Page 87 of Snowballed

Noah waits, like he thinks there’s more to come. And there is more, much more. The farm was where my father wanted to live after his stroke, but I couldn’t make that happen. Maybe it’s magical thinking, but I truly believe that he could have gotten better here. The farm is like my talisman. It’s my last connection to my father, and giving it up means losing him altogether. And I can’t do that.

But I can’t explain the whole history that makes me believe this without making me even less in Noah’s eyes, so I say nothing.

He turns to go, and this sudden flash of fear comes over me. What have I done?

But then Noah turns back. His face is still this awful mixture of pain and puzzlement.

“Zoe, what happened today—what’s been happening ever since I got back—is not normal.”

And then he turns and walks away. I close my eyes and wrap my arms around myself, so I don’t fall apart completely.

30

Noah

What the fuck just happened?

Zoe and I are similar: pragmatic, sensible, and hard working. If I had imagined our split, it would be something civilized, like the way Lauren and I broke up. But Zoe’s emotional side is a mystery to me.

So here I am, driving out of Shelburne with a packed suitcase and nowhere to go. I head to the hockey house, then call Wags.

“What’s the emergency?” he asks.

“How did you know?” I say.

“Fuck, Goody, nobody phones unless it’s urgent. Or you’re my mother.”

“Well, could I be your non-road roomie too?” I ask.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Zoe and I broke up. So, I’m no longer welcome under the Meyers roof.”

“Fuuuuuck.” He injects surprise and sympathy into the single word. “Where are you?”

“Parked outside.”

I can see him look out his window onto the street. “C’mon up.”

When I walk in, Briggs is gaming on the living room couch along with Meysy. Meysy takes one look at my suitcase and asks, “Shit. Did Zoe fuck things up?”

“It’s a long story.” I’ll never speak badly of Zoe. Besides, how can I explain something I still don’t understand?

Wags, being a senior, has a bigger bedroom. He’s already arranging a foam mattress in one corner when I get there. He gives me the half-hug/half-shoulder slap that guys use to express sympathy.

“Thanks, man. It’s just for a few days, until I can find a new place to live.” Maybe I should have stayed in a hotel, but I don’t want to be alone right now.

“Stay as long as you like. I already know you don’t snore. I mean, the couch in the living room might be more comfortable, but it gets pretty busy in there.”

I sit in his desk chair and spin around. In addition to Moo U posters and swag, Wags has also got a photo of the women’s hockey team on his wall. I see Zoe’s smiling face and sigh.

“You want to talk about it?” Wags asks.

“Honestly, I’m not sure what happened. But I don’t feel like it’s my fault.” That’s my only consolation. It’s not like I screwed up in some huge way. The things I wanted to do with Zoe were all good things: take her out someplace nice, have time alone, give her a break from chores. But she didn’t want that. Obviously my money triggered something for her. I do feel awful that Zoe is upset, but I also feel helpless in the face of her problems.

Wags doesn’t argue this with me, although I’m sure he can’t believe I’m blameless.

Once we go to bed, the darkness makes me feel chattier.

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