Page 5 of Spring Awakening

“It’s alright, Ma. Let’s get you to the couch.” She lets him help her out of the kitchen, even if she doesn’t quite need the support. He’s not sure if she forgets she’s more able-bodied than she thinks, or if it’s a symptom. Either way, he appreciates that she still feels comfortable leaning on him when she’s not sure who he is.

“When is Devon coming?” Sometimes she’s not sure who Zach is, but she always remembers Devon. She wonders why Devon is mad, why he never visits. Why she’s sitting alone in her house without her sons or her husband. Zach doesn’t know how many times he can explain that their father is a worthless piece of shit and Devon is in jail, but that he’s right here. Sometimes, he chooses not to, and he’s not sure whose benefit that’s for.

Zach closes his eyes for a beat too long. “This weekend.”

“This weekend?” she asks, looking up at him with too much hope. He feels guilty about it, but he hopes she forgets she asked. “Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

“Oh, good,” his mum says, and sits in her chair. It takes her a moment to look up at him. “He’s always been a good boy. Do you know him?”

Zach swallows a sip of his tea. It’s too hot, and it burns the entire way down, but it hurts less than watching his mum remember only parts of her life.

“Yeah.”

His mum hums, her fingertips running across the frayed edges of the chair. Zach’s never seen the resemblance between himselfand Devon, but do they truly look so unalike that his mum can’t remember him? He wonders if he bent down slightly, if he changed his mouth, if he pierced his eyebrow—would she remember him then?

“He always fills up the fridge for me. Did you want something to eat?”

“I’m good,” Zach replies. He only has about five minutes before his mum politely asks him to leave. She’ll probably text him later tonight asking how to work the television. She’ll have no idea he left with such a bitter taste in his mouth that has nothing to do with the tea he didn’t make very well. It’s fine, of course. He can deal with it. Besides, he needs to head back to the training grounds to find his phone. Maybe he’ll figure out how to apologise, if she’s there. Probably not. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s not sure how to act around her.

Zach turns the television on for his mum, then places a couple books on the side table next to her. He makes sure the back door is locked and that the windows aren’t propped open, then leans down to press his lips against the top of her head.

“Oh, no,” she says, pushing him away, but it’s not unkind. “I need a haircut! Can you tell Devon? He’ll book it for me.” There’s nothing wrong with her hair, she had it cut last week, but he’ll book a wash and blow-dry anyway. His mum is long over silk presses, but she still hates washing her hair. He needs to remember to come the day before so he can put the deep conditioner in. God, he needs his phone.

“Sure, Ma. Next week?”

She smiles up at him, and he’s so sure she remembers him, but she doesn’t say it out loud.

“Next week.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Mali is glad Zachdoesn’t work in the office, because she felt so badass walking away from him. She rode that high all the way to the empty office she has been sitting in for the last three hours and forty-seven minutes.

Well, in that time, she also walked to the shop, got some flowers and a cookie, and strolled around the perimeter of the training centre in case she bumped into someone who wouldn’t tell her that her hair was unprofessional. And then she got locked out until Lisa, the cleaner, turned up and let her in. Lisa didn’t seem to care that Mali had no badge and no way to prove she worked there other than a vague email. Now, despite the fact the welcome email remains the same, Mali has checked it five times. Monday at nine a.m. This Monday, now well past nine a.m., and yet, the office is still freezing and empty.

And on top of all that, the tea is shit.Soshit. It tastes like dishwater, and it’s nothing to do with how long it was brewed for, because there’s small bits of film on the surface. But Mali is polite, and it’s her first day, so she sips it anyway.

“Thanks,” she says, as she places the mug on her coaster. Lisa smiles at her, throws her a thumbs-up, then scoots her mop trolley to another room. It’s barely lunchtime, and Mali has already made her desk her own (she picked an empty one, but she’ll move if she has to) with fluffy pink pens, two potted plants, and the bunch of flowers. She cleaned the dust from her keyboard and desk, and then waited. She’s checked the noticeboards that are in place around the office. The ad for the job she applied for is still there, so it’s not like she made the whole thing up.

The office is a big, open-plan space. There are a couple desks, one private office, and a few doors leading to places she can’t get into. From the outside, it looks like a warehouse, which would be trendy if it weren’t covered in decades of rust. Thankfully, the interior has had some kind of renovation. The walls are solid, hopefully full of insulation and with a heating system. There’s a large kitchen and dining area in the corner. It looks well-used. She can imagine eating with friends here, the laughter and sounds of the office penetrating every corner of the space. However, right now, it’s all in her imagination.

So the organisation here isn’t great. It’s her first day, and she has no access to the internet. No one is here to greet her, there’s no welcome pack, no training discussions, and there’s been only two interactions, one of which did not go well. Mali has managed to do more PR for the team on her social media channels over the weekend than she has here. She’s good at her job. She’d be so good for this team if they were around long enough to pull the stick out of their arse.

The nerves gnaw at her stomach. Maybe she shouldn’t have taken this job. Perhaps it would’ve been better to go with an organisation who’d been in business longer than three days. If she’s really been stood up on day one, her being paid on time, or at all, seems highly unlikely. She wonders if the offer for the localfootball team is still on the table. Mali doesn’t support them in the same way she does the Titans, but she could make it work if she had to.

It’s not like she can be jobless for very long. Mali only just bought her house, and she doesn’t want to lose it before she gets her first Christmas tree. Her parents would help her out, of course, but that would hinder their retirement plans, and, oh God, she’s going to have to go back to retail. That’s the issue with living in a small town. There are about ten professional jobs, and she’d thought she’d managed to snag one. If she wants another PR opportunity, she’ll have to move to a bigger city, or—gross—commute.

Mali’s thankful she put her spare room up for rent last night. Her dad has wanted her to rent it out since she bought her house. She knew she should have got a one-bed, but the idea of having a guest room had been floating in her mind for the longest time. (Sage-green bedsheets and white linen curtains and a cute chocolate on the pillow—hard yes!) At least if she gets a roommate, her parents won’t freak out. She could probably go a couple months before she even told her folks this job ended before it started. God, if they find out about this awful first day, they’re going to try and get her into medical school. How is Mali supposed to be a big deal around here by the afternoon if there is literally no one here?

Thankfully, the door flies open. She spins, ready to introduce herself, but his face is back in her eyeline. Why is Zach back here? Mali prepares herself for the onslaught of smugness, the sweetheart, the laughing at her desk, but he walks straight past her. She can’t decide if it’s better or worse that he’s forgotten her already.

“Uhm, Zachariah,” she says, pulling her lip between her teeth. He stops, but he doesn’t turn to face her. His locs are up now. She swears they were hanging by his face earlier. There’s atwisting in her stomach at the sight of the back of his neck. She takes a deep breath, trying to get over the fact he’s going to ignore her again when she’s turned on by the sheer width of his traps.

Then he replies, “Zach.”

“Right. Zach.”

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