Page 72 of Unwritten Rules
And Zach tells him about having a fight with Morgan, though not what the fight was actually about. About Aviva being irritated with him. About how his parents still won’t take any of his money, even to pay for catering.
“I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what I’d do otherwise.” Zach swipes his hand through his hair, and he’ll have to fix it again if he’s going to take pictures. “Is that weird to say?”
“No, it’s not weird.” Eugenio smiles, teeth bright, the familiar curve of his bottom lip, though it fades. “Zach, I think your mom is looking for you.”
And Zach turns, slowly, carefully, his face going hot, from where they’re sitting on Zach’s bed, too close, Eugenio’s hand resting on Zach’s thigh. Zach’s mother is standing in the doorway, frowning. A sense of creeping dread—not knowing how much she heard or what she thinks of them, sitting together—washes over him.
“Zach, your presence is missed downstairs,” she says, eyes narrowed. She doesn’t acknowledge that Eugenio is there too. And Zach doesn’t know if moving away is worse than staying put, but Eugenio makes the decision for him, going over to where he hung his suit jacket on the back of the desk chair and putting it back on.
Zach can’t seem to move. His shirt collar feels tight, the top button strangling him. “I’m going.” He breathes, trying to quell a rising sense of panic. “Just give me a second.”
She stands in the doorway, like she doesn’t trust them to go without her surveillance, hallway lights glinting off the gray streaks in her undyed hair. “You could...” She pauses, reconsidering what she’s about to say. “I’ll see you in a minute. And you should apologize to Rachel.”
“Was Rachel who you were talking with downstairs?” Eugenio says, when Zach’s mother leaves.
“I should probably have warned you something like that was gonna happen. Usually they’re a little more subtle about setting me up.”
“We could tell her—your mom, I mean—about us. She might already suspect something. And it’s not fair to Rachel either.”
Something Zach knows, even if it feels too enormous to deal with right now. “You know you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“I know. But it’s still not fair to anyone. Even if you don’t tell your mom everything, it’s been five months.”
“Has it?” And it’s the wrong thing to say. Zach knows it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as he says it.
“Yes,” Eugenio says, tightly, “yes, it has.”
“I’m sorry. Shit, I can’t do anything right today.”
“Your parents don’t seem to have a problem with Morgan and Lydia.”
“It’s different,” Zach says. “It’s different when it’s their own kid, okay? Because it’ll be something like: Am I sure? Is it a phase? Or that maybe I should try dating Rachel or someone like her, just to see. I’m supposed to get married, have kids. Go to shul with them and live twenty minutes away. I can’t have that and still play.Wecan’t.”
“We could.” Eugenio comes up to Zach, hands on his shoulders. “Not now, but, you know, at some point.”
“You don’t know, growing up, what it was like.”
“I know what it’s like to have my parents put expectations on me.” His voice is gentle, like Zach will break if he gets any louder. “And you might be the first guy I’ve been with, but the thought occurred to me before.”
“Can we give it some time? It’ll be harder for them to dismiss this as not being serious if we’ve been together longer.”
Eugenio kisses him, a long enough kiss that Zach considers just shutting the door, shutting them away from the demands of the world, Eugenio a shield between him and the things he can’t bring himself to face. Then Eugenio withdraws, straightening the lapels of Zach’s jacket, smoothing his hand down his shirt. “Sure, Zach, we can give it some time.”
Chapter Twenty
The next day, Zach picks Morgan and Lydia up at their hotel for their drive out to the beach. He opens the hatch of his rented truck, moving to load their suitcases before Morgan goes, “What are you doing?” And she hefts them in herself next to where Eugenio’s carry-on and garment bag are stacked.
Traffic is kind of a shitshow getting to the airport to drop Eugenio off for his return flight to Oakland. Maryland drivers consider turn signals optional, but somehow Zach forgets each time and has to be reminded when a car swerves into his lane. Morgan and Lydia are whispering in the backseat, low enough that Zach can’t make out what they’re saying, but Eugenio looks back a few times, before resting his forearm on the center console, fingers a few inches from Zach.
They arrive, pulling into the departure lane. Zach pops the hatch of his truck. “Do you need a hand?”
“Sure,” Eugenio says, like he can’t bench well above Zach’s weight.
On the curb, Eugenio hugs him, a one-armed clubhouse hug, though breathes in Zach’s ear that he’ll miss him, even though they’ll only be apart for a couple of days. And Zach considers what it’d be like to kiss him there, standing at the drop-off point, before a car behind them honks for Zach to move his truck.
It’s a two-hour drive, down to Annapolis, then across the Bay Bridge and to the beach on the Atlantic coast. Their rental house is on a side street, walking distance to the ocean, little drifts of sand dusting the driveway as he pulls in.
“Ugh,” Lydia says, climbing out of the truck, “my thighs are going to chafe in this heat.”
