Page 35 of Zeppelin
The only people I’ve truly ever trusted like that are my mom and Bronte.
This might be the most honest conversation I’ve had outside of my family without even realizing that I was doing it. And that? That’s not true. This was Zeppelin’s honesty. It wasn’t about my hard truths. I haven’t even begun to process what those are. I wasn’t aware I had any to sort through. My most open moment? Last night in the cellar. This morning in Zeppelin’s arms after he picked me up, bathed me, and wrapped me in a blanket like he’s the one who’s a natural born caregiver.
I want to give him a minute with this, but maybe I need the same thing. “Just hold on,” I tell him before I push back from the table and disappear upstairs.
There’s no urgency, so he doesn’t follow this time.
The floorboards creak under my feet as I go to the nearly empty spare room. The only thing I do have set up in here are a few bookcases that my dad and Gabe moved from the house. I packed all my books up and they were nice enough to lug every single box up here for me and unpack them for me. The floor in here is extra squeaky. When I find what I’m looking for and walk a few paces, the house gives me away with its soft squeals and sighs.
The wooden steps complain far more vociferously as I come back down.
Zeppelin glances with interest at what I have in my hands. I set it down on the table next to my unfinished breakfast. He whistles at the size of it. “Is that a dictionary?”
I can see how he’d think that, given that it’s a vintage edition with a blue leather cover and gold embossing on the front and all along the spine.
“I think you’ll enjoy this. You can relate to so many of the stories.”
I pass it across the table.
Dickens. Collected Works.
“I thought I told you I was illiterate.”
“Yeah, but I know you’re just joking.”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever read a full book in my life.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t.”
“Andthisis the first thing you give me? Something that looks as though it would take seven lifetimes to complete?” He tries to sound appalled, but he still runs his fingers over theembossing on the cover almost reverently. “You know, we might be a club of bikers, but the amount of times I’ve heard Ancient Rome and Greek myths mentioned, Shakespeare, Dickens, and the lot, just proves how abnormal we are.”
“If you’re still planning on building that porch today, I wouldn’t mind sitting in the shade and reading to you. I’d offer more help than that, but I know you’ll refuse. The entertainment is the least I can do.’
“If you want to do that, sure you can.”
He keeps it light, like I’m imposing on him and he’d be doing me a favor by allowing it and by listening, but I know that’s just his way of teasing me.
It’s my way of being there for him. Of picking him off the floor, of washing him up, of being his safety blanket of warmth and friendship, of holding him when he needs it most. The lines might be blurring, but screw the lines. We can be here for each other when we need it most. That’s the human thing to do.
And even if it’s more than that, we don’t have to admit it right now.
There’s still time to figure it out.
For today, we can just be two people who keep each other company, who enjoy each other’s presence, and who maybe evenneedeach other.
Chapter 10
Ginny
My mom used to be a lawyer. She’s seen and heard pretty much everything. She once sat me down and told me that she was going to give me the same talk that she’d given Bronte when she was my age.
Basically, it was a crash course on sex coming from a safe source. I’d already figured out the basics from books and online, but just because you can look something up, doesn’t mean you reallygetit.
Mom told me that I should never let my hormones dictate the terms. I had to use common sense and be safe, above all. She acknowledged that not all sex has to be had in a relationship, not all relationships end in marriage, and not all marriages end happily. That doesn’t make it wrong or bad. What makes it bad is getting hurt or hurting someone else. That isneverokay. She never wanted me to be in a position where that was a possibility.
When I was eighteen, there was a guy who was tolerable enough. It sounds so bad, but I was tired of being a virgin. I wanted to know what it waslike.
First times aren’t all that fun, but it wasn’t like that for me. I enjoyed it. I wanted it. We didn’t really date so much as we hooked up and hung out. We went thefriendswithbenefitsroute.
