Inevitable and Only(71)

“Inevitable and only,” I repeated. “Remember? How if you’re really listening, there’s only one true response to each cue, and that’s the line that’s written for you to say. Maybe that’s like life, too.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Zephyr abruptly, and I looked at him, startled out of my trance. “Sorry,” he said, “it’s just—I know how much you like my dad, and yeah, he’s a great teacher, a great director. He’s a great dad, too. But he’s so frustrating sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wants me to go to college for theater. Not astrophysics. Thinks I’m throwing away my talent.”

Something stirred in my memory—Robin muttering Too much talent to waste.

“He doesn’t get it,” said Zephyr. “I love the stage. I’m just trying to be practical, too. But he gave up everything for the stage—his family, his home—he’s devoted his whole life to it. And I think he takes it personally that I don’t want to follow in his footsteps.”

“But—I heard that he ran away from home for other reasons—”

“Yeah, he did. His family sucked, his whole situation was terrible. But still.” Zephyr sighed. “Julian understands. He thinks I’m doing the right thing. I hear them fighting about it sometimes after they think I’ve gone to bed. I hate that I’m driving a wedge between them.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I get that,” I said softly.

“I know you do,” he said, just as quietly.

“Inevitable and only,” I said again, because I wasn’t sure what else to say. I felt like I was stuck on repeat. “Do you really think we get just this one life? This is it, our only shot? And yet it’s all going to end, that’s inevitable—what’s that Macbeth line? ‘Life’s but a walking shadow’—”

Zephyr finished the quote for me: “‘A poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.’”

“Yeah. We get our time, and then we’re done. I mean, seriously?”

“No fair,” Zephyr agreed. “No fair at all.”

“And what about fate?” I said, because I couldn’t seem to stop talking, because he was so warm standing there right next to me. “Is everything we do inevitable, too? What if every action is the only possible continuation of the things we’ve already done? I mean, do we really get any choices about anything? Ever?”

Zephyr flung his arms up toward the sky, as if gesturing at all the stars and galaxies up there, all the other worlds that weren’t this one. “I think we do. Otherwise, I can’t wrap my head around it all. My brain feels like it’ll explode.”

And then somehow when he lowered his arms they ended up around my waist, and my hands crept up to his chest, and we were staring at each other in the faint light from the kitchen window. We’d been this close before, on stage, but this felt completely different.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” I said, trying to dilute the tension. He didn’t respond, just looked at me.

I tried again. “Zephyr—” But I couldn’t think of anything to say next.

There was no inevitable and only next line.

So I kissed him.

It was nothing like the stage kiss. His mouth was warm, warmer than I could’ve imagined, and it felt alive—not like a thumb, not at all. His lips moved, and then I realized I could let my lips move too, and his mouth was so soft—

I pulled away.

He cupped my face with one hand and pulled me back, and we kissed again.

And then I pulled away again, and ran into the house.

He had a girlfriend.

Zephyr had a girlfriend, and I knew that, I’d met her, and I’d kissed him anyway. And he’d let me. But I’d started it.

I grabbed a blue can off the kitchen counter, popped the tab, and took a swig. Ugh. The warm, bitter beer tore a fizzy path down my esophagus. I chugged more of it. Forced myself to finish the can.

Zephyr didn’t follow me in off the porch.

My head spinning, my heart thumping so hard I thought it might crack a rib, I pounded up the stairs to my room. So it turned out I was the daughter who was most like Dad after all. Deep down, where it mattered. You’re the one who’s indifferent to betrayal. Just like Dad.

Dizzy and nauseated, I flung open the door of my room.

Elizabeth leaped off her bed with a little scream.

Leaped away from the person lying on the bed next to her, shirt half-unbuttoned. Who’d been holding her when I’d walked in, their limbs intertwined. Who was now sitting up and fumbling with buttons, wiping a hand across her mouth.

Yes, her mouth.

The person who had been making out with Elizabeth on her bed was not Farhan. It was Heron Lang.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


Micayla was right—after the alcohol disappeared, the party shriveled. She and Raven stayed to help me clean things up. I wasn’t sure what had happened to Heron. After I opened the door on her and Elizabeth, I ran back down the stairs and popped the top off a second beer. Micayla raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. I curled up on the floor behind the kitchen counter and hid, my face burning, and drank about half of it, until I couldn’t tell whether my face was still burning or not. I didn’t see Zephyr again—he must’ve left.