“Start at the beginning,” Zebb gently demands.
“Six weeks ago, I got a call from a man. My mother’s landlord. He’d found her in her apartment. She’d tried to kill herself.”
Zebb lets out a slow hiss.
“There had been previous attempts.” I let out a deep exhale. “She’d been at the Benedict Home before for mental health issues. I was listed as next of kin and contacted when they realized this time was dire. My mother wasn’t going to recover or argue against informing me of her condition.”
“So all this time, your mother was close?”
“I guess so. She just hadn’t contacted me.” All my life I’d struggled with why she hadn’t reached out to me and all this time I hadn’t known how much she was struggling. I wish I had answers for when her condition started. Was there a trigger or had she always suffered? As a child, I hadn’t seen signs of mental concerns. I wouldn’t have even known what to look for.
Had my father known? He’d never mentioned it, and for all his faults, the pain he felt after her leaving gives me reason to believe he’d never had any more hints than me.
Zebb reaches for my hands across the table. At first, I refuse his touch but he gently commands, “Give me your hands.”
I stretch across the table. Although he held me to his side at the funeral home, I wasn’t half as aware of his comfort as I am now.
Zebb squeezes my fingers. “So six weeks ago . . .”
“I’d go to see her every Sunday. She was in this catatonic state. Like she’d just stare at me. And I talked. I don’t even know if she heard what I said.” I sigh. “I’d tell her all kinds of random things. Like where I went to school and what I’d been doing. I told her how I hated Christmas and even that I blamed her. I shared stories from the store.” I take a deep breath and exhale. “Then I started telling her about you.”
“And what did you say?”
“How you’d sneak into my room. How I always felt connected to you, in tune with you somehow. How the instant I saw you again, that vibe returned. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.”
“Meaning?”
“We weren’t those kids anymore. We didn’t include feelings then and I shouldn’t have them now.”
“We might have never discussed our emotions, but it didn’t mean we didn’t have them.” Zebb tugs my hands closer to him. “Being with you was the best part of high school even if it was after graduation.”
“Why weren’t we together sooner, again?” I joke without humor.
“I’ve already told you. You were you and I was me. And I was scared and stupid as a teen.”
I stare at him over the table. “And now I’m stupid and scared.”
“What are you so afraid of?” His eyes don’t leave mine.
“What if I’m like her? What if one day I’m too sad to handle life? Or I end up alone which seems worse.”
“Then you reach out for help.” Zebb squeezes my fingers again. “I’m here.”
I stare at him, wanting to ask where have you been all my life? But I have the answers. Living a life. Loving a woman. Having a child. Making a name for himself with his career.
“Why shouldn’t you have feelings for me now?” Zebb’s brows furrow as his voice lowers, and he stares at our hands.
I can’t answer him. The truth is, what if he doesn’t feel about me the same way I feel about him? I can’t handle more rejection in my life. I don’t want to be some project for him, like I was just a fling that summer.
Zebb focuses on me as if he can read my thoughts. “Mary was special. She was good and kind and everything someone should love. But I didn’t love her like she deserved. For years, I wrestled with my own guilt that I hadn’t loved her enough. I liked her a lot, but she wasn’t the one. I knew that in here.” Zebb pats his chest. “My heart was still holding on to someone else.”
“Zebb,” I whisper and glance down at our hands where he’s linked his fingers through mine.
“Eva, call it young lust or first love but I hadn’t ever let you go. And I’m fucking kicking myself that you’ve been in the city all along. I’d just assumed you were gone for good. I’ve probably been in Ashford’s a handful of times over the years, and held fire and evacuation drills there, and missed you every damn time.”
Our number is called for our order, cutting off our conversation. Zebb squeezes my hands once more before standing and retrieving the food.
I’ve hardly eaten the past few days, and when he returns, I stare at my sandwich, already forgetting what I ordered.