The Edge of Everything (Untitled #1)(83)

Zoe snuck a look at X’s hair, and smiled. It pointed in every direction like a sign at an intersection.

X said that he’d panicked as the diners inspected him. He thought of fleeing, but a woman with bright yellow hair and a pencil welcomed him and set him at ease. X pretended he couldn’t speak English. The yellow-haired woman found this endearing. She toured the establishment with him, miming that he should look at everyone’s plates and point to what he wanted.

“Oh my god, she was flirting with you,” Zoe interrupted. “I may have to go back and have a talk with her.”

X had been telling his story excitedly—breathlessly, almost. He stumbled to a stop now, confused by Zoe’s comment.

“Never mind,” she said. “Keep going. This is my favorite story of all time.”

All the diners, X said, wanted him to choose their food. It became a game. They lifted their plates to him as he passed, hoping for his approval. Whenever he selected something, a cheer would go up, and the waitress would scribble on her little rectangle of paper. His only difficulty had been choosing the drinks because he couldn’t see what was inside the cans. He hoped she found something here acceptable?

She assured him that she did. She took the ginger ale for herself and, when he reached for the Jolt Cola, guided him toward the tomato juice instead, saying, “I think you’re jacked up enough already.”

Next came the ceremonial opening of the Styrofoam boxes. X watched as Zoe gazed inside them. He looked so nervous that it would have moved her to tears if she hadn’t been starving. In the first box, there were two thick, buttered slices of French toast, each with a whorl of cinnamon in the center, and a side of wavy, gleaming bacon. In the second, there was a golden mound of onion rings and a small container of blue cheese dressing. In the third, there was a slice of molten chocolate cake so enormous that an elastic band had been stretched around the box to keep it safely inside.

X stared at Zoe, desperate for a verdict.

“I do not pretend to know what constitutes a meal,” he said.

She leaned over the boxes, put a hand behind his neck, and pulled him close for a kiss.

“These are the best foods on earth,” she said. “How did you know?”

X beamed.

“Should we begin with this?” he said, pointing to the chocolate cake.

“Obviously,” said Zoe.

The waitress had forgotten to give them silverware—or paper plates or napkins—so they ate with their hands.

They ate until there was nothing left but crumbs. They ate until their hands, their shirts, their faces—somehow, even their necks—were sticky with grease and frosting. They ate until the tide had receded, until the sun sat overhead, until X was so high on syrup and cake that he was hopping jubilantly around the tiny hut and doing impressions of Ripper, Dervish, and the Russian guard. Zoe laughed, remembering Banger and all his candy bars. Come to me, ye Men of the Lowlands, she thought, and I shall give you sugar! And maybe even caffeine!

Seeing X so happy calmed everything inside her. She wouldn’t have thought it was possible. She had gotten so used to pain and to loss and to impossible questions—and yet right here in front of her was love, was hope, was an answer.

After the inevitable sugar crash, X slept for hours, his long legs sticking out of the hut. Zoe watched him every moment, just as he had watched over her all night. Her father had abandoned her, but X never would. Not willingly. She smoothed his hair as best she could with her hands. She traced the tattoos on his arms with her fingers: the giraffe, the monkey, a knife, a tree, a band of stars. She worried that it was wrong to touch him while he slept, but she couldn’t help herself. And, anyway, she could have sworn that his breathing deepened whenever her skin touched his. She pressed her lips to the insides of his wrists and the soft hollow at the base of his throat. She kissed his fingers one by one, and took them into her mouth. She did it all softly so he wouldn’t wake. Her face flushed with heat. Everything tasted of maple syrup.



They were so close to Zoe’s father that the Trembling returned as X slept. Being with Zoe always quieted his body, but never cured it altogether. X’s skin became damp and feverish. Zoe opened his shirt wide to let the air cool him, allowing herself the brief pleasure of placing her palm against his chest and feeling his heart pump beneath her hand. As the hours passed, the sickness grew stronger. X shook and thrashed his head in his sleep.

Zoe’s phone trilled in her coat.

The screen said ME!!! was calling. Jonah had programmed himself in.

She stepped down the rickety ladder so X wouldn’t wake, and balanced on one of the narrow rungs. Birds that had drifted in from the water were tracing circles around her. The waves roiled just below her feet.

Jonah began talking before she’d even said hello.

“Why aren’t you here?” he said. “Where are you? What are you doing?”

Zoe answered the least complicated of the questions.

“I’m looking at the ocean,” she said.

“Where is there an ocean?” said Jonah suspiciously. “We don’t have an ocean.”

“I’ll tell you everything when I see you, bug,” she said. “I can’t talk right now.”

“Don’t hang up!” he said. “If you hang up, I will call back sixteen times! You have to come home, Zoe. Right now! Mom said you’ll come home when you’re ready, but I’m ready right now!”