Page 36 of Cut Off
“She wouldn’t say.”
“Jonah.”
“She wouldn’t say, Zoe. She just said it’s scheduled, and I need to be there.”
The kitchen does a slow tilt—the kind that happens when your brain refuses to catch up.
“Okay,” I say. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s probably procedural. They have to do these check-ins.”
He’s lying to me and himself. He knows it, and I know it.
“Sure. It’ll be fine.” I very much want it to be fine, but I have no actual idea whether it will be.
I reach across the counter and put my hand on his wrist before I think about it. “Listen to me. None of this matters. Not the emergency meeting, not the hockey leave, not what the internet is saying, not what tomorrow is. The only thing that matters is that you’re showing up. That’s it. That’s the whole job. And you’re doing it. You bought a Death Star. You have everything lined up for his first day of school tomorrow. You made this entire house ready for him. You’re doing it.”
His lips purse, but he doesn’t say anything.
I can’t help myself. I hug him, and he hugs me back, pulling me close. I really, really, really like how his body fits with mine, but I’m not going to think about that. This is just a comfort hug.
That lingers as he rubs my back, and I really, really like that too.
I pull him tighter.
We linger longer.
Finally, I pull away because there are limits, and I need to set them. “It’ll work out,” I say. “Because that’s what’s best for Eli. And the universe occasionally gets one right.”
“Occasionally.”
“I said what I said.”
He turns his wrist under my hand, like he’s going to hold mine back.
I’m definitely not bringing up the Seattle offer right now. “Get some sleep,” I tell him, standing. “I’ll be here in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
I climb the stairs to my bedroom, close the door, and sit on the edge of the bed in the dark.
Mel Cho. Seattle.
A judge’s chambers at nine a.m. tomorrow, with a man who didn’t sleep last night and will definitely not sleep tonight either. A nine-year-old asleep down the hall with a closet door propped open at exactly six inches.
I lie back. The pillow smells like Jonah’s detergent. I hear Jonah moving around somewhere downstairs, then the click of a light, then nothing. I can feel it, I can feel my heart becoming invested in something that will never be mine. Jonah made that very clear when I made him agree to not fall for me.
Two stones, sitting in my chest, side by side. I can feel both of them. I can’t put either of them down.
I close my eyes anyway.
11
Schooled
