"I'll admit that makes me sad because I'm sure I could apologize thoroughly if you were interested," I said.
She laughed, a real, true, gorgeous Zelda laugh. "I'm not."
"Right, well." I shoved my hands in my pockets. "We have to leave now. For pancakes."
I left Zelda there with her whip-cracked laundry to change out of my suit and tie. By the time I stepped out of my closet in jeans and a polo, she was stationed in the middle of my bedroom with her hands fixed on her hips.
"I don't get it," she said. "Where are we going?"
I slipped my wallet into my back pocket. "You'll find out when we get there." I grabbed her hand, grinning when she didn't swat me away. "Let's go, love."
Zelda allowed me to hold her hand as we rode the elevator to the street level and settled into the car I'd ordered. She positioned herself in the middle of the bench seat knowing she'd be pressed up against me which was the equivalent of her lowering the drawbridge and allowing me back into her good graces. Neither of us spoke as the car inched through traffic in the Theater District and Chinatown.
I didn't know whether we both tended toward this independently or it was a product of our relationship but there were often times when we didn't need to speak. Sometimes it was pensive, like tonight, and the silence settled around us like heavy woolen cloaks while we worked out our problems within ourselves and the worlds we knew. Other times it was a quiet that required no words because we'd replaced them with touch and the cellular connection we'd formed. Then there were the golden moments, the ones we often shared at work when we understood and anticipated each other without any form of language. It was like synchronized swimming or a perfectly executed pass run.
This silence tested my limits. More than once, I nearly blurted out, "Promise me you're not actually quitting."
By force of will alone, I survived the ride without doing that but only because her coming along and all but snuggling up beside me seemed like positive signs.
When we climbed out of the car, Zelda said, "This is a diner." She stared up at the authentically retro South Street Diner. "You actually meant…pancakes?"
"Yes." I reached for her hand again. "You said you love blueberry pancakes and cheesy omelets and crispy bacon but you never have time to make that and—and I've fucked up everything so you have to let me give you the things you love."
She shot a longing look at the diner's shiny aluminum trim and the giant coffee cup perched on the roof. "What I have to do is require you to fight fair," she said. "Pancakes can't change that limit."
"They can't," I agreed. "Let's get a table. I want to talk through this and I want to hear your plan to staff up Dad's office."
After a pause that lived in my chest for an eternity, she asked, "These are good pancakes?"
"Excellent," I replied.
She folded her arms over her chest and scowled like she was posing for a reality cooking competition. "I'll be the judge of that."
And now my heart was able to beat semi-normally again.
We stepped into the diner and I steered Zelda toward a booth in the corner. If nothing else, this location offered a great vantage point for prime people watching. If I fucked this up any further, we had a city full of people to stare at instead of each other.
Zelda plucked a menu from the metal holder near the window. She read each item listed as if she was studying up for an exam and ignoring my entire existence in the process.
I probably deserved that.
No, I definitely deserved it.
I didn't know why I had to be an asshole all the time.
Once again, no. That wasn't true. I was an asshole because I couldn't cope with anyone taking control away from me. But I wasn't on a maniacal power trip. That wasn't it at all.
I didn't like offloading responsibilities on anyone and more often than not, I was the one collecting responsibilities from them. It used to be sheepdogging my siblings, now it was sheepdogging Dad and his clients. And I didn't trust anyone else with these tasks because I was the only one who'd care about my family the way I did. Even when I was at war with my father, even