Page 57 of Fear of Flying

He flinched and turned his head, and he raised his eyebrows at her with a somewhat impatient “what?”

She merely leveled a knowing glare at him as if to say “you know perfectly well what.”

And he did, he did know perfectly well what she was saying. In fact, he could almost hear her voice in his head telling him to knock it off and stop thinking terrible things about himself. At this point, given how he was feeling, he wasn’t sure he wanted to listen. But being at brunch with his parents meant that he didn’t really get a choice in the matter anyway.

Zach’s mom cleared her throat, her timing a bit impeccable, as though she had been waiting for Zach and Jen to finish their silent conversation. Hell, Jen had been in his life long enough now and had come to enough brunches that his mom had probably done exactly that.

She gave Zach a soft smile before asking, “So how was the conference, Zachary?”

He blinked, caught a little off guard by the question. “Huh?”

“The conference last week—the one you went to New York for? Flew on a plane across the country for?” His mom’s expression was a mix of concern and confusion.

“Ah, um, it was good.” It took Zach a moment to recalibrate while he tried not to wonder why it felt like seven days ago had been seven months ago instead. “It was really good. Made some important connections that will help us in setting up better outreach and education programs and a strong foundation for the senior program.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful to hear, sweetie,” his mom said, his dad chiming in as well. And Zach took a moment to revel in the pride and admiration he could hear in their voices. That was one thing he didn’t lack for from his parents—praise and love—and it kinda felt really, really good right now.

What little reprieve his parents’ kind words had given Zach from his unease, however, didn’t last long. As the conversation progressed in an unnervingly typical fashion, Zach found his anxiety building back up with every minute his mother didn’t ask about the mystery man from the hotel.

She was usually so overly invested in his life, especially when the topic came anywhere close to his love life, and the fact that she wasn’t asking made him wonder if he was looking as broken on the outside as he felt on the inside. Did he look so terrible that even his mom was treating him with kid gloves? He wished she’d just ask already.

It wasn’t long before they all moved to the dining room table, stopping at the kitchen island to grab drink refills on the way. As usual, his mother had prepared a generous spread of delicious food—french toast, fresh fruit, scrambled eggs with cheese and scallions, and almost every breakfast meat you could imagine, because his father really loved them. Quiche was missing, unsurprisingly. But Zach was relieved this time. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to bear it if it had been there.

Zach shared a bit more about his time at the conference, actively working to shove his other feelings deep down so that maybe he could at least somewhat enjoy quality family time. His mom shared her plans for a spring garden and all the different flowers and vegetables she was going to plant. Jen shared a hilarious but sweet dog story from one of the rescues she’d gone on last week. And his dad shared updates about the latest marketing campaign he was working on for his local auto parts store in an attempt to attract a younger demographic.

They were all nearly finished with their meals by the time Zach had started to relax enough to appreciate the conversation and the company. So when his mother’s question came flying at him out of nowhere, it hit a lot harder.

“So, who was your friend in Pittsburgh, Zach?”

Zach’s heart twisted fiercely, and he immediately felt the hot flush of embarrassment that always came when he was put on the spot. Jen’s hand was on his arm in an instant, and it almost worked to ground him. Almost. He was sure he felt tension from Jen that meant she was gearing up to give his mom an earful, but it was his father who spoke first.

“Nancy! You said you weren’t going to ask him!” His voice was hushed and strained but still audible.

Zach’s eyes darted to his father, who was looking pointedly at Zach’s mother. And for a long moment, while Zach’s heart thundered in his chest, no one at the table spoke. His parents seemed to be engaged in some private, nonverbal conversation.

They’d talked about him. About him and Drew. Oh god, he could just see it in his head, his mom getting off the phone all animatedly and bounding to the next room to tell his dad that Zach had met someone!

God. Zach inhaled sharply, the burn of embarrassment and the sharp pricking of anxiety now running rampant throughout his body, in between and alongside the jagged pieces of his broken heart. His chair made an audible scrape against the floor as he stood abruptly. His heart was thudding and he was hot everywhere, and he had no idea what he was doing. He just—he just needed to get out of there. But his anxiety was clocking in at an eleven, and he was frozen in place, unable to force his feet to move.

Fuck. Fuck, they were staring, all staring at him, and he should sit down. This was rude and his mom didn’t deserve this and god, he wished he could breathe. His legs were tingling, telling him he should sit, but he wanted to run. Needed to not be here.

He jerked at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. Jen. It was Jen. He sucked in a trembling breath, and he could only watch the rest of the scene play out, his hearing muted as though someone had turned down the volume too far. Jen was saying something—maybe to his parents, maybe to him—and then her hand on his shoulder moved to his opposite hip, guiding him gently to turn.

Zach wasn’t sure if she was yelling at his parents or consoling them because he couldn’t make out many words over the sound of his own pulse rushing in his ears. He heard a “c’mon” and “complicated” and “okay” and then, louder through the haze, “See you next month, Mr. and Mrs. H.”

Jen’s other hand was on his shoulder now, and they were walking through the house and toward the front door. She paused them to get their coats on, helping Zach into his and making him feel a bit like a child in this hazy reality—but it was good, so good to feel taken care of.

He tried not to let his thoughts wander to Drew, but they went there anyway—Drew holding his hand on the plane and making them tea and laughing at his jokes and telling him he was attractive even with his anxiety and holding him and stroking his cheek after making love to him.

Some sort of wail or whimpering noise pulled his thoughts away from Drew, and Zach realized it must have come from him. Jen was guiding him to the passenger side of her car, and then they both got in and buckled up. Zach managed to hold the rest of it all in until they were off his parents’ street and out of sight—not that it mattered, considering the state he’d left in.

“Dammit,” he cried, his voice breaking on a sob. “What’s wrong with me, Jen?”

“Oh, Zach. Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with you.” Her voice was soft and comforting, just like it’d been all week. “It’s love, you’re in love.”

“He’s not.” Zach’s voice was a pathetic whimper, and he buried his face in his hands.

“I think you’re wrong. You’re letting the anxiety talk.” Her hand came to rest on his knee, and she paused long enough for Zach to know she wanted to see his eyes. He let his hands drag down his face, and he caught her gaze the next time she quickly glanced his way. How she managed to fit so much love and meaning into the half-second look she gave him before returning her eyes to the road, he didn’t know. And not for the first time in the past week, his heart squeezed as wondered how he’d managed to luck out so damn much in the friend department.