We Are the Ants(44)

? ? ?

Zooey drove a little blue Volvo that was so old, it still had a tape deck and crank windows. The inside smelled like vanilla or roses—I couldn’t tell which, maybe both—and her music collection included every terrible power ballad in existence. Worse yet, she knew all the words to every song.

“Are you excited about being an uncle?” Zooey asked after a while. She looked at me until the persistent thump of the road dividers told her she was about to get us killed.

“I guess. Are you excited to become a mom?”

I expected Zooey to answer yes immediately, but she didn’t. She kept her hands on the steering wheel and her eyes on the road. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m f*cking scared as hell.”

“Of giving birth or the stuff that comes after?”

“All of it,” Zooey said. “I constantly worry about whether I’m taking enough vitamins or the right kind of vitamins. I worry about whether the pot I smoked before I knew I was pregnant hurt the baby. My older brother has schizophrenia, and I worry it might be genetic and I might pass it to my child. Every action I took in the past and that I’ll take in the future could impact my baby, and that scares the shit out of me.”

Maybe that should have shocked me, but I admired Zooey for admitting those things to me. “You’re going to be a great mother.”

“It helps knowing I won’t have to do it alone. I don’t think I’ve seen Charlie this excited about anything.”

“Listen,” I said. “I love my brother because he’s my brother, but he’s going to be a terrible father.”

I waited for Zooey to yell at me or slap me or tell me I was wrong. Instead she giggled. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones.

“I’m serious,” I said. “Honestly, I don’t even understand what you see in him.”

The bookstore was a twenty-minute drive, and the only way I could have escaped the car would have been to throw open the door and leap into the street. Don’t think I didn’t consider it.

“I knew Charlie in high school. Did you know that?”

“I thought you met in college.”

“We did,” Zooey said, “but we were in the same grade in high school. We didn’t really know each other, but I knew of him. I thought he was a jerk. He ruined homecoming by streaking across the football field with his buddies during the parade.”

I leaned my head against the window. “That’s my brother.”

“Do you know what changed my mind?”

“No,” I said, but I was sure she was going to tell me.

Zooey smiled, maybe at the memory, maybe from gas. “We had college algebra together. Our professor was new, an older woman who had decided to change careers late in life. She was a pretty terrible professor, but she tried hard.

“There were these guys who talked through every class. When Dr. Barnett stuttered, they’d laugh and imitate her. She ignored them, but it was bad. One class, she was reviewing for an exam, and the guys were watching videos on their phones. Like, not even trying to pretend they cared about the class. Dr. Barnett asked them to shut off their phones, but they ignored her.”

I glanced at Zooey. “Let me guess: Charlie told they guys to stop, and that’s how you knew he was an okay guy.”

Zooey laughed so hard, she nearly drove off the road. I clutched the door for dear life. “God, no,” she said. “Charlie was one of the guys cutting up.”

“And that made you decide he was worth dating?”

“It was after class. I’d left my graphing calculator behind, and I went back to get it. I saw Dr. Barnett sitting at her desk, crying. Charlie was still in there. He asked her why she was crying, and she told him she didn’t think she was cut out to be a professor. Your brother told her she was the first teacher who’d ever made him understand math. I don’t know if it was true—she really was a terrible teacher—but he never cut up in class again after that.” Zooey was quiet for a moment, and I didn’t have anything to add. Then she said, “Charlie doesn’t always do what’s right, and he can be insensitive, but he tries, Henry, which is more than I can say for a lot of people.”

“He can try all he wants,” I said. “He’s still going to be a terrible father.”

Zooey glanced at me again, and the entire car swerved to the right, barely remaining on the road. “I need a burger.” Without another word, she detoured into the nearest McDonald’s, bought herself two cheeseburgers, and forced a chocolate milk shake on me despite my protests because, in her words, “Milk shakes make the world seem less shitty.”

When we reached the bookstore, Zooey pulled in front of the doors to drop me off. “I can pick you up later if you want.”

“I’ll find a ride.”

“You’re wrong about Charlie, you know.”

“I wish I were.” I started to open the door, stopped, and said, “When things got tough, my dad left. I needed him, and he abandoned me—walked away and never looked back—and one day Charlie’s going to do that to you and that little parasite you’re carrying.”

Again I waited for Zooey to smack me or scream, but her expression was serene and never wavered. “Can I tell you something, Henry?”

Seeing as I’d just trashed her future kid’s father, I didn’t feel like I could say no. “Sure.”