Zoey XI

As soon as Zoey opened her eyes, she became aware of a pressing need to use the bathroom, but when she peeked into the hall, the bathroom door was closed. She could run downstairs to the second bath, or cross to the master bedroom and use the bathroom there, but that would require either changing while she was still slightly sticky, or walking around in her damp, clinging suit, and neither of those was a good option.

Then Ajax’s door opened, and she realized that the person in the bathroom must be their grandma, and when her cousin headed downstairs, she was trapped. Deciding distraction was better than standing there thinking about it, she closed her door the rest of the way, though she kept an ear out for the sound of running water or opening doors.

Looking around, she spied the swimsuit coverup Bree had given her when they all went to California for the big grand opening of the new West Coast Veritas Corp campus. Zoey was used to swimming pools, and had no idea it could take a half mile (or more) of walking to get from beach to car. She had gotten a mild sunburn on the first day, so Bree bought her a loose, drapey, wrap-around dress and sunscreen with a higher SPF before they went out the second day.

Because Bree was a really nice, really thoughtful person, and Zoey really, really liked her. Maybe even loved her, by now, though more like an aunt than a parent-figure. Zoey definitely liked having Bree around, even though it was weird when people stopped them in the street and asked for the woman’s autograph, or if they could take a picture with her. Zoey just… didn’t understand why Bree couldn’t join their lives, instead of pulling them into hers. The woman was like a small sun, and now Zoey and her dad were caught in her orbit, whether they liked it or not.

Which, again, Zoey did.

Mostly.

Except she didn’t want to leave her house.

Then the quiet snick of the bathroom latch seemed to echo through her brain, and she snatched the coverup, pulling it on as she darted out into the hall. Her Nana gave her a definite Look of Disapproval as Zoey maneuvered past her. Zoey ignored it, though, and barely took enough time to lock the door of the tiny bathroom before she shimmied out of the now slightly-crunchy suit and dropped it on the floor.

As she sat, sighing in relief, she realized that this was what it would be like when Bree moved in. Three bathrooms was plenty, as was three bedrooms, but somehow it still felt a little… tight.

Bree had stayed over before, of course, but she mostly used the same spaces as Zoey’s dad, and for the first time Zoey wondered if Bree actually felt a little awkward in their space. Like, just maybe, she felt like she was visiting, rather than living there. Which, of course, she wasn’t, at least not yet, but how long would it take to really feel at home in a house that had been so thoroughly made to suit someone else? Zoey would certainly have felt uncomfortable if Bree had had a house, and asked them to move in with her, instead.

Maybe that was also part of why they all had to move? Not just the baby, not because Bree was rich, and wanted more space, but because they all needed a new start, so they were equals in their home? Except that Zoey didn’t feel like an equal. She was still technically a kid, of course, but her dad always discussed important things with her before he made a decision.

She froze, one leg in, and one leg out of the tub.

He hadn’t asked Zoey. He had asked Bree. He had… shifted loyalties, and she could feel it, though she hadn’t been able to put it into words. It wasn’t that she was upset about sharing him. (Though, to be honest, she was a little upset about that, too.) No, she was upset because she was losing him. Instead of Team Marcus and Zoey, or even Team Marcus, Zoey, Bree, and Baby, it was Team Zoey and Team Marcus, Bree, and Baby, and Team MBB was definitely beating Team Z in… something. Something really, painfully fundamental.

A sharp knock on the door interrupted Zoey’s increasingly distressing train of thought, and she said, “What?” though her voice wobbled alarmingly.

There was a long pause before Ajax spoke uncertainly. “Nana said lunch is almost ready. It’s spaghetti squash.” More silence, then, “Are you… all right?”

She blinked, and something hot trailed down her cheek. She swiped at it, surprised to find that she was crying. “I… Yeah. Sure. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Something brushed against the door, and she pictured her rude, annoying cousin pressing a hand against it. What expression was on his face? He almost sounded… worried. About her?

His voice revealed none of that, however, when he said, “Fine,” and footsteps retreated down the hall, revealing not a hint of hesitation.

Zoey stepped into the tub and reached down, switching on the shower. She turned her face up into the initial icy blast, and let it erase any sign that she’d been crying, even as it dissolved the last of the biogel from her skin, swirling tears and gel down the drain together.

Her shower took longer than usual, but when she was done, she felt almost like her usual self. Not that that meant she was ready to face another platter of gelatinous squash and reheated red sauce. Glancing around, she realized that, in her haste, she’d forgotten to grab the change of clothes she’d laid out by the pod. Grimacing, she wrapped the coverup around herself again, and dashed back to her room. She shoved the dirty suit into the invitingly open cleansing drawer and tugged her clothes on over damp skin.

