh, like it was such a disgrace.
“Zack.” Aunt Coral scooted her chair back.
He hung his head back and droned, “I mean, you’re so pretty.”
“Jerk.” I pushed past him to get back to my room.
“Be nice to your cousin,” Aunt Coral hissed to Zack.
“She’s such a baby,” he said. The following thwap sounded an awful lot like a meaty arm getting smacked by a pad of paper.
I rolled my eyes, grabbed some clothes, then headed to the bathroom for a shower.
“Where are you going?” Zack called.
Aunt Coral’s voice cut through the pounding water. “Let her wash up. She wants to look nice.”
“Can she hurry up? I’m starving,” Zack bellowed, cracking open the fridge.
“You two can get breakfast there. Right, Zack?” Her voice held an edge.
“Fine.” He slapped the fridge door shut.
Such a burden. Breakfast with your cousin. Compared to Christmas shopping, it was a vacation.
After I washed up, I put on some light makeup. Glitter stuck to my hands and lashes, a semi-permanent fixture from my work look. I didn’t need to put on any white eyeshadow today, but I still wanted some pizazz. Maybe a light brown palette? Or silver?
Zack called out, his voice softening with distance. “I’m going to the car, and if you’re not there in five minutes–”
“I’m going, gosh.” I hurried to get ready, then stuffed my feet into my comfiest boots.
Mom waved a sheet of notepaper at me. “The list.”
“Love you, bye.” I grabbed the sheet, kissed her and Aunt Coral’s cheeks, and ran out the open door to catch up to my cousin. I slid into the passenger’s side of his old silver Eldorado. “Happy, Zack?”
“Ecstatic. Let’s get this over with.”
Why was everyone so grumpy in such a jolly time of year? Shoveling and snow plow activities notwithstanding.
Zack glanced over his shoulder and jerked the car into reverse. Everything was fast with him. Even walking behind someone going a normal pace for half a second had him grumbling and shoulder checking. Driving in the snow, he was safe-ish, but tense. He bobbed his head to the heavy rock blasting from his home-modded stereo system, his gaze zig-zagging across the snowy streets as if he expected a football tackle or another car to come in out of nowhere.
I perused our moms’ list. “Which store do you want to hit first?”
“There’s a coffee place in the mall, right?”
“Um, yeah. The Bern.” I plucked a guitar pick out of his cup holder. What if Harvey was working? He’d never seen me as anything but Sugarplum: glitter and gumdrops.
Zack flipped one hand over atop the wheel. “What, you don’t like coffee? I’m sure you could get a muffin.”
“No, coffee’s good.” I twiddled the pick, but Zack kept side-eyeing me, so I turned up my palm. “What?”
“Stop playing with my stuff.” He reached across the console.
I elbowed him away and stuck the pick in the cup holder. “Bossy.”
“Brat.”
Whatever. After growing up together, we knew each other well enough to drop it there.
It was kind of unsettling when Zack parked by the front entrance. I was used to hiking from the employee parking lot, not waltzing right in. He strode ahead in such a way that if one more person was with us, he’d be the lead point of the V formation. He kept glancing back as I fiddled with my zipper and peered at shop windows.
I rubbed the fuzz of my hood on my cheeks. “Will you please stop looking at me?”
“Why are you fidgeting?” He held the door open. “Are you in trouble at work or something?”
“No, it’s nothing.” I rushed past him to get the next set of doors and held them for him.
“Then stop being so weird,” he said.
“Okay, stop being so annoying.” My stomach churned until the scent of cinnamon hit. We were here early.
And so was Harvey.