Zane
When you mix nostalgia with beer and confusion, the result is a drunk idiot calling his girlfriend to ask about another woman.
Ever since dinner, I haven't been able to stop thinking about her. That look of discomfort, of pain. Like she's hiding more than I can possibly understand. And then, when the alcohol loosened my restraints, I made the worst decision possible.
Last night
Zane stares at his phone, brows furrowed, fingers tapping the table. The ringtone repeats over and over, and though he anxiously waits for Emma to pick up, deep down he knows it's not for the right reasons. He doesn't miss the sound of her voice or the warmth of talking to her; the only thing driving him is the question burning on his tongue.
Finally, Emma's sleepy voice comes through the receiver:
"Zane?" she says, unsure. "Are you okay? It's late…"
"Yeah, yeah… Sorry. Emma, I need to ask you something," Zane blurts out, skipping the greeting and not even asking how she is.
"What's going on? You're scaring me," she replies, sensing the urgency in his tone.
"You, as a model, you must know about… you know, eating disorders, right? Do you know how to help someone who might be going through that?" His question tumbles out, tangled in beer breath and a tight throat.
Emma goes silent, barely processing what she's hearing.
"Why are you asking me that, Zane?" Her voice sounds genuinely confused.
Without thinking, the alcohol takes over and Zane answers too quickly:
"It's just… I met this girl recently, Melissa, and well… I like her. I think she might be dealing with something like that and… I don't know how to help."
The silence that follows is thick, endless. For a few seconds, Zane doesn't even realize what he's just said—until he hears Emma's shaky breathing on the other end.
"Are you telling me you called me—your girlfriend—at this hour just to ask how to help another woman you like?" Emma sounds hurt, almost incredulous.
"No, Emma, wait, I didn't mean it like that…"
"Seriously, Zane? I'm here missing you, trying to understand you from a distance, and you only call to talk about someone else and don't even ask how I'm doing. I really can't believe this…" Her voice trembles, a mix of anger and sadness.
Before Zane can stammer out an excuse, he hears the sharp click of the call ending. He stares at the phone screen, feeling emptier and more miserable than ever. He didn't even call because he truly wanted to talk to her—that truth hits him like a bucket of cold water.
Now
The result: a girlfriend who won't speak to me. And me, a complete mess. But the worst part is I'm not even acting like I should. I must've lost a screw these past few days with the girls. Because if I were thinking straight, I'd have taken the first flight to talk to Emma and explain everything. Instead, I just sent her a message apologizing, hoping she'll forgive me.
To be honest, my heart beat faster this morning when I heard her walk into the house. That unmistakable laugh. Which makes what I said to my girlfriend even worse.
After we finish cleaning up the mess, Shawn and Wenn come out of their room with backpacks and say goodbye to everyone without much fuss. Vanessa and Maeson are in their room. And I'm standing silently on one side of the living room, watching Melissa as she looks at her phone.
"Take a picture, it lasts longer," Melissa says.
"I don't know what you're talking about, I wasn't looking at you," I reply defensively.
Mel looks up, a playful smile on her face.
"I never said you were looking at me. I could've meant the view out the window," she says casually.
"I… I… yeah, you're right… um…" I scratch my head, trying to find my usual wit.
Melissa laughs. Her beautiful laugh fills me with warmth.
"Zane, relax haha. It was just a joke…" she pauses, still watching me. "You know, I think you and I started off on the wrong foot."
"I… I'm sorry for what I said the other day. I didn't think it through before I spoke. Honestly, I've been a bit confused lately," I say, hoping she won't dig too deep.
And she, as if reading my mind, doesn't press the issue.
"Don't worry, we all have our problems. I didn't take it personally."
"Thanks. I didn't want things to stay this way. So awkward between us," I say sincerely.
"Well, maybe the awkwardness will stick around a little longer," she says, and I notice her face shift through three expressions in three seconds: surprise, nostalgia, and calm—like a doll. Like she said something she didn't mean to.
"You know, since we're barely acquaintances," she adds.
"That's easy to fix," I say, waiting for her reaction.
Melissa looks up, a question in her eyes.
"I mean, if you want, since everyone's busy, we could go to a nearby café and get to know each other a little better."
Just as she's about to answer, Vane bursts out of Maeson's room, rushes down the stairs, and pulls Melissa into her room—cutting the conversation short. And I'm left standing in the hallway, alone. So, I decide to talk to the most sensible person I know: Maeson.