When she walked down the stairs, the smell of slightly burned food assaulted her, and she stopped on the last step, wrinkling her nose. She had to force herself to take the last step, turning to walk into the kitchen. Her grandma and Ajax were sitting at the kitchen table, in the middle of a stare-off that was filled with far more resentment than the one the night before. Then, Zoey and Ajax had still been full of canapes and cake, but now they were hungry, and the food on the table was barely edible by almost anyone’s standards.

It looked like Nana had tried to reheat the food in the oven, rather than the microwave, but had turned the temperature up too high. Or maybe she just hadn’t covered it? Or, for some unknown reason, she had turned on the broiler? No matter how she had managed it, the top of the sauce-smothered squash was now a deep, cracked, black and red.

Ajax clearly hadn’t taken a single bite of his ‘meal’, and though Nana’s had been shifted, exposing its unburned innards, it didn’t really look like she’d eaten any either. Another plate, heaped even higher than Ajax’s, sat in front of an empty chair.

Zoey stopped.

Nana looked up, her face set in all-too-familiar lines of unyielding determination. “You took too long, so I got you a good serving,” Nana said. “Neither of you ate much breakfast, so you must be starving. Now, sit down and eat.”

Zoey’s jaw clenched. “No,” she said, and she was at least as surprised as her grandmother at the sound of the word.

“What?” Nana and Ajax said, though with entirely different intonations.

Zoey met her grandma’s familiar brown eyes. “No,” she said, again. “Nana, I don’t like spaghetti squash, and I’m sorry, but that’s been overcooked.” She looked at the refrigerator. “Would you like me to make something? I promise to use vegetables.” Somehow, she managed a ghost of her usual grin.

Nana had half-stood, but now lowered herself back into her chair, face inscrutable. “Fine,” she said, drawing it out. “But if you do this, you’re cooking the rest of the time I’m here, and you don’t get to eat anything you didn’t make yourself. And I better see five food groups on my plate, child.” She didn’t quite cross her arms in front of her chest, but Zoey saw them twitch as if she wanted to.

Zoey thought about what was in the refrigerator. Mostly fatty, sugary treats from the wedding, yes, but there was chicken, tofu, broccoli… and the freezer held even more ingredients, as did the pantry. “Fine,” she said, nodding. “It’ll take me about half an hour, though.”

She looked at Ajax, who was staring between Zoey and their grandma with a slack mouth. “Would you clear the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher, please? You just have to give them a quick rinse and put them in. It’s pretty smart, and it’ll take care of the rest.”

It took a while, but her cousin finally seemed to pull himself together, and he nodded. With relief apparent in every motion, he scooped up the plates and scraped their contents into the trash before their grandma could protest. Not that she did. No, she just sat there, staring at Zoey, with her arms very aggressively not folded.

Zoey walked over to the refrigerator and opened it, peering inside to make sure she was remembering what was inside correctly. After a moment, she gave a sharp nod of decision and got to work.

Thirty minutes later, she plopped plates down in front of her family members. Ajax had tried to leave, once or twice, but a glare from their grandma was all it took to keep him in place. The room had been filled with silence and the slowly-rising scent of fresh garlic, pan-seared chicken, and cheese sauce.

Zoey pointed to each dish. “Diced watermelon for fruit. There are peas, mushrooms, and grilled onions in the sauce, which is kind of a knock-off alfredo. I had to use milk instead of cream, but that and the cheese makes up our dairy group. The pasta is whole grain, and I topped it with the pan-fried chicken.”

The dishes looked delicious. Zoey had taken great care to plate them neatly, and even sprinkled fresh parsley on top from her dad’s miniature herb garden in the kitchen window. Ajax looked from Zoey to the food, picked up his fork, and barely waited long enough for a muffled, “Thank you,” to clear his mouth before he shoved in some pasta.

Nana stared at Zoey for several long heartbeats before she, too, picked up her fork. She murmured a brief prayer, then twirled the fork in the pasta, watching as the long strands dragged through the silky-smooth sauce. Lifting the fork, she speared a cube of chicken on the tines, and lifted the whole thing to her mouth. Some indefinable emotion flashed across her face, and then she chewed and swallowed, all while Zoey’s stomach rumbled uncomfortably, though she refused to eat until her grandma reached a verdict.

Nana set down her fork and nodded, just once. “You’re doin’ the cooking from now on.” Turning her head, she speared Ajax with a narrow-eyed look. “And you can teach this one while you’re at it. He’s your- What do they call it on those fancy cooking shows? Soup chef?”

Zoey was pretty sure her grandma was playing up the old-lady act, but she just said, “Sous chef.”

Nodding, Nana waved at Ajax. “He’s your sous chef, then. You better have food on the table at a reasonable time, and I want to see,” Zoey bit her tongue so she wouldn’t say the words along with the other woman, though that didn’t keep them from playing out in her head, “all five food groups.”

Zoey nodded her own agreement, though Ajax voiced mumbled protests through a mouthful of food. Sitting down, she picked up her own fork and ate a plateful of triumph.